The Job (Auctioned) by Cara Dee (ebook reader for surface pro TXT) 📗

Case was gonna get sick of me, though. He was already on edge these days, and I could see the signs because that used to be me. When ex-girlfriends had started getting clingy, I’d pulled away, feeling suffocated. Now I was doing the exact same shit with my own brother.

Except, I wasn’t gay or anything. That was clear. I didn’t eye men the way Case did.

The tension built up within me until my stomach hurt, and it wasn’t released until I heard Case turning the key in the door.

He was home.

I exhaled.

Tonight, we were celebrating our daughter’s fourth birthday.

The moment I walked through the door, three things struck me at once. Boone had tidied up and stowed away the bed, something from the kitchen smelled like pizza, and he was in the shower.

Talk about different from what I was used to.

Upon seeing a small cardboard box on the coffee table, I walked straight over there and picked it up. A courier from the Venetian must’ve been here already. I tore off the packing tape with their logo on it and sat down on the couch.

Soon I learned that I owed Laney a lot more than dinner.

I’d helped her get away from an abusive son of a bitch of a boyfriend one time, and ever since, she’d gone above and beyond to help me if work brought me to her backyard on the Strip.

This time, aside from details about the reservation, I’d asked for insider tips that would give me a starting point from which I could get my hands on several things on my list, and it turned out she’d done most of it herself. I picked out several keycards, four ID tags, instructions, information about the suites, the housekeeping service’s general schedule, some warnings and precautions I could take into consideration, and the reservation with all the details.

Last but not least, the employee information about the man from Hospitality that I needed to get close to at some point. He’d be in charge of the Langes’ comfort during their stay, so he’d know all about preferences and comps.

A door opened down the hall, and I looked up just as Boone came out of the bathroom. Oh, fuck you, big brother. I’d forgotten this part about living with him. Shameless motherfucker. Not that I possessed an ounce of shame either, but he wasn’t queer. It didn’t matter to him if I stepped out of the shower glistening wet with nothing but a towel around my hips.

He wasn’t small anywhere. He was softness and power wrapped up in one. Defined pecs, biceps, broad shoulders, thick fucking thighs, a stomach made of steel…and then some cushion from the fast food he loved. Add the biggest heart, a charismatic grin, and blue eyes that sometimes flashed with the devil inside him, and…yeah.

There was no grin on his face now, though. As soon as he lowered the towel he’d used to run over his hair and beard, all I saw were bloodshot eyes.

I froze. We spotted each other at the same time. It was a fucking slap in the face, and it kept coming, pushing worry, the urge to protect, and nausea down my throat.

“What the hell happened to you?” I blurted out.

He swallowed and averted his gaze, and he sought out his jeans and beater next to the couch. “I didn’t know you were home yet.”

That…did not answer my question.

“Boone.”

He sighed and stepped into his jeans. Oh, there goes the towel. Thanks. Just what I needed, his cock in my face. Or five feet away, whatever. “Just drop it,” he said.

It fucked with my head to have his cock and balls on the forefront of my mind at the same time as I was worried sick. I had to shake my head and scrub my hands over my face. The hell was wrong with me? I’d seen him naked a million times before.

If he was a grower, God have mercy on the women who were lucky enough to get fucked by him, because he was a shower too.

“I knew something was wrong,” I said. “My plan was to figure it out along the way, but now I’m just gonna ask. Are you depressed?”

“I told you to let it go,” he snapped. Then he picked up his towels and returned to the bathroom.

“Because I’m so good at obeying orders.” I didn’t waste a second to follow him, but I stopped short when I almost walked into him as he left the bathroom again. He glared at me. For once, I didn’t escalate anything. I didn’t glare back or say anything bitchy.

“Get outta my way, Case,” he warned quietly.

“No.” I clenched my jaw. “You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.” I even grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze to show I was ready to be his support animal through this. “I’m not going anywhere, Boone. I wanna know why you’ve been bawlin’ your eyes out.”

For some reason, that didn’t work. He got angry and shoved me aside, hard enough that I hit the wall with a thud. So I did what any normal person would do in my shoes. I jumped onto his back and latched on and demanded he tell me why he wasn’t feeling well.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled.

“I’m showing you how much I care!” I hollered back. “Stop tryna push me off!”

He didn’t. He rammed me into the kitchen doorway, and I cursed as fiery pain shot through my shoulder.

“I’m not letting go until you tell me,” I snapped.

He let out a furious growl and stalked into the living room, and I tightened my arms and legs around him, anticipating he was gonna try to throw me off. Nice of him to do it over the couch, I guessed. Less nice that he sank his teeth into my arm.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted.

When the pain became too much, I felt my grip slipping, and he chose that moment to