The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(32)

“So . . . catch me up. Are you seeing anyone?”

Brooke looked across the lazily rising steam at Garrett, who’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his arms spread on either side of him, resting out of the water on the edge of the hot tub. He looked . . . lickable. But at her mom’s question, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

“Gee, Mom,” she said. “We’ve got a bad connection—”

“Fine, you don’t want to talk about it. I’ll take that to mean you’re single. Are you ever going to settle down and have a family of your own?”

Brooke pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve started this conversation with the fact that I’ve recently updated my privacy policy. From now on, no one’s allowed to ask me about my future plans.”

“I’m your mother.”

“The rules apply to everyone.” Standing up, she turned her back on Garrett. “Oh, and would you look at that? One of the kids needs me, gotta go!”

“Brooke—”

She’d intended to hit disconnect, but two arms came around her. One braced on the edge of the tile at her hip. The other reached toward her phone and a single finger disconnected the call.

“If you told her the truth, she wouldn’t bring it up like that,” he said quietly. “And you wouldn’t keep getting hurt.” His other hand came down on the tile as well, effectively closing her in.

“Lying saves her from the pain.”

She could feel him shake his head in disapproval, but all he murmured was “Such a hot little liar,” his mouth nearly at her ear.

Her stomach quivered. Correction: The parts south of her stomach quivered. She worked really hard at not tilting her head to give him better access to the spot on her neck he used to kiss, lick, and nibble, the one that never failed to drive her wild. “Is that temperature hot, or—”

“Hotheaded,” came the low rumble of his voice. “Hot in your wet skivvies. Hot in a way that is very bad for me.”

She’d started to melt at the feel of his mouth teasing her skin, but at the “bad for me” part, her spine stiffened and she elbowed him in the gut.

Laughing deep in his throat, he backed off and sat back down, seemingly unaffected.

Not her. She glanced at herself to make sure he hadn’t magically melted off her bra and panties, because yes, he was just that good.

“The scar,” he said quietly. “That’s from—”

Her hands went to the spot low on her belly where the impact of the crash had done the most damage. The doctors had had to remove her spleen, part of her liver, and some intestine, and had also done their best to repair the damage done to her reproductive organs. “Yes.”

“It’s almost faded completely away.”

“Not enough, if you can see it,” she managed.

“I’ve got X-ray vision.”

She rolled her eyes. “And what about this . . .” She ran a finger along his wet, hard pec and the tat with the bold roman numerals that she wanted to nibble. “What’s this?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “A date,” he finally said.

“I figured.” She struggled to remember what she’d learned about roman numerals way back in high school. “What’s the significance?”

Another long pause, and she lifted her gaze to his. The emotion she saw there had her swallowing hard. “The date of the helicopter crash,” she whispered.

“The date I lost you,” he said. “And our baby.”

She couldn’t speak. Hell, she could hardly breathe. But she managed to shift a little closer, her fingers still on his smooth skin, the skin he’d marked for the loss of their baby.

“I hate that you went through that,” he said quietly.

She shook her head, having to swallow hard to speak. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you are.”

That hung in the air a moment while her heart went a little squishy in her chest. But going down that road wasn’t going to happen. Ever. One, he deserved a whole woman, one who could let him in and love him without baggage and hang-ups, and give him the kids she knew he wanted. And two . . . she couldn’t handle the pain of losing him a second time. She wouldn’t survive it.

Which meant she had to remove herself from the temptation. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“You mean time to run from me. But you don’t have to, you know. There’s no reason for there to be anything but honesty between us. We’re in a different place now, so there aren’t any expectations between us.”

A minute ago, she’d had to fight back tears. Now, suddenly, she was fighting the urge to strangle him. But that was all pride. Maybe he no longer wanted her, but she . . . damn. She still wanted him. “Don’t worry. I’m not feeling you, either.”

He did another of those annoying “yeah, right” brow raises, which made her even madder. “Hey,” she said, and poked a finger into his pec. His hard, ungiving, sexy pec. “If I was feeling it, you’d know.”

“How?” he challenged.

“I’d be . . .” She had to think about this. “Flirty. I certainly wouldn’t be thinking of all of your many, many faults.”

His mouth quirked. “And what are these so-called faults?”