The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(53)

That low, rough voice, she thought, closing her eyes. It got to her, every time. It said she was special in his life, that he cared. But that wasn’t true. She’d blown that. “Well, I’m not sure how many drinks equals happiness, but so far it’s not two.” She pulled her hand free. “And anyway, the real question is, what are you doing?”

“Being your wingman.” He stood, tossed down some cash, and gestured with a chin jerk toward the door.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not going anywhere with you. And you suck as a wingman.”

“I know. And I lied about being your wingman. You’re not sleeping with a stranger tonight, Brooke.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not sleeping with you.”

“Why not?” His usually sharp eyes were softer now as they met hers and held. “I’m a sure thing, and you know I’m good.”

Her lady bits tingled at the remembered truth of that statement, which annoyed her to no end. Her lady bits were not in charge here. “I’m not going to be your pity fuck.”

That got her a smile. “I’m feeling a lot of things, Brooke. But pity isn’t one of them.” And then he tugged her out into the night.





Chapter 11


“Grilled cheese sandwiches are life.”

In the time since Brooke had arrived at Whiskey River, the night had gone dark and windy. As Garrett walked her out, a heavy gust knocked her right into him. “Oops, sorry,” she started, but the words backed up in her throat as he used her momentum against her, his arms closing around her.

And damn, if he didn’t smell amazing. She sucked some of it in before she could catch herself.

In response, he blinked lazily and smiled, practically a sex act all in itself, and she pointed at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

Uh-huh. “We’re not like that, remember? And I have plans for the night.”

“You still do.” Leaning in, he put his mouth to her ear. “Me.”

She laughed. She might be halfway drunk—and at least two inches shorter just from melting for him—but she hadn’t lost her memory. “I don’t think you understand exactly what my plans are.”

“Actually, you made them quite clear.”

She pushed him back a step and turned to walk across the parking lot, proud of herself for two things: resisting Garrett, and her ability to walk a straight line. Halfway across the asphalt, the sky let loose and started dumping.

She was drenched in seconds.

At her side, Garrett did his best to shield her with his body as he nudged her into the passenger seat of his truck. When the doors were shut, she sat there, dripping water everywhere, gasping at the shock of it. Garrett jogged around and slid behind the wheel.

“The entire night’s out to get me,” she said.

Garrett turned to face her, just as drenched. He stared at her for a long beat. “I’ve handled this all wrong from the start. I’ve handled you wrong.”

“Please,” she scoffed, looking away so he couldn’t see the unmistakable thrill that zipped through her at the thought of being “handled” by him. “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

He gave a rough laugh and leaned in, tipping her face up before brushing his mouth to hers. Not a kiss, exactly. A pledge, with his intense dark eyes locked on hers, his voice serious. “You wanted something tonight.”

“Yes. Mindless sex.”

“I’m on board with that.”

“Have you forgotten you don’t want me, not ever again?”

“I’ve wanted you from day one, Brooke. What I don’t want are the games.”

She had no comeback for that. “So what do you want?”

“Same thing as you,” he said quietly, stroking a finger along her temple, tucking a wet strand of hair from her face.

Mindless sex.

For the night.

It was what she’d told him, and the thought of being with him was admittedly a thrill, and also a comfort, because there was no doubt they were extremely compatible in bed. In fact, in bed was where they’d done their best work. The question was, once morning came, could she walk away from him again?

GARRETT HELD HIS breath on Brooke’s response. She was in a pair of white shorts that were killing him, and in a gift from the gods, her cute little top, which had started out the night as pale peach, was now sheer, revealing a thin nude bra that might as well not exist at all.

He’d spent much of his high school years fantasizing about seeing Brooke Lemon naked, and then his wild early twenties making that a reality, and still, he never got tired of looking at her. Once upon a time he’d loved her so much it’d been painful. And now . . . now he had nothing in his heart for her. Or so he’d been telling himself. But the truth was, he’d merely bricked and mortared around the poor beleaguered organ. If she blasted her way through those walls he’d built in self-protection, he had no idea how he’d survive Hurricane Brooke II. It was a good thing, then, that he had zero delusions of her sticking around.

She still hadn’t spoken, but when her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, he knew he had her. They reached for each other at the exact same moment. He lifted her over the center console, adjusting her so that she straddled him, and there in the dark, ambient lighting, they stared at each other as the storm went crazy outside. He had the feeling it was about to get just as crazy inside.