Sam was thinking about Lia, and he wanted her to be thinking of him, too. He didn’t want her out with some dick who would try to weasel his way into her bed by the end of the evening. The thought of this anonymous fucker touching her really burned, and Sam couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering where she was, what they were doing, how they were doing it.
Anyone would think he was jealous, but he wasn’t . . . he was just possessive. Right now, Lia McGregor belonged to him. Whether she knew it or not. He picked up his phone. If he called her, even texted her, it would take her out of whatever moment she was sharing with her Mr. Perfect. It would force her to think of Sam.
He was about to call her when a short, authoritative knock sounded on the back door. Sam nearly dropped his phone in surprise at the unexpected sound, and his head whipped around to look at the door while his entire body went on alert. The handle was turning and he winced, feeling like an idiot for not remembering to check if it was secure. He crouched, ignoring the twinges coming from his various healing wounds, and stealthily moved toward the door. Ready to do battle if it came to that.
The door swung inward and Spencer Carlisle stepped over the threshold. He paused when he saw Sam’s half-crouching stance and lifted his arms slightly, bringing Sam’s attention to the six-pack of beer clutched in the man’s right hand.
“I come in peace, I promise,” the guy said with something close to a grin, and Sam relaxed, feeling like an idiot. “You military types ever switch off?”
“Only when we’re dead, mate,” Sam said easily, stepping forward with the intention of offering his hand until he remembered that his arm was in a cast. The other man seemed to understand his intention, though, and nodded in acknowledgment.
“Brought you some beer. Noticed that Daff didn’t include any in her shopping.”
“Couldn’t come at a better time,” Sam groaned appreciatively.
“I have conditions.” The man’s words reminded Sam of Lia’s misunderstanding of his question the other night, and he grinned at the recollection.
“Something funny?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah, but it’s unrelated to this. What conditions?” Spencer gave him an assessing look before shrugging.
“Daff and Charlie are watching a chick flick. I needed to get away from all the sighing and crying,” Spencer informed him with an intimidating frown. He had dark hair and thick, straight, dark brows that made him look pretty damned formidable. He was a huge guy, probably four or five inches taller than Sam, and massively built. Sam understood that he’d once been a rugby player, a forward lock, so he was lean and solid at the same time. Physically he’d make a pretty intimidating CPO, but from what Sam had observed since meeting the man for the first time in November, he lacked a soldier’s edge. He was huge and intimidating on the outside with not an aggressive bone in him. He also never had more than two words to say, so Sam was surprised that the man had approached him and was being so damned chatty.
“Want to watch something manlier?” Sam asked, and Spencer nodded.
“There’s a Fast and Furious movie on at seven thirty,” he stated, and Sam glanced at the kitchen clock and nodded.
“Make yourself at home, I’ll see if your fiancée bought any snacks.”
“Girlfriend,” Spencer corrected uncomfortably, red darkening the back of his neck and the tips of his ears.
“Beg your pardon?”
“She’s not my fiancée . . . yet.”
“Ah.” Sam opened and closed a few of the kitchen cabinets, searching for something salty. He found a packet of crisps and a can of pretzels on the same shelf and grabbed them both. “Mate, would you mind getting a bowl or something? Kind of incapacitated over here.”
Spencer grunted and went on the hunt, finding a couple of bowls in short order. He emptied the crisps and pretzels into the bowls, carried everything into the living room, and dumped them onto the coffee table in front of the huge television. Mason had a great setup—digital surround sound, seventy-seven-inch organic LED television, PS4, and music all hooked up to the same system. It was man cave central, and Sam had been so preoccupied with Lia that he hadn’t even thought to check it all out before now.
“This is a sweet setup,” he said, and Spencer grunted again—it sounded like agreement. He was a taciturn fucker, but that was okay. Sam appreciated the quiet companionship he offered.
They settled in, Sam spread out on the sofa and Spencer sprawled in the easy chair, and were soon absorbed in the loud, improbable movie. The crazy car stunts, gunfights, and hand-to-hand combat scenes were completely unrealistic, and Sam picked them all apart in his head, finding the exact moment in each action sequence where the character should have died a horrible death. Gravity, physics, and the limitations of the human body were terrible equalizers.
Still, he enjoyed the loud, chaotic movie for what it was, a couple of hours of pure escapism. Spencer didn’t speak at all, just kept his focus on the screen, systematically making his way through his share of the snacks and beers. He was great, undemanding company.
When the movie ended, Spencer stretched and yawned. “Need anything before I go?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I think I’ve got it all covered.”
“Daff says she won’t be . . .”
“Won’t be helping out? Yeah, I know. She doesn’t like me.”
Spencer grimaced and shrugged. “Hmm.” That’s all he had to say on the matter, and Sam could respect that—the opinionated, borderline unlikable woman was the guy’s almost fiancée, after all.
“It’s fine. Lia’s offered to help out with meals and cleaning.” Another formidable frown from the big guy.
“She has?”
“Yes.”
The frown deepened as Spencer absorbed that information, but again he offered no opinion.
“I’ll drop around again tomorrow night. I think Daff and Charlie are planning some kind of makeup tutorial with some of Charlie’s friends.” The look of panic and absolute horror in his eyes was comical, and Sam grinned.
“See you then.”
“Hmm.”
Another long night of interrupted sleep with crazy, sexy dreams starring Lia McGregor had Sam waking up irritated and horny the next morning. Again he could smell coffee brewing, and he sat up in bed, willing his erection away. He was in a foul mood, and not even the smell of waffles and bacon could dispel his aggravation.
He prowled downstairs and found her at the stove, her back to him. Her hair was up in a neat ponytail and she was wearing a knee-length mint-green pencil skirt with a plain white cotton blouse. On her feet she wore a pair of modest beige pumps. She looked neat and fresh, and all Sam wanted to do was go up behind her and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to turn her around and devour her mouth and mess up all that pristine neatness. Ruin all that prim goodness with just the touch of his hands and mouth.
He would take her down to the floor, push that skirt up over her thighs, pull down her panties, and claim her right there. He had the almost violent, primal urge to do just that, right here and now. He actually took a step toward her, cock hard, hands reaching . . . when she turned around and spotted him. Her smile stopped him dead in his tracks. A beautiful, innocent, and genuinely delighted smile.
“Oh, good morning,” she greeted, not knowing how very close he’d come to ravishing her on the fucking floor like a wild beast. “I trust you slept well?”
“No,” he growled and turned away from her. Any other morning he’d flirt and try to charm her, but not today, not after the frustrating night he’d just had. He was in an unpredictable mood. He didn’t trust himself not to say or do something stupid and scare her off.
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Were you in pain?”
“Yes.” Serious pain. All night long. The type of pain that could only be assuaged inside her body.
“Oh no. What can I do to help?”
He laughed bitterly and glared at her over his shoulder.
“Don’t fucking ask me that,” he growled, feeling like a wounded animal, and her eyes widened.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered angrily, and she pinned him with an annoyed frown.
“What’s your problem today?” she asked sharply, and he snorted a sarcastic laugh and stood with his arms spread, inviting her to look her fill. He was wearing only boxer briefs this morning, and she’d very stoically kept her eyes on his face since he’d joined her in the kitchen.
“I’d say that my problem is pretty fucking self-evident,” he growled, and her eyes did a quick sortie down his body and then very swiftly scampered back up to the safety of his face. Her cheeks had gone bloodred, and her breathing was coming in alarmed little pants.
“Oh. Well. I’m sorry.” Her words stymied him, and he stared at her for an instant before his arms dropped back down to his sides.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry about what happened between you and Laura Prentiss and that she isn’t here to help you with . . . with . . . uh, that.”
“She’s not, but you are.”
“What?” she gasped, her shock genuine, if the absolutely appalled expression on her face was anything to go by. “Women aren’t interchangeable, Brand. What an awful thing to say.”
“I never said they were, Lia,” he gritted, completely frustrated with the way this was going. It was too damned soon to be talking about this, to be suggesting this, but he’d been betrayed by his lack of patience and his own adolescent response to the woman in front of him.
“Look,” he began, praying for patience, while at the same time knowing that he was going to completely fuck up his already ill-conceived plan with his next words. “Remember how your one stipulation to our agreement was no ‘funny business’?”
“Of course,” she said warily.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s going to be some funny business. Possibly a lot of funny business. Right now, Lally is quite the furthest thing from my mind, princess. You’re the one responsible for this hard-on. You and your closet full of schoolmarm outfits. You and your neat little body and your prim lips and your dated sensibilities. I want you back in my bed. For however long I find myself here. I want you to stop your search for Mr. Right and focus on me . . . only me. But I want you to remember that I’m Mr. Wrong and not refocus your romantic attentions on me.”
“Is that all?” She tried for sarcasm, but her voice was breathless and lacked heat. She looked dazed, not sure how to respond to his words. He didn’t even know how to respond to his words—he was as shocked by them as she clearly was.
“Fuck me, not by a long shot, princess. I want to lean you over the kitchen counter, push your skirt up over your firm little bum, and pull down your panties, then I want to bury myself in you and lose myself in your tight heat until we both come.”
He went quiet and there was nothing but silence in the kitchen as they watched each other. She swallowed audibly and licked her lips.
“That’s . . .” Her voice emerged on a husky note and she cleared her throat. “Uh, that’s a lot, Brand. I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You can say ‘fudge it,’ throw caution and inhibitions to the wind, and fuck me?”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice carrying just the slightest hint of regret.
“Why not? Where’s the harm in it?”
“I’m not made that way. I don’t have casual flings.”
“I can think of at least two separate occasions when you did.”
“That was different. It was meant to be just then. Just that one time.”
“It was twice.”
“I think of it as one extended encounter.”
“Can’t we extend it even further? Can’t we just continue where we left off? Just a consensual, adult sexual encounter that started in November and will end when I leave.”
“No. I don’t think so. That was then. This is now. Things have changed.”
“What things?”
“For one thing you’ve been in a serious relationship since then . . .” She paused, and her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, please don’t tell me you were involved with her when we first met.”
“I’m a one-woman-at-a-time kind of guy, Lia, so no, I wasn’t involved with anyone else when we first fucked.”
She winced. “Just so you know, that kind of language does nothing to endear you to me.”
“Just so you know, I don’t actually give a fuck. I’m not proposing marriage here, Lia. Just sex. And that means taking me just the way I am, crude, crass, and common. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not just to appease your delicate constitution.”
Her lips thinned, and her jaw went up.
“And I’ve changed,” she said. “Back then I was . . . unsure. Still rebounding from my failed engagement . . .”
“It was more than a year later, wasn’t it?” he asked incredulously.
“I don’t bounce back very quickly. Anyway, I was vulnerable, and you were lucky enough to capitalize on that vulnerability.”
He laughed at that, the sound cynical. Was this woman for real?
“Is that what you told yourself? That I took advantage of your vulnerability.”
“No. I needed something to make me feel better about myself, and you were there. I suppose I took advantage of you. You were . . . you were my rebound guy.”
He choked back another laugh at that. He liked that. He liked that she was proud enough to want to turn the tables on him.
“Sure, I like that. I like being your rebound guy. I can keep being that.”
“I don’t need a rebound guy anymore. I did the rebound thing. I need something else now. Someone else. Someone who’ll stick. Who’ll want to start a life and a family with me.”
“Boring shit that can wait a few more months,” he dismissed. “I was your rebound guy, now let me be your final fling guy. Let me be the last wild thing you do before you settle down.”
“I . . . no.” She looked away and swallowed again. “No, thank you. Your breakfast is ready. Please have a seat.”
Always so fucking polite. He dragged a chair back and sank down at the table. Did she really think the conversation was over? Just like that? Apparently so—she smoothed her hands down the front of her pristine pinafore apron and smiled serenely at him, her eyes carefully blank. He returned the smile with a glare and watched in grim satisfaction as her expression faltered. She turned away and picked up a couple of plates. She crossed the short distance between them and placed his breakfast neatly in front of him before turning away to retrieve a mug for his coffee.
Sam stared down at his plate resignedly. She’d shaped roses out of a couple of strawberries and centered them on top of a stack of waffles. More freshly sliced fruit was prettily placed in a separate bowl. She returned with his coffee and a side plate of crispy bacon.
“Stop turning my meals into weird little pictures, it’s fucking pointless,” he groused before spearing his fork into the stupid flower and bringing it to his mouth. He chomped it down without ceremony, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and contemplated him for a long moment.
“It’s a habit. But from now on I’ll try to remember that you have no soul and take no enjoyment from pointless, pretty things.”
“It’s food—as long as it’s edible, I don’t care about the presentation,” he said defensively, feeling like a dick now.
“I care about the presentation,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of stubborn defiance that surprised him. “I take pride in my accomplishments, Brand. And while they might seem completely pointless and dumb to you, I do it because it makes me happy. And I couldn’t care less what you think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said begrudgingly. He was being a prick, he knew it, but sexual frustration, combined with constant pain and discomfort, were not conducive to charm and good behavior. It was a poor excuse, but it was the only one he had. He wanted to say more, but those were the only two words that came out and, in the end, the only words that really mattered.
She nodded an acknowledgment of his apology, looking somewhat mollified, and Sam went back to his breakfast.
“I brought a chicken pie for lunch. It needs to go in the oven—the heating instructions are on the container. Oh, and my mother baked you a cake. Chocolate fudge—she says she hopes you enjoy it.” She nodded toward the island, where a beautifully iced, decadent-looking chocolate cake stood on display on a glass cake stand.
“Please send her my thanks,” he said. “Why’d you bring the pie? I thought we’d be spending the day together again.”
Lia did her best not to gape at the unsettling man. There he sat, in nothing but his underwear, after presenting her with the most ridiculous proposition and then insulting her food, still expecting to accompany her on her day’s errands? It was confusing and contradictory and strange.
Worse, she had been so tempted to take him up on his invitation for a final fling. Nothing was stopping her—she didn’t have a man in her life, and she was a consenting adult with the usual wants and needs. Why not take him up on the offer? He was attractive, and he was very good in bed. And despite his current contrariness and his extreme rudeness, he was often an entertaining, if enigmatic, companion.
If they were up front about this being nothing more than a fling, then neither would have any expectation of more from the other. He wasn’t ever going to be the right man for her, she knew that. So why not simply enjoy him and what they could have together?
“Well?” he prompted, impatient with her silence, and Lia blinked, coming back to the present with a jolt.
“You didn’t seem to enjoy yesterday; I didn’t think you’d want to go with me again.”
“I want to see Spike again.”
“The boxer, Titan.”
“His name is Trevor,” she reminded him frostily, and he wrinkled his nose.
“That’s a terrible name for a dog. Who names a dog Trevor? You might as well have called him Clive. Or Norman. Or Claude. Anyway, I wanted to see how he’s doing today. You did say you go to the animal shelter every day, right?”
“Yes.”
“And the old folks?”
“I see the seniors twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.”
“Pity. The dancing was great exercise. So what’s happening today? Animals and . . . ?”
“Just the animal shelter, and then I’ll be dropping some blankets and clothes off at the homeless shelter.”
“I can help with that. I have one good arm,” he said. He seemed desperate, and she wondered about that. Maybe he was the type of person who preferred activity over their own thoughts. It was strange, and she wanted to ask him about it but stopped before she formulated the question.
It wasn’t her business.
“I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you’re not done by then, I’m going without you,” she said, and he grinned before scooping a huge portion of waffles into his mouth.
“These waffles are brilliant, princess,” he said between bites. “Make them yourself?”
“Of course.” She helped herself to some coffee and sipped while she waited for him to finish. He was done in less than five minutes and excused himself to shower and get dressed. Thank goodness.
She was getting way too used to seeing him in his underwear.
He required help with his shirt again. Another one of those ridiculous dress shirts, and she found herself once again cutting the ruined sleeve away. She worked quickly, with barely a quake in her fingers, even though she was even more aware of the heat from his chest after their earlier conversation. Worse, she found herself wanting to stroke that silky skin, kiss it . . . possibly lick it.
Crumbs! She was completely losing it. She desperately needed to pull herself together. After fastening the last button, she patted her hot cheeks in an attempt to cool them down.
“You okay?” he asked her softly, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound of his voice. He’d stood so docilely while she was buttoning him up; now she looked up at him and caught the wicked glint in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips and knew that he’d been well aware of her reaction to him.
His thick, uneven stubble hadn’t been shaved in at least two days, and it was beginning to enter the short beard phase. It was a shade or so darker than his dirty-blond hair and made him look even more rugged and masculine than usual. She would never have believed that possible. Not when he was already so unbelievably and unfairly sexy.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said stiffly. She was stronger than this—she would not let this man, no matter how lethally attractive he was, unsettle her so.
“Liar,” he said with a roguish little grin, and she cleared her throat and stepped away from him. “Any time you want to rip my clothes off, Lia, I’ll be right here waiting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with what she hoped sounded like scorn and grabbed her car keys. “Let’s go.”
The animal shelter was their first stop of the day, and Brand made a beeline for Trevor’s pen, chatting amiably with Siphiso along the way. Lia went through her usual Thursday routine, walking some of the smaller dogs, playing with the puppies, and cuddling the seniors. The older dogs were least likely to be adopted, and it broke Lia’s heart every time she visited them because she wasn’t sure which ones would still be around when she returned the following week.
The time she spent at the shelter was nearly up when she realized that she hadn’t seen Brand since their arrival. She spotted Siphiso and asked him about it.
“Oh, Mr. Brand? He’s still with Trevor.”
“Still? He’s been there all this time?”
“He asked if he could sit with him.”
“What do you mean, sit with him? Like, in the pen?” Her voice raised in alarm, and Siphiso smiled.
“No, he’s just sitting outside the pen, talking and talking. Trevor moved a little closer.”
“He did?”
“Just a little.” Siphiso grinned happily.
“Oh gosh.” Lia’s hands went to her mouth. It was the only reaction Trevor had shown to anyone in months. Immediately she worried. What if Trevor chose to trust Brand? What if Brand simply upped and left one day and Trevor felt abandoned again? She wasn’t sure if she should encourage this. But maybe it would pave the way for Trevor to open up to other people.
She hastened to Trevor’s pen and found Brand sitting flat on his butt, facing the pen, back against the wall with his legs drawn up and his arms resting on his spread knees. He was still talking. His voice sounded hoarse, and he seemed to be discussing a movie with the dog. An animal movie. One that she recognized.
“‘Baa-ram-ewe, to your own self be true’ and I shit you not, mate, those fuckin’ sheep moved for him. Nice and neat like, straight into their pen. It was pretty cool.” He stopped talking abruptly and tensed when Trevor tensed, the dog sensing Lia’s presence before Brand did. His eyes lifted to hers, and he grinned sheepishly.
“Are you telling him about Babe?” she asked disbelievingly, and he wrinkled his nose self-consciously, melting her heart.
“We’ve already worked our way through a couple of real dog movies.”
“Such as?”
“The one where the three dogs get lost and have to find their way home.”
“I believe it was two dogs and a cat.”
“I didn’t want to upset him by using the C word,” he said lightly.
“I see.”
“And the one about the huskies that get left behind and have to fend for themselves. But in my version, all of the dogs were rescued.”
This was so unexpectedly sweet. Lia wasn’t sure what to make of it. He kept his voice low and soothing while he spoke with her, even though Trevor had withdrawn and crept back to his corner, his eyes wary as they watched her every move. Lia took her cues from Brand and kept her own voice quiet while she spoke.
“Are we leaving?” he asked, and she nodded. His eyes went back to Trevor, and he heaved a sigh before struggling to his feet. She reached over to help him, but he shook off her hold. Surprising, considering he always seemed to actively seek her hand whenever he wanted to get out of chairs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, mate,” he promised Trevor.
Naturally everybody at the homeless shelter knew Lia and wanted to chat with her. Sam was starting to comprehend that she was considered something of a saint by the good citizens of Riversend. It pissed him off a little, because they all seemed to want something from her. Even when she was in the middle of one thing, they were already buttering her up to do the next thing.
He’d noticed it with the old folks—yes, she was there to play the piano twice a week, but then there were all the requests that she fetch things, bring things, fix things, make things. At the animal shelter, they’d asked her to organize a fund-raiser, some kind of annual fete that apparently only Lia could do right. At the library, after she’d finished reading to the kids, the librarian had asked if Lia would mind baking—not buying or just bringing, but baking—confectioneries for the next adult-literacy class. Lia, of course, had said yes. Because Lia seemed incapable of refusing anybody anything. Anybody except Sam, of course. She was quite comfortable telling him no.
Now he watched, increasingly irritated, as the man they called Oom—which apparently meant “uncle”—Herbert asked Lia if she would mind terribly fetching another few boxes of donated goods from the Catholic church. Lia’s face lit up with a warm smile.
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said sweetly, and Sam’s teeth gritted in annoyance. It was none of his business—after he left they would continue taking advantage of her because she allowed it. If she enjoyed being the town’s general lackey, then far be it for him to intercede.
A lanky guy, about Sam’s age, wearing a sweater-vest, a tight-looking bow tie, and a pin-striped short-sleeved shirt, approached Lia as she was sorting through some of the clean blankets that had been donated to the shelter. Sam, who was standing to one side, not helping, not interfering, and not really talking to anyone, immediately stood upright, his gaze sharpening as he took in every aspect of this newcomer. He didn’t like the proprietary way the man was looking at Lia, and he liked it even less when the skinny bastard touched her. Not just touched her—encircled his bony hand around her arm before she even knew he was there. The shock on her face spurred Sam into action, and he was beside her in three seconds flat.
The other man was taller than Sam, but he was skeletally thin and Sam knew how to intimidate with nothing but a glare and an open, loose-limbed stance. Legs braced apart, shoulders back, hands loosely hanging at his sides, he looked combat ready. He was combat ready, despite his injuries. If this guy didn’t move his hand from Lia’s arm very soon, Sam was going to fuck him the hell up.
“Problem here?” he asked grimly, and Lia blinked from the other guy to Sam, looking completely confused. She pulled her arm out of the other man’s hold, and Sam relaxed marginally.
“Who are you?” the taller man asked resentfully, his huge Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“Brand. You?”
“Gregory Marsh. Dahlia and I are seeing each other.”
Sam looked at Lia and raised his eyebrows at her. She looked uncomfortable and slanted her eyes away from his.
Really? This guy? This was the guy with whom she was getting serious? Okay, so this was a small town and maybe there weren’t many eligible men around, but Lia was . . . she was Lia, and this guy was not worthy of her. Not because he was weird-looking and smelled funny, but because he didn’t look at her like she meant the world to him. He didn’t look like he’d appreciate strawberry flowers on his waffles or breakfast faces, and maybe Sam didn’t appreciate those things, either, but it was already established that Sam was the wrong man for her. If this was an example of the kind of man she considered right, then she was going to have to reevaluate her wish list. Because this guy was all kinds of wrong for Lia.
“Gregory, what are you doing here?” she asked uncomfortably.
“I saw you come in, and since you haven’t been answering my texts, I thought I’d come over and ask you in person if you’d like to have dinner tonight.”
“I-I . . . can’t.” Brand watched the uncomfortable little exchange with extreme interest. Lia didn’t seem all that into her Mr. Right. What was that all about?
“Why not?” Good old Greg practically snarled the question, his gaze sliding to Sam, who made no secret of his avid curiosity. Once again the other man’s hand went around Lia’s arm, and Sam heard the low growl in the back of his throat. The other two heard it as well, and both of them looked at him in shock. Truth be told, Sam was a bit shocked as well. But the sight of that arsehole’s bony hands on Lia’s soft skin pissed him off and made him want to get violent. Luckily for Greg, he released Lia’s arm, but he shifted so that he was standing between Lia and Sam. He lowered his voice, but Sam still heard every word. As he was certain Gregory intended him to.
“The other night was so good. I can’t stop thinking about it. Your soft skin, your sweet mouth . . . the way you rubbed against my . . .”
“Stop it,” Lia hissed. “That wasn’t what you imagined it to be.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you playing hard to get? Or are you just a cocktease?”
Lia gasped, and Sam’s temper snapped.
“Not very gentlemanly of you, mate,” he chastised, grabbing the back of Gregory’s scrawny neck and yanking him away from Lia. “Fuck off out of here before I snap you in two. Don’t let the cast on my arm fool you—I’m pretty capable of breaking parts of you if I want to.”
The guy gave him a terrified look but still managed to get a word in before he scuttled off back to whatever fucking hole he’d crept out of.
“I know we have something, Lia. Call me.”
The encounter had drawn stares, and Sam met every curious pair of eyes challengingly before everybody looked away and pretended to go back to what they were doing before.
“Seriously, Lia? That guy? He’s the guy you were getting serious about?” Lia winced and refused to meet his eyes.
“You’re going to have to look at me sometime, sunshine,” he said, surprising himself with the endearment. It suited her much more than the more aloof “princess” did. The endearment startled her into looking at him, and he smiled at her. “Tell me about Gregory.”
“Not now,” she said, her furtive gaze going around the room, where everybody was looking at everything but Lia and Sam.
“Then I believe it’s time for lunch.”
It was only as they were walking into MJ’s that it finally registered with Lia that it was Thursday and that Daff was waiting for her at their usual table. The expression on her sister’s face darkened when she saw Brand, and when Lia looked at the man walking beside her, she saw that his face bore a similar expression to Daff’s.
Well, they would have to suck it up and play nice, because Lia was angry and irritable after Gregory’s confrontation and she really, really needed a glass of wine or something to soothe her nerves.
She didn’t acknowledge either of them when she sat down, merely summoned Suzy over and ordered a glass of red wine, leaving both of her lunch companions to stare at her in surprise.
“What? I can’t have some wine with my lunch?” she snapped, and Daff’s eyebrows went straight to her hairline.
“Okay, asshole, what did you do to upset her?”
“Me? Ask her creepy boyfriend, Ichabod Crane. He’s the one who came slithering over and embarrassed her in front of half the town.”
“Icha—wait, do you mean Grantley Marsh?” Daff asked Sam with wide eyes.
“Gregory,” Lia corrected automatically. Daff ignored her interjection, keeping her eyes on Brand’s face.
“Lanky fucker, wears bow ties, has the beginnings of a comb-over and a gigantic Adam’s apple?” Brand elaborated for Daff’s benefit.
“Ugh, where did you run into him?”
“Homeless shelter,” Brand said concisely. Lia refrained from saying anything. Her drink arrived and she smiled gratefully at Suzy before downing half the huge glass in one gulp.
“Oh, of course, the bank’s across the street from the homeless shelter,” Daff breathed with a slight shake of her head before elaborating. “He’s the bank manager.”
“That explains that, then.”
“And he confronted Lia?” Daff looked completely thrown by that information. Like someone had just told her that they’d taught a monkey to talk.
“Full on,” Brand said grimly, his face going dark at the recollection. “Grabbed her arm and asked her why she hasn’t been returning his texts. Why haven’t you been returning his texts, Lia? I thought he was your guy?”
“That bastard?” Daff asked, her voice dripping with scorn. “No way. He’s a handsy asshole who thinks grinding himself up against an unwilling woman counts as foreplay.”
“What?” Brand’s eyes narrowed and his head whipped to Lia as if seeking confirmation, but she didn’t feel like confirming or denying anything. She just wanted to drink her wine and pretend the other two weren’t there. She averted her gaze and stared off into the middle distance. Refusing to acknowledge either of them until the wine had mellowed her mood a bit. But apparently her refusal to speak was enough of a confirmation for Brand, if his next words were anything to go by. “That motherfucker! I should have torn him apart.”
He looked set to do so, too, Lia observed, taking another calming sip of wine. His good palm braced against the tabletop, as if he meant to push himself up and go Gregory hunting. She’d never seen him look so angry before, and she found it both gratifying that all that rage was on her behalf and intimidating when she knew he was fully capable of maiming or killing with his bare hands.
“Calm down, Brand, it’s none of your business,” she said, injecting a measure of unruffled coolness into her only slightly shaky voice.
“What did he do?” Brand asked, his voice still holding that dangerous edge.
“Nothing. We just kissed, that’s all.”
“‘We’? As in you and he? As in you were a willing participant in this embrace?” he asked tersely, and she shrugged.
“I knew he was going to kiss me. I was prepared for it.”
“Prepared? What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Lip gloss? Breath mints? Tongue exercises?” Daff asked, also seeking further clarification, and Lia glared at her sister, who was so not helping.
“Did you wear the juicy bubblegum-flavored lip gloss for him?” Brand growled dangerously, and both Lia and Daff gaped at him.
“What? No! That’s not what I meant. I meant I knew he was going to kiss me. It was our third date, and I expected some kind of physical escalation from him.”
“How far did this ‘physical escalation’ go, sunshine?” More dangerous growling, combined with lip curling and nostril flaring. He was fascinating, like a territorial male animal.
“A kiss. Our first. With tongue.” She wrinkled her nose at the recollection. “He’d had garlic, though, so it wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for.”
“And that’s all? A disgusting, garlic-flavored kiss.”
“This is really none of your concern, Brand,” she tried again, not comfortable discussing this with him, but this time Daff chimed in.
“Oh, he grabbed her tit and rubbed himself against her,” she elaborated, clearly wanting Brand to kill Gregory and go to prison for murder, thereby effectively killing two birds with one stone. Her sister could be pretty devious at times.
Brand swore and was halfway out of his seat this time before Lia sighed and clamped a hand around his left wrist.
“Sit down, Brand. You don’t get to play this role in my life.”
“What role?” he asked between clenched teeth.
“Hero.” The word made him pause, and his eyes narrowed before he released a furious breath and sat down heavily.
“We’re letting the matter go now,” she said, quite proud of her level voice as she aimed a warning look at both Daff and Brand.
“If he approaches you again . . . ,” Brand said, his voice fading as he left the rest unspoken.
“If he approaches me again, I’ll deal with it. Me. Not you,” she said calmly and confidently. Her answer seemed to frustrate him and he looked set to argue, but Daff cleared her throat, bringing his attention to her.
“So why are you hanging out with my sister today, Brand?” Daff asked pointedly.
“She’s showing me around town,” he said after a beat, allowing the subject change as he picked up the laminated menu.
“How exciting. There’s so much to see,” she said acerbically, and Lia rolled her eyes.
“I’ve enjoyed the last couple of days,” Brand surprised them by saying. “We’ve gone dancing, seen a bit of theater, some of the local animals.”
Daff choked on a sip of water and laughed, the sound genuinely amused. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark here and say you’ve been to the retirement home and the animal shelter. Not sure what the theater thing is.”
“The Books Are Fun campaign,” Brand supplied with a grin. “The kids act out scenes from a book.” More laughter from Daff.
“So did you and Spence have fun last night?” Spencer had visited him last night? Brand hadn’t mentioned that. Lia didn’t know why that news surprised her or why she felt a little betrayed that she had to hear about it secondhand.
“Yeah.”
“I hear you’re having another male-bonding session tonight?”
“Well, if what he tells me is true, he’ll need it.” Daff’s lips tilted at the corners at his response.
“I’m doing makeup tutorials with Charlie and a few of her besties tonight. She’s been so bored this holiday, she’s driving us a little crazy,” she informed Lia. “Want to join us? We’ll be doing facials and having virgin cocktails. Well, virgin for the girls, but I’m totally slipping some rum in my daiquiris.”
“That sounds like fun,” Lia said with a grin.
“We can have a few extra drinks because it’s a holiday tomorrow. Freedom Day, baby!”
“I completely forgot about that,” Lia gasped, and Daff chuckled. After the excitement and ups and downs of the last week, the national holiday had completely slipped her mind.
“Does this mean we can’t go and see Tyrion?” Brand asked, worried.
“His name is Trevor, and because of the holiday the shelter will have an adoption fair tomorrow. I’ll be helping them with that. I just lost track of the dates.”
“I think Tyrion is a cool name. Or maybe Drogon. Drogon is an awesome name.”
“You’re not naming him after a Game of Thrones character.”
“Why not? Game of Thrones is great. We have a few of the actors on our client list.”
“Oh my . . . which ones?” Daff asked breathily. “Jon Snow? Can you introduce me? Spencer knows I’d probably throw him over for that bite-size hunk.”
“Can’t tell you that,” Brand said with a grin. “It’s confidential.”
“The dog has a name,” Lia said pointedly, ignoring the deliberate diversion. “It’s Trevor.”
“You need to give the guy a fair shake in life—he’s disadvantaged with a name like Trevor. It doesn’t sound cool. It doesn’t suit his personality.”
“We don’t know what his real personality is yet beneath all that fear and anger.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that of a Trevor.”
“Cripes, you’re irritating!”
Brand paused and stared at her in fascination.
“Did you just say cripes?” he asked, and Daff chuckled. For a moment the two shared a looked of mutual amusement at Lia’s expense. She didn’t like this sudden camaraderie between them, especially not if it meant them teaming up against her.
“Right?” Daff asked on a laugh. “I told her I can’t take her seriously when she uses words like that.”
“You both think you’re so special with your f-bombs and your s-bombs and your c-words and . . .”
“Which c-words?” Daff asked curiously. “There are a few.”
“All of them. Shut up, I’m making a point.”
Daff gasped in exaggerated horror. “So rude, Lia.”
“Anyway, you both think you’re so special. But you’re not, you’re just . . . just crude. It doesn’t make you edgy and cool or anything. It just means you can’t properly express yourselves in a meaningful or eloquent way.”
“And cripes is a meaningful and eloquent word?” Brand asked, his voice low and trembling slightly. Daff laughed again and quickly stifled it behind a hand when Lia shot her a glare.
“I’m no longer participating in this juvenile conversation,” she said with a haughty sniff and ushered Suzy over to place her order.
“Chicken Kiev and salad for me please, Suzy,” she said and folded her hands primly, one on top of the other, as she watched Brand hastily pick the oh-so-manly rump steak and baked potato. Daff ordered a burger and fries. Last year, for about a minute, her sister had gone on some crazy diet and ordered only salads. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and was eating normally again. Spencer and his insistence on feeding her properly had contributed to Daff’s return to normalcy. Lia wasn’t quite sure what had gone on with Daff last year, but all the turmoil and drastic life changes had resulted in a much happier woman. Her sister smiled and laughed more often and just looked like a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. It pleased Lia to know her sisters were happy and settled, she just wished . . .
She sighed softly. Wishes had proven to be futile. Her ridiculous and childish expectation of a happily ever after with the man of her dreams had long ago been extinguished and replaced by the desire to just have anyone to care for. Someone who would care for her in return. She didn’t need the grand romance that both Daisy and Daff had found. Not anymore. She would settle for something warm and cozy. Like a pair of old winter socks. Comfortable and a bit slouchy. Not quite a perfect fit, but just enough to make her feel content.
But even that modest dream seemed destined never to come true. She would be the daughter who wound up taking care of her parents. Living with them, growing old with them . . . After all the truly terrible dates she’d been on over the last few months, she was starting to believe that there were no husband or children in the cards for her.
The unsavory business with Gregory had just been the rotten cherry on the pile of excrement that was her dating history. She was getting heartily fed up with playing relationship roulette with her love life.
She sighed again and stared at Brand over the rim of her wineglass as he chatted with Daff. He looked relaxed, but still so masculine and predatory and absolutely sexy. Just looking at him and thinking of his words that morning made everything inside her clench in anticipation.
If she was destined to be alone forever, then why not take what he was offering? Why not make some exciting and wild and crazy memories to cherish when she was old and curled up in her lonely spinster bed? What if Brand was her last chance at something different? Something less than ordinary?
He looked up and caught her eye, and he smiled at her. A warm, enticing smile. The stubble over the indent in his cheek darkened as the groove deepened with the movement of his mouth.
“You’re looking gloomy, sunshine.”
“Then perhaps you should rethink your latest nickname?” she suggested, and his smile became a full-fledged grin.
“Nah. Even when you’re gloomy, there are still hints of sunshine peeking through behind the clouds.”
“Oh my God. You’re so corny. Lia, do not fall for any of this smarmy shit, okay?” Daff protested dramatically, and Brand turned that grin on her.
“I’m using my best material here, McGregor,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.
“Did Laura Prentiss actually fall for your lines?” she asked pointedly, and the other woman’s name shook Lia. How could she have forgotten about Laura Prentiss? He hadn’t given her definitive answers on his relationship, and Lia was not going to be anybody’s other woman. Ew, no. That would be gross.
The food arrived and Lia tried to put the entire train of thought firmly out of her mind. But as she ate and they talked, she couldn’t help but think about it. If he and Laura Prentiss were really through, then why not go for it? He’d been her rebound guy—maybe she could return the favor and be his rebound girl.