Page 33 of Wanted

"Jude?"

"In here," I call out to my brother Jack.

He appears around the corner with Whitney on his heels. "Morning."

I tilt my chin in response. "Morning."

"I brought some things over for Frankie." Whitney approaches the island. "The girls and I got together some clothes. You said she'd be here for a while, but we didn't know how long that meant."

My eyes grow round as she heaves a massive zippered black bag onto the counter. "Are you sending her on a trip?" I ask, bewildered. When I called the family last night for spare items, I didn't think they'd rally to find an entire suitcase’s worth.

I should have known my family wouldn't settle for the bare essentials. The Powells don't know the meaning of doing something half-assed.

Whitney glares but softens it with a tip of her lips. "That's not a half-bad idea. I'm sure the poor girl could use one."

"Whatcha got?" I bring the conversation back to the items to move them along and away from the thought of Frankie leaving again.

She needs time to heal, and I don’t like the thought of her leaving until she’s had time to do that. Don't know why. Just know it feels like a vise gripping my chest.

Jack leans happily against the wall and crosses his arms, a smitten fucking look on his face as he watches his woman in her element.

"Besides the obvious, we picked up a hairbrush, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Um, Bree bought her some feminine toiletries so she doesn't have to wash up with whatever it is you use." She keeps talking as she pulls a mountain of items individually from the bag. "Oh, and I picked her up some panties and bras. They’re the stretchy kind since I didn’t know her size."

The second the words leave her mouth, I avert my gaze, but I'm not quick enough. The scraps of black cotton and lace burn themselves into my brain as Whitney drops them unceremoniously onto my kitchen counter.

My thoughts have been bad enough since the argument with Frankie wearing nothing but my tee, those tight thighs on display as she climbed into my guest bed. The last thing I need is to know exactly what underwear she's got on beneath my shirt when she's doing it.

And now I have the perfect visual.

Fucking hell.

"There's a notepad and markers, and Bree threw in a copy of her favorite romance novel. A few other things to occupy her time in case she's bored to tears stuck here with you."

"I can keep her plenty entertained." Shit, there are enough dogs here to keep her busy for a week.

"I'm sure you can."

Jack coughs into his fist.

I feel my face flush as I register Whitney's smirk.

"You're nothing but a troublemaker," I bite out.

"You make it oh-so easy," she teases. "Mind if I drop these off with her?"

"Anything to get you out of my sight," I grumble.

Whitney pauses her packing and opens her mouth, a rapid retort on the tip of her tongue.

"Honey," Jack calls. As he gains her attention, he smiles in a way that tamps down some of my prickly edges. "Stop riling up my brother before he bites someone's head off."

Whitney pats my shoulder on her way past, and I tense. "He wouldn't snap at me," she says sweetly.

"It isn't you I'm worried about."

Her girlish giggle softens as she disappears up the stairs.

"I'm madly in love with her." Jack's declaration feels odd in my small kitchen. “We’re getting married this summer.”

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