Until her.
And the house.
Both of them were grating his very last nerve. Set the table? Seriously? Like his brothers both weren’t completely aware that the last meal they’d had as a family had been shared at that very table.
With a shudder, he quietly pulled the whiskey from the pantry and poured a heavy dose into a coffee cup, then made his way to the living room. Maybe he’d sleep on the couch again.
Maybe he’d get drunk again.
And just maybe, he’d forget all about how good Jane smelled and how beautiful she looked—while cleaning a damn toilet.
Yeah, he was so screwed.
Brock surveyed the room as he took a sip of whiskey. The leather couches were the only new thing in the entire house. Everything else was exactly how he remembered it, from the woodsy smell to the way the wood floors creaked when you walked into the living room.
Another slow sip and he was sinking down onto the couch.
A little squeak erupted from where he tried to sit, and he jumped back up.
“Hey!” Jane’s quick movements were almost impossible to make out in the dark, but her voice? It was clear, smooth, and it sent really irrational feelings straight to his heart. Every muscle in his body tensed.
Because that was what happened when you treated people like shit—people who didn’t deserve it.
His body, aware that things were about to get uncomfortable, braced for impact, while his brain scurried to come up with the right words that would form nice-sounding sentences, sentences that would make things better without going as far as an apology.
Dumbstruck, the only thing he could utter was, “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“You didn’t even look.” She tucked her legs under the large afghan and yawned behind her hand. Her dark hair was pulled into a long braid that draped over her right shoulder. A white tank top was visible beneath part of the blanket.
Her expression was tired.
As the fog cleared from his head he managed to sit across from her in his own chair. Buying time, he sipped more whiskey from his coffee cup. “Why are you out here?”
A long pause descended over them like a hot itchy blanket before she answered. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You know, you can always switch to another room if it’s the bed.”
“It’s not the bed,” she answered in a whisper.
“Or…” He licked his suddenly dry lips. “I think I can find you some NyQuil or something to help.”
She smiled. He could see the white of her teeth as her nose scrunched up in a cute little expression that he really needed to not stare at too long—lest his body take it as an invitation and suddenly launch itself over to the couch.
“Actually,” she said, adjusting herself on the couch again. “It’s more like I keep getting texts from my evil sisters.”
“Turn off your phone.”
“I finally did, but there were things said before the phone went off, things that made it so I couldn’t sleep.”
He wanted to help her—and for some reason, thinking about her problems was a hell of a lot more welcome than thinking about the ghosts floating around the room, staring at him, begging to be dealt with. “Here.” He thrust his mug of whiskey in her direction.
With a frown, she leaned forward, her hands coming into contact with his as they wrapped around the cup. He released the cup into her care, his hands tingling from the sensation of her skin against his.
“What is this?” She sniffed, then made a face.
“Whiskey. Believe me, it helps.”
She sighed. “If you say so.” One small sip and she was coughing, her eyes tearing up as she got off the couch and handed the mug back to him.
His eyes moved from her sock-clad feet up her dangerously long legs, to short black shorts that nearly gave him a view of perfect ass cheeks. Licking his lips, he grabbed the mug and met her pointed gaze. “You didn’t have to get up.”
“Well, you look exhausted. I don’t want you to make any extra effort on my behalf, only to blame me tomorrow for being more tired than you already are.”
He winced. “I deserved that.”
“Totally.” And there was that shy smile again.
Locking eyes on her, Brock sipped from the mug exactly where her lips had been, his tongue swiping across the ceramic mug unnecessarily. Yup. Losing his mind. Or maybe just that desperate for her.
Jane’s eyes hooded before she took a cautious step back and finally grabbed the blanket, resuming her place on the couch. A safe place.
A safe distance away from him.
He wasn’t so sure he liked it.
“Did it help?”
She nodded warily.
“Good.”
Another pause followed. He knew he should say something, possibly apologize, but he wasn’t even sure where to start, or how to go about doing it without laying all of his cards on the table.