Asking For Trouble by Becky McGraw

the
faucet knobs, and those delectable curves appeared again. His hand
stilled at his task again and he stifled the urge to burn those
damned shorts. He tamped down a curse and shifted so his front was
square to the counter.
     
    Beau tried doing multiplication tables in
his head, reciting the Miranda and then the preamble to the
Constitution to try and distract himself, and get his problem under
control, but it wasn't working. She finally left the room with the
glass of water, and he put his hands on the counter and breathed a
sigh of relief.
     
    A tall, muscle bound Latino guy in a tank
top and athletic shorts pushed through the swinging doors, and Beau
glanced that way. He groaned, hoping this wasn't yet another man
that Jazzie had mesmerized, more competition. You're not even in
the race , Beau reminded himself. He didn't want to be, so if
this was another boyfriend, it wasn't his concern. The guy walked
to the refrigerator and opened the door, and Beau gave him a nod
and a grunt, then finished buttering the biscuits, and put them in
a basket.
     
    The man slammed the door shut, then walked
over to the counter and sat down a pitcher of orange juice. "I'm
Carlos, Jazzie's brother, who the hell are you?" he asked
shortly.
     
    "Beau Bowman, a friend of Jazzie's," he said
then wiped his hand on his jeans and stuck it out to Carlos
Ramos.
     
    "Friend, huh?" Carlos asked and narrowed his
eyes, then snorted. "Like that beach bum out front? She sure does
have a lot of friends these days," he said
sarcastically.
     
    "Yes, she does, doesn't she?" Beau admitted
in a flat tone, and picked up the cookie sheet and platter.
     
    "You don't like it either, I take it?"
Carlos asked him with a laugh and picked up the orange juice.
     
    "Hell no," Beau grumbled then walked past
him to the doors.
     
    Beau sat the food down on the table, then
turned to go back and get the grits he'd seen on the burner of the
stove. He saw Jazzie bounding back downstairs in painted-on jeans
and a scooped neck tank top. Her beautiful full breasts were trying
to escape from the neckline of that top, and those skintight jeans
framed her heart-shaped ass and rode low on her small waist. Beau
wasn't sure, but maybe what she'd had on before had been better.
She'd pulled her black hair back in a ponytail, and with her
freshly washed face and glowing cheeks, she looked about
sixteen...a very hot sixteen.
     
    Grabbing her arm, he pulled her across the
room and into the kitchen then grated, "Don't you have anything that doesn't fit you like a second skin?"
     
    Her face flushed and her lip trembled, then
she tilted her chin and told him, "What I wear is none of your
business, Beau...I like how I look," then jerked her arm out of his
grasp. He ground his teeth as she walked across the kitchen,
exaggerating the sway of her backside as she went. Jerking the pot
of grits off the stove, she slammed it on the counter, then yanked
open a cabinet and reached up to pull down a big bowl.
     
    Flinging open the drawer, she pulled out a
big spoon then scooped the steaming grits into the bowl, before
tossing the spoon and pot in the sink and running water in it. Her
shoulders were stiff as she stood there and watched the pot fill,
then he saw them shaking, and saw her fingers gripping the edge of
the sink. It was obvious she was either crying, or trying hard not
to.
     
    Beau walked over to her and put his hands on
her shoulders, and she stiffened more then turned her head to the
side. Gently, he pulled her back against him and hugged her. "I'm
sorry, sugar...you always look beautiful, that's the problem. I
don't want anyone else to look at you," he whispered into her hair,
then turned her in his arms. He tilted her chin up to look into her
eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat when he saw they
were indeed filled with tears.
     
    "Oh, god, Jazzie, I don't ever want to make
you cry..." he groaned then lowered his mouth to hers. "Please
don't hate me, baby," he whispered