Those few minutes didn’t last nearly long enough, because as the coffee started to brew, the gurgle and hiss filling the silence of the open, airy room, Cheyenne joined him in the kitchen looking just as beautiful as she had when she disappeared upstairs. He tried not to stare, but it was pretty damn hard to do.
Never, in all his thirty-one years, had he ever seen a woman as breathtaking as Cheyenne Montgomery. Never.
She’d captivated him from the first time he saw her back when Travis surprised them all by bringing Cheyenne to their Mother’s Day get-together as a gift to their mom, who happened to be a huge fan of the country music sensation. He remembered that day like it was yesterday, how mesmerized he’d been watching her approach with her guitar in hand. Of course he’d known who she was because he was a fan as well, not that he’d ever told a soul.
He also remembered every single painful day since. The woman had turned his world upside fucking down without even knowing it, and he hadn’t coped well with it, either.
“How’re you feelin’?” he asked when she headed for the stainless steel refrigerator—one of the many new appliances in the recently updated kitchen. When he’d arrived last night, he’d admired Kylie’s vision. The old Victorian still held the appeal of a historic home, even with the updates that had brought the house into the twenty-first century.
“Like warmed-over dog shit,” Cheyenne replied in that sexy, sassy tone he’d been captivated by and, as of two years ago, started hearing in his dreams.
“I would’ve had you take some aspirin last night, but you weren’t holdin’ anything down. Didn’t figure it would do much good.”
“I’m sorry you had to babysit me,” Cheyenne retorted, pulling a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and heading for the cabinet without making eye contact with him.
“It wasn’t a hardship, trust me,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
Cheyenne turned to look at him then, skepticism etched on her lovely features. Yep, just as he feared, she’d heard him.
“Well, then, I’m sorry you had to sleep on that tiny couch. One of these days I’ll get the guest room fixed up.”
Brendon nodded. If he ever spent the night at Cheyenne’s house willingly again, he damn sure didn’t intend to spend it in the guest room. Which meant he’d never be sleeping over, because that was the last damn thing she wanted from him.
“You should add a shot of tequila to that,” he informed her, nodding toward the glass of juice sitting on the black granite countertop. “You know, hair of the dog and all that.”
“Nah, won’t help. I’m feelin’ a little better already anyhow.”
If it weren’t for the tension lines on her forehead, he might’ve believed her. Not that he had any plans to push her. It was evident Cheyenne knew how to take care of herself and she wouldn’t benefit from his two cents.
“So, why’d you move in so quickly?” Brendon motioned past the kitchen, toward the living room that was still in need of repairs and a lot of cosmetic work. “It looks like you’ve got months of work ahead of you before this place’ll be ready to be inhabited.”
“I ran out of options,” Cheyenne told him, turning away again as she poured more juice in her glass, downing it quickly before holding the carton up in the air. “Want some?”
Brendon shook his head when she peered at him over her shoulder, her dark eyebrow quirked in question. “No. Thanks.”
Cheyenne nodded and then resumed pouring more juice before returning the carton to the refrigerator.
“What do you mean you ran out of options?”
When Cheyenne turned around to face him, casually leaning up against the counter, one arm pressed across her abdomen beneath her breasts, the other elbow resting on her hand as she held her glass near her lips, he did his best not to stare at all the smooth, golden skin he could see. Or how the position of her arms thrust her impressive tits upward, offering a spectacular view of cleavage. That tiny tank top and those barely-there shorts weren’t helping his desire to not want her.
“I’ve been on the road so much since I got my big break that I haven’t bothered to buy a house. It was easier just to rent an apartment. I … uh …”
Brendon watched her, waiting for her to finish. She’d been forthright with the first part of that statement, but seemed to have realized what she was about to say.
“You what, Chey?”
“It wasn’t a big deal, really. It seemed that my address was leaked. Not enough security in that particular complex, so I had no choice but to move. I figured it was time to get a place of my own. And I wanted somewhere I could bring my grandmother. A place where I knew we’d both be safe.”