"I can do that," he replied. "I can lock the doors."
"Yes, you can," I called as I backed across the tavern. I was ready to sprint my ass home. "No fires, no floods."
I didn't wait for Nate's response, instead breaking into an easy jog through the village. It was late enough that most people were at home, zoned out in front of the television or tucked into bed, not minding the likes of me hauling ass for a woman who'd always demand but never appreciate that hustle.
And there she was, kicked back on my porch with her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed. "That was thirty-nine minutes, Jed."
I stepped over her on my way to the door. "You can take your complaints up with my cock, Brooke."
"I'm merely pointing out you asked me to be here within thirty minutes," she continued. "Either you don't respect my time or this is some kind of dickhead power play, and I have to tell you, I'm not interested in either."
I opened the door, flipped on the lights, greeted Butterscotch with a head scratch. It was odd to find her awake at this hour. "It's always something with you, Brooke," I said, mostly to myself. The dog wasted no time on me, instead rushing to the woman's side as if she'd been waiting for her.You and me both, Scotchie."At least the dog likes you. I'd have to say good night if she didn't."
Brooke glanced up from dousing the golden retriever in affection, smirked at me. "It's a wonder she likes you."
I kicked off my shoes, shrugging. "I feed her. Speaking of which, have you eaten?"
Brooke knelt down, raked her fingers through the dog's shiny coat. "Don't ask me questions like that."
"And why is that?"
Still focused on my dog, she replied, "You're not my keeper. It's none of your business."
"I was asking becauseIhaven't eaten but this is a fine reminder you're an awful lot of work." I ran a hand over my head. "What are you doing here again?"
"Take your pants off and I'll show you." She stood up, sanded her palms together, and tipped her chin in the direction of my jeans. "You can eat after I leave."
"Or right now." I pointed at her jeans, her top. "Off."
She flicked a glance at my belt. "Same."
Neither of us moved. Butterscotch paced between us, alternately licking our hands and nudging our legs as she whined.
Brooke held out her palm and Butterscotch went to her. "Your dog wants you to stop screwing around."
I whistled, snapped my fingers in the direction of the kitchen. "Scotchie, go lie down." The dog gave Brooke one more lick before taking off for the kitchen. "Are you going to get what you came for or are you going to stand there and prove a point only you care about?"
"Why is your mermaid holding wheat?"
"Why did you move home from New York?"
That one landed like a slap across the face. It wasn't the reaction I'd wanted, not the one I'd intended, but she recovered quickly. "My question requires considerably less explanation, so you're welcome to answer first."
"You might think it's simple, but I reckon it's just as complicated as the one I want from you. There's some history, some family shit, and some laziness, and that's the answer."
She glared at me, the air between us heating and rippling with hostility with each breath. Then she charged toward me, her head shaking as she seethed, "You are theworst."
My back hit the wall as she reached for my vest, weaving her fingers between the buttons, dragging me toward her. I didn't doubt she'd tear it to shreds if she wanted. "And I keep good company."
I grabbed her waist, thumbed her fly open. I stared at her lips, and for a moment, I thought about kissing her. Nothing sweet or precious, but the kind of biting, brutal kiss she deserved—and wanted. I didn't doubt that for a second. She wanted me rough and rude, not giving a good damn whether I ruined her sweater or marked her skin. But I didn't kiss her. Not yet, not this time. Kisses were promises, even the vicious ones. Especially those.
"There's no confusion as to why you're here, sweetheart. Either get undressed or get the fuck out. I want your bare ass in my hands right now or we're not doing this tonight"—I shoved my hand down her panties and flicked her clit hard—"or any other night."
"What the fuck was that?" Brooke wailed.
"Exactly what you want," I replied, forcing her jeans down to her knees.
She yanked the vest open, sending at least one button flying across the room as it snapped free of the thread. I had her sweater over her head and off while she worked my shirt open. "Why the fuck did you stop wearing long-sleeved thermals?" she yelled. "You know, the ones without buttons? You used to wear those thermals every damn day unless it was summer, but no, you had to go and complicate your life with buttons."
