Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(22)

“Aaron snores.”

Belmont’s monosyllabic announcement startled a laugh out of her. “Is that what you’re doing out here?”

He rolled his massive shoulders.

Rita folded and unfolded the hem of her shirt. “I think Peggy might have a broken heart and we never realized it.”

Her brother’s frown was ferocious, but he didn’t comment.

“I mean, I don’t know why we would know. We never see each other to find out these things. They just come out during an argument or on the Internet,” she said. “I like knowing Aaron snores.”

Belmont grunted, but she knew that meant: Why?

“It means he’s flawed. I’m going to think about it next time he calls my soufflé decent.” She picked at her shoelaces. “Just big old, window-shaking snores.”

“It was a good soufflé.”

That brought her head up. “You were watching?”

Another grunt.

Pleasure ran circles around her rib cage. “I probably shouldn’t be happy you witnessed my almost knife attack,” she said, rubbing the toes of her boots together. “But it’s nice to know…someone was rooting for me.”

Headlights illuminated the parking lot and Belmont’s easy demeanor vanished. His hands clenched into tight fists, body tensing as if preparing for a fight. Before she could question herself, Rita reached over and laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder—and he jerked like she’d burned him, dislodging her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, alarm replacing the pride she’d felt a few seconds prior. Time moved very slowly as the car pulled into a parking spot about fifty yards away and an older gentleman got out, ambling toward the motel, a fast-food bag tucked into the crook of his arm. It seemed very important that they not move or be noticed, so relief washed over Rita when one of the motel doors opened and shut behind them.

Belmont didn’t relax right away; it happened in degrees. His hands flexed and dropped to his knees, where they rested. His barrel chest rose as he drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not out here because Aaron snores. The walls feel too close.”

He looked irritated with himself for having revealed that. Rita could see him already beginning to clam up again and rushed to insert a wedge. “Is that why you live on the boat? No walls…”

Belmont stood abruptly. “If I’m not here when you wake up, I’m at the garage.”

Rita came to her feet as well, although much more slowly. “Okay.” Neither one of them moved. “Go ahead inside. I’m going to sit here a while.”

Her brother shook his head no and pointed at the motel. “You go inside first.”

The protectiveness was simultaneously annoying and—nice. Usually, all the macho brotherly instincts were reserved for Peggy, and while it felt odd to be on the receiving end, it wasn’t so bad. She was pretty sure her eye roll wasn’t very convincing as she passed him, clomping toward the motel. Her spirits dipped again, however, when she turned to wave good night to Belmont and saw that the faraway look was back in his eyes.

Had the road trip been a mistake? Her older brother was obviously suffering some sort of anxiety over being in unfamiliar surroundings. She’d pushed Peggy away—maybe even farther than before—when her sister had only been attempting to help. And Jasper—now that the worst of her embarrassment had cooled, she remembered the way his voice had vibrated with emotion when he’d called himself the town tramp. It hadn’t been male ego talking or some kind of joke. It bothered him. Instead of being remembered fondly, she’d be the girl who stopped in Hurley long enough to prod his demons.

Shroud of doom strikes again.

A sigh left her. She couldn’t do anything about Jasper now. They were leaving in the morning.

Rita ignored the discomfort in her chest and turned to find Belmont leaning up against the motel wall, arms crossed as if keeping guard. Maybe she couldn’t do anything about repairing the rift between her and Jasper, but she could try to make the remainder of this road trip better for Belmont.

When she pushed open the door, Rita found Peggy applying night cream in the bathroom. Rita cleared her throat. “So…about Sage…”





Chapter Eleven



What do you mean it’s the wrong part?”

Rita resisted the urge to whistle under her breath at Aaron’s tone. She’d never heard him exhibit such leashed rage before. Usually it just came out in a well-articulated rant or he shook the issue off as unimportant. Now? In this part of the country, she believed they called it fit to be tied.

They were standing outside Stan’s Auto Body with their luggage, morning sun clear and bright as it beat down on their heads. The Suburban was still tucked safely inside the garage, like a shy dragon hiding from its owners. For Stan’s part, he appeared to be taking Aaron’s anger in stride, sipping from a tiny carton of Tropicana while her brother paced.

“We can’t be stuck here another day. How does this even happen?” Aaron visibly reined himself in, managing a twenty-dollar version of his million-dollar smile. “Not that Hurley isn’t peachy as shit, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

Peggy flopped down onto Belmont’s canvas bag. “Technically, one day isn’t going to kill us. You don’t need to be in Iowa for another week.”