Seven months later…
“The first room is mine. The door opposite leads to Trey’s bedroom.”
At her brother’s sonorous voice, Brittany backtracked to the living room. Like a woman condemned, she gripped her big duffle bag in one hand and overnight bag in the other with nerveless fingers. With the strap of her purse slanted across her body and another smaller duffle bag across the opposite shoulder, she dropped her pile of personal belongings against one of the multi-colored walls, crowned with pretty scrolled cornices. Their bright white color offset the alternating burgundy and grays.
“Trey lives with you?”
She squeaked out the question, not wanting to rouse her brother’s suspicions but shocked all the same. Her relationship with their mother had grown strained so she’d asked Bryson if she could spend her summer break with him. Glaring at the back of the sofa where her lug-head of a brother lay, she stretched then flexed her hands before pulling her purse strap over her head and throwing it next to her other things.
She walked around the couch and faced him. She’d never thought to ask if Bryson had a roommate and he’d never volunteered information. He had the maddening habit of just responding to the question asked on the rare occasions they spoke.
“Trey really lives with you?”
“Yes Trey lives here,” Bryson answered, his eyes closed, not moving a single muscle. Just as he hadn’t when she’d called, announcing her arrival. He’d just given her the apartment number and told her to come up. “Is there a problem?”
Trepidation hit her full-force and she drew in a deep breath, shoring up her courage, compartmentalizing her thoughts, emotions and desires.
Especially her shameful desires.
Shifting her weight, she studied Bryson. Even relaxed he seemed massive, tall with a solid build. His shaved head lent a hardened edge to his bronzed features. At times, she wondered how she and Bryson shared the same DNA. He had the temperament of a raging bull and the physique and height of a modern-day Goliath. If he had an inkling of what had happened between her and Trey, there’d be hell to pay.
But what difference did it make? She now had two secrets, one wonderful and the other devastating.
One grayish-black eye popped opened to stare at her. “Well, midget?”
Brittany hated Bryson’s nickname for her and he knew it. Annoyance replaced her trepidation and—
Annoyance?
“Of course I don’t have a problem with Trey being here,” she lied, damning the slight breathiness of her voice. She searched her heart and her soul, reminding herself her emotions had been stunted, shut down. Feelings were anathema—anger, annoyance, anything that opened her to retaliation.
“Problem or not, I expect you to behave with Trey. No flirting, giggling or cooing over him. Am I clear?”
The warning muting her, she nodded, another’s words, similar to Bryson’s, replaying in her head. Revulsion swept through her and she pressed a hand to her belly, nauseated. How was she ever going to live under the same roof as Trey, knowing how well acquainted he was with her body?
“What’s wrong with you?”
Bryson’s demanding tone snapped her to attention. She blinked, commanded herself to wipe every thought away, praying her emotions weren’t reconvening into her life when they’d been MIA for so long.
“Tell me what problem you have with Trey being here.”
“None!” she snapped, her annoyance increasing. “I’m surprised you two haven’t gone ahead and gotten married. You’re both cops. You’re both pig-headed jerks.” Trey hadn’t become a pig-headed jerk to her until seven months ago. “You’ve known each other since grade school. And you’re living together.”
“Great theory, midge,” Bryson continued in that bored tone he used, closing his eyes again. “’Cept for one thing.”
Midge was slightly better than midget, she conceded. “And that is?”
“We both like pu—” He blew out a frustrated sigh and shifted positions, turning his back on her. “Va-jayjay too much.”
“Sure you right.” The new voice was as smooth as maple syrup with the slightest hint of a Texas drawl.
Her focus jerked in the direction of the sound, the sight of Trey rocking her to the core. He closed the front door as silently as he’d opened it. The man had the stealth of a panther.
The sleeveless T-shirt he wore displayed muscles bulging in his arms and rippling across his shoulders. In those strong arms, she’d felt safer than she had in years. His blue cycling shorts displayed the sharp angles of his quadriceps. The outline of his penis imprinted against the tight material and as she continued to stare at him—at it—his cock jumped as if it had a mind of its own.
Heat rushing through body, she lifted her gaze to his. He winked at her.
Trey had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. At the moment, his obsidian gaze appraised and smoldered. His low-cut Caesar with its deep waves and his slightly crooked nose—broken in a long-ago fight—added a dangerous element to his clean-shaven features.
His sexual magnetism, pure animal grace and those obsidian eyes riveted and disturbed her. Her guard went up, as high and as strong as a concrete wall.
A spark of eroticism and a flicker of annoyance tightened Trey’s handsome face. “You got here, baby girl.”
His slow smile devastated her resolve.
When he brushed past her, his own unique scent mixed with sweat and a lingering trace of cologne wafted to her. Despair and desire arrowed through her. Anxious to escape him, she focused on the basketball tucked under one of his arms.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Bryson’s belligerence mobilized her into action and she inched to the nearby cushiony leather chair before she caught herself. Her brother could be the biggest jerk there was but he’d never hurt her.
A shaft of light streamed through the partially open curtains on the double-hung window. The small ray of sun still left her no place to hide the secrets she guarded, the emotional wounds running so deep it felt as if she bled anew every day.
If only she’d known Trey lived with Bryson, she thought, fear and panic knotting inside her.
Schooling her features, she ignored Bryson’s narrowed eyes. He sat up, staring at her as she stared at Trey.
He grew as truculent as a warlord, his impassivity evaporating like a cloud of dust in a strong gust. “What the hell’s going on?”
No! Don’t think. Don’t feel! Just be the empty shell you’ve been.
“Wh-what do you mean?” she mumbled.
“So she is still in possession of a voice,” Trey quipped, throwing his ball into a corner and dropping into the recliner, obviously unfazed by Bryson’s implacability.
“Let’s set some ground rules here,” Bryson spat, his expression dark and layered, like a building thunderhead. “I’ve already laid down the law to Brittany. Let me do the same for you, my brother. You’re a grown-ass man so your harem is off-limits to my little sister.”
“Yeah, your grown little sister,” Trey said in a neutral voice, clasping his hands behind his head, his muscles bunching.
He was so finely made and so incredibly handsome. Every emotion she’d tucked away unfurled in her. Hot sensation sizzled through her, as stunning and dangerous as a bolt of lightning.
Hot blood rushed to Brittany’s cheeks, Bryson’s autocracy embarrassing her. “Last I heard you had a harem of your own.”
Rising to his feet, Bryson glowered in her direction and she resisted the urge to flinch. “He’s my best friend and he isn’t ready to settle down.”
“Speak for yourself,” Trey interjected in a hard voice, his eyes as cold as black glass. “I’m twenty-seven years old. Maybe I’m tired of the chase and want to focus on one woman.”
A frantic beat pumped her heart. She could be that one woman for Trey, even if he was everything she should be afraid of—male, virile and intimidating. At one time, he and Bryson used more foul language than the actors in a triple-X movie.
Very few men stood toe-to-toe against him. He was a natural charmer and a born leader. She bit down on her lip. When roused, Trey’s temper consumed everything in its path, like a storm from hell.
Brittany had known him her entire life and she didn’t fear him. Trey was Trey, and she trusted him above everyone else except Bryson. That trust had led her to convince Trey to sneak back into her dorm with her. She wouldn’t have allowed any other man near her. In the end, after exposing her body to him, after a glimpse of the old Brittany had snuck through the automaton she’d become, he hadn’t wanted her.
“I’ve had more than my share of women,” he continued, sparing her a single glance. “I might want to settle down.”
“I’ll believe that when pigs fly,” Bryson shot back with a snort. “You make good use of the condoms we have tucked around this place, if that’s the case. Last week, you had Jennifer one evening and Sylvia the next.”
Another emotion pierced her invisible armor—hurt. Her brother’s words conjured the image of Trey naked, his beautiful dark body slick with sweat, his penis big and hard, ready to give pleasure and not pain. The same pleasure he’d given her and now bestowed on other women.
Brittany wanted to cover her ears, order Bryson to shut up. It felt as if she were made of hand-blown glass, teetering on the edge. A slight nudge and she’d shatter completely and irrevocably. She refused to let herself fall apart now after she’d managed to suture the fragments of her life.
“Or maybe it was the other way around? Sylvia first and then Jennifer?”
“What’s your damn problem, man?” Trey growled, rising to his feet as well. “You think I would use Brittany?”
“Not on purpose,” Bryson admitted, the black edge of his pupils consuming the dark-gray flecks.
Like two mad dogs, they growled at one another.
“But you have commitment phobia. One whiff of something serious and you’re MIA,” Bryson said.
Brittany looked at her toes peeping out from her wedge-heeled sandals. Some form of glow-in-the-dark green polish colored her nails and in the dim light, she detected a faint glint from them. She’d worn neon blue polish the night Trey had been with her. If he hadn’t had the presence of mind to stop, she might be due to deliver a baby—Trey’s baby—in a few weeks. She’d be raising the baby without a father too; Bryson would’ve murdered Trey.
But now Trey was close enough for her to reach out and run her hands over his body and lay her fingers against his well-defined jaw. The same overwhelming need she’d felt for him from the moment she’d seen him in the club tightened her belly now. Moisture slickened her femininity and she squirmed in her seat.
Trey’s nostrils flared, the hot intensity in his eyes hardening her nipples. She flushed, burning from the inside out. His dark gaze touched upon every part of her face, sweeping the length of her body. He met her gaze and licked his lips, slowly and provocatively. She licked her lips in response, wanting to taste Trey’s mouth again.
Bryson’s vicious curse disintegrated the moment of mutual awareness. He padded to them, stopping at Brittany’s side, crowding her.
“Get back,” she cried, leaning away from Bryson and drawing up her knees. She drew in a deep breath, very near to hyperventilating.
Trey lifted a brow and studied her. She averted her gaze, contemplating the various statues in a display case on the opposite side of the room, near a second window. An area rug lay there but no other furniture.
Long ago, Trey had set himself up as her protector. Logic told her that was one reason he hadn’t come back to her dorm. He thought to spare her heartache. His father’s death affected Trey’s entire outlook on life.
Bryson, however, handled things with a pugnacious temperament. It was once her greatest joy to thwart him and knock him down a peg or two. Oftentimes, she did it with Trey’s assistance. But she didn’t know who or what she was anymore.
“Look at me, baby girl.”
“Move away from me,” she countered, refusing to meet Trey’s gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the hardening of his features a moment before he leaped to his feet with agile grace.
But Bryson continued his unnerving contemplation of her, reminding her of all the times he’d gotten information from her when no one else could.
“You’ve always treated my sister as if you had an exclusive right to her. Always finding fault with whoever was interested in her.”
“I want the best for her and no one was worthy of her. It was my duty to give them a warning. We share a connection no one can break.”
While true, Brittany didn’t appreciate Trey goading Bryson.
Bryson folded his arms and glanced at Trey. She cringed at her brother’s mocking expression. Trey would take just so much. Worse, she sat between them. If they came to blows, she’d be in serious trouble.
“Stop it! Both of you. I’m twenty years old. If anyone is going to warn someone away, it’ll be me,” she said with false bravado.
Slanting her a sidelong glance, Trey barreled back to the recliner.
“I’m your brother,” Bryson said unnecessarily. “It is my job to protect you.” He strolled back to the sofa and reseated himself. “Enough of this bullshit. Tomorrow or the next day, I’m going to sit down and discuss your grades with you.”
She had no wish to discuss anything having to do with college. Her dream of becoming a forensic pathologist had been set aside so she could become a licensed clinical social worker, intending to assist others who found themselves in her predicament. The product of a broken home, with a mother who didn’t remember Brittany existed. And a victim of assault. Her career change had been made with the best of intentions and yet she felt as if she’d lost a little bit more of herself when she’d set aside her lifelong dream.
“Furthermore, you can’t stay out until all hours of the night.”
No problem there. She resisted going out during the day, afraid of exposing herself to the outside world. She frowned, considering her need to lock herself away odd all of a sudden. Her rape had taken place in her bedroom and at night. Still, Bryson’s hard-nosed rule annoyed her. It sounded as if he was going to lay down the law now more than anyone had ever cared to do when she was a child.
“My shifts have been running from seven in the evening until one in the afternoon,” Bryson continued.
She knew where this was going and shot him a glare.
Ignoring her heated look, Bryson went on. “Trey’s shifts are from seven at night to seven in the morning. He’s home by nine, unless he detours to one of his women.”
Bryson added that last bit with a singular purpose. She knew he’d stoop to any level to get his way. Instead of rising to his bait, she remained quiet but Trey looked as if he’d strangle her brother.
“You’ll have breakfast ready for him and dinner ready for us at five o’clock every evening.”
“It doesn’t make sense to have breakfast for someone who may not be here to eat it.”
“You have to eat,” her brother countered. “Cook enough for two. I also expect you to keep the apartment clean, including the bathroom, and I want you to do the laundry.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me waddling around barefoot and pregnant too? You seem to have forgotten we live in the twenty-first century, and I asked you to inquire about office jobs for me to apply for.” She wanted to appear as normal as possible.
“Go barefoot all you’d like. Turn up pregnant and your baby’s father is a dead man. You’re twenty. I don’t expect you to have a baby for at least another ten or fifteen years.”
Brittany’s mouth fell open and her brain blanked at Bryson’s announcement.
“You don’t need an office job, anyway. You’re going to be here for six weeks, so you’ll earn your keep working here.”
“As our maid?” Trey inserted with heavy sarcasm.
“It’s no less than what she did at home,” Bryson responded defensively. “At least I’m going to pay her a hundred bucks a week. Mom made her do it for free.”
“I-I don’t mind. If you remember, grocery shopping was also one of my chores back then. Along with school and the cheerleading squad. In comparison, this’ll be a breeze.”
“If you’re okay with it, the help will be much appreciated.” Trey smiled. “I hope the two hundred dollars apiece we give you will be enough.”
Bryson cursed. “I’m not giving this girl no damn two hundred dollars—“
“If you want her to do all that work, you are. You were one of the most vocal critics of all the work Miz Donovan made Brittany do. Don’t be a cheap hypocrite.”
Bryson scowled at Trey. “Fine.” He transferred his fierce expression to her. “Is that acceptable to you? Four hundred bucks a week plus a roof over your head and meals paid for?”
“Yes.” She tore a hanging piece of thread from her skirt and swallowed. Four hundred dollars a week was more than she’d hoped for and more than she deserved to do a job she’d done for free when she’d lived at her mother’s house. She’d put the money toward school expenses as she did with the small salary she earned as a lab assistant. “Thank you.”
A tense silence fell at her flat tone. Bryson grabbed the pillow he’d been resting on. Picking it up, he shook the wrinkles free.
Three foil packets rained from inside the pillowcase. Bryson glared at Trey then hurled the unopened condoms at him. “Asshole,” he intoned with annoyance.
Trey sighed, an embarrassed expression on his face. Jumping to her feet, she rushed toward the little hallway and away from the proof of Trey’s freewheeling ways.
“Turn right at the end,” Bryson called with smug satisfaction. “That’s your bedroom.”
Brittany directed her steps to the room with the door ajar. Pushing it opened, she turned on the overhead light. She skidded to an immediate stop, the breath whooshing from her. It wasn’t the double-sized mattress and box spring sitting on a bed frame with no headboard or footboard. Nor was it the two wide, three-drawer, plastic storage carts she supposed were meant for her clothes. On the other side of the room, all sorts of weight-lifting machines and equipment had been shoved to the side, blocking her path to the closet.
Bad enough.
The photos on the wall, however, made too many memories bubble to the surface. Trey’s and Bryson’s graduation photos from the academy, with her standing between them. They looked so handsome in the crisp, new uniforms. Another one showed her between Trey and Bryson, Trey’s mother next to him, and her and Bryson’s mother next to Bryson. Her momma had been well dressed, her face made up, her hair freshly done.
Brittany’s gaze traveled to her high school graduation photo. What a contrast. Her mother hadn’t even attended what had been one of the most important days in her life. Despair welled inside her. She’d had such sad eyes. Devastation pulled her features down in the photos taken on the actual day of her graduation, turning what should have been a triumph into an exercise in humiliation. Trey and Bryson had been the only family who’d attended on her behalf.
Swallowing, she was determined not to look at his pictures and made an effort to move her attention to snapshots of her with the cheerleading squad. The shot of her during her freshman year with her old best friend, Jamie. She had graduated the next year and Brittany was chosen captain of the team. A couple of photos of her with the boys she’d flirted with, most notably the quarterback of the football team. He’d been so cute and they’d looked so good together. If only her memories of him were as good as the image staring at her.
Her gaze roamed to the official portrait of the squad with the coach who was also the physical education and health teacher and Jamie’s older sister. Another photo with the squad and the football team and each team’s respective coaches.
She squinted at the wall of photos, zeroing in on hers and the ones from her cheerleading days. By her sophomore year, she’d been a non-entity to her mother for almost five years but she’d looked so innocent and happy. Had she really been that way? Or were those photos just an illusion?
Unable to bear anymore she turned off the light, throwing the room into darkness; his image remained. She couldn’t see the photographs of him anymore, always so calm and smiling, his face almost too pretty to belong to a man.
She tried to draw in a breath but couldn’t force air into her lungs. Sitting on the side of the bed, she doubled over, dizzy and sick, gasping for oxygen. Beads of sweat popped out on her skin but she shivered, cold. Seconds turned to minutes. When she managed to control her panic, she realized she lay prone on the bed. She blinked and turned on her back, forcing images to the back of her brain, thinking of the people who mattered most to her. Inane thoughts of Bryson and Trey. Her ornery brother couldn’t stay in a relationship for more than a year. Who could put up with his chauvinistic autocracy? But he loved her and she had to keep herself together for him.
And of course Trey.
Her Trey.
The original womanizer with one hell of a temper. Trey shied away from commitment as if he’d catch the plague. She knew why but she’d always been infatuated with him. When she’d had friends, they’d teased her mercilessly with the way she mooned over him. She’d grown so attached to him. She suspected she could’ve gotten Trey to do anything she wanted.
Then she’d been assaulted and not only had Trey ceased to matter to her, but she had ceased to matter to herself.