After he hangs up, he takes my arm and steers me back toward his car. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“I’m taking you home.”
“I’m not going home. I already told you.”
Yes, Jenna, you are.”
I put the brakes on, forcing him to stop, too. “No, I’m not. Go and take care of things, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I slip past his hold and dash away in the opposite direction, listening to him calling my name. Ignoring it, I realize there’s something I need to face, and soon. This will be the first of many of these altercations if I keep up this charade of an engagement. And I ask myself why I’m doing it. I get the impression from Kenneth the only reason he’s in it is to satisfy his parents. Everyone, including me, knows that’s not any kind of reason to get married. He may be a good guy, but still. Besides what just occurred, there’s the Brandon factor. If I’m honest with myself, thoughts of him weigh heavily on my mind, too. There are so many facets to consider, but none of them add up to positive reasons to marry Kenneth. As I’ve walked, I end up in front of this cool bar I’ve been to in the past. So I decide to go inside for a drink. Maybe I’ll even cavort a little, for old time’s sake. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, I look over at the bar. Wouldn’t you know it, as if the stars were aligned against me, or perhaps in my favor, who knows, there sits the true object of my affection? Brandon. In all his beautiful inked up glory and hot sexiness. What I would do for one night of sinful pleasure with this man.
With locked gazes, it seems we are part of a magnetic field, unable to break away from it. It’s funny how I end up at the same bar where he is, and if you’d ask me, I’d never be able to tell you how I got there.
“Following me, huh? Or should I say something cheesy like fancy meeting you here,” he says in his gritty tone. It makes me want to crawl onto his lap and kiss the hell out of his fuck-me mouth.
“Yeah, fancy that.” I plop into the vacant seat next to him. It’s then I notice the attractive redheaded woman sitting next to him. She’s eyeing me like she wants to claw my throat out.
Surveying the two of them, I ask, “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” he answers. But she pouts, and I can certainly understand why.
The bartender takes my order, and I release a heavy sigh.
“Rough evening?” Brandon asks.
Not answering immediately, I consider exactly how much I should tell him, especially since the way we parted company. “Maybe. But I thought we weren’t friends.”
“I said I can’t be your friend. Not we aren’t friends.”
“Semantics,” I say.
The redhead leans over and says, “Sounds the same to me.” I want to tell her to stay out of this, but I don’t. The last thing I need is to make some kind of a scene. So I give her a smile-not-smile.
Brandon turns her way, and I hate that I can’t hear the interchange between them. Whatever it was, she scowls now. It makes me happy, and that’s plain stupid because I’m engaged to Kenneth. Ugh!
When he faces me again, I want to melt against him, run my fingers through his hair, and have dirty, raw sex with him. And for what I know he’d be all in. Kenneth, on the other hand, would probably tell me not to disturb the perfection of each strand of styled locks, and that he wouldn’t want to wrinkle his pants. All I want to do is scream out to the world what the fuck am I doing?
“Are you okay?” Brandon asks.
Giving my head a firm shake, I say, “I suppose so. Why?”
“You have the most frightful expression on your face right now.”
“Oh, that’s great to know. Gee. Thanks, Brandon.”
“No! That didn’t come out right. What I meant was, you actually look scared. Even your coloring is off. Sort of ashen. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Redhead peeks over Brandon’s shoulder. She says, “Yeah, you look awful. You don’t have that stomach bug going around, do you? My friend puked for three days from that.”
Brandon turns and must’ve glared at her or something because she shrinks in her seat, and a minute later, grabs her purse and leaves.
“Good riddance,” I mutter.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
I slash my hand in front of me. “Hey, you can’t control what others say.”
“So? Your day?”
“Ah. It’s Kenneth. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear about it.”
For a moment, his mouth forms a hard line. But then he says, “Don’t assume to know what I want or don’t want to hear. What happened?”
“He wants to control what I do.” I explain what happened.
When I finish, he laughs. “Well, he’s right.”
Narrowing my eyes, I disagree with him. “Just because I stop for a drink doesn’t mean a thing.”
“But it does, because you’re cavorting with me. And I want to fuck you. Have for months.”
After I close my mouth, because it’s hanging wide open, I say, “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
“It’s not like I’ve hidden my desires from you. All you had to do was take a peek below the beltline.”
Not willing to discuss this right now, I ask, “Why were you such an ass to me earlier?”
“I wasn’t.” His blunt reply leaves me even more curious than before.
“Yes, you were. You’ve never acted like that before. And I have to say, it hurt my feelings.”
He angles his body in his seat so he can face me square on. “Let’s talk about hurt feelings. How do you think I felt finding out you were engaged by reading it in the paper? The least you could’ve done was given me the courtesy of a phone call. I thought after all the time we spent together, we were better friends than that.”
He’s right. I hang my head in shame. He deserved more than what I gave him. “I’m sorry. I did you wrong, and I’ll own that. But, it’s … complicated.”
“Jenna,” he begins, his voice all scratchy, “everything is always complicated with you.” Long fingers, with nails stained in oil, wrap around my wrist. And suddenly, I know what it is I want. I want more Brandon. I want this—us. Stained nails and everything.
“I’ve made a mistake.” The words gush out of my mouth.
“A mistake?”
With my lower lip sucked between my teeth, I nod my head like a madwoman, afraid to speak a word. Afraid of what my mouth may reveal.
“What do you mean?” he prods.
Grabbing my drink, I down half the thing in a couple of swallows.
“Hey, slow it down there, highness. You’ll be falling off that stool in no time flat if you don’t.”
Inhaling, I say, “I don’t think I’ll fit into the Balfour mold.”
Brandon tilts his head and disagrees. “Oh, come on. You’re a Rhoades. Your family may not have that old legacy money like his does, but you do a damn fine job of holding your own.”
That’s not the real reason I can’t or rather don’t want to marry Kenneth. But I can’t reveal it to Brandon.
“He wants to control me.”
Brandon lets out a deep, husky laugh, one that travels up and down my spine, sending bursts of heat through my veins. “I would, too, Jenna. Boy, would I ever want to control you.” His eyes catch mine, but they don’t release them. They pin me to my seat, and as much as I want to break the contact, I’m powerless under his gaze. He’s right. He would control me because he’s doing one hell of a job of it right now. It even has me squirming and clenching my thighs together. “Any man who wouldn’t want to control you is a damn fool.” He reaches for his glass and takes a swallow. His long, dark lashes brush the tops of his cheekbones, and I want to press my lips there. Why don’t I ever feel this way about Kenneth?
Brandon closes the distance between us and asks, “What is going on right now in that head of yours, Jenna?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
He’s not the first person to tell
me that. “I know.”
“So, what are you going to do? Marry Kenneth and be miserable? Or tell him you can’t possibly be Mrs. Balfour because your panties are soaked just thinking about me?”
I down the rest of my drink. Brandon is right. My panties are soaked.
“Well?” he asks.
Shifting my gaze back to pale blue eyes, something comes over me. Perhaps it’s the alcohol in combination with the surge of lust, or maybe it’s just stupidity. Whatever it is, it has me imagining fisting his soft cotton T-shirt and pulling him toward me until our lips touch. I can almost feel the press of mine to his, but it’s not nearly enough. The desire to push my tongue through the slit of his mouth, to experience the heat inside and hear him groan when I do is almost … almost unbearable. If not for him calling my name, I would’ve made a complete fool of myself.
“Jenna.”
Jolting, and bringing myself out of my fantasy, I answer, “Huh?”
He stands, saying, “It’s best if I leave. Regrets are not something neither of us needs to deal with right now.”
Watching him stride away leaves me feeling emptier than I can remember. Even though I’ve never kissed him before, it’s the imagined taste of him on my tongue that has me missing him the most. And what’s worse is I want him with every molecule in my body. But I’m engaged to be married to another man. What the hell am I going to do, and how did I get myself in this mess?
Four
BRANDON
The look in Jenna’s eyes right before I bolted makes me want to ink her name in my skin, but attraction was never our problem. What I will not do is kiss another man’s woman. Even if just seeing her has me adjusting myself in my pants.
“Hey, didn’t expect to see you out here alone.”
A glance back has me seeing red. The woman is more stunning than I gave her credit for when she came onto me in the bar. She’s another one of those females a little too polished for me. I seem to attract women who want some fantasy to take to their beds, but never home to meet their mothers.
“Yeah, being alone isn’t a bad thing,” I say.
She saunters over on swaying hips that beg to be grasped, wearing shoes that make us eye to eye when she’s right in front of me.
“But why be alone when you don’t have to?” she purrs.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, because tonight my bed is open only for single occupancy.”
She laughs. “You’re funny.” I didn’t notice the cigarette in her fingers. Nails, the color of blood, shine in the florescent light under the awning of the bar as she brings the flame to her lips.
Then she reaches into her purse and hands me a small rectangular card. “Call me.”
She doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, she drifts off into the night. I don’t know what to do. As much as I’m not interested, I also know I can’t have the woman I want. What does Jenna have to do to get me to move on? I ask myself. Isn’t the fact that she got engaged enough to show she isn’t interested? And it’s the unmistakable truth that has me pocketing the card and not tossing it out. I’m not ready tonight. But at some point, I’ll pull my head out of my ass and move on.
The walk home proves to be too much time in my head. When I open the door, I make my way to the kitchen and pull out a bottle of Tanqueray because the spot for my Bombay Sapphire is empty.
“Big brother,” Braeden says.
“My Bombay?” is my response.
“Yeah, about that. I had a girl over.”
“Of course, you did.”
“Hey, one of us has to get laid. I swear, as far as bachelor pads go, this place doesn’t see action unless I bring it.”
“You can go back and live with Mom.”
He points a finger at me. “That’s cruel. Plus, someone has to save you from becoming a monk.”
“I do just fine,” I say, pouring myself a glass.
The brand doesn’t matter when you’re looking to get well and truly smashed.
“It must be that tight ass girl that’s got you in knots. What’s her name?” He taps a finger to his temple. “Oh… Jenna,” he singsongs.
“Don’t.”
He rolls his eyes. “Really, dude, you wouldn’t be a grump if you got some pussy.”
“And you wouldn’t be a mooch if you got a job.”
He clutches a hand to his chest. “That’s just rude, man. You’re the one who told me to go to school and shit.”
Just because he’s right doesn’t mean I want to sit and get a lecture about women from my little brother.
“Oh, and Mom called,” he adds. “She and Hillbilly Bob are going on vacation, and she wants to borrow some money.”
“His name is Brock,” I say wearily.
“You mean Broke. He should have some fucking shame that Mom—”
I know where he’s going with this. “You mean me.”
“Yeah, you are going to pay for them to go to Florida to sun it up with the rest of the old people.”
“There are all kinds of people in Florida and not just old. Didn’t you go to Miami for spring break?” When he says nothing, I add, “Besides, she’s our mom. And everything she sacrificed for us, I intend to pay back.”
“And even pay for Redneck Dan.”
“Brock,” I breathe.
“Broke, you mean. The guy is perpetually unemployed. Talk about me.”
“Let it go. He makes her happy, and that’s all that matters.”
“If Dad were around—”
I don’t let him finish that statement. “He isn’t.”
Mom has a tendency to fall in love with a man regardless of his financial status. And Brock is a decent guy who means well, but like Mom, he can’t seem to hold a job for long.
“Whatever, man.”
“Yeah, whatever. Like I said, he makes her smile.”
“Dude, I totally do not want to think about how he does it. Clearly, it isn’t with a paycheck.”
“Braedon, just stop. I don’t need this shit from you tonight.”
“See, this is why women run all over you.”
I drain the glass and slam it down. “Enough.”
Startled, he brings up his hands. “Don’t go all Jason Bourne on me.”
“Then leave it,” I say.
“I’m just saying you should call up that hot chick that works for you. The one you used to bone when you had a fucking smile on your face if you want to go there.”
That’s exactly what I don’t want to remember. Before Jenna and after. She’s like a hurricane that blew onto my shore leaving devastation I’m still buried under.
“She’s not an option. I shouldn’t have fucked an employee in the first place.”
My hand goes to my pocket, and I finger the card there. But he’s right. I need to burn off this fucking energy. I haven’t blown my load for days. And the idea of jerking off knowing the only female I’ll see in my head is Jenna makes the idea unappealing. I need to think about her less and not more.
“You’re not a bad looking dude. You look like Dad and me, and he and I both have had our share of women.”
“You make it sound easy.”
His mouth forms an O when he finally gets it. We did grow up together in the same house with one bathroom. It’s kind of hard not to know each other’s secrets. “Yeah, that’s a heck of a DNA gene you rolled. But that hasn’t stopped you before. Besides, if you read some of the romance novels, that’s like the Holy Grail you inherited.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You read chick novels.”
“Well, duh, how else are you supposed to figure out what women want? It’s not like they freely give that information out.”
Shaking my head and puzzling out the guy before me, I say, “Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t adopted.”
His eyes flash shock and a hint of hurt for only a second. For all my brother’s bravado, he like me, also got our mother’s tender heart or so she calls it.
“There’s no way. We look like
twins except the ink.”
His flesh is virgin and he’s smarter than he looks, but dumber than he thinks.
A figure emerges from the hallway. She’s as naked as the day she was born and cute, too, with blonde hair that falls to the tops of her breasts.
“Braedon, are you coming back in?”
She stands at the doorway, leaning against the wall, but making no move to look at all modest.
He flashes me a smile. “I’m glad I don’t have your problem,” he says, digging in where I feel most vulnerable.
When he walks away, I only notice then he’s wearing just shorts. I don’t bother going to my bedroom. I don’t want to hear whatever they will be doing across the hall. I opt to sit in the living room with the bottle. I abandon the glass, having no need for it. I turn on the TV and put the volume up high. Then I drink until I finally pass out for the night.
Morning comes in its blazing glory. Beams of light heat my skin and stir my eyes to open. It takes only a few head pounding moments for me to realize I’m going to be late to open the shop.
I curse. Expletives leave my lips in a torrent. I leave the empty bottle where it lies and head for the bathroom. I tear open the door to find the blonde behind it.
“Shit, I’m sorry. But I need to use the bathroom.”
She scurries out, covering her breasts as if I didn’t see the goods last night. She has nothing to worry about from me. She’s way too young for my liking. Girls like her don’t have much conversation. I can tell because she’s barely said two words to me. But who am I to judge?
My shower is quick, and I get dressed quicker. My ride is at the shop, so I have to two feet it to the job. When I get there, I’m shocked as shit to see the redhead from last night waiting just outside the office door.
Five
JENNA
Rolling over in bed after the worst night of sleep I can remember, I know what I have to do. When I check the clock on my nightstand for the umpteenth time, it’s only seven, still too early to make my morning visit. But I can’t stay in bed any longer. Throwing off the covers, I drag myself to the shower with the hopes that it will perk me up a bit. No such luck. Since I looked at the time every hour, I know I didn’t sleep at all last night. And it’s because all I saw was a vision of hard muscles wrapped in inked skin that my fingers were dying to explore. By the time my shower ends, I’m not sure if I’m worse off or not. Frustrated is the word that best describes my state. I am my own enemy here and have no one to blame but myself.
The Cruel and Beautiful Series Boxset Page 86
