by Lori Foster
All smiles now, Charlotte scooted back her chair, turned off the coffeepot and threw away the filter, then gathered up the carafe and mugs to rinse them out.
He could tell it was a routine she’d completed many nights.
Aware of Brodie’s eagle eye, Mitch offered, “Let me help.”
“Thanks, but it’ll only take me a second.”
While she did that, Brodie leaned against the wall, a big immovable force. “Mom is happy about dinner. She said six o’clock.”
Six worked for him. He’d have time to get some work done before he had to head out. “I’ll be there.”
“Bring Brute.”
He nodded.
From the other room, presumably where they had a sink, Charlotte hummed while she took care of the few dishes. Unaware or uncaring of Brodie’s turmoil—and Mitch’s interest. Confident that all was fine in her world.
In his old neighborhood, girls didn’t get a chance to be fresh-faced and confident. For boys and girls alike, innocence tended to flee the scene early, usually at the same time puberty hit because that’s when the vultures began to notice. Those who’d been around were either mean themselves, or indifferent to the situation.
None of them had room for kindness.
But Charlotte? Her nature was a direct contrast to his, and he liked it. He liked the extreme way she made him feel.
Brodie and Jack needed time to know him. He wanted to show Rosalyn that he could be trusted.
Yet it was Charlotte who held most of his focus, because he wanted her to want him with the same intensity he felt.
Wouldn’t be easy. Nothing for him ever was.
If he worked hard enough, he just might be able to have it all. Charlotte, his brothers, this life, was worth any amount of effort.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SWEAT DRIPPED DOWN the back of Newman’s neck, brought on as much by sweltering rage as the hot summer heat.
He’d been away for a few months on a piddly-ass charge. Not as long as Mitch, but apparently too damned long.
Gone. The fucking house was gone, and after cursing the demolition crew he’d finally tracked down the truth.
The conniving bitch had left it to her son, and he’d agreed to see it destroyed.
He wouldn’t give two cents for the actual structure, but there were two big problems.
Whatever it had sold for, the money should have been his. He was the one who’d put up with Velma’s addiction and Mitch’s shitty attitude.
Second big problem? Somewhere beneath the rubble was a small fortune in crystal meth and ecstasy. At least he assumed no one had discovered it. He’d hid it well, and the bulldozer would have destroyed it.
Such a fucking waste—that put him in dire financial straits.
He couldn’t complain, couldn’t start digging, couldn’t do jack shit without implicating himself.
“His friend lives around here somewhere,” Ritchie said, peering out the window of the back seat. “I’ll know the house when I see it.”
He’d brought his two best men with him on this little excursion. Best being subjective, of course, but hell, hitting rock bottom made it hard to get better people.
Ritchie was all right. Dumber than a rock but loyal. The biggest drawback was his personal hygiene. Newman thought he could smell Ritchie’s greasy blond hair and stringy body even with the window down.
“There he is.” Lee Gilstrap, the third in their group, was a hell of a lot more reliable. Short, built like a fridge and rock solid. With his shaved and tattooed head, most people gave him a wide berth.
Lee was there once when Newman took the strap to Mitch for being lippy. He hadn’t said a word.
He seldom did.
Pulling up to the curb, Lee parked and Ritchie, like an eager puppy, jumped out of the back, yelling, “Lang Hardy, there you are.”
Lang looked up—and it was there on his face, the knowledge that this would not go well for him.
He dropped the hose he’d been using and tried to get into his little run-down house.
Cackling in glee, Ritchie shot out after him, tackling him just inside the doorway.
Neighbors glanced up—and away.
More slowly, Newman got out. Yeah, he was smiling. So what. He needed to get some answers, and he needed to expend his rage.
He needed to find Mitch.
And then he’d make the bastard pay—in more ways than one.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Charlotte arrived at work a few minutes early and was surprised to see Brodie and Mitch there.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Brodie smiled at her. “Ran into Mitch in town at the hardware store and asked if he’d help me unload some mulch.”
Mitch’s gaze moved over her hair in a high ponytail, down to her comfortable polo shirt and trim jeans, all the way to her toes in her flip-flops.
Oh my. Never in her life had anyone looked at her with so much hunger. Flushed, she croaked, “Good morning.”
Amusement and something more lifted the corner of his mouth. “Morning.”
Rather than melt into a puddle of sensation, Charlotte looked toward the truck. Mustang Transport owned two—one a pickup and the other a flatbed. Today Brodie had taken out the pickup.
“What are you doing?”
He gestured at the building. “It’s looking rough, so I thought I’d put some mulch around the area. Good thing I ran into Mitch, because he suggested gravel instead. Less upkeep and all that. Here, come look.”
The path Brodie took to the truck bed brought her closer to Mitch. He stood there in torn jeans, a dirty white T-shirt and work boots. Sweat and dust left his hair sticking out in a few places.
All combined, it only added to his rugged appeal.
It was barely 8:00 a.m. What time had he started working?
Satisfaction darkened his eyes and determination curved his mouth. That compelling look made it impossible for her to turn away.
“You see?” Reaching inside, Brodie scooped up a handful of gravel and let the rocks sift back through his fingers. “Pretty, right?”
Shades of tan, gold and red glinted in the sunlight. “Very.”
Aware of Mitch stepping up next to her—close enough to touch her, though he didn’t—Charlotte carefully drew a breath.
The scents of sun-warmed skin and earthy male assailed her. Brodie had a scent as well, but his didn’t send her senses spiking or her stomach tumbling.
That was all Mitch.
His husky voice sounded right behind her. “It’ll look good against the brick of the building.”
What he said and how he said it were two different things. How did the man make gravel and buildings sound naughty and sexy and enticing?
She didn’t have near enough experience to know, but her body reacted all the same.
Proving he’d heard it too—or maybe recognized the tactic—Brodie cleared his throat. He bent a look on Mitch, then asked her, “What do you think?”
Glad for something constructive to do, as well as time to recover, Charlotte glanced back at the offices and tried to envision the gravel around the perimeter. It took a second for the daze to clear and her heart to slow. Then she realized Mitch was right.
Tilting her head, she said, “Wow. It really will.”
Lounging with one forearm on the tailgate, mellow brown eyes squinted at the bright morning sun, he said to Brodie, “You should really put down some weed barrier mat before the gravel, especially if you’re not into landscaping.”
“Yeah?” Brodie too took a casual position against the truck. “I mean, I keep up the landscape at home, but I hadn’t thought about here.”
“I,” Charlotte interjected with emphasis, “have mentioned many times that we should add some curb appeal to the building.”
&
nbsp; “Most customers make arrangements over the phone or the internet. They don’t visit the office.”
“But some do,” she stressed. “Like Jack’s wife and your wife. I keep the inside nice, so why not make the outside nice too?”
With a put-upon sigh, Brodie grumbled, “She wants to plant flowers, and she said she’d handle the upkeep—like she doesn’t have enough to do already.”
“Landscaping here would be a big job,” Mitch noted. He studied the building with an evaluating eye, then gave a slight shake of his head. “Flowering shrubs would pretty it up and not require a lot of upkeep.”
That disclosure drew scrutiny from her, but not so much from Brodie, who took it as more of an offhand observation.
Charlotte sensed it was more, that his input came from some level of expertise. So what did Mitch know of landscaping?
Without those persuasive eyes staring at her so relentlessly, he shouldn’t have had such an impact on her senses. Yet the sharp line of his cheekbones, the straight bridge of his nose and a small dimple in his chin, all conspired against her.
When she sighed, his eyes lowered to her.
He said, “I sort of had my morning mapped out, but I wouldn’t mind coming back another day to help you take care of the gravel.”
Since he looked at her, it took her a second to understand that he spoke to Brodie. When she did, she flushed.
Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Brodie said, “That’d be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
With an intimate smile, Mitch drawled, “I don’t mind at all.”
Finally catching on, Brodie glanced from one to the other, cleared his throat again, this time with excessive force, and pulled Charlotte around to face him. “Would you mind taking Brute in with you for a drink? Since I derailed Mitch, the poor dog has to be thirsty.”
Until Brodie said it, she hadn’t noticed Brute, but she looked around now—and found him sound asleep in the shade made by Mitch’s car. With each snoring breath, his loose lips fluttered.
Fighting her humor, she pulled a laughably sad face and crooned with heavy concern, “Oh, the poor thing looks so parched.”
Brute snuffled in his sleep.
Chuckling, Mitch patted his thigh and said, “Brute. Come here, boy.”
One eye opened. Brute took his time deciding, then yawned elaborately, stretched all four legs, and finally rolled to his feet. After another stretch, he padded silently over to stand by Mitch.
Before she turned to go in, she asked Mitch, “Do you need anything?”
Instead of answering her, he first said to Brodie, “Shut up.”
Charlotte saw Brodie close his mouth and grin.
“I’m fine,” he said to her, “but I’ll walk you in and help get Brute settled.”
While Brodie rolled his eyes, Charlotte narrowed hers.
“What—”
“Ignore him.” Wrapping warm, firm fingers around the bare skin of her upper arm, Mitch effectively stole her voice and guided her through the office door. He held it open for Brute to follow too. Letting the door close, he slid his fingers away—leaving chills in his wake.
She turned to face him.
He fought it, but his attention tracked over her, catching on her legs, her chest, and then fixating on her mouth.
“I’m sorry to add to your workload.”
Scorched clean through from that thorough inspection, Charlotte struggled to catch up. “My workload?”
“Babysitting Brute. We won’t be long. Half hour, tops.”
Ah. She smiled at the dog, who currently sniffed around the office. “He’s no trouble, I promise.”
Mitch took a step closer, caught himself and frowned. “You look nice today.”
Now why did that make heat climb her chest and bloom in her face? She looked down at her two-year-old shirt, thought of how she’d hastily pulled up her hair and... Damn it, if she’d known she’d see him this morning, she’d have tried a little harder.
“Charlotte?”
Oh, that deep voice... She bit her lip and glanced up. “Hmm?”
“Doesn’t matter what you wear.”
She blinked fast. “It doesn’t?”
With a slow shake of his head, he said, “You always look great. Every time I’ve seen you, actually.”
Oh my. Pleasure bloomed, making her heart feel full. “Coming from a man like you, those compliments equal more excitement than I’ve had in years.”
He locked down—no movement, no inflection, when he carefully asked, “A man like me?”
Did he expect her to be critical of his past? “A man as big and fit and—” Dare she say it?
The chaotic emotion in his expressive eyes convinced her.
He might hold himself back, but she wouldn’t—not physically or verbally.
Determination brought her close enough to breathe in his scent again. Head tilted back to see his face, she lightly rested her fingertips to his chest. It was a delicious feeling, the strength and heat of him beneath soft cotton.
“A man as gorgeous as you.” Belatedly, she pasted on a smile. “You’re a solid stack of raw power and fast reflexes and it’s incredibly appealing.”
Skepticism kept him searching her eyes. “I’m not sure how we got from you being so pretty, to talking about me.”
Color slashed his cheekbones and she realized he was actually embarrassed. Had no one given him a sincere compliment? Huh. Apparently praise flustered him as much as it did her.
Stroking his chest the tiniest bit, she suggested softly, “Thank you.”
He tipped his head. “What?”
“The appropriate response to a compliment is a simple thank you.” She patted his chest once, liked it way too much, and made herself step back. “Now you try it.”
The glint in his eyes made her stomach flutter. “Thank you.”
With a silly half bow, Charlotte said, “You’re welcome. Now, water for Brute.” The dog was back to sleep, making her smile widen even more. “If I know Brodie, he’ll be barging in here any second.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He glanced out the door, turned back to her, and with fond surprise, said, “This was...interesting.”
God, she hoped he didn’t mean odd.
She took another step back, but it was like swimming against the tide. Regardless of her mind insisting she should get to work, her body yearned to stay near him.
He seemed to know it too.
“I’ll see you again soon, Charlotte.” And with that tantalizing promise, he headed back outside.
Brute did lap up water once she refilled the water dish, but he certainly hadn’t been in desperate need. He followed her into the inner office, sprawled out in a ray of sunshine coming through the blinds and released a heavy sigh.
“You’re living the life, bud, aren’t you?” He got to hang out with Mitch all day, and slept whenever he wanted. “I’m glad.”
She, herself, wasn’t sleepy. Just the opposite, in fact.
She felt energized. Excited. Alive.
Amazing what sexual attraction could do to a body. Now she understood why Brodie and Jack had always indulged so many excesses.
She had work to do, but over the next twenty minutes she couldn’t keep from watching Mitch work. Muscles flexed everywhere as he stood beside Brodie, shoveling the gravel out of the truck bed and onto a wide tarp in the yard.
The two of them chatted amicably, and once she saw Mitch laugh at something Brodie said. She’d like to see him do that more often.
It made her happy to see things progressing so nicely between them. Mitch was truly becoming a part of the family.
Now if only she knew where she fit into the equation.
“Yoo-hoo.”
Snapping back from the window in guilty haste, Charlotte yelped, and t
hen slapped a hand to her chest to keep her heart contained. “I didn’t see you drive up!”
“I know.” Ros gave her a sly grin. “Thinking something you shouldn’t?”
“What shouldn’t I think?”
Struck by that, Ros paused, gave it quick thought, and amended with firm confidence, “Not a damn thing. Look at that young man and think whatever you want.”
“Ros!” Despite herself, Charlotte laughed. “He’s fascinating, don’t you think?”
“Likely in different ways than you, but yes I do.” She hung her purse on a wall hook. “Mary was right behind me. She brought Howler, so let’s go see how Brute does with him.”
At Ros’s arrival, Brute sat up, but otherwise he appeared uninterested in moving.
“Are you sure we should?”
“Mitch is a part of this family now, and that means Brute is too.” After stroking a hand along the dog’s neck, Ros cupped his furry face in both hands. “You’d like to meet a friend, wouldn’t you?”
Brute cast fretful eyes at Charlotte, then back at Ros. He gave one uncertain thump of his tail.
“He’s nervous, aren’t you, poor baby?” Charlotte’s childish tone had his tail thumping faster. “It would be good for him to have some doggy friends.”
“Exactly.”
Since the guys were done unloading the gravel, Charlotte patted her thigh as she’d seen Mitch do, and called the dog to her. “Come on, boy. You’ve got company to meet.”
Good-natured as always, Brute padded along beside her—until they stepped outside. Instinctively, he seemed to know another dog was near.
With heartbreaking—and hilarious—haste, he scuttled behind Charlotte, almost taking her off her feet. She tried to turn to Brute to reassure him, but he wouldn’t let her. Nose tucked to his butt, he attempted to keep his entire body hidden behind her legs.
Her heart shattered. “Oh, honey,” she said over her shoulder. “I promise it’s okay.”
Immediately, Mitch strode over and, kneeling, put a big hand on Brute’s neck. “It’s okay, bud.”
Mary waited in her car, and from the back seat Howler pressed his face to the window, his baggy eyes wide as he spotted not only Brodie—who he adored—but a new dog.
