Rather than allowing her to remove her T-shirt for Pepe, Jase had her change into one of his tanks. He liked seeing her in his clothes. A lot. She pulled down one strap. As Pepe labored on her shoulder and the back of her neck, she continually flinched.
Jase took her hand in his, squeezed. She squeezed back in wordless thanks and cast him a sweet smile.
“You’re doing great, honey. Better than I did.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you cry?”
“Like a baby.” But only the first time. Because he’d been in prison—and he hadn’t wanted the tattoo at all. A group of inmates had held him down, given him a gang symbol he’d hated with every fiber of his being, nothing but a representation of humiliation and subjection.
Breath, suddenly coming too fast, too shallow.
Brook Lynn squeezed his hand again, drawing him back to the present. “I wish I had been there,” she said softly. “I would have kissed your boo-boo better.”
Steady. “Boys don’t get boo-boos. They get wounds.” He’d since covered the hated tattoo with another one.
“Too bad. I don’t kiss wounds. I kiss boo-boos.”
“I have a boo-boo,” Pepe announced.
“Well, you’re about to have a massive, gaping wound,” Jase muttered.
Brook Lynn grinned at him.
A pang in his chest. “I like the design you’ve chosen,” he said. Not just the wild strawberries, but the flowers that bloomed on the vines. White petals, yellow centers. Dewy green foliage climbing up the sun-kissed perfection of her skin. It was a bold choice. Unexpected. And undeniably hot as hell.
He wanted to lick every inch of it.
Pepe finished and tried to explain wound care, but Jase kicked him out and told her what to do. The skin was red and swollen and would be sensitive for a few days, and damn, he still couldn’t get over how sexy it was—how sexy she was.
“Well?” she asked and held up her hair while twirling. “What do you think?”
I think you’re seconds away from being tossed on my bed, angel.
On the counter, her phone buzzed, signaling a text had just come in.
He glanced at it out of habit—and did a double take. A curse built inside him, but he held it back.
“That Brad guy just asked you out,” he said flatly and handed the phone to her.
“No way. I told him— Wow, he really did,” she said.
The exact text read:
Thought I’d take a chance. Haven’t been able 2 get U out of my mind. I’m asking YOU this time—would U like 2 go 2 dinner w/me?
Jase stepped into her personal space, realized what he’d done and made himself back off. “What are you going to tell him?”
She blinked at him. “What would you like me to tell him?”
He heard yearning in her voice...
He heard hope...
At the pool, he’d even staked a verbal claim. Mine. But there was no way he would allow her to put this on him. While he hated the thought of her with the other man, it wasn’t his place to deny her. They weren’t in a relationship, weren’t even headed in that direction. Later on, she could resent him for interfering.
“Tell him whatever you want,” he said, a denial screaming inside his head. What she wanted had better not be Brad.
Something flashed over her expression...something dark, almost haunted—definitely haunting.
She raised her chin. “In that case, I’ll tell him yes.”
* * *
DO SOMETHING STUPID because your pride was pricked—or in Brook Lynn’s case, say something stupid—and you would have to deal with the consequences.
Why hadn’t she just opened up to Jase, told him what she desired? Why had she goaded him, expecting him to prove with action those possessive words he’d once uttered?
She’d backed him into a corner, hoping he would confess his feelings—I want you all to myself. While he’d felt comfortable claiming she belonged to him in an intimate setting, he hadn’t been ready to say the words during an argument, even if he felt the emotions.
At least, that’s how she comforted herself as Brad led her to his car. A ’68 Nova he’d restored himself. It looked dated on the outside, but modern on the inside.
“You are beautiful,” he said, opening her door for her.
Such a gentlemanly move. My heart should be fluttering. “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
He drove just outside Strawberry Valley city limits, choosing a high-end restaurant with romantic lighting and soft music playing in the background.
“I hope you like Italian,” he said.
“I do.” Guilt plagued her as they were seated at their table. She’d gone from kissing Jase to this. Leading on the man she should want...but didn’t.
A menu was placed in front of her face. She read over it—and tried not to hyperventilate. The prices! Sweet fancy. What did they put in their food? Gold?
Maybe Brad was paying. Maybe he wasn’t. Either way, she would not go over twenty dollars. So...it looked as though she would be one of those lame girls who ordered only a side salad and a glass of water.
“What sounds good?” he asked.
“Everything.” Truth. But what sounded good and what she would be eating were vastly different things.
He smiled warmly at her.
When the waiter arrived, Brad ordered the fettuccine Alfredo with blackened chicken, and her mouth actually watered. When it was her turn, she forced herself to stick to her plan. Thankfully, Brad merely nodded, as if he was used to women eating like baby birds on a diet.