Breathless Descent (Texas Hotzone 3)

Instantly, her arms wrapped around his neck, preventing his escape. She clung to him, her soft, warm curves melting into him—a friendly embrace to anyone watching, but they both knew it was more. And damn it, it wasn’t enough. He’d longed to hold her again for so very long. He wanted to mold her closer, to inhale her, to absorb her.

Among all the women a decade of traveling the world delivered to a Special Ops soldier like himself, none of the fast exits had left him with regret. But leaving Shay had, and often he had wondered if she were the reason why no one else had mattered. Because there was no question—she had long ago reached inside him and refused to let go.

“I missed you, Caleb,” she said softly, near his ear.

I missed you, too, he thought, fearing the words would sound as those spoken by a man, not a brother. And he was her brother. Brothers were forever. The minute they became more, they were like every other couple—they could crash and burn, lose what they had. And he’d lose more than her. He’d lose the only family he’d known for the past fifteen years.

He snatched the wet towel she’d draped over his shoulder and tugged it out of her grip, stepped backward and handed it to her. “Thanks for the soggy shoulder, Shay-Shay,” he teased, reminding her of their youthful play and putting their relationship where it was meant to be—laden with sibling jest.

“Oh, God,” she said, rolling her eyes and wringing the towel in her hands. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

Kent chuckled. “You loved it when you were thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” she repeated, grinding the age through her teeth. “When I played dress-up in Mom’s work clothes.”

“And transformed yourself into ‘Shay-Shay Va-voom,’” Kent added, needling her.

“I hate you, Kent,” she said, her teeth still clenched. “Really, really hate you.”

Kent snorted his approval. “To a brother, that’s the ultimate vow of love. Right, Caleb?”

“Right,” Caleb agreed. This was going exactly where Caleb had planned. He tipped his beer, but before the bottle made it to his mouth, Shay snatched it, their fingers brushing, electricity darting between them.

“I’m the youngest,” she said, turning up the bottle. “I get what I want.” The comment, while innocent enough to everyone else, wasn’t innocent at all.

Caleb took back his beer, the intimacy of sharing with her setting him on edge. “Funny thing about this beer,” he said. “I got it from the kitchen on the way out here. Every time I go into that kitchen, I think about a certain pair of jeans you used to love.”

Shock slid over her face. “Don’t even go there, Caleb,” she warned fiercely.

Kent snorted. “Oh, yeah. Those damn jeans.”

“Don’t you go there either, Kent,” Shay warned. “Or I won’t set you up on that blind date with Anna you’ve been begging for.”

Bob chuckled. “Then I guess I’ll have to go there for all of us. Why in the world, my little Shay, did you put the jeans in the oven in the first place? Just make me understand. I’ve always wanted to understand.”

“I’ve answered this question a million times,” she said, her pretty, naturally pink lips pursed in frustration. “I was sixteen when I did that. Sixteen! I’m twenty-eight years old and, I might add, a licensed psychologist who counsels people about the trauma of bad memories. In case you didn’t know, Daddy, this is a bad memory.”

“The dryer was broken,” Caleb answered, when unnecessary guilt flashed on Bob’s face. No matter how upset Shay acted, she ate up the teasing. And he loved watching her cheeks flush, her eyes light up. “She needed her best jeans for a party.” He’d liked those jeans. Liked them too much, considering she’d been sixteen and he’d been nineteen, about to move into campus housing at the University of Texas. Too old for her. Not that he’d ever be the right age for her. But at the time, he’d been damn glad she wasn’t prancing around in those damn tight jeans anymore, inviting hound-dog teen boys to salivate.

Shay shot him a scorching look that wiped the smile from his face. He was pretty sure she would have smacked him otherwise.

Sharon sighed. “Men just don’t understand how important the perfect jeans are to a female,” she said, defending her daughter. “It really was a smart idea, using the oven. It was like a sauna drying room. I think it showed initiative and innovation.”

Exasperated, Bob’s eyes went wide. “Since when is burning down the kitchen called innovation?”

“How many experiments do you think Thomas Edison tried that went wrong?” Sharon countered protectively.

“What was she trying to create?” Bob replied. “The fastest way to destroy her parents’ house?”

“Maybe if you would have put them on warm, not broil, Shay-Shay,” Kent offered, sipping a beer. “Your va-voom might not have gone ka-boom.” He eyed Caleb. “What do you think, Caleb?”