Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) by Dorothy Barrett

Author:Dorothy Barrett [Barrett, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: D. Barrett Books
Published: 2019-12-18T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Beau woke to the sound of Saturday morning cartoons and the soft whistle of PJ’s snores. Sometime in the night, she’d turned on the couch so that her backside was pressed up against his crotch. Sometime later, the knot on her shirt had loosened, and his hand had found its way underneath to settle between the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever felt in his life. Beau had no idea how to remove it without waking the woman who was still fast asleep in his arms, nor did he actually want to. But considering his kid was sitting on the floor maybe five feet from them watching an old episode of Teen Titans Go! while nibbling on a slice of sandwich bread, Beau figured he really ought to try.

Reluctantly, Beau slipped his fingers free a fraction of an inch. PJ let out a soft whimper and rubbed her ass against his morning wood. He hissed in her ear, fighting back the desperate urge to grind into her. Damn, she felt good, all that lush softness tormenting him as she murmured something low and sexy that Beau couldn’t quite make out over the sudden loud ringing coming from his front door.

PJ jerked, her eyes shooting open.

Beau yanked his hand out from under her shirt.

Max hopped up from the floor. “I’ll get it, Daddy!”

“Wait a minute, buddy. Let me help you.”

But his son had already scampered from the room as PJ bolted to a sitting position beside him. “Stay here,” Beau told her, rising quickly. “It’s probably just a salesman or something.”

PJ nodded, blinking back the cobwebs of sleep and raking at the tangled lengths of her hair. “S-sure.”

Beau padded after his son, but didn’t make it more than five steps before he heard Max’s excited chirps as well as the familiar click of heels approaching from the foyer. Shit. It wasn’t a salesman.

His mother swept into the living room in a cloud of White Diamonds perfume, clutching a cheap plastic sack from a local hobby store in one hand and a vintage Hermès handbag in the other.

“Mornin’, sugar.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I was just in the neighborhood. The Yarn Barn over on Goodwood was having a doorbuster sale, and I had to stock up.” Beau sighed. Only his mother would wake up at the butt crack of dawn to save an extra thirty cents a yard on scrap fabric, but be perfectly willing to drop twenty grand on a purse. Usually, the woman’s eccentricities didn’t bother him, nor did her spontaneous visits, but right now was definitely not a good time.

“Mama,” he said warningly. “Max was real sick last night…”

“What?” Nadine dropped her bags on a driftwood accent table. Then she reached for her grandson’s forehead. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come over—”

Max darted under her arm, climbed up on the couch with his bread, and went back to staring at the TV. Nadine’s attention, however, was suddenly riveted on the woman fidgeting beside him.

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