Page 124 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Either move somewhere safer—but really, there wasn’t anywhere safer than with him—or back to California to start her life again. They’d discussed long-distance, but he didn’t see any realism there. She was an in-demand Hollywood starlet. He was a humble single dad brewmaster who hated crowds and lived on a hippy island. Nothing about them made sense. Not on paper, anyway.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, it was to the pounding of someone on the door downstairs.

Early morning sun peeked around the corners of the blackout blinds, letting him know it was time to get up.

A quick glance at the other side of the bed revealed Brooke to still be asleep.

He needed to keep her there. Keep her safe and hopefully dreaming something wonderful—like his face between her thighs.

Throwing on a pair of gray sweats, he bounded down the stairs, meeting a sleepy-eyed Rocco. He wore nothing but a pair of board shorts, and his blond hair stuck up like he’d just rubbed a balloon all over it.

“What the fuck?” Rocco growled.

“This better not be what I think it is,” Clint said, mimicking Rocco’s bearish noises. It was only seven in the morning. And on a fucking Sunday to boot. Nobody needed to be up. And definitely not Brooke or Talia. Even if it was just Jagger or one of his nieces or nephews, Clint would be delivering some stern words.

Peering through the peephole, he saw neither brother nor a niece or nephew.

He did, however, see a familiar blonde woman with muddy brown eyes.

Pausing for a moment, he wracked his brain where he’d seen this woman before. And recently.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning.

Inez.

Brooke’s assistant. It was the same woman from the video Jagger sent him last night.

He unbolted the door and opened it a crack.

She smiled widely at him. Besides the shape of her face, which was rounder, she looked an awful lot like Brooke.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Hi,” she greeted with too much pep for the time of day. “I’m Inez. Brooke’s assistant.”

“Uhhhh ... hi.” He blinked a few times. “It’s ... it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I know, but as soon as I got the news, I booked a jet, then paid a fisherman to bring me here when he left the docks for the morning catch. Then I borrowed a truck from some guy named Willy at the docks. He said he was heading out crabbing so he wouldn’t need his vehicle until later.” She pointed to Willy Reilly’s beat up old maroon Chevy with the gray passenger side door panel. Inez made a move to peer into the house, but Clint kept the door firmly three inches open. “Brooke’s here, right? She’s alive? Can I come in?”

Rocco opened the door a little more.

Inez’s eyes went wide, then hooded almost immediately as she raked his bare torso from the drawstring of his shorts to his Adam’s apple. “Rocco,” she breathed.

“Inez,” he said flatly.

Something flickered between them, but it wasn’t necessarily lust or sexual tension. Clint knew what that felt like, and he wasn’t getting those vibes from these two.

“It’s seven o’clock in the morning, Inez.” Rocco threaded his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess.

“And Brooke is my best friend—my sister. I’m guessing as soon as you found out she was alive, you raced here?”

“Because she actually is my fucking sister,” he replied.

“Inez?” came a soft, slightly hoarse voice from the midway landing of the stairs.

Inez’s face filled with relief, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Brooke. Oh, thank God.” Not waiting to be invited in, she pushed between Clint and Rocco and launched herself into Brooke’s arms as Brooke reached the bottom of the stairs. “I knew you weren’t dead. Not in my heart, anyway. I just felt it. Like two kindred souls, you know?”

Brooke hugged her assistant. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you. I couldn’t.”

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