“But—”
“Nonnegotiable,” he said. “You will be on call every weekend. With pay.” Again to keep her from getting another job. “I anticipate many casserole and sandwich emergencies in my future.”
“But—”
“Agree or not. Those are my terms. The rest is up to you.”
“Agree,” she gritted out.
“Then it’s settled.” At last he climbed out of the pool, deciding it was better she see his scars than get the peep show of a lifetime as he unintentionally stroked himself to completion while drowning.
Her gaze followed a trickle of water down his chest, and she gulped. “Anything else?”
His step faltered. Was that arousal he heard, turning her voice to smoke?
He swallowed a groan, deciding to drape the towel around his waist rather than his shoulders, hiding his growing erection instead of the damaged tissue left over from multiple fights.
“Yes, there’s something else,” he said. “Your chores. You’re in charge of cleaning the house, grocery shopping, laundry, meals. All meals. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, and every snack in between. And just so you know, we like dessert with each of our meals and even our snacks. You’ll also be in charge of writing a positive affirmation every morning.”
She blinked up at him. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I was doing most of that stuff already. I’ve been your non-wife wife for days.”
He couldn’t stop the tide of warmth spilling through him, and it made his tone snappier than he’d intended. “You are not my wife, non or otherwise. Understand?”
She held up her hands, all innocence. “Whatever you say, Mr. Hollister, sir.”
When she went prim and proper like that, he just wanted to drag her against him and kiss her breathless.
“I like when you call me sir, Miss Dillon. Let’s make that a new requirement.” And now he needed distance. “You’ve got work to do. You’re days behind. Just don’t do anything too strenuous. I mean it.”
“Ten-four, sir.”
If he had any hope of abiding by his own rules, he might need even more than distance. He might have to create some kind of emotional rift between them. He knew of only one way to do that.
He led her inside the house, gave her a gentle push toward the couch. “I seriously think you should rest before you begin. You’re a delicate flower, and I respect that.”
“Flower? Rest?” She glared at him. “For how long?”
“Just a few hours.”
“Hours?” she echoed hollowly. “I told you before. I’m not an invalid.”
“Maybe I should get you a bell,” he persisted. “You can ring it anytime you need me.”
She hissed like a cat that had just been poked with a stick. “Do it, I dare you. The bell will only stop ringing after I cram it down your throat.”
Wouldn’t do to smile at such a threat. He turned away, certain it would be best to end the conversation now.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “Jessie Kay asked me to give you something.”
He curbed the urge to take off like a bullet before facing her once again. “What?” he asked, unable to hide his sudden stash of wary. Jessie Kay had been a mess when she’d first arrived at the hospital. She’d clung to him, and he’d comforted her as best he could. She had faults, yes, but so did he. He’d gotten a glimpse at the heart of her, and it was clear she loved her sister. But she’d called and texted him countless times since, asking him out, telling him how much she cared about him, how perfect they would be together.
“This.” Brook Lynn held up a strawberry-shaped locket. “You can put a picture of your girlfriend inside it.”
He stiffened. Did she want him to date her sister? “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I know. But maybe one day you’ll find someone willing to put up with you.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s what I told Jessie Kay,” she announced.
He frowned, not liking her adamancy. He could commit if he wanted. Look at Daphne. If she’d stayed with him, he would still be with her. They’d be married, maybe even have a kid.
A pang of longing hit him, but he quickly quashed it.
There’d be no kids. Not for him. Not ever, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s emotional or physical well-being. If he screwed someone up the way he’d been screwed up, allowed his own flesh and blood to be hurt, the increase of guilt would finally choke him. He was sure of it.
“Jessie Kay wants to prove a picture of a girl won’t burn the skin off your chest,” Brook Lynn added. “If you open it up, you’ll find her favorite selfie.”
Something about her tone stuck with him... Was that jealousy? He wanted to study her features, but wouldn’t permit himself the luxury. “Being with her was a mistake,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
She hesitated before starting, “But—”
“No. No buts. She’s a good girl. Pretty, smart and capable, if only she’d try, but she’s not for me. That’s never going to change.”
“Fine. Sir.”
The word he’d meant in jest somehow created the very distance he’d thought he needed between them, but he realized now he couldn’t stand it. “I’ve changed my mind. You’ll call me Jase.”