Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3)

by Dorothy Barrett

  Beau’s condo wasn’t a whole lot bigger than the apartment she shared with Francine, and PJ was honestly a little surprised at how modestly the dude lived, considering the wealth he was born into. She passed only two other rooms on the way down the hall. One was clearly Max’s. Toys were strewn about a whimsically painted rocking horse just visible through the doorway. The other appeared to be an office-slash-workout room. Beau had a pull-up bar mounted above the door frame. Beyond that she could just make out a desk.

  PJ kept moving, heading for the large master suite at the end of the hall. A giddy rush of excitement hit her as she slipped into it and hit the lights. Immediately, her eyes gravitated to the bed in the center of the room, not because it actually was a four poster, although this certainly did register with her libido, but because the thing was topped with a gorgeous patchwork quilt in varying shades of cream, teal, and gold. The colorfully patterned piece stood out like a beacon in an otherwise sparsely decorated space, and PJ had the sudden urge to strip down and mark it like a cat.

  Grabbing one of the bedposts for support, PJ did indeed strip down, carefully balling up her clothes before padding into the master bathroom. Rolling around on Beau’s bed like a frisky kitten was going to have to wait until she was decontaminated and didn’t smell like death. Another quick search of a vanity cabinet turned up a small box of garbage-can liners. PJ sealed up her dirty laundry and shoved the bulging sack into her backpack, then strode for the shower.

  A couple minutes after sorting out the fancy digital controls on the thing, PJ moaned with pleasure as a rush of hot water blasted her body. Beau’s shower was definitely not modest. It took up the entire back wall of the bathroom, had several jets, one tricked out shower head, and a huge bench with plenty of room to sit and shave one’s legs. Or to sit and do other things.

  PJ had to look away as her brain conjured up images she had no business entertaining with Beau down the hall taking care of a sick child. She needed to wrap up the cleanup and get back out to help. Grabbing Beau’s sponge, she doused it with a quarter bottle of the man’s body wash and went to town disinfecting every inch of her body, paying very close attention to the girly bits because, for purely hygienic reasons, she really needed to. Then she shampooed her hair, scrubbed her face like a mad woman, and rinsed off.

  After drying herself with just as much haste, PJ walked back into Beau’s bedroom and rifled through his dresser until she found a comfy pair of boxer briefs, some jogger sweats, and a sweatshirt thin enough to cinch up at the waist but thick enough not to highlight the rock-hard condition of her nipples.

  It wasn’t until she’d donned the ensemble that it fully hit her that she’d basically just rubbed off in Beau’s shower and was now wearing his underwear. For all the kinky stuff she’d read about in her books, PJ had to admit this was probably the kinkiest shit she’d ever done in real life.

  Patently ignoring the frustrated state of every single private part of her body that was coming into contact with Beau’s clothes, PJ snagged a comb from his dresser and yanked it through her wet locks. In less than a minute she had her hair under control, even if the rest of her was still a little unstable.

  Sucking in a deep calming breath, PJ strode for the door. She opened it, took two steps down the hall, and nearly choked on her tongue. Beau was just coming out of the guest bathroom with a towel slung low about his hips. His hair was damp, his pecs were glistening with little beads of moisture, and the man’s abs were making her mouth water. As her gaze shifted further south, PJ was seriously willing that little scrap of terry to just slip right off.

  Alas, it did not. Not even when his legs started moving, eating up the distance between them as Beau returned her elevator stare with one of his own. He stopped about a foot from her, his gaze traveling in the opposite direction hers had taken as it slid from the soft cotton clinging to her hips, lingered on the naval piercing exposed by his cinched up sweatshirt, and finally came to rest on her face.

  And that was when something else hit her. Something she’d completely forgotten to do in her rush to get back to the man standing in front of her now, his smile growing steadily as he took in every faint bump, every exposed freckle, and every little flaw not concealed by the mask she’d forgotten to paint on. PJ stiffened, her hands firing up to the naked skin of her cheeks. Beau’s were faster, warm fingers trapping hers gently, stopping their ascent.

  “I forgot my makeup,” she muttered needlessly.

  “I can see that,” he said simply.

  “I probably look like a dude right now.”

  Beau’s eyes shifted from her flushed face to her borrowed menswear and right back up again. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as droplets of water fell from his bangs. “Nope. You definitely do not look like a dude.”

  Chapter 27

  She looked like a woman.

  Not a girl. Not a bratty teenager.

  A woman.

  A gorgeous woman Beau wanted to devour.

  PJ had the kind of body that only looked more feminine in masculine clothing, every lush curve stretching the fabric of his sweatpants in a way that was overtly sexual, a way that had him fighting the urge to palm her ass and haul her hips flush with his own so she could feel what was growing under his towel, a way that had him tightening his hold on her hands, so he wasn’t tempted to untie the knot she’d fashioned at the hem of his shirt, sneak inside, and cup the weight of her breasts.

  Beau was in trouble. This woman was going to be the star of every one of his filthy wet dreams for days. Months, maybe. Fuck if he knew. He was fucked. And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her yet? There was a reason. He couldn’t remember it now because PJ was staring at him with the most potent mix of longing and vulnerability, and the sight of her bare face and dewy skin had all sense of responsibility utterly deserting him.

  He wanted to settle his nose right up next to hers, and nuzzle the spray of freckles spanning the bridge of it. It would be so easy. She was the same height he was, all of their features lining up perfectly. He’d only have to tilt his head, and he could lick the tiny mole hidden under the curve of her bottom lip. He’d never seen it before.

  This selfish woman had been covering up a bunch of sexy little freckles. And a sexy little beauty mark. Why would she ever feel these were things she needed to hide? Beau could stare at them for months. Years, maybe.

  Lacing his fingers through hers, Beau lifted their hands until they came to rest against the wall on either side of her face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Her nose wrinkled on a snort. “You’re blind.”

  They were so close, he could feel the warmth of her breath against his smile. “Nearsighted, actually. And, trust me, right now I’m seeing just fine.”

  She let out another soft pant, the teasing rush of air tickling his skin. It was too much. He had to taste her. Just one little kiss. That’s what Beau was telling himself when his mouth descended on PJ’s for the first time.

  The second he felt the hot satiny press of her lips, however, he knew he was crazy. Because there was nothing little about this kiss. It was a seismic, soul-shaking convergence he felt in every part of his body. Head, shoulders, knees, toes. Heart.

  There was also no way in hell he was going to be able to stop at just one because as soon as she opened for him, his tongue was sweeping in and a low growl of appreciation was rising in his throat. Because, damn, she tasted good. Like sin and heaven. Cinnamon and heaven. And he wanted more. So much more.

  PJ seemed to be feeling the same way because her tongue was sliding against his, and an urgent little cry was escaping as she tugged at his hands.

  Beau let her go.

  PJ palmed his ass.

  His dick found the V of her pants.

  Her eyes shuttered as she moaned.

  They were pressed up against the wall outside his bedroom door, and Beau was losing his damn mind. And his towel. It was only really hanging on to
his cock because it was sandwiched between them. Beau didn’t care. He couldn’t think. He just wanted more. So as his tongue slipped to the wicked little mole under her lip, his hand slipped into her pants.

  PJ smiled as his fingers skirted a familiar elastic waistband. “I’m keeping your Calvin Kleins,” she whispered huskily.

  “I’m keeping your burgundy sweater,” he answered between licks.

  Her eyes widened, something knowing and sexy in the curve of the lip he returned to. She knew. She so fucking knew what he’d done to that sweater. And her somehow discerning this with only five little words and a look, was blowing Beau’s mind and making his dick even harder under the towel.

  His hand moved to the damp crotch of her boxers before he could stop it, snuck inside the opening at the front, and found PJ bare save for the smallest patch of wet curls covering her pussy. Beau wanted to see her. Fuck, he wanted to taste her.

  PJ moaned, spreading her legs wider, rubbing herself against the pad of his middle finger as she chased down her release, not caring in the slightest what she looked like in the process.

  And what she looked like was beautiful.

  So Beau told her this, whispering her name as his finger delved even lower. He told her this as he sank slowly into her wet heat, driving in to the knuckle with her keening in his ear. He got in another finger, rotated his hand a bit, and pressed his thumb down on her clit.

  That was all it took to have her body seizing, sucking him in deeper as PJ came fast and hard on his hand. Fast, and hard, and loud.

  So loud that he reflexively brought his other hand up to muffle her cry because the bright shaft of light to their left was suddenly alerting him to the fact that he’d left his son’s door wide open when he’d snuck off to take his shower earlier.

  They both stiffened at the same time. Him because he’d just committed a major bad parenting moment, and a large part of him didn’t regret it. Her because he’d just hit one of PJ’s no-fly zones, and this Beau regretted a lot. He knew she didn’t like her face being touched, and he’d just fucking muzzled her.

  Removing both hands from her body immediately, Beau hopped back, just managing to save the towel before he was rambling out apologies. “Damn, Pru, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have covered that up. That was beautiful. I’m an idiot. I know you don’t like people mauling your face. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “Stop,” she said, gasping out the word between breaths. “That was amazing. Don’t worry about that last part. That’s on me. That’s my hang-up. I need to get over it already. It’s so stupid.” Her eyes watered as she shook her head. “And you were just watching out for Max. I could have woken him, and he really needs his rest. I should probably go.”

  “No,” Beau said quickly. “You should stay. We should talk.”

  They definitely needed to talk because as he stood there watching PJ tugging his sweatpants back into place, it was suddenly occurring to Beau that he’d just fingered a seventeen year old in his hallway.

  Seventeen.

  Holy shit. He was going to hell. He was absolutely going to hell because even as the number wailed in his brain like a police siren, his erection was defiantly pitching a tent under his towel. And PJ staring at it wasn’t doing a damn thing to lessen the swelling.

  “Uhm… but you didn’t…” She was gnawing her bottom lip again. This wasn’t helping either.

  “I’m fine,” Beau said tersely, taking a couple steps back to cinch the soft terry around his hips.

  PJ flushed, her gaze falling to the floor.

  Damn it. He was messing this up royally. First he’d taken advantage of a minor. Then he’d scared the hell out of her. And now he was embarrassing her. He needed to save the situation fast.

  Deciding he’d address the most immediate problem first, Beau closed the distance between them and lifted her hand. “Hey,” he said, dropping a tender kiss in the palm of it, “I need to throw on some clothes. Wait for me in the living room, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, offering him a tentative smile in return.

  Beau watched her head down the hall before striding into his bedroom. He dressed quickly, yanking on another set of boxers and sweats. Then he sat down on the edge of his bed, the sirens firing up once again.

  Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen.

  He buried his face in his hands. The scent of her on his fingers was torture. Sweet torture. Torture to his dick, which was still rock hard, and torture to his mind, which was already convicting him. Cradle robber, pervert, pedophile.

  Sadly, even this litany did little to calm his heightened state of arousal.

  “Fuck!” he swore, tearing his hands away as he hopped back up.

  He shouldn’t have kissed PJ. He definitely shouldn’t have given her an orgasm. And he most definitely shouldn’t be wanting to march right back down the hall and do it all over again.

  But he did. God help him, he did. Because that kiss had been the absolute best he’d ever experienced. And watching PJ come apart like that had filled him with the most primal sense of satisfaction. And happiness. It had been perfect. Right up until he’d blown it by silencing her.

  Beau paced in front of his bed, the memory of the fear in PJ’s eyes when he’d covered her mouth haunting him. It was this mental image that finally had his body calming down and clarity returning as he walked from the room.

  He’d scared PJ. He needed to get to the bottom of why. Obsessing over her age and wallowing in guilt over his attraction to her despite it wasn’t doing either of them any good at the moment.

  Beau moved swiftly down the hall, but pulled up short when he glanced into his son’s room. She was there, curled up in a rocking chair tugged close to the bed, and she was grinning at her phone. Beau had no idea who had put that beautiful smile on her face, but at the moment he was entirely grateful to them because seeing PJ happy was chasing away some of his guilt and filling him with a measure of peace.

  He stood quietly in the doorway watching her, and only when his son rolled over, flipping from his belly to his back with a noisy snort, did PJ look up from her texting. Beau almost laughed at the speed with which she grabbed the thermometer from Max’s nightstand. After swiping the temporal scanner over his forehead, she typed something else into her phone, and this time, Beau did laugh because he knew she was recording the kid’s temperature.

  PJ looked up with a start, realizing she’d been caught. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “I was just checking his vitals. This scanner do-hickey is so much fun. You can just zap him like a carton of ice cream, and voilà he’s alive and no longer running a fever—” Her rambling explanation was cut off by the loud rumbling of her stomach.

  Beau smiled. “Would you like some ice cream, Pru?”

  “Yeah. I could go for that.” She set the scanner down and pocketed her phone. “Got anything besides vanilla?”

  Beau shook his head, not tearing his gaze from the woman striding towards him. “’Fraid not,” he drawled. “Guess I’m just a vanilla kind of guy.” As soon as the words slipped out, he felt another twinge of guilt.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen.

  He shouldn’t be flirting with PJ right now. He should be helping her.

  But PJ was already laughing as she moved into his space, the soft sound of her chuckles punctuated by a snort of disbelief. “Not buying it,” she murmured. Then she was hugging him fiercely, and the embrace felt so good, and so right, that Beau just clicked off all the sirens in his head. Because the siren in his arms was the only one who deserved his attention.

  Another loud snore came from the bed. PJ hopped back with a nervous giggle, her gaze flying over to Max and sobering. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

  Beau peered down at the bed. His son was still fast asleep, his covers kicked all over the place. “He’ll be fine,” Beau said before turning back to PJ with an encouraging smile. “He just needed to get rid of the bad stuff first.”

  PJ blinked
a couple times. Then she lifted her chin and bravely met his eyes. “Yeah. I’m thinking maybe I do too,” she said quietly.

  Chapter 28

  PJ consumed her pint of gelato as slowly as possible because despite being just plain old vanilla, the stuff was actually really good, and also because she didn’t have the first damn clue where to begin. She’d only ever told one other person what had happened at Baylor, and her reporting of things had been almost as negative an experience as the incident itself.

  PJ set her empty carton on the coffee table and turned to Beau, who was sitting patiently beside her on the couch. He wore his glasses again, his damp hair parted neatly to the right, and the look on his face spoke volumes. It was a look that said, “Whatever it is, I believe you.” And she hadn’t even uttered a word yet. It was this look that finally helped her to find them.

  “My friend Andy and I met in the seventh grade at Eileen Baylor.”

  Beau nodded, clearly recognizing the name of one of the oldest middle schools in the state.

  “Wade went there too. Apparently, he’s somehow related to the founder of the school. Like she’s his great grandma or some shit.” PJ rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, I guess that’s how he ended up at a public school with a middle-class dweeb like me.”

  Beau’s eyes narrowed. “Did he harass you?”

  “Not at first.” PJ turned to stare at her reflection in the screen of Beau’s TV. “I was sort of an ugly duckling growing up. I hit puberty really early. By sixth grade, I’d already gotten my first period, and suddenly I had all these pimples to go with the freckles, and the boobs were getting bigger, the ass was getting wider, and to top it all off, I was like half a foot taller than most of my peers, so I couldn’t really hide anything. Needless to say, when I started at Baylor, I was kind of a mess physically.”

  “I feel you,” Beau said with an empathetic smile. “I was the skinny guy with braces and glasses in middle school. I think the only thing that saved me from being shoved in a locker was having three big brothers who would have raised hell.”