The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(31)

Without answering, he turned off the hose and then looked her over, not above clearly enjoying his handiwork as his eyes went from amused to . . . something else, something that heated her up. “You’re cold.”

Sure. Let him think that. It was safer than the truth.

With a shake of his head, he took her hand and led her across the yards to his back deck. He lifted the lid of his hot tub, his soaked shirt sticking to the muscles of his shoulders and back as he moved. He hit the jets and the steamy water began to gently swirl.

Then he crooked a finger at her.

The water looked amazing, but her inner BAD IDEA alarm was blaring.

“The temp’s set at one hundred,” he said. “Not ninety-nine. Not one hundred and one. One hundred.”

She bit her lower lip. The man certainly knew how to speak her language.

“We’ve done this before,” he pointed out.

True, but at her parents’ house. They’d hot-tubbed several times, in fact, all of them late, late at night—and without any clothes. “Is this a come-on?” she asked.

He laughed.

Okay, fine, it wasn’t. Suddenly irritated down to her frozen little toes, she yanked off her shirt, shoved down her jeans, and then checked the jets, turning the knob off and then back on. And then again. Finally satisfied, she climbed into the hot tub in her extremely plain white sports bra and matching bikini panties. Yeah, great way to make an impression. And yes, she’d have liked to make an impression. She wanted him to take one look at her and die of wanting. But then she glanced at him and nearly swallowed her tongue.

He stood still as stone, eyes hot and locked on her.

Feeling vindicated, she gestured at his clothes.

He pulled his shirt off, leaving him in just low-slung jeans that had slipped so low on his lean hips, they were a few inches past decent. Sweet mother of God. The unexpected urge to nibble every inch of him as if he were an all-you-can-eat fried chicken special nearly overcame her. But—as of right this very minute—she no longer gave in to her questionable impulses, so she carefully rolled her tongue back into her mouth and played it cool, cocking her head. “Problem?” she asked. “Worried about shrinkage from the water?”

“We both know I have nothing to worry about.”

She snorted as he shucked the jeans, and then she was hit with déjà vu, flashing back to a long ago time when she’d been in her parents’ hot tub. She’d had the place to herself that night and had made margaritas. She’d been soaking in the tub, drinking the margaritas right out of the pitcher and listening to music loud enough to affect her heart rate. Or she’d thought it was the music, but in hindsight, it was undoubtedly the sight of Garrett coming upon her and joining her party of one, executing a playful striptease for her.

He’d thrown his clothing over his shoulder one piece at a time as he’d stripped. Which had made it a lot of fun when her parents came home early and Garrett had been forced to run around like a wild man to collect his clothes and shove them back onto his wet—and hard—body.

In the here and now, he slid that body into the water and sat across from her, eyes dark and filled with things she could no longer read.

“Your dad nearly kicked my ass that night,” he mused with a small smile, apparently having no trouble reading her thoughts.

“He’s a foot shorter than you and probably a good hundred pounds heavier,” she said dryly. “I think you could’ve taken him.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. They both knew he’d never lay a finger on anyone in anger, especially her father, who’d been incredibly kind to him while Garrett was growing up.

Speaking of her parents, the phone she’d set on the edge of the tub rang. Sliding Garrett—and his wet, broad shoulders and chest and tousled hair—a long look, she slid a finger across the screen and answered on speaker. “Hey, Mom.”

“You’re home in Wildstone?”

“Yep. Helping out Mindy for a few days.” Or a damn week . . .

“That’s so sweet of you. When she was here in Palm Springs, I suggested she do yoga during the day and wine at night, but I imagine having her sister in Wildstone is better than all of that. She’s missed you, Brooke. We all have.”

She squirmed a little and stared at the phone rather than the man watching her. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I mean it, honey. I hope you know how important you are to all of us. I know you’ve pulled back, and I’m sure you have your reasons for that, but I’m glad you’re there. I just wish we weren’t six hours away.”

Uncomfortable with the emotions in her throat, she shrugged, but of course her mom couldn’t see the gesture.

“Brooke?”

Avoiding Garrett’s gaze, she said softly, “I’m here.”

“We’d love to come see you.”

“‘We’?”

“Your dad and me. We’re . . . working things out again, and it’s going well.”

Because of their smoothie shops, her parents were local celebrities of a sort, and if they came to town, it’d be a nightmare for poor Mindy. “That’s nice, but don’t worry about making the trip,” she said. “I’ll come to you when I leave here.”

“Promise?”

She crossed her fingers. “Yep!”