Page 4 of That One Night (The Heartbreak Brothers Next Generation #4)

Chapter

Four

What the hell was wrong with him?

Hendrix dragged Frank back up the lane toward his cottage, closing the gate firmly behind him even though he knew his goat could bust out again in a minute if he wanted to.

The billy had been exactly where Hendrix knew he’d be. Leaning over the fence by Logan’s field, posturing like a hormonal teenager trying to impress the nanny goats. Who, for the record, looked deeply un impressed.

Kind of like Emery Reed, when she’d caught him checking her out.

He hadn’t seen her in years, not since she was that girl in high school who always had her nose in a book or was scribbling in a notepad for the school paper. She’d been a couple of years younger than him. One of the good girls, pretty and studious, and he’d never given her the time of day.

Now? She was all grown up. All curves and flushed skin and wide brown eyes that any man would have to drag his eyes away from.

Okay, not any man. Him. And he didn’t drag his eyes. Not fast enough, anyway. He could still remember how soft and smooth her skin had looked, how her breasts swelled behind her arm as she tried to give herself some dignity.

How her stomach was taut, her hips flaring out as her body disappeared into her open cut offs.

She’s engaged, asshole.

Yeah, he’d noticed that too. His eyes had gone straight to the ring, even while she was yelling at him to stop staring.

He vaguely remembered hearing something about her being with Trenton Montclair, one of the group of rich assholes he’d known in school. The kind of supercilious, smug piece of shit who treated everyone like they were beneath him.

Hendrix wrinkled his nose as he walked back to the cottage, Frank plodding behind him like he hadn’t just wrecked the afternoon. Halfway up the road he’d discovered Emery’s shredded black tank top and her lacy panties, the latter still mostly intact.

Of course Frank had saved the panties. Freaking pervert. His mouth dried as he looked at them.

They were little more than a scrap of lace, with a tiny bow at the front. He had to blink away the image of her wearing them.

And nothing else.

Christ. He tossed the ruined tank into the trash and took the panties into the laundry room, adding them to the overflowing basket.

He’d wash them, fold them, and return them.

Not because he wanted an excuse to see her again.

He didn’t. She was off-limits, for more reasons than he could count.

But he didn’t want her thinking someone else would find her panties lying in a field.

Somewhere under the muscles and rough edges, he still had a sliver of decency.

Popping the top of a soda can, he drained half of it in one gulp. He’d take a shower, find a new t-shirt and get back to working on the cottage.

He’d had barely made it halfway to the living room when he heard the front door creak open. No knock. No shout. Just the sound of an intruder with hooves.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, heading back toward the hallway.

Frank. Of course.

The damn goat had wandered inside like he owned the place. His chin lifted, his beady eyes scanning the room like he was appraising the decor.

“You can go right back out the way you came in,” Hendrix told him.

Frank let out a short bleat and took a few slow steps, ignoring him completely. Hendrix sighed. He’d agreed to take on Frank when he bought the place, figuring one goat couldn’t be that much trouble. He hadn’t realized the damn thing was Houdini in disguise with a lingerie habit.

Still, Frank made sense in a way most people didn’t. He didn’t talk back, didn’t judge, and didn’t care about Hendrix’s past. And sometimes, Hendrix could relate to a creature who refused to be fenced in.

But stealing women’s underwear? That wasn’t the kind of rebellion Hendrix could get behind.

Not when it got him in trouble.

“Out. Now,” he said, curling his fingers around Frank’s collar and leading him to the door. Frank resisted for a moment, then let out a long sigh, like this was all beneath him, and allowed himself to be escorted out.

Hendrix walked him to the edge of the yard, giving him a gentle nudge back toward the pasture. Frank turned and pressed his cold nose against Hendrix’s back.

“Don’t give me the sad eyes,” Hendrix said, rubbing his hand over Frank’s fuzzy head. “You can’t go around stealing underwear and expect to get away with it. Some women are off-limits.”

Frank gave him a look that said he disagreed.

Hendrix let out a breath. “Yeah, I know. She was pretty. But she’s engaged. She’s got her whole life planned out already. She’s not for guys like us.”

Frank flicked his tail, then trotted off without a backward glance, like he didn’t believe a word his owner just told him.

“Oh my God, I wish I’d been there to see that,” Maisie said, laughing down the phone line. Emery groaned, her cheeks still burning from the memory of standing almost naked in the middle of the field.

“Sooo… this Hendrix guy. Is he hot?”

“If you like that kind of thing,” Emery muttered.

Maisie didn’t miss a beat. “It doesn’t matter what I like. I’m asking about you.”

There was the sound of shuffling, like Maisie was getting herself comfortable. It was late at night in Europe, but jet lag had hit her hard. According to her rant when Emery answered her call, her body was still working on eastern US time.

She’d spent the last half hour gushing about how gorgeous English men were and how she’d already landed two tinder dates since arriving on European soil.

Emery felt a pang of envy, listening to her best friend’s escapades. She missed her. She missed having somebody she could talk to and confide in.

Truth was, she’d only just got here and she was already feeling lonely. It was hard to feel that way when she was working. She loved being surrounded by her students. Her days were full of teaching and her nights full of grading and lesson planning during the school year.

But now, it was just her, the farm, and her mom. And all the stupid thoughts rushing through her head.

After putting Hendrix’s t-shirt on, she’d managed to sneak back into the house without her mom noticing, thank god. And she’d hidden his t-shirt under her pillow because she was pretty sure her mom would notice an item of man’s clothing in the laundry.

Despite her embarrassment there’d been something else. A feeling harder to define. All she knew was that every time she thought about the way that man had looked at her, it made her body heat up.

When was the last time Trenton had seen her like that, unable to pull his eyes away? She could barely remember.

He certainly hadn’t stared at her with dark eyes, looking like he wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his bed.

“So what’s next?” Maisie asked.

“I guess I avoid the guy next door for the rest of the summer.”

Maisie laughed again. “I meant on the list.”

“You know what’s next. You wrote it.” Emery pulled the list out of her pocket. After sneaking upstairs, she’d put a big tick next to Go Skinny Dipping . “Number two. Get a tattoo,” she read out.

“You don’t have to do them in order,” Maisie said. “You’re so regimented. The whole point of the list is to help you lighten up. You don’t have to treat it like an assignment.”

“Have you met me?” Emery asked her. “Of course I’m going to treat it like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Maisie sounded almost gleeful. “But maybe we should move them around. Put the tattoo later. I know you, you’ll never do it.”

“I don’t actually want to do any of them,” Emery told her. “Especially after what happened today.”

“But isn’t a tiny piece of you glad you did?” Maisie sounded almost sad. Like her plan wasn’t working. “Isn’t it nice to do something that you know your asshole ex would hate?”

Emery couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s vehemence. “Maybe…”

“Then try to do some more. For me. I hate being so far from you. I just want you to remember who you are. How much fun you can be when you don’t have Trenton weighing you down.”

“I’m trying,” Emery told her. “I really am.” She swallowed hard, because she knew Maisie was right. “I promise by the end of the summer I’ll have them all done.”

“Even number seven?” Maisie asked, sounding more than a little smug.

Kiss a man who isn’t your ex.

Emery swallowed. “Even number seven.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was charged. Hopeful. And just a little terrifying.