The Closer You Come (The Original Heartbreakers 1)

In an act of self-preservation, he threw the hammer in the toolbox. As he climbed down the ladder and faced her, this new bane of his existence, she held a glass of ice water out for him.

The thoughtful gesture unnerved him. “Thank you,” he muttered and drained the contents. The chill of the liquid soothed the dry heat in his throat.

“You’re welcome.” She took the empty glass from him and stepped away. “So...three women have already come to the door looking for Beck.”

“So few?” And what do you think of Beck, Miss Dillon? He looked her over, noticing the streak of dirt on her cheek, the smudges of grease on her shirt. So adorable. “How old are you?” he asked then flinched at the accusation in his tone.

Most women would have glared at him. She didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-five. What about you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Considering he had the life experience of a gutter rat, he felt decades older.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

There was only one reason the answer would matter to her, and it caused him to shoot harder than those steel pipes he was going to ask her to buy.

“No,” he rasped. “No wife.” He’d had a few girlfriends before Daphne, but nobody nearly as serious.

Daphne had seemed to accept him just as he was...until his sentence was handed down, and she realized she’d have to live without him for almost a decade—more than that, he wouldn’t be the same when he got out. He’d be different. An ex-con. Harder. Probably mean as hell. Teenagers never fared well behind bars.

He’d begged her to stick around, to trust him, promising to be whatever she needed the day they were reunited. Part of him had still been a little boy, desperate to hold on to some kind of family.

She’d sobbed while she’d walked away, but she’d still walked. He’d cursed her, apologized, begged some more. She hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even slowed. It had hurt then, and yeah, it still hurt now, but he saw it for what it was. Self-preservation. He couldn’t blame her for that.

Had life treated her well? Hell, maybe she was married with a dozen kids. Maybe not.

What would he say to her, if he saw her again? You were the best thing to happen to me. I miss you.

Was that still true? And would the man he had become even appeal to her? If she found out some of the things he’d endured throughout the years...would she react as fearfully as he suspected Brook Lynn would?

“Jase?”

Brook Lynn’s voice, gentle now, summoned him out of the dark mire of his head. He blinked and found her standing directly in front of him, her cool, dainty palm resting on his knotted shoulder. His hands were fisted, he realized, his nails cutting into his skin. Razors seemed to have grown in his nose and lungs, turning every breath into an act of torture.

Steady. When his gaze met hers, she dropped her arm and backed away.

“So...uh...yeah. I’ve finished the living room and kitchen.” She ran her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly nervous. “What would you like me to do next?”

Put your hand on me again. Never let go. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go home.” Before I do something stupid.

“But I’ve only worked three hours.”

Only, she’d said. “Your check isn’t contingent on the number of hours you’re here, honey. Simply on doing what I say.”

She shook her head, saying, “Why don’t I clean the bathrooms?”

He did not like the thought of this girl scrubbing toilets. “No bathrooms.”

“Bathrooms,” she insisted. “Then I’ll wash up and cook dinner. Unless you have plans?”

He bristled. “No bathrooms. No dinner.”

“I’ll take that to mean ‘no plans.’”

“If you want to do something, clean the garage.”

“Great. I will. After I take care of the bathrooms.” With a saccharine-sweet smile, she skipped into the house.

“Stay away from the bathrooms. That’s an order, Brook Lynn,” he called. “My word is law.”

She waved at him through the glass door...and might have also flipped him off.

Did she think she could do whatever she wanted without consequences?

Well, she would have to be taught differently.

Anticipation zinged through him, so strong it was almost a shock to his system.

Boom!

The noise sent Jase to the ground, already reaching for the hammer, the closest weapon. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down, and he had trouble catching his breath—until the purr of a car engine registered, and he realized a vehicle had simply backfired.

He lumbered to unsteady legs. His heartbeat refused to calm, bucking in his chest like a horse trapped in a stall.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

At the end of the day, feelings didn’t matter. They were unreliable. He chose to believe he was okay, so that would be that.

Once he regained his composure, he toiled over the shingles. A few more hours passed, and he somehow managed to maintain his focus until Brook Lynn stuck her head out the door.

“I spilled cleaner on myself. I need a shower and a shirt,” she said. “Would it be okay for me to use your bathroom and dig through your closet?”

Just like that, she fried what was left of his brain. A thousand cars could have backfired, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Shower—she would be naked. Water—it would drip down her body, catching in all the places he longed to lick. A towel—the cloth would rub all over her curves, caressing her skin. His shirt—something that had touched his bare skin would soon cling to hers, his scent fusing with hers.