3. Combustion Chamber
THREE
COMBUSTION CHAMBER
Holt
Unbelievable.
That’s what that woman is—unbelievable. I bang my hand on the wall of the elevator, hoping to release some of my anger.
There I was, trying to be a gentleman, a good guy , making sure she gets home okay, and she acts like not taking advantage of her whilecomatose is a personal insult. Or that I’m gay.
Who thinks like that?
Okay, I may have gotten a bit defensive about the whole thing because Jules caught me staring at her body.
Her wonderfully toned and naked body. But what is a guy supposed to do after having that body grind all over him the night before?
I mean, my God, she put on her masturbation soundtrack and stripped!
The memory of Jules peeling her tight black leather pants off and kicking them to the side has me adjusting the crotch of my own pants.
I closed my eyes after that. Honestly. For most of it.
But what I did see, like that tiny black lace bra and thong, will be forever imprinted on my mind. And my dick.
The elevator doors open to the underground garage and I stomp over to my pickup truck while fishing in my pocket for my keys.
It’s an old truck, nothing fancy. But it gets me around the ranch and I don’t have to worry about all the nicks and scratches that come with a hard day’s work.
Flynn is always trying to convince me to upgrade.
And though my baby brother is damn good at what he does, I don’t get the need to upgrade, replace and soup everything up just because you can.
I insert the key, pop the lock, and haul my ass into the seat.
I get the truck started, because even in the fall, it’s too hot to sit in an enclosed car in Texas with no a/c.
Once I feel the cold air on my face, I drop my head back against the seat.
Deep breaths. That’s what I need.
I’ve always been the cool-headed West sibling.
I rarely, if ever, get riled up over anything.
Flynn is the charmer. Rose, the firecracker.
And I’m the calm in the storm. I’ve always liked my steadiness, even when my brother and sister call me boring.
My even-keeled nature allowed us to stay together as a family after our parents died.
It helped the ranch get out of the red for the first time in a decade, making it a profitable business rather than a tax write-off side project for oil barons.
So why the heck am I about to rip the steering wheel off the dash?
It doesn’t make sense. In fact, a lot of my thoughts and actions haven’t made sense since Jules floated past the TV camera wearing baggy cargo pants and a wrinkled polo shirt.
That day, standing in a bar in Clear Lake, I should’ve been focused on my brother, trying to make up for old mistakes, but instead my eyes were glued to the screen, where Jules called Jackie a hooker while lighting up the whole dang bar from a million miles away with a flirtatious smile and a mass of corkscrew curls.
“Ugh.” I bounce my head against the seat. That smile should’ve been a warning sign. I don’t do flirts. Women who are always giving away smiles can’t be trusted. My mother taught me that. And Julie Starr’s smiles, while freaking fantastic, are freely given—and all the more suspect because of it.
Settling in my seat, I grab my gear shift, only for my phone to ring.
Pulling it out of my back pocket, ready to silence the stupid thing, my brother’s name on the screen stops me.
After all, Flynn is the reason I drove down to Clear Lake last night in the first place.
Not the wickedly sexy brunette in leather pants.
I slide my thumb across the phone. “What’s up, Flynn?”
“Hey, big brother.” Flynn’s tone is amused enough to put me on alert. “A little birdie told me that you never made it back to the ranch last night.”
Another long, slow breath escapes. Rose.
“And since you aren’t crashing in my guest bedroom, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You know, just one brother looking out for the other and all.”
“Shut it, Flynn.”
But my younger brother just chuckles. And that should annoy me, but it doesn’t. I’ve missed the casual needling and exasperation that only a younger brother can give you.
“Jackie just got off the phone with Jules,” Flynn continues in a singsong voice any man should be embarrassed to use. “Nothing happened, according to her.” He snorts. “Seems like you played the gentleman last night? You always did fancy yourself the knight in shining armor.”
“Not always so shiny though, huh?” The words escape me without thinking, and I tense.
Flynn and I had one brief conversation about what happened, if you can call three or four sentences a conversation.
I know guys don’t like to harp on emotions, but it seems like a longer conversation should be had when explaining why you slept with your younger brother’s ex-girlfriend. Even if it was for his own good.
Flynn sighs, some of the amusement fading from his voice. “You gotta let that go, Holt. I did.”
“You sure?” I can’t help but ask and I hate myself for it. I’m the big brother, I shouldn’t be doing things I need to ask forgiveness for. I’m the one who’s supposed to be setting an example.
“Yeah, man. Your heart was in the right place, even if your dick wasn’t.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s sick, man.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t make it less true. Besides, if I weren’t over it, would I ask you to be my best man?”
I blink for a moment, trying to make sense of what he said. I turn down the blasting a/c, just in case I misheard.
“What’d you say?”
“I’m getting married, brother.”
“Well I’ll be damned.” My voice is tight, and I clear my throat to get rid of the lump blocking my words.
But that doesn’t stop the sting behind my eyes.
“Congratulations, man. Who knew the grease monkey could rein in a classy act like Jackie? You let her see you ride a horse again?” Thanks to Rose, I knew a lot about my brother’s girl.
A lot that I wish I didn’t. Including her fetish for cowboys.
“Maybe.” He laughs. “In all seriousness, though, you going to be my best man or what, dickhead?”
“Since you asked me so nice…”
“Fuck you. I’m not even asking anymore. You’re my best man. End of story.”
I chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’d be honored.”
“Yeah, you will. Especially when I tell you who the maid of honor is.”
Oh no. Please no. Not after last night.
“Julie Starr, astronaut extraordinaire. And the damsel in distress you saved last night.”
An image flashes of Jules’ toned abs rolling to the beat of her sex music. The feeling of her naked body moving next to mine in bed and not being able to do a damn thing about the hard-on from hell. Damsel in distress? Yeah, if anyone had been in distress, it was me.
I let loose a long groan and drop my forehead on the steering wheel.
“What’s the matter, Holt? Last night not go as you planned?” The jerk still sounds amused.
I stay silent, trying to calm my thoughts.
“Well, don’t you worry. Jackie has detailed instructions. She even has charts and shit with agendas and daily planners for you and Jules.”
“Say what?”
“You know my girl, she’s thorough.” I can hear the smile in Flynn’s voice.
“Jackie has a lot on her plate right now, with transitioning from Mission Control specialist into astronaut training. But things are only going to get crazier once she gets assigned a mission. We need to make this wedding happen in a month or two.”
“A month? Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m a guy, man. What do I know about weddings?”
“You may not know about weddings, but you do own the ranch, and Jackie has her heart set on having it there.” He pauses. “If that’s okay with you?”
I’m having trouble keeping up. Jules, agendas, the ranch…my gut is telling me that this is not going to end well.
“Listen man, if you’d rather not?—”
I snap out of my fog. “Don’t even say it. I’m all in. The ranch is yours. Whatever you need.”
This is my brother. The boy I helped raise. My whole life is devoted to making sure he and Rose have everything they need. Even when what they need had Flynn refusing to speak to me for a while. If my baby brother wants me to help with his wedding, I’ll not only help, but I’ll freaking like it.
“Great. And if you need any tips on how to smooth-talk the ladies…”
“Shut it.”
I click the side button to cancel the call, but not before I hear Flynn’s loud laughter coming through the phone.
Jules
After gulping down another cup of coffee, chased with ice water to soothe my torched throat, I get my laptop from my backpack and boot up. It takes quite a few minutes, as it’s a government laptop and I have to wade through security protocols before I can even check my email.
My phone lights up with new notifications while I’m waiting, so I pick it up, thinking it’s Jackie posting something about her engagement.
I’m wrong. I hate being wrong in general, but I hate it even more when the reason my Twitter and Instagram accounts have pinged is because I’ve gotten more of those damn private messages. Private messages filled with pictures that have my stomach churning over the acidic coffee from a moment ago.
I go through, looking at one after another. Five of them this time. Three more than yesterday, and four more than the day before that.
My finger hovers over the delete button, but I stop myself. Instead, I go into settings and turn off private messages for each account.
Part of me knows I need to tell Human Resources about this. I’m a public figure. Basically a government asset. I know the right thing to do is tell them. Unfortunately, I also know what the outcome will be. They’ll ground me to protect me until they figure out who’s sending me this crap.
I don’t have time for that. I can’t be a public relations liability when I’m this close to commander.
And especially now that I’m in charge of Jackie’s wedding. This is her time. Her day.