“I fucking knew it.” Jake said smugly, leaning back against Charlie’s kitchen counter just over a week later, tossing an apple from one hand to the other. His side twinged, but the pain lessened every day. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

“As if you wanted me to help myself.” Stacia rolled her eyes. “You want to see her take off just as much as I do.”

“So, how many galleries have you got on the hook?”

“Two, so far.” She chewed her lower lip. “Now I just have to convince her to go for it.”

He snorted. “You’ll do it. You always get your way. I should know. Speaking of which, any luck with Lucjan?”

Watching her face pale and her lips tighten at the corners made him feel like shit, but it couldn’t be helped. “Are you kidding? Has he ever helped us where Darnell is concerned?”

True enough. When Stacia had set her sights on Lucjan Kowalewski years ago, her plan had been utterly mercenary and one Jake hadn’t approved in the least. Not that his sister had consulted him. He would never have agreed with Stacia’s insane idea to seduce a criminal in order to catch a criminal. Not that it had worked. His sister had gotten caught in her own trap, losing her heart to the Polish crime lord and finding herself with a ring on her finger within a month. A ring Jake knew she still kept on a chain around her neck, despite everything that had happened between them.

Her plan had failed in more ways than one. Lucjan had refused to lift a finger to help his wife find Darnell, even now, when such a gesture might win her back.

“And that motherfucker put the word out to the locals. No one will talk to me. Not a peep. Even your medic runs the other way when he sees me coming.” She gave a long sigh. “Archie and Timor are long gone. We’ll have to start all over again.”

“We’ve done it before,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but it’s getting so close . . .” Her words trailed off, but he knew exactly what she was thinking of.

Their birthday was in November. Less than eight months. He didn’t tell her it was silly, still clinging to the deadline they’d made as traumatized children. Because it meant just as much to him as it did to Stacia. That first night in the orphanage, him sneaking into his sister’s bed, their plans as they’d huddled under the covers together. A vow to destroy the man who had destroyed them before they reached the age Mum had been when she’d died.

Thirty had seemed so far away then. Plenty of time to find and ruin that bastard. But time was running out.

Logically, he knew the date meant nothing. But inside, where it counted, if their thirtieth went by and Darnell was still out there, it would feel like he’d let Mum die all over again. He couldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t.

He cleared his throat. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. And you have Charlie to distract you.”

“If she even goes along with it.”

“You’ll convince her. It’s your specialty.” He may have been the one who raked in most of their living, but only because of Stacia. She kept them abreast of everything in the art world, discovering new artists, rejuvenating already established ones. Gallery tours and shows were her specialty and she was great at them. Her charm was even more practiced than his. She was scary smart, ruthless and incredibly beautiful. In short, there was nothing Stacia couldn’t accomplish when she was determined. But right now, she was chewing her lip again. It was a tell she only forgot around him . . . and her husband. Stacia was nervous.

“Don’t underestimate your Charlie. She’s a stubborn little shit. I’m still working on my approach.”

He grinned, secretly pleased Stacia wasn’t finding Charlie to be an easy mark, before taking a bite of his apple.

“That’s quite the crush you’re developing, baby brother.” Stacia’s gaze was laser sharp. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this bad since Delores Finch, back in primary school.” The words were teasing, but the tone was not.

He swallowed, lowering the apple to his side as he stared at her. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Stacia rolled her eyes again. “You should see the way your eyes light up when I mention her, let alone when she walks into the room. Getting attached to the natives is a bad idea. Remember?”

He should remember; he was the one who had made the rule for both of them, years ago. Jake glared at her. “I’m not attached. I just like her. Something wrong with me liking the woman who saved my life?”

Stacia’s eyes softened. “You tell me.”

The front door opened and the familiar tinkle of Charlie’s keys hitting the dish in the foyer rang out. Jake straightened, unable to help the smile that immediately curved his lips.

It froze as soon as he saw his sister’s face. She folded her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. He scowled.

“I’ve got cake!” Charlie’s cheery voice preceded her into the kitchen. Obviously, Friday nights put Charlie in a good mood. She stopped when she saw Stacia, that little upturned nose wrinkling once. Then she smiled and he felt it all the way to his toes.

Charlie wasn’t beautiful. Jake knew this. At a casual glance, most people wouldn’t even consider her attractive. But most people weren’t looking close enough.

Yes, her hair was a tangled mess from her walk in the nasty winter wind, the mousy color drab even in the warm light of the kitchen. Her gray slacks and pink sweater didn’t fit well and were not at all flattering. None of that kept his whole body from relaxing at the sight of her, as if he’d been desperately waiting for something without even knowing it and now it was here.

That didn’t mean he had a crush. Fuck Stace anyway. It wasn’t like he was a teenager anymore. He didn’t have crushes. It’d been a long time since he’d really gotten to know a woman, that was all. It wasn’t his fault. He flirted, they swooned, physical fun commenced and that . . .

That was about it. He’d never really wanted anything else. And if he had, pursuing Darnell had taken precedence over such things. No attachments.

It was safer that way.

“Hey, Stacia. Jake.”

So what if the soft trill of Charlie’s voice saying his name made him happy? Like he’d told Stace, he liked her. He could like the woman who had saved his life and opened her home to him, for Christ’s sake. It was only natural.

Stace was delusional.

“Hey, Charlie. I’m getting ready to take off. Just doing my part to keep Jake from pacing a hole in the carpets while you’re at work.”

Immediately, Charlie frowned, setting the pink-and-white box she carried on the counter to poke a finger in his chest, forcing him to look down into those big blue eyes, made even bigger by her glasses. “You better not be walking too much. Martin said you need to watch the exercise. I know you’re feeling better, but being on your feet too much will strain your stitches and—”

He lifted his hands and took a seat at the table. “Okay, okay. This is me, sitting, Nurse Ratched.”

Stacia got to her feet and Charlie’s gaze swung back to his sister.

“Sure you don’t want to stay and have a piece? There’s plenty.”

“Nah, I’ve a dinner engagement. But you two enjoy.” Stacia’s smirk as she left the kitchen made him want to stick out his tongue at her. Instead, he flipped his sister off behind Charlie’s back as she got a couple of plates out of the cupboard.

“You want a piece, right?” she asked as the front door closed.

“Better not. Gotta eat healthy, Martin’s orders, remember?” He held up his apple. Take that, you little tyrant.

She frowned. “Oh yeah. Oh well, your loss.” She put one of the plates back with a shrug. “What kind of desserts do you have in Australia?”

“Pie,” he said promptly, watching her untie the black ribbon and open the box. “Or pavlova.”

She wrinkled her nose at him again. “What’s that?”

“Basically, pie.”

She laughed. “Well, cake is better.”

“Never.”

“This one is.”

“What kind is it?”

“Orgasm by chocolate,” she said, turning faintly pink.

He raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like false advertising to me.”

She laughed. “Don’t be so sure.”

The confection she brought to the table was certainly pretty. The small cake was nestled in pink paper and dusted with powdered sugar and cocoa. It smelled heavenly, rich and dark and sweet. His own nose twitched.

She cut herself a slice, smirking. “Sure you won’t try some?”

He shook his head, taking a pointed bite of his apple. She shrugged again and took a small bite. Her eyes closed as she set the fork down. The faintest moan parted her lips. He shifted in his seat as he swallowed. Fucking Christ. If she sounded like that over cake, what kind of noises might she make over other things?

Shit.

Maybe Stacia was right. Or maybe he was just a bloke with an extremely healthy sexual appetite who was laid up in an apartment all alone with a sweet woman he liked, which inspired thoughts any man in a similar situation might have.

Yeah. That was it.

Shaking himself, he leaned over and tapped the tablecloth. “All right then, give us a bite.”

Her eyes popping open, Charlie filled her fork again before extending it to him with a smug look. On impulse, he covered her hand in his own, wiping the expression right off her face. Her fingers were soft and warm. They trembled once as he brought the morsel of cake to his mouth, his thumb on her wrist.

His eyes narrowed as he wrapped his lips around the treat, feeling her pulse start to flutter. Except for the occasional blush, Charlie rarely showed the slightest reaction to him. At first he’d been too out of it to mind, but now, after over a week in her presence, it was beginning to rankle. With perverse satisfaction, he watched her eyes dilate.

“Damn,” he whispered. “That was good.”

Her cheeks went pink. “Told you.”

She tugged, and he let go of her hand reluctantly.

Charlie finished their cake in silence, but the silence wasn’t quite as comfortable as usual. If he had to put a name to the feeling in the air, he’d call it . . . expectant.

---

They watched a movie, Charlie’s traditional Friday night ritual. He half expected her to pick some random chick flick, but he should have known better.

“Shaun of the Dead okay by you?”

“Fuck-a-doodle doo.”

She laughed and pressed play, and they settled in as zombies slowly began to overrun the world and the locals’ favorite pub, The Winchester.

The movie was just as fun as the other half dozen times he’d watched it, but watching Charlie was even better. When it was over, she glanced at him as she stretched, digging pink-painted toes into the carpet with a groan.

“I’m going to go paint for a while. You want to go to bed?”

“I always want to go to bed.” When he waggled his eyebrows, she rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes you’re as juvenile as Shaun and his friends.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. They saved the world, didn’t they?”

“Technically, no. But if you want to stay up for a bit, feel free. I’ve got Netflix and Hulu.”

“Got any good porn?”

He expected another eye roll, but instead she gave him a coolly amused look as she got to her feet. “Not any I’ll be sharing with you.”

He blinked at her. “You’re holding out on me! What’ve you got? Come on, Charlie, give a guy a break. I have needs, dammit.”

She snorted but shook her head. “I see to enough of your needs already, don’t you think?”

“You’re a cruel woman.”

“You were bound to find out eventually.”

He cursed.

“Give it up.” She giggled. “There is no way in hell I’m letting you at my porn, Jake Harris.”

“Afraid it will give me ideas?” He waggled his eyebrows again.

Her phone rang. With a grimace, she pulled it out of her jeans pocket, frowning when she saw the caller ID. “For fuck’s—I gotta take this.” She got to her feet, swiping her thumb to answer the cell.

“I bet you only have girl porn anyway, pathetic PG stuff,” he called out as she walked down the hallway. Charlie put a hand over the phone while giving him a glare that could strip paint. With a laugh, he settled back to wait for her. He glanced over at the remote she had left precariously balanced on her side of the couch. Then back up at the screen. Wincing, he reached over and managed to get his fingers around the end of the remote.