Jace (Kings of Country 1)

Jace rubbed Clementine’s head and ears. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Clementine.”

Chapter 5

“That tag was a bad idea,” Krystal whispered to Clementine.

With every step, her little dog’s metal tag bounced off the clasp of her collar, the merry jinglejangle echoing in the quiet, sleeping house.

Clementine smiled up at her, tongue lolling, knowing full well she’d get a treat once they arrived at their location. When Krystal had the odd night home during a tour, the two of them had turned midnight snacking into part of their routine.

Tonight, she wanted pie. Warmed up, with ice cream. Without the heaping side order of guilt and disappointment her mother was always so eager to serve up.

She pushed through the kitchen door, flipped on the light over the stove, and opened the refrigerator. Can of whipped cream. Gallon of milk. Pie. She turned, depositing her load on the massive marble-topped island in the middle of the kitchen.

“You beat us.” Travis stood there, hair mussed and smiling.

“Shit,” she hissed, her heart slamming into her chest. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Us” meant Travis. And Jace. Because her daddy had insisted he sleep over since their flight was at four a.m. and it made more sense for him to stay here than waste time driving back and forth. Which did make sense. Until she was face-to-face with him, his black hair falling onto his forehead and his heavy-lidded eyes weighted with sleep. Jace, yawning? Adorable.

Really, Krystal? Get a grip. He’s yawning. She placed the cake server on the marble top with a little more force than necessary, causing both Jace and Travis to startle.

“I thought we were being quiet?” Travis yawned.

She was being quiet. It was his fault. And Jace’s. Jace with his sleepy grin. And his…his presence. Who slept in a skin-tight white undershirt anyway? His tattoos all look-at-my-big-manly-arms. And pajama pants resting low on lean hips… At least they were an improvement over his jeans. He didn’t seem to own any that didn’t showcase his ass. And thighs. And ass. Way to get it together.

“You snuck up on me,” she whispered—more a hiss than anything. He was right. The kitchen was crowded enough. Still, he was her brother—she couldn’t let him have the last word. “It’s a dick move.”

“Language.” Travis tsk-tsked. “And why would you hear me? I mastered the art of stealthy sneak-outs in high school.” He reached for the pie.

“Nope.” She snatched it away. “Mine.”

“Sharing is caring,” Travis replied, coming around the island.

“Stop.” She cradled the pie close, her whisper as forceful as she could make it. “I mean it. I didn’t get any—”

“Your fault, not mine.” Travis reached around her, grabbing for the pie.

“I will stab you with a fork.” She snapped, glaring up at him. “Since you’re invading, why don’t you make yourself useful and get the ice cream? Then, maybe, I’ll give you some pie.”

“Fine.” Travis held his hands up in mock defeat. “Fine.”

“And be quiet,” she added, glancing at the door.

Travis made a show of pretending to lock his lips.

“What are you? Five?” But she was laughing.

Jace was watching her. And dammit all, she was staring right back, cradling a sticky apple pie against her chest like a moron.

“Your dog wants something.” Travis nudged her, pressing the gallon of ice cream against her arm.

“Travis,” she jumped, the shock of the cold sending her a good two feet in the air.

“You’re jumpy.” He laughed.

“You’re an ass.” She put the pie on the counter, smacked his arm, and turned away, cooing down to Clementine. “What is it, baby? I didn’t forget you. You want a treat too?”

Clementine did a little dance, her back end and tufted tail wagging with excitement.