The Lemon Sisters

by Jill Shalvis

  “We both know I have nothing to worry about.”

  She snorted as he shucked the jeans, and then she was hit with déjà vu, flashing back to a long ago time when she’d been in her parents’ hot tub. She’d had the place to herself that night and had made margaritas. She’d been soaking in the tub, drinking the margaritas right out of the pitcher and listening to music loud enough to affect her heart rate. Or she’d thought it was the music, but in hindsight, it was undoubtedly the sight of Garrett coming upon her and joining her party of one, executing a playful striptease for her.

  He’d thrown his clothing over his shoulder one piece at a time as he’d stripped. Which had made it a lot of fun when her parents came home early and Garrett had been forced to run around like a wild man to collect his clothes and shove them back onto his wet—and hard—body.

  In the here and now, he slid that body into the water and sat across from her, eyes dark and filled with things she could no longer read.

  “Your dad nearly kicked my ass that night,” he mused with a small smile, apparently having no trouble reading her thoughts.

  “He’s a foot shorter than you and probably a good hundred pounds heavier,” she said dryly. “I think you could’ve taken him.”

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. They both knew he’d never lay a finger on anyone in anger, especially her father, who’d been incredibly kind to him while Garrett was growing up.

  Speaking of her parents, the phone she’d set on the edge of the tub rang. Sliding Garrett—and his wet, broad shoulders and chest and tousled hair—a long look, she slid a finger across the screen and answered on speaker. “Hey, Mom.”

  “You’re home in Wildstone?”

  “Yep. Helping out Mindy for a few days.” Or a damn week . . .

  “That’s so sweet of you. When she was here in Palm Springs, I suggested she do yoga during the day and wine at night, but I imagine having her sister in Wildstone is better than all of that. She’s missed you, Brooke. We all have.”

  She squirmed a little and stared at the phone rather than the man watching her. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I mean it, honey. I hope you know how important you are to all of us. I know you’ve pulled back, and I’m sure you have your reasons for that, but I’m glad you’re there. I just wish we weren’t six hours away.”

  Uncomfortable with the emotions in her throat, she shrugged, but of course her mom couldn’t see the gesture.

  “Brooke?”

  Avoiding Garrett’s gaze, she said softly, “I’m here.”

  “We’d love to come see you.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Your dad and me. We’re . . . working things out again, and it’s going well.”

  Because of their smoothie shops, her parents were local celebrities of a sort, and if they came to town, it’d be a nightmare for poor Mindy. “That’s nice, but don’t worry about making the trip,” she said. “I’ll come to you when I leave here.”

  “Promise?”

  She crossed her fingers. “Yep!”

  “So . . . catch me up. Are you seeing anyone?”

  Brooke looked across the lazily rising steam at Garrett, who’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his arms spread on either side of him, resting out of the water on the edge of the hot tub. He looked . . . lickable. But at her mom’s question, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

  “Gee, Mom,” she said. “We’ve got a bad connection—”

  “Fine, you don’t want to talk about it. I’ll take that to mean you’re single. Are you ever going to settle down and have a family of your own?”

  Brooke pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve started this conversation with the fact that I’ve recently updated my privacy policy. From now on, no one’s allowed to ask me about my future plans.”

  “I’m your mother.”

  “The rules apply to everyone.” Standing up, she turned her back on Garrett. “Oh, and would you look at that? One of the kids needs me, gotta go!”

  “Brooke—”

  She’d intended to hit disconnect, but two arms came around her. One braced on the edge of the tile at her hip. The other reached toward her phone and a single finger disconnected the call.

  “If you told her the truth, she wouldn’t bring it up like that,” he said quietly. “And you wouldn’t keep getting hurt.” His other hand came down on the tile as well, effectively closing her in.

  “Lying saves her from the pain.”

  She could feel him shake his head in disapproval, but all he murmured was “Such a hot little liar,” his mouth nearly at her ear.

  Her stomach quivered. Correction: The parts south of her stomach quivered. She worked really hard at not tilting her head to give him better access to the spot on her neck he used to kiss, lick, and nibble, the one that never failed to drive her wild. “Is that temperature hot, or—”

  “Hotheaded,” came the low rumble of his voice. “Hot in your wet skivvies. Hot in a way that is very bad for me.”

  She’d started to melt at the feel of his mouth teasing her skin, but at the “bad for me” part, her spine stiffened and she elbowed him in the gut.

  Laughing deep in his throat, he backed off and sat back down, seemingly unaffected.

  Not her. She glanced at herself to make sure he hadn’t magically melted off her bra and panties, because yes, he was just that good.

  “The scar,” he said quietly. “That’s from—”

  Her hands went to the spot low on her belly where the impact of the crash had done the most damage. The doctors had had to remove her spleen, part of her liver, and some intestine, and had also done their best to repair the damage done to her reproductive organs. “Yes.”

  “It’s almost faded completely away.”

  “Not enough, if you can see it,” she managed.

  “I’ve got X-ray vision.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And what about this . . .” She ran a finger along his wet, hard pec and the tat with the bold roman numerals that she wanted to nibble. “What’s this?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “A date,” he finally said.

  “I figured.” She struggled to remember what she’d learned about roman numerals way back in high school. “What’s the significance?”

  Another long pause, and she lifted her gaze to his. The emotion she saw there had her swallowing hard. “The date of the helicopter crash,” she whispered.

  “The date I lost you,” he said. “And our baby.”

  She couldn’t speak. Hell, she could hardly breathe. But she managed to shift a little closer, her fingers still on his smooth skin, the skin he’d marked for the loss of their baby.

  “I hate that you went through that,” he said quietly.

  She shook her head, having to swallow hard to speak. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  That hung in the air a moment while her heart went a little squishy in her chest. But going down that road wasn’t going to happen. Ever. One, he deserved a whole woman, one who could let him in and love him without baggage and hang-ups, and give him the kids she knew he wanted. And two . . . she couldn’t handle the pain of losing him a second time. She wouldn’t survive it.

  Which meant she had to remove herself from the temptation. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

  “You mean time to run from me. But you don’t have to, you know. There’s no reason for there to be anything but honesty between us. We’re in a different place now, so there aren’t any expectations between us.”

  A minute ago, she’d had to fight back tears. Now, suddenly, she was fighting the urge to strangle him. But that was all pride. Maybe he no longer wanted her, but she . . . damn. She still wanted him. “Don’t worry. I’m not feeling you, either.”

  He did another of those annoying “yeah, right” brow raises, which made her even madder. “Hey,” she said, and poked a finger into his pec. His hard, ungiving, sexy pec. “If I was feeling it, you’d k
now.”

  “How?” he challenged.

  “I’d be . . .” She had to think about this. “Flirty. I certainly wouldn’t be thinking of all of your many, many faults.”

  His mouth quirked. “And what are these so-called faults?”

  “Well, for starters,” she said, “you’re wearing black knit boxers with bananas on them.”

  This made him laugh outright. “Someone sent me a subscription box,” he said. “They come once a month. Last month’s pair had cocks all over them.”

  “Like chickens, or . . . ?”

  “If you’re curious, I’d be happy to wear them tomorrow and give you a peek.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “But the fact that some woman sent you a subscription to undies is another reason I’m not feeling it. I bet you’ve stayed friends with every single person you’ve ever met.”

  “And that’s a fault?”

  She shrugged. Of course it wasn’t a fault. It was the opposite of a fault. “Well, except for me, of course.”

  “Because you don’t answer phone calls, texts, emails . . .”

  Oh. Right.

  He tilted his head. “Tell me something.”

  Oh boy. “What?”

  “What’s that Cole guy to you?”

  “I told you, he’s my boss.”

  “But you’re sleeping together,” he said, his hazel eyes holding hers prisoner. “Or you were.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You just told me.”

  Dammit. She crossed her arms over her chest. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like him like that.”

  “Because you’re just not feeling it?” he asked mockingly.

  “Funny.” She paused, painfully aware that he’d been far more open with her than she’d been with him. “As you may have noticed, I’m not good with letting people in.” She paused. “I seem to have a problem being emotionally vulnerable.”

  Any residual humor faded from his eyes. “I know,” he said very quietly, no longer teasing. “Look, you waited seven years to tell me how you felt about the accident and the aftermath. I hate thinking of you facing what you did all by yourself.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “To you,” he said. “It was a long time ago to you. But I just found out, and I’m . . . reeling.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to say that and make you believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it again. I just don’t know what to do with the”—he shook his head, like he couldn’t find the words—“the hot mess of emotions inside me.”

  She gave a sad smile. “Join my club. I’m still messed up.”

  “You seem pretty together to me.”

  “Hello, did you see how many times I had to turn the knob on the jets? I’m a walking wreck.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re as messed up as you think you are. I’ve seen you with the kids. You’re holding both your life and Mindy’s together.”

  She thought he was giving her more credit than she deserved. “I hide behind my fears. But here’s me facing one of them. You asked me about Cole. And now I want to ask you about your girlfriend, the one you said you don’t have. The one who called you the other day for a hookup.”

  “It wasn’t for a hookup,” he said. “She dumped me.”

  This gave her an unexpected laugh. “Right. You expect me to believe a guy who looks like you do and is funny and smart like you are got dumped?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He shifted close until they were knee to knee. “Because I’ve never lied to you, Brooke. Never will.”

  She stared up at him, caught between memories and reality as somehow the gap between them closed. She felt a little dizzy from all they’d revealed to each other, but that didn’t stop her hands from going to his shoulders as his slid beneath the water to her hips, guiding her tightly into him so there was no space between them, not even for the water.

  The air shimmered with steam and mist and a whole lot of memories that left her tense with longing and desire. Garrett leaned in and brushed a kiss to her lips, soft, sweet, before pulling back a fraction, pausing as they shared a breath. He lifted his gaze to hers for a questioning look before coming back for more.

  Not soft this time, not sweet.

  With a low moan, she gave herself up. He was at once familiar and entirely new to her and she breathed him in, touching everything she could reach, his chest and shoulders, the contours of his back, over and over again, forgetting to count in her head, forgetting to make it all even numbers. And he seemed to feel the same, creating trails of shivering heat from the inside out with his knowing hands.

  His mouth was at her ear, his breathing ragged when he whispered his old nickname for her, the one he’d first called her in high school when she’d disturbed a beehive while climbing trees for fun.

  “Bee.”

  That was it—all he said, or rather growled out in a rough groan that spoke of reluctance and regret along with all the heat as he pulled back. “Okay, so, obviously the attraction between us is still there.”

  Attraction. Combustion. Explosive combustion . . .

  “The difference is that this time, we’re grown-ups,” he said. “Our eyes are open. This is a colossally bad idea for so many reasons, not the least of which is that you’re going back to LA any second, and then hoping to go back to your photography job, which will take you even farther away for who knows how long, correct?”

  She managed to nod in agreement. Correct.

  He nodded, too, then let out a rough breath before rising from the hot tub in one easy, graceful movement. “I think the best thing to do here is to say good night.” And then he walked away, no towel, water pooling in his footsteps.

  Brooke let out a careful breath before getting out herself, wrapping herself in both of the towels hanging off hooks on the deck before heading across the yard to Mindy’s house.

  Brittney was on the living room couch watching TV. She did a double take at Brooke dripping water all over the floor, but just said, “The kids are asleep.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

  Brittney handed her the kid monitor and left. And even though not a soul was stirring, not even a mouse, Brooke quickly stripped out of her wet things and put on sweats, and then went to check on the kids anyway.

  She found Maddox awake in his bed, studying the ceiling. He looked over at her and smiled, and her heart melted. She stroked the hair from his forehead and whispered confidentially, “The next time I open up to someone will be at my autopsy.”

  He softly barked his agreement.

  Chapter 8

  Dr. Linc wakes up.

  Brooke woke to small, warm hands patting her cheeks. If the slightly sticky feel to them didn’t fill her in on her visitor’s identity, the sweet baby breath in her face did. “Maddox, my little man,” she murmured, and opened her eyes.

  He grinned at her, and a line of drool slid out of his mouth and onto her arm. Poor guy was teething. “Your gums hurt?” she asked.

  He climbed onto the couch with her and rubbed his jaw to hers. That’s when she realized it was morning, and she sat straight up with gasp. She’d only just managed to fall asleep sometime around four. “Are we late for camp?”

  Maddox shrugged.

  She glanced at the time—okay, they were good—kissed Maddox, and set him down so she could get up. He waddled off into the kitchen, and she sucked in a deep breath and took stock. She had a kink in her neck and a cramp in her ass. She staggered to the bathroom and found Princess Millie sitting on the throne reading Dr. Seuss, her cute little Wonder Woman pajama bottoms around her swinging ankles.

  “‘One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish,’” she read, and smiled up at Brooke. “This book counts in fours!”

  “It’s a great
book.”

  Millie nodded. “Adam at school says I’m a weirdo cuz I count in my head. And because when it’s my turn to turn off the lights, I like to do it four times.”

  “You’re not a weirdo,” Brooke said fiercely, wanting to go have a little chat with this punk Adam. “Different is not weird.”

  “I know that, Auntie Brooke.”

  “Oh.” Some of Brooke’s ruffled feathers smoothed out at her niece’s easy acceptance of herself. “Okay, then. So why aren’t you using your bathroom upstairs?”

  “Because Mason left the lid up and didn’t flush, and now the bathroom’s stinky. Why are boys so stinky?”

  “One of life’s little mysteries.”

  “If Mom was here, he’d be in trouble for the lid-up thing. She doesn’t like it when she has to go in the middle of the night and she falls in.”

  “No one does.” Brooke looked in the mirror and grimaced at her pale, exhausted reflection. “You know what? How about we skip camp today and take a field trip instead?”

  “Yay, a field trip!” Millie paused. “What’s a field trip?”

  Thirty minutes later, Brooke had managed to shower and round up the kids in the kitchen. Brittney had shown up and was at the stove, calmly making breakfast. Millie was watching, dressed in jeans and her favorite Wonder Woman tee. Mason was on the floor in the laundry room, going through the basket of clean clothes that Brooke hadn’t folded yet. He was doing that with one hand, his other shoved into a box of Cheerios. He found his favorite pj’s—a one-piece pink T-rex number—and began to tug it on. Having learned to pick her battles, Brooke let it happen. Plus, she had bigger problems.

  Maddox was naked and zooming around, barking like a crazy Chihuahua. He accidentally kicked over Mason’s box of cereal, which of course scattered the Cheerios from here to China. She reached for the hand vacuum attached to the pantry wall, turning it on just as Brittney said, “Watch out, Mason’s terrified of that thing.”