“Something tells me you’ll find out for yourself exactly how friendly she is.”
We step into the elevator and glide on up. Bryson inspects me from head to toe as if he were mapping me out with those spotlight eyes of his. It’s like being under the scrutiny of a microscope each time he glances my way. It’s as if he’s looking straight into my soul, examining the flaws in the fiber of my being while reading my personal history like a textbook. Not that there’s anything of interest to read. My life in general has been boring as toast. That seems to be the only consistency in my world.
God, I hope he’s not some freak with a duffle bag fixation getting ready to chain me to his bedpost in some sadomasochistic lair. And the way that sultry smile keeps blinking on and off, I’m not too sure I’d mind. He’s a bad boy, I can tell. I can spot them a mile away. I’ve got some serious troublemaker radar, and usually my gut warns me to steer clear, but there’s something about this one that makes me want to fall to my knees and give him ten thousand lashes with my tongue in places that neither lashes nor tongues should ever venture. He’s the exact type of guy Cole is forever telling me to stay away from. The kind that want nothing more than to nail me to the mattress, then forget my name by morning.
“Jeanie Waters.” He nods, and I stare into him blankly because, holy hell, he’s already forgotten my name. “That’s your roommate,” he continues. “And, for the record, I’ve already tapped that well.”
I blink back with surprise. “Um, thanks for the info, I think? And eww. I honestly gave you a little more credit than that. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Greek who reduces women to water bearing vessels.”
“Well you pegged me wrong—twice. For one, I’m not a Greek.” We get off on the seventh floor, and he leads us to the nearest door. “And two, I’m not into degrading women to water bearing vessels, either.” He slips a key into the lock, and the door opens to a clean looking living room with a pair of brown leather sofas, a TV the size of the wall. “I prefer notches.”
“Very funny.” I step in hesitantly. “So, you’ve lured me to your lair. Good trick. Is this where I get to test my rape whistle? Or do you prefer mace? I’ve got both handy.” I pat down my jeans to confirm this theory and come up empty. Double crap.
“Lured you to my lair?” He moans it out as if trying to seduce me. “And here I thought you wanted to catch up on good times with your big bro?” He strides over to the hall and gives a psychotically loud knock over the nearest door. “Wake the hell up. You’ve got a visitor,” he shouts.
“Tell her I don’t want any.” A muffled groan escapes from the other side, and I can peg that voice as Cole’s any day of the week.
“He’s still in bed this late in the afternoon? God, he must really be sick. I bet he’s coming down with the flu or something.” I touch my hand to my chest. “I’ll see if I can get him some soup.”
Bryson’s chin dips a notch, and his eyes give me a smile all their own. “You might want to hold off on the fluids.” He gives another set of walloping knocks over the door. “She says she’s your sister,” he shouts before setting his steel-colored eyes in my direction. A devilish grin rides low on his lips. He points to the door jam that divides the hall from the living room and skims his finger down a series of tally marks running in longitudinal lines. “Cole.” He turns to the other side and points to an equally scratched surface. “Bryson.”
“What’s this?” I step over with caution in the event it’s some frat boy trap that involves innovative ways to seduce braless freshmen.
“These, my friend, are notches.” He leans in, and I can feel the heat emanating off his chest. His broad shoulders partially block the view of what looks to be my brother’s name scribbled onto the wall.
“What are the notches for?” There’s nothing but rows and rows of tally marks under my brother’s name. “Is this some weight lifting game? Wait, let me guess, this is somehow loosely related to wrestling.” I roll my eyes at the thought. Cole has had an unnatural obsession with the sport since he was six.
“Wrestling?” His eyes hood over, and that lewd grin starts budding on his lips again. “You pegged it.” He twists a smile that suggests otherwise.
A hard steady wallop shakes the walls, vibrating the tiny apartment.
“God.” I clutch at my chest as the banging continues. It’s clearly coming from my brother’s bedroom. “What the hell is he nailing to the wall?”
“Who.” He bleats it out, doing his best impression of an owl—a hotter than hell, amazingly muscular owl, but nonetheless.
“Who what?”
“Who the hell is he nailing to the wall.”
It takes a minute for what he’s implying to sink in while the loud gunshot-like noises come to a crescendo and the distinct sound of deep guttural groans takes its place.
Everything in me seizes.
“You mean?” I point to the wall and door simultaneously.
“Exactly.” He smears a satisfied grin. Clearly he’s enjoying my newfound horror.
“Oh no.” I take a few steps back to create some metric distance between myself and the perverted scoreboard. It’s like I’ve fallen in some bizarre sexual wonderland, and for a minute I wonder if the plane went down, and I’m lying in a cornfield somewhere just barely clinging to life. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you have the wrong Cole. Obviously some man-whore shares my brother’s name. And, in no way do I want to stand in the way of his daily drilling. My Cole would never carve notches into his wall and have a serious headboard banging session in the middle of the afternoon.”
“Oh really.” He flat lines.
“Yes, really.”
Bryson with the Biceps probably didn’t hear me when I said Brighton, he was too busy pooling blood to the lower half of his body in hopes the rest of my clothes would spontaneously fall off. No wonder he’s been following me around like a lovesick puppy. I’ve given him one serious boner to contend with, and now I can practically see the tally marks spinning in his eyes.
“Cole Brighton?” He nods, affirming my worst nightmare.
“Cole Brighton…” I stride back to the tally marks and inspect the sloppy row of lines crossed in groups of five that string all the way down the door jam. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I spin, taking in the other side of the wall marked Bryson and inspect the hieroglyphics that predict his potential for a serious VD outbreak. And, judging by the magnificent scrawl, I’d say the odds of his manly bits and pieces falling off in the very near future are most definitely in his favor.
“This can’t be right,” I say, turning again in disbelief to inspect the sexual carnage my brother’s engaged in since he’s been away at Debauchery U. And, here, Mom and I thought he was buried in textbooks, losing himself in the stacks at the library. It looks like the only thing Cole has been burying himself in is an entire sea of vaginas. “Are there that many girls in North Carolina, or are you importing them in from out of state?” I bite down over my lip. Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This has got to be a joke. “Me thinks these walls exaggerate just a tiny bit.” Correction—a whole hell of a lot especially where my brother is concerned—at least they’d better.
Bryson lets out a laugh, and his sharpened canines flash, his teeth are white as milk. He’s got that vampire, werewolf appeal to him, and my thighs quiver because I just so happen to have a sweet spot for all things vampire and werewolf right between my legs. Not that my sweet spot has ever entertained a beast of the paranormal variety, or human for that matter, but I digress.
“If anything I’ve been conservative with the effort.” He leans in just above me, pinning me against the wall with his chest. His face inches in toward mine, and my stomach melts in a puddle of heat. “Your brother, however, has been known to be liberal with his chicken scratch.” Bryson comes in closer and rakes his hot breath over my cheek. His perfect features inspire my heart to try and break free from my chest with its wild palpitations. My adrenaline spikes, and a bite of perspirat
ion breaks out under my arms. I’ve never been so brazenly propositioned for a kiss, but knowing The Sultan of the Scoreboard, I think the offer extends to far more delicate places—like the aforementioned sweet spot.
The door explodes open, and Cole springs out with his dark hair rumpled, his glowing green eyes, twins to mine, and he looks startled by my presence.
“Baya?” He pulls me into a sweaty hug. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He’s grinning ear-to-ear still holding me in a semi-headlock. His body smells ripe, and he’s sticky to the touch.
“Mom managed to get me on an earlier flight.” I give an impish grin as I make my way out of his strangle hold. “So, here I am. Surprise.” I hold out my hands. It’s only then I notice he’s wearing nothing but boxers. Truthfully, this entire scenario has sort of turned the surprise around on me and not in any good way.
A brunette with a matted mane ambles out of his room and down the hall before shutting herself in what I presume to be the bathroom.
“Oh my God, it’s true!” And I was the last person who was going to buy into the pornographic writing on the wall.
“What’s true?” His dark brows furrow as he crosses his arms. Cole is gorgeous with those searing emerald eyes, dimples deep enough to sink your heart into. No wonder he’s bedding his way through school. The girls aren’t giving him a choice.
To my horror a beautiful blonde pokes her head out of his bedroom. She gives a slight wave at Bryson, and my stomach drops like a stone.
“You’ve got two in there?” My muscles seize. “You are not the Cole Brighton I grew up with. For sure you aren’t the same Cole Brighton who called home once a week to lecture me on boys and their wandering penises.” Because obviously he was speaking from experience.
“Penises?” Bryson mouths the word, and I choose to ignore him.
“What? We were having a study group.” Cole frowns into me with a look that suggests I’d better believe him and quick.
He presses his hand over my back and ushers us to the couch.
“Study group, my ass,” I whisper. And here I thought he was nothing like the playboys he preached long and hard for me to avoid, when all along he’s been their fearless leader. Or should I say co-leader. I glare over at Bryson who’s making himself comfy on a barstool nearby. He leans over the kitchen counter just gawking at the two of us as if readying for the show, and I can’t help stealing glances. It’s not my fault. He’s handsome in an abnormal freak of nature kind of way, and his biceps seem to be taking my mind off the fact my sweet big bro was nothing but a big fat lie.
“So what’s up?” Cole gives his signature dimpled grin. “Are you all settled in your dorm?”
“Yes.” I shoot a quick look to Bryson and his prying eyes. “I am.” I’m in no mood to run down the sins of my faux sister when my own flesh and blood has some serious carnal issues I’d like to contend with.
“Good.” He runs his fingers through his thick black hair, totally unmoved by the fact he’s in nothing but his skivvies. But, now that I’ve been made aware of the public service he’s been generously gifting the ladies of Whitney Briggs, I’m sure it’s far more clothing than he’s used to. Cole props his feet up on the coffee table which would have been a felony offense if our type A mother were here. Of course, she would have been wild-eyed and pissed long before now—what with two girls streaming from his bedroom, his sex life mapped out like the periodic table of elements for all to see. That alone would have killed her on the spot, and she would never have made it to this new feet-on-the-furniture version of my brother. “You like your roommate?”
“Jeanine Waters.” I nod. “Real friendly girl.”
A dark laugh sputters from him as he pumps a fist over at Bryson, his comrade in tally mark wielding arms.
“She’s a cool chick.” Cole reaches for the remote, and the enormous television blinks to life. “You’ll like her once you get to know her, but steer clear of her social circle. She’s a party animal if you know what I mean. I’ll set you up with some nice girls who like to hang out and read in their spare time, like you. Rumor has it there’s a book club over at Prescott. You’ll fit right in.”
I try not to glance at Bryson who’s just taken an obnoxiously loud bite of an apple while my cheeks burn through a dozen shades of red. It’s one thing to be a self-proclaimed book nerd, but to have Cole announce it like its some social disease that forces bookworms to be exiled in a building together is another.
I clear my throat. “That sounds great, but I was thinking about busting out of my shell a little this year. You know, maybe joining a sorority?” Not really, but, now that the whole roommate thing isn’t quite panning out how I hoped, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Rush is in a couple weeks.” Bryson lifts his apple as if he were toasting my efforts.
“No.” Cole shakes his head emphatically. “No rushing.” He glares over at Bryson for commending the idea. “Baya this is Bryson my bonehead of a roommate. Don’t listen to a word he says. Bry—this is my baby sister, keep your hands, and stupid ideas, the hell away from her.” He turns back to me. “Besides she’s not into guys.”
“What?” This is news to me. “I am, too.” I’m quick to rectify my sexual standing to the nipple ogler in the next room.
“No, you’re not.” Cole flips the channel until it lands on some football game. “You’re like thirteen.” He gives a sideways grin. “Besides, you’re just a baby. You’re not allowed to like guys. You can like guys in books. How’s that? I hear book boyfriends are all the rage.”
Thirteen? Book boyfriends? I glance over to Bryson, and my face heats up like a Texas sidewalk. The only thing in a rage around here is me.
“Sounds perfectly boring,” I say it mostly to myself.
“That’s my goal.” Cole flips the channels again before settling on a cage fight. “I’m here to make sure your stay at Whitney Briggs is perfectly boring—and more than slightly educational.”
The small harem from his bedroom saunters across the living room, holding their maxi-dresses at the knees and waving like pageant queens as they take off.
“See you tonight at Delta.” The blonde blows a quick kiss to Bryson, but he still has those ice-colored eyes locked over mine.
Looks like Cole has a different set of standards for me than he does for himself.
“Perfectly boring,” I whisper.
I glance up at Bryson, and my thighs quiver. He’s branding himself over my skin, my heart, and not one bit of me wants to stop him.
I have a feeling my stay at Whitney Briggs is going to be anything but boring.
*Click here to read more NOW!—> 3:AM Kisses (3:AM Kisses 1)
Preview Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies
Murder in the Mix
Like a side of murder with your romantic comedies? Turn the page to read a preview of Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1)!
Book Description
My name is Lottie Lemon and I see dead people. Okay, so I rarely see dead people, mostly I see creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets. And for some reason those sweet, fluffy albeit paranormal cuties always seem to act as a not-so-great harbinger of deadly things to come for their previous owner. So when I saw that sweet orange tabby twirling around my landlord’s ankles, I figured Merilee was in for trouble. Personally, I was hoping for a skinned knee—what I got was a top spot in an open homicide investigation. Throw in a hot judge and an ornery detective that oozes testosterone and that pretty much sums up my life right about now. Have I mentioned how cute that detective is?
* * *
Lottie Lemon has a bakery to tend to, a budding romance with perhaps one too many suitors and she has the supernatural ability to see dead pets—which are always harbingers for ominous things to come. Throw in the occasional ghost of the human variety, a string of murders and her insatiable thirst for justice and you’ll have more chaos than you know what to do with.
Living in the small town
of Honey Hollow can be murder.
*Turn the page for a chapter preview now!
Chapter 1
I see dead people.
Okay, so I don’t see dead people—at least not on the regular—I see dead pets. Yes, pets. At first, I had no idea what these hologram-like beasts were up to until after an unfortunate run of something akin to trial and error that I concluded each dead pet was some sort of a harbinger for its previous owner, a very, very bad omen if you will. Sometimes I see them floating around willy-nilly in a crowd and it’s hard to decipher exactly who the bad luck is coming for. But on occasion, I see them attached firmly to the side of whomever the incoming disaster is set to strike. I’m not sure why this is my lot in life. In fact, my lot in life hasn’t been so stellar in general. My birth mother thought it was a brilliant idea to leave me on the floor of a firehouse, and that’s where a brave and thankfully curious firefighter spotted me, swaddled up and squirming. It just so happens that I was adopted by that sweet man, Joseph Lemon, and his wife, Miranda, and gifted a book-loving big sister, Lainey, currently Honey Hollow’s lead librarian, as well as a feisty and shenanigan-prone younger sister, Meg, who is also known as Madge the Badge on the Las Vegas female wrestling circuit. And being that Las Vegas and all of its glittery wrestling venues are a good distance from Honey Hollow, Vermont, we don’t see her very often.
But back to that strange gift of mine, or curse as it more often than not feels—I have zero clue where it came from or why, or even the major significance of it. A part of me has always believed that something alarmingly supernatural occurred around the time of my birth, and that’s exactly why my birth mama decided she so desperately needed to offload a seven-pound chunk of bad luck.
Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set Page 62
