The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(33)

“Well, for starters,” she said, “you’re wearing black knit boxers with bananas on them.”

This made him laugh outright. “Someone sent me a subscription box,” he said. “They come once a month. Last month’s pair had cocks all over them.”

“Like chickens, or . . . ?”

“If you’re curious, I’d be happy to wear them tomorrow and give you a peek.”

“Whatever,” she said. “But the fact that some woman sent you a subscription to undies is another reason I’m not feeling it. I bet you’ve stayed friends with every single person you’ve ever met.”

“And that’s a fault?”

She shrugged. Of course it wasn’t a fault. It was the opposite of a fault. “Well, except for me, of course.”

“Because you don’t answer phone calls, texts, emails . . .”

Oh. Right.

He tilted his head. “Tell me something.”

Oh boy. “What?”

“What’s that Cole guy to you?”

“I told you, he’s my boss.”

“But you’re sleeping together,” he said, his hazel eyes holding hers prisoner. “Or you were.”

“How do you know that?”

“You just told me.”

Dammit. She crossed her arms over her chest. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like him like that.”

“Because you’re just not feeling it?” he asked mockingly.

“Funny.” She paused, painfully aware that he’d been far more open with her than she’d been with him. “As you may have noticed, I’m not good with letting people in.” She paused. “I seem to have a problem being emotionally vulnerable.”

Any residual humor faded from his eyes. “I know,” he said very quietly, no longer teasing. “Look, you waited seven years to tell me how you felt about the accident and the aftermath. I hate thinking of you facing what you did all by yourself.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“To you,” he said. “It was a long time ago to you. But I just found out, and I’m . . . reeling.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to say that and make you believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it again. I just don’t know what to do with the”—he shook his head, like he couldn’t find the words—“the hot mess of emotions inside me.”

She gave a sad smile. “Join my club. I’m still messed up.”

“You seem pretty together to me.”

“Hello, did you see how many times I had to turn the knob on the jets? I’m a walking wreck.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re as messed up as you think you are. I’ve seen you with the kids. You’re holding both your life and Mindy’s together.”

She thought he was giving her more credit than she deserved. “I hide behind my fears. But here’s me facing one of them. You asked me about Cole. And now I want to ask you about your girlfriend, the one you said you don’t have. The one who called you the other day for a hookup.”

“It wasn’t for a hookup,” he said. “She dumped me.”

This gave her an unexpected laugh. “Right. You expect me to believe a guy who looks like you do and is funny and smart like you are got dumped?”

“Yeah, I do.” He shifted close until they were knee to knee. “Because I’ve never lied to you, Brooke. Never will.”

She stared up at him, caught between memories and reality as somehow the gap between them closed. She felt a little dizzy from all they’d revealed to each other, but that didn’t stop her hands from going to his shoulders as his slid beneath the water to her hips, guiding her tightly into him so there was no space between them, not even for the water.

The air shimmered with steam and mist and a whole lot of memories that left her tense with longing and desire. Garrett leaned in and brushed a kiss to her lips, soft, sweet, before pulling back a fraction, pausing as they shared a breath. He lifted his gaze to hers for a questioning look before coming back for more.

Not soft this time, not sweet.

With a low moan, she gave herself up. He was at once familiar and entirely new to her and she breathed him in, touching everything she could reach, his chest and shoulders, the contours of his back, over and over again, forgetting to count in her head, forgetting to make it all even numbers. And he seemed to feel the same, creating trails of shivering heat from the inside out with his knowing hands.

His mouth was at her ear, his breathing ragged when he whispered his old nickname for her, the one he’d first called her in high school when she’d disturbed a beehive while climbing trees for fun.

“Bee.”

That was it—all he said, or rather growled out in a rough groan that spoke of reluctance and regret along with all the heat as he pulled back. “Okay, so, obviously the attraction between us is still there.”

Attraction. Combustion. Explosive combustion . . .

“The difference is that this time, we’re grown-ups,” he said. “Our eyes are open. This is a colossally bad idea for so many reasons, not the least of which is that you’re going back to LA any second, and then hoping to go back to your photography job, which will take you even farther away for who knows how long, correct?”