“I guess the problem was I didn’t take the time to think it through.” But in that millisecond she thought everything through, realized that this wasn’t just an isolated event, and finally, finally, understood what had started with her father when she was three, repeated itself with her mother, then repeated over and over until she was ready to listen.
She wasn’t ready now, wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready, because once she accepted it, her life would never be the same. It wasn’t about sensuality or allure. It was sadly about love.
Closing her eyes, Harper went up on her toes and placed a gentle goodbye kiss on his cheek. She let her lips linger, taking in his smell, putting to memory the way his skin tasted.
With a final brush of the lips she whispered, “No matter how much I love someone, it doesn’t mean they’ll ever be mine.”
I always said Dax was the biggest asshole of the family.” Frankie leaned back on the front porch steps, sipping on some lemonade and passing judgment on Adam as he lathered up Blanket.
Judgment that was more than accurate.
“I was wrong.” She said it as if the words were painful. “I hate being wrong.”
“I know you do, sweet cheeks,” Frankie’s husband, Nate DeLuca, said, walking out onto the porch to sit behind his wife. He rested his hands on her shoulders and started rubbing.
“He had us all fooled. I mean, Dax is pretty hard to top,” Jonah said, grabbing some lemonade off the tray and emptying it in one swallow. He was sitting between Frankie and Dax, who had the nerve to agree.
“You think he’s got the girly squirrelies?” Dax held his stomach in sympathy. “That was the worst part. Just out of nowhere I’d feel like I was going to lose my lunch.”
It was like a big family reunion , right there in the middle of Adam’s screwed-up life.
“I’m standing right here.” Adam waved the sponge he was holding in their direction, brown, soapy water running down his arm. “And I can hear you.”
Nate just smiled, and Adam fisted his hands. Even though he was married to his sister, and was normally a standup guy, he was still a DeLuca—and pissing Adam off—which meant a swift kick to the ass wouldn’t be frowned upon.
Only he was pretty sure he’d get one shot in, then his brothers would step up and get his back. Nate’s back, not Adam’s. Not that he blamed them. The only person who deserved an ass kicking was Adam.
It had been two days since the main Beat the Heat events, and Adam hadn’t caught a single glimpse of Harper. Not around town, not at the Sweet and Savory, not even at her grandma’s shop. The last part had him deeply concerned, since tomorrow was National Underwear Day and the front display was only half-finished.
Adam had tried calling, even stopped by her place to talk, but either she hadn’t been home or didn’t come to the door. The only communication he’d had was a text late last night, explaining that she no longer needed him at the Swagger prelaunch. Not that he could blame her. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.
A sharp pain lanced his chest at the thought, taking away any pleasure he’d felt from Lowen offering him the IC position. What should have been the biggest moment of his career thus far had fallen flat. It felt hollow because he couldn’t share the moment with Harper.
“See that,” Frankie said. “That constipated look he has going on? He knows he’s an asshole.”
“Been there,” Nate said, pulling Frankie back against him. “It’s rough, man.”
Adam dropped the sponge in the bucket, water sloshing over the side. “Seriously, I’m out here, washing your damn alpacas with this”—he smelled his hands—“flowery soap and you’re giving me shit?”
As if that weren’t bad enough, Mittens chose that moment to drop pellets. Then he shook, which had Blanket doing as his daddy did, and in two seconds Adam was drenched and smelling like wet fur.
“It’s oatmeal lavender. It soothes their skin and protects them from sunburn,” Frankie said, walking down the steps to lay a hand on Blanket’s newly naked rump. The smaller alpaca started humming. “Which wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t flaked on babysitting. I had to call in Aunt Luce on her poker night. Which means these guys ate nothing but bar food and mai tais. Then Luce lost big to Pricilla Martin and had to sell their fleece. Pricilla’s knitting her granddaughters sweaters out of it.” Frankie snapped her fingers. “Maybe Adam could knit Harper a sweater. With a cat on it.”
Dax grimaced, then weighed in. “It would have to have a card with it that says this asshole loves you if it were to work.”