Hot to the Touch Page 6

  “Give her a break, Jackson,” Kal said. “She cleaned. How about saying thanks? Or it looks great? Which, by the way, Becks. It does. So thanks.”

  Her lips lifted as she caught Kal’s not-so-subtle dig. “You’re welcome.”

  Rafe came downstairs. “The bathrooms look brand-new, Becks. You’re a rock star.”

  “No big deal. It’s my way of saying thanks for letting me crash here.”

  “And you think we’re pigs.”

  She shot a glare at Jackson. “You’re just not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Let what go?”

  The worst part was, he didn’t even see it. She shook her head and slid off the bar stool, grabbing her phone. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Jackson watched as Becks walked up the stairs, listening as she closed the door to her room. When he turned, he faced his two brothers, both of them sporting extremely pissed-off looks on their faces.

  “What?”

  “You’re an asshole,” Kal said.

  “What did I do?”

  “Why do you have to give her shit about everything she does?” Rafe asked. “She cleaned the house. Why is that such a big fucking issue with you?”

  “And the other day it was her making breakfast,” Kal said. “Like her cooking is some kind of a felony? Come on, Jackson, what’s your beef with her?”

  “I don’t have a beef with her at all. I just thought the house looked fine.”

  “Yeah, we clean.” Rafe ran his finger over the kitchen island. “Obviously she wanted to scrub it up even better than we do. So that’s some crime?”

  Kal went to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice. “It’s like you’ve got a personal vendetta against her.” He poured the juice into a glass and took a long swallow, then leaned against the counter. “Or maybe you’re trying to get her mad enough that she’ll split.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m doing.” He couldn’t believe Rafe and Kal would even think that.

  But he could see where they were coming from. First thing he’d done both mornings they’d come off shift was jump all over Becks. So maybe they had a point.

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ll go talk to her.”

  “You do that,” Rafe said. “I’ll make breakfast. Unless you’ve got something to say about that, too.”

  He grimaced as he made his way up the stairs. He’d deserved that one.

  When he got to Becks’s door, he paused before he knocked. Maybe she was taking a nap.

  Bullshit, Jackson. It’s eight thirty in the morning and you’re stalling.

  He sucked in a breath and knocked lightly. “Hey, Becks, you in there?”

  It was a long few seconds before she answered with, “I haven’t tied up the bedsheets and climbed out the window, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He cracked a smile. She had some sass. He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her. Walking through the door this morning and seeing her in her short shorts and tank top with her tanned skin showing off all those damned interesting tattoos made him want to get to know her body in ways he shouldn’t want to.

  But he still wanted to.

  And maybe that was the problem.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

  Still with the sass. “How about face-to-face?”

  “Fine.”

  He heard her footsteps approaching the door, so he took a step back. When she opened it, she stared at him.

  “So I thought about—”

  “Really?” Becks shook her head. “A doorway conversation? I did shower this morning, Jackson, and I won’t bite unless you ask me to. Come on in.”

  She turned her back on him and walked into the room.

  No biting unless he asked her to? What the fuck was she trying to do to him? Now there were images rolling around in his head of her mouth on his . . . everything.

  And then she invited him into her room?

  Goddammit.

  Get it together, Jackson.

  He took a step into the room, surprised to see she’d totally changed everything in it. Then again, before there’d been an empty bed and a dresser. Now there was a pretty pink-and-yellow quilt and several pillows on the bed, and on the dresser there was a collection of—was that Princess Leia and Han Solo?

  He stared, utterly transfixed at the objects on her dresser. “You collect Star Wars figures?”

  Her chin lifted. “Is that something else you’d like to complain about?”

  “No. I love Star Wars. Everything about Star Wars.”

  She walked up to the dresser to stand beside him. “Me, too. Except the prequels, which were utter crap.”

  “Agreed.” She even had a mini Millennium Falcon. And a Death Star. It took everything in him not to pick up the figurines and play with them. So instead he turned to face her. “You constantly surprise me.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, the two of them locked in some kind of staring contest. Finally, she said, “I’m trying to decide if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  “It’s a compliment. And considering the life I’ve led, no one and nothing surprises me.”

  “Oh. Then thanks.” She moved around him and climbed onto the bed. “Come on, sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Since there were no other places to sit, he assumed she was inviting him to sit on the bed with her. And considering the thoughts that he’d had about her a few minutes ago, he decided keeping his distance was a good idea. So he grabbed a spot on the far edge of the mattress.

  She noticed, smirking. “I mentioned I don’t bite, right? Or do you just not like women?”

  “I like women just fine.”

  “Then it’s me you don’t like.”

  Why was she always so damned frustrating? He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Look, Becks. We got off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault. I’m protective over my family. We’re tight. I guess I just wasn’t prepared to have you stay here and I handled it badly. I’m sorry.”

  She studied him. Apparently she liked to do that and he found it . . . unsettling.

  Then she shrugged. “It’s okay. We have the same background, you know. So I get it. It’s hard for people like us to trust strangers.”

  He settled in on the mattress more. “We’re not exactly strangers.”

  She let out a soft laugh and picked up a book and a pencil from the nightstand. “Aren’t we? You don’t even remember me.”

  “But you remember me.”

  She had picked up a notepad and was busy writing or drawing something, so she didn’t even look up at him when she said, “I remember everything about you, about that time.” Then she lifted her head and their gazes met. “Every minute, every hour, every day.”

  “Tell me your clearest memory.”

  “Winter was always the worst. Not that we had the harshest winters here in Ft. Lauderdale. We were lucky. But some nights got cold and we’d huddle together. You guys would gather wood to start a fire in a trash can. Melinda was a few years older than me and she’d braid my hair so I could lean in closer to the fire without singeing my hair.”

  The first time he’d seen her that day of the fire at her shop, her hair had been covered in soot, her face partially covered by a bandana. Now her hair lay damp over her shoulders, the color a wild strawberry blond. Her eyes were a stunning blue and her lips were full. She wore no makeup and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  But who she was now wasn’t who she’d been back when they were kids.

  A memory struck him of a skinny little girl with her hair in a long blond braid down her back. She wore a beanie and an old tattered Dolphins hoodie. She loved that
hoodie and said some day she was going to go to a football game as soon as she found parents.

  “You ever get to go to a Dolphins game?”

  Her lips curved, and her smile made the sky blue of her eyes sparkle.

  Or maybe that was just his imagination.

  “You do remember me.”

  He shrugged. “It’s coming back to me. Parts of it, anyway.”

  “Did you suffer some kind of memory loss? Were you in an accident or something?”

  “No. I just . . . don’t think about it. The less I think about it, the less I remember of the time back then.”

  “So you deliberately chose to forget the past? Why?”

  “Because it was a shit time in my life. Why would I want to relive it?”

  She scooted forward, her top gaping open to reveal not only the creamy tops of her breasts but also a tempting glimpse of a heart-shaped tattoo. A broken heart.

  “Who broke your heart?”

  “What?” She looked down and then sat up straight. “Oh. That. The people who threw me out because they thought I was worthless.”

  His gut tightened. “Your parents.”

  “Yes. And you’ve evaded my question. Why would you want to throw away your past? It shaped you into who you are today.”

  “Actually, my adoptive parents shaped me into who I am today.”

  “Oh, I see. So before you were rescued in that fire you were, what? Shapeless? No personality? No background? No baggage? No hurts, no emotions, no feelings? And after you were adopted by the Donovans your entire persona formed?”

  He frowned, not liking the direction this conversation was going. He stood. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for making you feel like you weren’t welcome here. You are. And your cooking and your cleaning. Make yourself at home here. Do whatever makes you happy, Becks. Stay as long as you like. And I’ll stay out of your way.”

  He turned to walk out but Becks met him at the door, her hand on his biceps. “I didn’t take you for a runner, Jackson.”

  He looked down where her hand touched him. He realized the feel of her warm fingers on his flesh did things to him that he wanted more of. He also realized he wanted to kiss her. Which would be a huge mistake, because Becks was a part of his past. And other than his brothers, the past was dead to him.

  “I’m not a runner, Becks. I just left the past where it belongs. Maybe you should think about doing the same thing. You can’t move forward if you’re continually looking backward.”

  She held his gaze. “And you can’t create a place for yourself today if you haven’t dealt with yesterday. I can make up bullshit platitudes, too.”

  Despite the fact he was royally pissed, he still wanted to kiss her. Which meant it was time to leave. He walked out of the room, realizing as he headed back downstairs that he was sweating.

  What the hell was wrong with him? And what was it about Becks that always seemed to piss him off so much?

  She was staying at their house and obviously she was going to be there for a while. So whatever it was that bothered him about her, Becks was right about one thing.

  He was going to have to deal with his past. At least the Becks part of his past.

  CHAPTER 8

  After her confrontation with Jackson, Becks changed into jeans and a T-shirt and slipped on her sandals. When she got downstairs she saw that Rafe had made breakfast, and he invited her to eat with them. She wanted to say no, but it wasn’t Rafe she was mad at, so she accepted and took a spot at the table with the three guys.

  But the entire time she ate and made nice conversation, all she could think about was Jackson, who was doing his best to ignore her.

  He mainly stared down at his plate and shoveled food into his mouth, responding only when a question was asked of him. That meant she engaged with Rafe and Kal, who fortunately asked her a lot of questions about her search for a new shop.

  “I have a few spots to look at today that Margie set up for me.”

  “Want us to go with you?” Kal asked as he finished up the last bite of his spinach omelet.

  “That’s not necessary. I’m sure you guys have plenty to do on your day off.”

  “I told Mom I’d get her car brakes replaced,” Rafe said. “And Kal, you have to get that speeding ticket taken care of, don’t you?”

  “Oh, crap, that’s right.” Kal looked over at Jackson. “Jackson doesn’t have anything going on today, though. He could go with you and look over the properties, making sure they’re safe. Can’t you?”

  Jackson looked up and frowned. “What?”

  “Go look at properties with Becks today,” Kal said. “Rafe and I have other stuff to do.”

  “Oh, uh . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Becks said, noting the reluctant look on Jackson’s face. “I can do this on my own.”

  “But we said we’d help,” Rafe said. “And we never go back on a promise, do we, Jackson?”

  Becks glanced in Jackson’s direction, expecting him to say no.

  “We never go back on a promise,” Jackson said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Jackson looked about as thrilled as someone about to have his leg cut off.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you have things you have to do today?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just let me know when you want to leave.”

  She wasn’t certain that was the case, but if she turned him down she’d have to explain to Rafe and Kal why. Better to just get it over with. Plus, she didn’t want to have to go through the whole electrical nightmare again, so she wouldn’t mind an expert set of eyes.

  “Right after breakfast will be fine. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  His voice was flat and she knew that despite what he’d said, he’d rather do anything than spend the day with her.

  Wasn’t this going to be fun?

  CHAPTER 9

  The first two shops they looked at weren’t going to cut it. One was way too big and much too expensive, and the other one was in a location that wouldn’t garner Becks any customers.

  She had high hopes for the third location.

  Jackson had decided to drive—insisted on it, actually, saying he had a couple of errands to run. She’d argued with him that if he had stuff to do she could look at spaces on her own, but he told her his errands wouldn’t take long, anyway, and unless she had places to go after they looked at properties, she could go with him. So she’d agreed.

  Though the silence in the truck had been hard to bear. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable around her.

  So on the drive to the third spot, she turned in her seat.

  “I know you’re uncomfortable around me. I don’t know why you agreed to this.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, and she could always tell when someone was lying by their eyes. But she sure could tell from his body language. He sat straight and stiff as a board in his seat, instead of relaxed.

  “What is it about me that distresses you?”

  He finally glanced her way. “I feel something when I’m near you.”

  She had mentally prepared herself for any type of negative answer from him. Like she was too bossy or he didn’t like the way she took over his kitchen. Or she cleaned too much. But this? This was unexpected. She didn’t have a prepared reaction other than a skipped heartbeat.

  “Feel . . . what?”

  “I don’t know. A connection to you. And before you say something, no, it’s not about our shared past.”

  Huh. Okay, that had been her first thought. Time to think of something else. “Maybe because you saved me from the smoke?”

  He shook his head, keeping his focus on the road. “Not that. I don’t get emotion
ally connected to victims. It’s something else. I mean, you’re pretty, Becks. Obviously. And I’m trying to avoid thinking of you as someone I’d like to . . .”

  Her brows rose. Like to what? Ask out to dinner? Date? Fuck? Admittedly, she’d be okay with any of those scenarios. She mentally tried to calm her rapidly racing pulse. “Go on.”

  “I like you. And you’re living in my house. I just don’t want you to feel like there’s any expectation there.”

  “I’ll start paying rent right away.”

  “You get yourself situated in a new location and start working again. Then we’ll talk about you paying rent. In the meantime, I’ll keep my wayward thoughts in check.”

  He had wayward thoughts about her? Now things were getting really interesting. She resisted the urge to smile.

  Wayward thoughts. Huh. This was a very thought-provoking development. She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window, trying to process what had just happened.

  Jackson was hot. Like . . . smoking hot. Since she’d reconnected with him, she’d tried to ignore that part of him, but it was hard. Indeed, everything about him was hard, and sitting next to him in the truck was a test of her endurance. She’d had no idea he felt the same way about her.

  He’d been everything she’d ever wanted when she had been just on the cusp of budding puberty.

  It had been a lot of years since then. She’d grown up. She’d tucked more than a few lovers under her belt. But seeing Jackson again had awakened those first feelings of infatuation she’d felt all those years ago.

  Is that what she felt now? She took a quick glance over at him.

  Infatuation? No. She’d long ago grown out of heart-eyed crushes.

  Lust, though? Most definitely yes. She was a woman now, and went after what she wanted. She neither needed nor wanted love and marriage. But sometimes—hell, more than sometimes—a girl needed sex.

  She’d bet Jackson was really good at sex. He had that fuming, smoldering intensity that signaled pent-up sexual frustration. And wouldn’t she love to be the woman he expended all that frustration on?