The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(57)

“So you’ll let me give you an orgasm, but not walk you home?” “Let’s be honest. It was a whole bunch of orgasms.” She paused and gave him a reluctant smile. “And they were very nice.”

“They were a lot more than nice.”

This was true. There was actually nothing nice about what he’d done to her. Erotic, yes, with moments of tenderness and affection and a whole lot of delicious, dirty, wicked intent.

“So what now?” he asked.

“I told you. I’m going next door.”

“Interesting that you never call it ‘home.’”

“You want the truth?” she asked.

“Always.”

It was an uncomfortable reminder that there was plenty she hadn’t been honest about, and he knew it. But she was tired, and that always left her feeling vulnerable, which meant her mouth spoke without permission from her brain. “I thought this would be a lot easier. I thought I’d come here, help Mindy, face you and my past, deal with it, and then go back to LA feeling like a new woman. I thought I’d get my old job back and prove to myself that I could conquer my fears.” She shook her head. “But I still feel . . . lost. I don’t know where home is anymore.”

He stared at her for a beat and then gave a slow, understanding nod. “I get that.”

Thanks to his rough childhood, she knew he did, and remembering that softened her. Going up on her tiptoes, she brushed a kiss on his sexily unshaven jaw. “I’ll see you.”

Sliding his hands to her hips, he turned his head and caught her mouth with his.

Instant desire—disturbing because she’d thought the long, sensually charged night they’d just shared would’ve been enough. But she was starting to worry she would never get enough.

A knock at his front door surprised them both. Brooke began to pull back, but Garrett tightened his hold. “Ignore it,” he purred in the same wicked, should-be-illegal voice he’d used in the deep dark of the night.

The knock came again. “What if it’s Mindy or the kids needing something?”

Expelling a deep breath, he headed out of the bedroom and down the hall. She followed, thinking that no man should look that good in a pair of dangerously low-slung Levi’s and nothing else. “Uh . . . you might want to button those . . .”

He reached down to do just that, and if possible looked even more sexy as he opened the door. Since she’d stopped at the bottom of the stairs and out of sight, she couldn’t see who it was, only Garrett’s reaction. His broad shoulders froze for a beat and then, casual as you please, he leaned up against the doorjamb, hands sliding into his pockets, saying nothing.

“You probably weren’t expecting me,” a man said.

Garrett didn’t budge. Still casual. Still calm. “I stopped expecting you before I knew the meaning of the word,” he said.

Brooke stayed where she was, trapped between the social nicety of not wanting to intrude on something that was none of her business and her own damn insatiable curiosity.

“I know it’s been a long time,” the man said. “I also know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I’ve changed my life, turned it around.” He paused, and when Garrett still didn’t speak, he went on. “Been out of prison a year now. Asked around about you, and was told you were living here.”

Holy shit. It was Garrett’s dad. His mom had died when he was young. Gary, his dad, hadn’t been around in years. At one point he’d been the town handyman, usually a drunk one. He’d been in and out of jail for petty theft, which was how Garrett had ended up in foster homes, and not always good ones, not until he landed in this house with Ann.

“Wow,” Garrett said in an unimpressed voice. “A whole year this time.”

Brooke still didn’t move, but now for another reason entirely. Garrett hated the guy. No way was she going anywhere if there was a chance he’d need her. Though in what universe he’d ever need her, she had no idea.

“Yeah.” His dad cleared his throat. “And I’ve realized some things. I’m only as big as my last mistake.”

“Ah,” Garrett said, his voice expressionless. “The power of AA in prison.”

“Fifteen months sober,” his dad said, sounding proud. “I’m looking to pick up some small jobs while I’m here, if you hear of anything.”

Garrett didn’t speak.

“Okay,” his dad said into the awkward silence. “Well . . . here’s my number. I was hoping we could try to get to know each other. Family is family, right?”

“You haven’t wanted to be family in . . . well, ever,” Garrett said. “You left when I was eight years old to do a bunch of stupid shit. Eight, Dad, and all on my own. You really expect me to want to get to know you now?”

“I was hoping. I mean, I don’t expect forgiveness, or anything like that. Forgiveness is a gift, one that has to be freely given or it has no value.”

“Yeah, and here’s the thing,” Garrett said. “I’m not interested. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again.” He shut the door, turned, and saw Brooke at the bottom of the stairs, clearly eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I’m just—”