The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

I pretend a lot of things aren’t happening in this house.

I pretend that I don’t catch the whiff of their clean, soapy manliness as they exit the shower.

I pretend that seeing them shirtless, in low slung shorts and pants, doesn’t make my lower belly twist with desire.

I pretend that them being here when I go to bed and wake up doesn’t make me feel safer.

I pretend that Holden’s easy smile and easy nature isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

Or that catching Smith do something sweet, like straightening the couch pillows, isn’t charming.

Or that brushing up against Adrian in the hallway, or by the kitchen sink, doesn’t make my skin itch.

I walk back into the kitchen and find the pot in the sink, scrubbing the bottom. I’ve done a lot of dishes the past few days, keeping my hands busy and my eyes focused out the window. Which usually helps, except right now Smith and Holden are in the yard, cleaning up from their project. Smith’s shoulders are so broad, tanned and wide. My eyes follow the lean, tapered lines down to his waist, where his jeans hang over the curve of his ass, and two dimpled indentions sit just above. I swirl the sponge around the pot, eyeing Holden’s easy laugh and the casual way he does everything. He scratches his stomach, forcing my eyes down to the dark hair that runs down his lower belly. You’d never know he lost his home a few days ago. He looks up, and our eyes meet. He winks, and I swallow thickly—

“Do you have a wrench?”

I yelp, drop the pan and spin to find Adrian two steps away. “Jesus,” I mutter, reaching for the towel to dry my dripping hands. He grabs it first and hands it to me, our fingers brushing.

Zing!

Like a lightning bolt, running through my veins.

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A wrench? I thought maybe I’d check out that leak in the bathroom while no one was using it.”

“Yeah, sure.” My heart is still pounding, from both being startled and his proximity. I lead him to the hall closet and the box my father kept his tools in. He kneels on the floor and sorts through the tools until he finds the right one.

“Got it.”

“Need anything else?”

“A flashlight, maybe?”

That’s how I end up on the bathroom floor next to him, holding the flashlight while he takes apart the sink.

“Hey.”

I look up and see Holden in the doorway, his forehead furrowed as he takes us in, our positions awkward. “We’re going to head into town to hit the hardware store before it closes. Need anything?”

“Yeah,” Adrian says, holding out a piece of rusty pipe. “Can you get me one of those? I can make a quick fix for now, but we’re going to need a new one.”

“Sure,” Holden says. “Be back soon.”

I hear the door slam and shift so I’m leaning on my elbow, holding the light against the underneath of the sink. “Can you hand me that duct tape?”

“Yep.” I offer him the roll, watching as he tears off a strip with his teeth and then wrapping it around the pipe. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“I spent a summer helping my uncle. He was a handyman and did all kinds of jobs.”

“How’d you end up a park ranger?”

He grimaces, tightening the wrench. His arm muscles bulge and the bottom of his shirt rises up, giving me a view of his taut lower belly.

“Well, that summer, I was sixteen, I became friendly with a few other guys on my uncle’s crew. They were a little older and would let me hang out with them. They shared their beer and weed. I thought it was pretty cool.” He spins the wrench one last time. “Even after I realized they were going back into the houses they were working on and stealing stuff.”

“Oh.”