Chapter 3
The ding of Brennan’s phone broke the awkward silence as they were finishing some delicious chocolate ripple ice cream for dessert.
His ability to speak had vanished after he’d almost kissed her.
He’d been sucked in—willingly—to her orbit and still been distracted when he’d heard her exclamation.
Seeing her drop the match and shake her finger, had once again flicked his protector switch, though not as dramatically as earlier.
Holding her hand, the feel of her skin under his fingers, and the physical closeness had bumped him back from protector to man.
Her lips had been slightly parted, her breath uneven.
When the tip of her tongue had darted out to moisten her lips, he’d just about given in. Until the lights had flickered.
He pulled up the text and inwardly groaned.
Definitely stuck for the night. Sorry, bro. Storm’s not eased yet and it’s not safe to send out a crew to clear it.
Not that Brennan didn’t already suspect that.
His boss had given him a heads-up earlier.
He’d also confirmed only one location of a downed tree had been reported on Adams Road, which had reignited Brennan’s suspicions.
If he wasn’t mistaken, his family seemed intent on him staying here with Evie.
Did Lacey want him out here for more than just chauffeuring her friend?
Was it possible she’d be happy if something happened between him and Evie?
“No miracles tonight.” He showed Evie Rowan’s text. “You’re stuck with me.”
Evie nodded slowly. “I’ll take the couch.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Brennan—”
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “Aside from the fact that would severely disappoint my mother, not to mention provoke her anger, I’m not kicking you out of your bed. I’m already invading your space.”
“But—”
“No buts. The couch will be fine.” He could sleep anywhere. A necessity in his line of work when he was sleeping in a dorm-type room with half a dozen or more men with varying degrees of snoring, groaning, or other sounds in their sleep. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”
“Want to bet on that?”
Brennan blinked. There’d been a shift in her with the question, a slow smile spreading on her lips, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what that meant. “Bet? About?”
“I’ve slept on that couch. Or at least tried. It is not made to sleep on, especially for someone your height. I’ll bet you won’t make it through the night. More to the point, you really won’t sleep well.”
“If I can?” Considering she was going to be barely twenty feet away in the corner she’d blocked off with bookshelves and called her ‘bedroom’, he doubted the size of the couch would cause him a sleepless night. His fantasies, though? That was a different story.
“I’ll let you inspect the cabin and the studio for fire hazards.”
He wasn’t usually a betting man, but that? That was tempting. On one condition. “Only if it includes you following instructions and having no veto rights on any of the things I tell you to fix.”
“Forget it.” Her head tilted, her expression thoughtful. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
That feeling when the wave is coming and there’s nothing you can do to get out of its way? When you know it’s going to take you under? It was racing toward him faster than a firestorm in a tinder-dry forest with the wind at its back.
“Well, it might depend on what I would get if I win.”
“What do you want?” The words were out before he could think. The flush on her cheeks intrigued him. “Do you have something particular in mind?”
“I’m taking a life drawing class and there’s an assignment.” Evie paused for a moment before adding, “I need a model.”
“Life drawing as in…” Oh boy. Not what he was expecting.
“As in, I need to draw someone.”
“Naked?” Brennan swallowed. He slammed the door shut on the image of what might happen if she was naked too.
“No!” Evie buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook. From what, he couldn’t tell. Maybe laughter. What would it take to get her to laugh? He’d heard it before, but he’d never caused it. He wanted to cause it.
“No.” She lifted her head. “Shirtless would do it. I need to be able to see the muscles and structure. The shadows and valleys and… Never mind.” She rose and gathered the bowls.
“So.” Brennan grinned. “She does want me naked.” Oh hell! Where had those words come from? Not just thinking them, but that they actually made it out of his mouth around this woman?
Evie turned and glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”
In the space of a heartbeat, her glare morphed into something wicked and that feeling of being in over his head came roaring back.
“But,” she added with a wink, “if you want to, I won’t say no.”
As Brennan sat there, stunned into silence by the bomb she’d dropped on him, Evie turned away and waltzed into the kitchen.
He was playing with fire, a particularly pretty one, in a way that was much more suited to his brothers Rhett and Corbin.
Rhett could charm any woman just by breathing.
It was natural and sweet, and most of the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Corbin, on the other hand, had learned to flirt and used it to his advantage frequently.
But Brennan? Eldest, most responsible, and let’s not forget shyest of the brood?
Nope. That was not him. And yet, something in him had enjoyed the back and forth, as brief as it was, he’d just had with Evie.
A crash and the sound of shattering had him out of his chair and at the entrance to the kitchen in moments.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
With a practiced glance, Brennan quickly assessed the situation and the danger. Spiky shards of the broken bowls littered the small kitchen floor all around Evie’s bare feet.
When had she taken off her boots? There was a scratch along the top of her foot, complete with a trickle of blood. Nothing that should need any more medical skills than he had.
“Where’s the broom?” he asked.
“Beside the fridge.”
It was the quietness of her voice that snagged his attention.
The look on her face, her eyes brimming with tears, and the quivering bottom lip struck like multiple daggers to his heart.
He retrieved the broom and made short work of sweeping all the shards to a safe spot before moving to her.
Cleaning up was secondary to finding out what was wrong.
With his hands on her waist, Brennan lifted her straight up onto the nearest clean countertop. One hand settled on her hip, the other cupped her jaw and tilted her head so he could see into her still-tear-filled eyes.
“Evie, where else are you hurt?”
She shook her head, and a lone tear ran down her cheek. “I’m not hurt.”
“Your foot’s bleeding. Not much, but…” That shouldn’t warrant tears. “Why are you crying?”
She reached up and swiped at the tears on her other cheek.
He caught her hand, and—he had no idea what possessed him—brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her fingers.
Her eyes widened, and the pain there slipped to the shadows, replaced by surprise and, if he wasn’t mistaken, desire.
Her mouth made a little ‘o’ shape that was incredibly tempting, but he managed to hold on to a sliver of control and not give in.
“Talk to me. Please.” He released her hand, somewhat reluctantly, and then wiped the remaining tears from cheeks even softer than he’d imagined.
“The bowls,” Evie whispered. “They were my grandmother’s. And they were the last two.”
Brennan pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used them.”
“No.” Evie shook her head, reached for his hand, and squeezed it. “No. I always use them. I would’ve tonight, too. It’s not your fault. I just… I’m clumsy. I’m surprised they’ve lasted as long as they have.” She shrugged. “Not your fault,” she finished softly.
“You were close to her?” He didn’t know when he’d done it, but their fingers were now threaded together, and he couldn’t help but register how perfectly they fit.
Evie nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
While Brennan still had both sets of grandparents, he knew what it was like to lose someone close to you. The pain still flared with thoughts of his father, and he doubted that would change anytime soon. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze dropped to their fingers, and after a moment, she pulled hers from his and swiped at her cheeks again.
He stepped back to give them both some space.
The sad emotions rolling off her, combined with the scent of her sweet, yet subtle floral perfume, were dangerous to his self-control, especially given how close he’d already come tonight.
“First aid kit?”
“Under the sink.”
Putting his entire focus on the task at hand was what he needed to do.
This was what he was good at. Helping people.
He found the surprisingly well-stocked kit and came back to her.
Retrieving the necessary supplies with only mildly shaking hands, he forced himself into firefighter mode.
Focus. Distraction. Anything, within reason, to keep the patient calm and working with him rather than against. That he could do.