Nash Brothers Box Set - Carrie Aarons Page 0,245

barely ever occupy the same space these days, what with her studio and his animal patients. It works for them, both of them whole people on their own who happen to love each other beyond reason. I admire that kind of companionship, that kind of dedication. It’s what I want in a partner … if I ever find one worthy.

Not of me, hell, a sewer rat would be classier and more noble than the woman I deserve to end up with. But, I mean worthy of climbing over the speed bump I’ve set up for myself.

Visions of Ryan in the passenger seat of Presley’s Jeep fill my thoughts, and I push them away. I walk to their fridge, pulling out a pitcher of lemonade I’m sure Keaton made, and not Presley. He’s the better cook of the two.

The cool, tart drink hits my throat and my temper instantly cools, my hackles having been up for the past eight hours. The shifts at the grocery store were getting old … really old. Dealing with asshole customers, ringing up item after item in an assembly line of boredom, biting my tongue when the dickhead of a manager makes some snide comment. We went to high school together and now he holds a position of power, albeit a pathetic one, over me and relishes it to no end.

Just a couple more years, I think to myself. I’ve been squirreling away money and living with Mom helps. I’ve had a few decent commissioned pieces from buyers, and I hope that someday, my woodworking can serve as my only source of income. For now, though, I’m not getting bigger than my britches.

It’s all a process, to attain the life I really want. And yes, I’ve been listening to self-help podcasts … that shit helps sometimes.

Going in search of the toolbox, I walk outside and into the converted shed. My brother and sister-in-law made it a guest house of sorts when they thought I was going to move in with them for a while. It didn’t work out that way; I feel more needed at Mom’s and want to repay my debt to society, but it’s still good if someone needs to crash.

The minute I walk through the French doors, whose shades I didn’t realize were drawn until after the fact, every bit of lust in the atmosphere slams into me like a bullet train.

Standing in the middle of the studio-like guest cottage is Ryan Shea.

Completely naked save for a towel wrapped around her head.

I might go into cardiac arrest, that’s how hard my heart is pumping. It has been a long time since I’ve seen a naked woman in the flesh, my computer helps me out with the simulated part. The fact that this woman is slender but curvy, olive skin stretching across all of those hidden, erotic places …

The fact that this woman is Ryan … my throat dries up in seconds, and my cock goes from zero to midnight in a flash.

Her pussy is bare of any hair, and I long to sink to my knees and plant a kiss between her perfect thighs. My eyes travel up to her breasts, full and supple, her budded nipples the shade of a dark rose. The scents of vanilla and citrus waft through the air, and suddenly, I want to unwrap the towel and see if that smell lingers in her hair.

Finally, our eyes lock, her face free of any makeup, but then again, a woman as gorgeous as this doesn’t need any. She lets me look at her, unabashed, for another moment.

“I’m so sorry.” I let out a sharp hiss, jumping to turn away.

I can hear Ryan fumbling behind me, probably reaching for some clothing. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know you were staying in here, or with Presley and Keaton at all. Fuck, I’m a moron, of course, you’re staying here. I just mean, I didn’t mean to barge in on you …”

The rambling won’t stop, and I can’t seem to stop picturing her naked body. The mental image is burned into the front of my brain, and I know it will be the number one called upon memory in my spank bank for a long time to come.

“Looking for your athlete’s foot cream, again?” She chuckles at my turned back.

If she were looking at me dead in the face, she’d see the furious blush working its way over my cheeks. “Thankfully, I don’t have that problem anymore.”

I am a damn liar. I still