I followed her directions upstairs, pleased when she led me to the primary bedroom instead of one of the smaller rooms she’d likely used as a child. Claiming Otis and Lottie’s room meant she had already begun making the house hers. Later, when I was sleeping in that bed with her, there wouldn’t be a conversation about where we belonged.
I set her on her feet at the doorway because stepping inside would’ve snapped what little remained of my restraint, then curled my hand around her nape and kissed her one last time.
She leaned into me, but I ended it before the kiss caught fire, dragging my thumb beneath her swollen lower lip. “Lock the door after me.”
A lock wouldn’t keep me away from her if I was really determined, but hopefully, it would stop me long enough to remember my common sense.
“Why?”
“Just do it, baby.”
Her shy smile appeared. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Liar.”
She huffed, but her smile widened. “Good night, Brogan.”
Hearing the name almost pulled me through the doorway. “Sleep well, baby.”
She closed the door softly behind her, and I stood in the hall long enough to hear the lock click. After showering, checking the camera feeds, speaking with Hawkeye about the rotations, and inspecting the ground-floor doors and windows, I went to the spare room across from hers. Sleep took its time, and it offered no mercy.
I dreamed of Jacqueline naked across the kitchen table, her long hair spilling over the edge while I knelt between her open thighs. I held her hips still and licked her until her sweet voice turned hoarse around my name, then rose over her and pushed my cock into her slick, tight heat one slow inch at a time.
I woke to sweat cooled across my chest and my erection aching. But I stayed where I was because control mattered most when every part of a man wanted to abandon it. The spare room was temporary, and so was every inch of space between us. When I finally put Jacqueline beneath me, there would be no grief, fear, or uncertainty left for either of us to mistake for desire.
7
JACQUELINE
Iwoke to the smell of fresh coffee and the low, rhythmic sound of tools coming from the back of the house. It took me a moment to remember where I was—back on the ranch, but without Grandpa because he was gone. I’d only slept in my grandparents’ bed when there had been a big storm that scared me as a kid. This was the first time I’d had the room all to myself, and I’d thought maybe I would feel weird about it. But after everything that had happened last night, I’d quickly fallen asleep.
Feeling well rested, I climbed off the mattress and headed into the en suite bathroom to get ready for my day. Then I snagged one of Grandpa’s old flannel shirts to throw over my sleep shorts and cami.
Following the sounds, I padded into the kitchen and found Brogan crouched by the back door. Tools were lined up around him, and his black T-shirt was stretched tightly across his broad shoulders as he worked on replacing the lock.
Just being in the kitchen with him again made me think about last night’s kiss, making warmth flood my cheeks. He glanced up, and heat flickered in his steel-gray eyes. But at leasthe didn’t comment on my sleep-rumpled state or how I was blushing.
“Good morning,” I managed, reaching for a mug to give myself an excuse to look away from his intense stare. “Are you up early because you need to head to work soon?”
“Priorities,” he grunted, turning back to the door and continuing to work.
Realizing that one word was all the answer I was going to get, I leaned against the counter. I should probably be annoyed at how naturally he was taking over my house, but I was too busy enjoying the bunching of his muscles as he moved with easy confidence.
The man had shown up intending to buy my ranch out from under me, and now he seemed determined to repair every minor issue in the place. I wasn’t sure what to think about how quickly he’d shifted gears, except that it made him even more attractive. There was something about a man who was dead set on making your life better that was irresistible. Especially when it was Brogan.
But that didn’t stop me from interrupting an hour later when he got to work on the porch step, prying up a rotten board with a crowbar while I hovered nearby. “You really don’t have to do this. I can call someone.”
He didn’t even pause. “Got it handled.”
I watched him measure, cut, and secure a new board in place, his big hands moving with precision. When he needed a second pair of hands to hold the board level, I knelt beside him without being asked. Our fingers brushed as I passed him a screw, sending a little jolt through me.
Later, while he mounted a camera on the frame next to the new storm door he’d already installed, I brought him a glass of iced tea. “Brogan, seriously. This isn’t your job.”
His steel-gray eyes met mine over the rim as he drank. “It is now.”
