No Flowers Required

by Cari Quinn

  When he finally brushed her mound, the cry that left her bordered on agony. That he followed that fleeting touch with another, then another still, didn’t quell the ache. Only when he nudged aside the damp fabric and stroked her for real, worshipping her with every glide of his fingertips, did she expel the breath she’d held trapped in her throat.

  “Oh, princess.” His voice sounded as gravelly as rocks thrown against a window, and he panted just as she did. Amazing how that nickname now turned her on instead of pissed her off. She could hear his affection, savored it in his caresses. He traced the curve of her ass with his tongue, stopping just short of where his fingers continued to tease her. Dipping in and out. Sliding along her folds. Circling. Toying with her where she swelled for him. “I wish I could see you.”

  Half-tempted to draw her knee up on the desk to give him more room, she stared blindly at the sheets of rain slapping the windows. Fluttering the awning above the door, battering the roof. None of it had reached her consciousness before. How could it, when her heartbeat chugged in her ears and her body throbbed with utter awareness of the man who ruled her?

  Lightning illuminated the shadowy room at the exact moment he plunged a finger inside her. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle a cry. “God, yes.”

  A noise outside made her jerk her head toward the door. With growing horror, she watched the knob turn and then a woman in a trench coat darted inside, a soaked newspaper draped over her head. “Oh, it’s horrendous out there!”

  All movement behind her—dear Lord, in her—ceased. And from somewhere she found the strength to whisper, “We’re closed.” Can’t you read the freaking sign?

  “Oh, I know. I’m sorry, but I thought I saw someone in here.” She flapped her hand and her newspaper fluttered like a panicked bird. Much like Alexa’s rampaging heart. “Though it’s awfully dark in here. Can you turn on the light?”

  “No.” Then she repeated it again for good measure. “No. We’re closed.”

  “But I forgot it’s my grandmother’s birthday and I need flowers.”

  Alexa blew out a breath. Figures she’d get a customer now. “There’s some in that urn. Two fresh arrangements I did just this afternoon. Your choice.”

  Clearly perplexed, the woman selected a bundle in crackling purple tissue paper. It was a selection of stargazer lilies, lemon leaf and fragrant eucalyptus, set off with a gorgeous purple bow. The loss was worth it if the woman would just go.

  “I have money,” the woman began, hauling what Alexa presumed was a wallet out of her enormous bag.

  “No, no, it’s fine. They’re on the house. I need to lock up.” Forcing false cheer into her voice, Alexa added, “Thank you for stopping by Divine and happy birthday to Grandma!”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “I couldn’t be more sure.” She really could not. The stirrings between her thighs had pretty much made up her mind for her.

  Dillon had pulled back, tucking down and shifting fully behind her. Thank God for the high counter. Though he remained close, he barely touched her now. Just his hands lightly cupping her ankles as if he knew she needed the support.

  He was right.

  “Say, are you going to the gala tomorrow night?”

  Dillon’s hands tensed and she swallowed over the tightness in her throat. “Yes. I’m excited about it.” Manners dictated she reply politely. “Are you?”

  “Definitely. I wouldn’t miss it. The auction’s usually great, and it’s a terrific cause. Plus those hunky boys in tuxes make it worth my while.”

  Alexa fiddled with the picture of Roz she’d put on the counter that morning, just to give her antsy hands something to do. “Absolutely.” Go. Now. Please. “Maybe I’ll see you there then. Have a great night.”

  “You, too, and thanks. Good night.” The woman clutched her flowers and flopped her newspaper over her head before fleeing into the storm.

  “Fucking A, that was close.” Alexa whirled to stare at Dillon, who wasn’t grinning or laughing or even praying. “Dillon?” she asked as he rose and took a definite step away. “We weren’t done.”

  His silence unnerved her, eroding the last of her desire that hadn’t waned during the interruption. “I hope we’re not,” he said finally. He shook his head, his lips drawing into a flat, hard line. As if he was steeling himself.

  “Alexa,” he began, his expression grave. “We need to talk. It’s important.”

  “Not tonight,” she pleaded, reaching behind her for support. But there was only the cold glass of the counter. Solid, without warmth.

  “Yes. I can’t put it off any longer.”

  Ice scraped her throat. Whatever he was about to say, she didn’t want to hear it. Not when she’d finally glimpsed the light at the end of a very long year, one filled with more pain than pleasure. He’d helped tip the scales in her favor and she’d be damned if they tipped back so soon.

  She shut her eyes and clenched her hands at her sides, the only way she could stop from slapping them over her ears like a child who was afraid to hear the worst.

  No. No. No.

  “Baby, open your eyes.”

  When she did, he was right in front of her. So close she could meet his lips if she edged forward a little bit. His were moving, saying things that should’ve made sense had she still been able to hear over the buzz of white noise.

  His eyes were so blue. She could just drown in them and float away, to a place where her happy flush of alcohol and success wouldn’t fade at the first jolt of hard reality. She could fall in love there, just let herself go. She’d never hit the ground, not when he was with her.

  “Alexa, did you hear what I said?” He stepped forward and gripped her shoulders, tugging her up on her toes so that their faces were nearly even. “I’m Cory’s brother. I own—my parents own—Value Hardware. And—”

  The buzz was back, encroaching around the edges of her hearing so that he sounded as if he were speaking through cotton. But she could see just fine. The sharpness of his expression, the hard planes of his face. The truth at the heart of all his lies.

  “And this store,” she whispered, the accusation tearing from her already aching throat. It was swelling with the tears she’d never shed in front of him. He didn’t deserve them. He’d been given so much of her already, parts of her she’d never shared with another. Ones she’d never get back.

  Now he was flinging them in her face.

  “And this store.” He closed his eyes and scraped his hand over the back of his head. The prickle of his hair against his palm cut through the hum in her ears and made her wince. “Goddammit, I hate the way you’re looking at me. If you’ll just let me explain, if you’ll hear me out, I promise I can make this right. It’s not what you’re thinking. I care about you. So damn much. If you’d just—”

  The laughter bubbled up inside her before she even suspected it was coming. It left her mouth on a sob that was closer to a dry heave than tears. “If I’d just what? Stand here and listen to more of your lies? You broke down every one of my walls, you bastard. They were so strong that no one ever got through. No. One.” She lunged forward and beat her fists against his chest, barely registering the way he stood there and took the blows. Her face was wet, smeared with the hot fluid she refused to acknowledge was tears. They dripped off her chin, sneaked into the collar of her shirt. Imprinting her with her shame. “You were the only one I trusted. I shouldn’t have. It didn’t make any sense, how this could happen when I’d almost given up thinking it ever would.”

  “But it did. You feel it too.”

  “Too? Fucking too?” She raged, clawing at his shirt. “You’d dare lie to me even now? How can you pretend to even know what a genuine emotion is when you’re nothing but a goddamn fake?”

  “What I feel for you isn’t fake. It’s real. It’s the most important thing in my life.” His voice was hoarse, but not hoarse enough. Only if he spat out glass would she be satisfied he hurt enough. “God, just give me a chan
ce—”

  A tear glinted on his cheek, stark and full. It stopped her dead, until he blinked and she saw his eyes were dry. Ravaged, maybe, but bone dry. That tear belonged to her, an exact match to the dozens swarming her vision.

  Are you going to crumple at his feet? Or are you going to stand up and tell him to go to hell?

  “Princess, please.”

  The nickname goaded her into action. Finally. She drew back and stared at him, wanting him to see that she wasn’t some broken doll. She’d cracked a little tonight, but the seams would hold. She wasn’t going to break, no matter what.

  He’d helped her to learn that, and the lesson wasn’t one she would forget.

  “I’m not your princess. I’m not a fucking princess, period. I’m a fighter, damn you. And I won’t give up. For that, I owe you. You gave me the tools to get here, and now I’m going to use them to get you the hell out of my life.” She pointed to the door, her finger miraculously steady. “Your tool belt’s in the back. Get it on the way out. And unless you plan on seizing this property from me, don’t ever fucking come back.”

  “Alexa.” Her name was a sound of pure anguish. She relished it, like a boxer savoring his opponent’s wounds.

  He lifted a hand toward her and she shrank back, her finger still extended. “I never want to see you again.”

  For a long moment there was nothing but the sound of the rain pelting the windows and his harsh breaths. Hers had steadied, her heartbeat settling into an even beat. She could fall apart later, after he’d gone.

  If he ever left.

  “This isn’t over,” he bit off finally, stalking into the back room. Then he walked past her and out the door, slamming it with a cheery tinkle of bells that signaled the final curtain on what was supposed to be the best night of her life.

  Chapter Ten

  “You make a piss-poor drunk.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re ugly.”

  That established, Dillon and Cory bent their elbows at the same time and drank.

  Cory slapped down enough money to pay for another round of beer. Shady’s Pub might not have much going for it, atmosphere-wise, but the brew was ice-cold. After a few beers and a lot of moping, he even kind of liked the place.

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” Dillon mumbled, though he’d already said as much several times before. Easier to keep talking so his misery had no chance to fill his head as it had his heart. If he breathed in too deep, his chest ached. “You caused all of this.” Definitely not all, but his drunk brain insisted his brother was to blame for taxes, death, and everything in between.

  “Lex’s delinquent. Not my fault she hates me. Also not my fault that Met—” Cory stopped, shook his head. “That Melinda isn’t interested in me.”

  “What?” Dillon stared. In the blue-washed light of the bar, Cory looked drunk and morose. And unkempt. His hair stuck straight up and his tie hung limply, as if he’d tried to undo it and failed. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, well, she’d be perfect to attend events with, but she’s dating someone. Then Victoria told me Melinda would never date me because I don’t know how to have fun.” Cory banged his bottle. “That’s crazy. Look at me now. Fun all over.”

  “Oh yeah.” Dillon laughed. Croaked really, but it was something.

  When he’d left Divine, he’d been sure he wouldn’t laugh again for a very long time. If ever. He’d headed to Cory’s office, intent on reading him the riot act for everything he could think of, when his brother had called and asked to meet at Shady’s. That was an extremely unusual move for Cory, odd enough Dillon had been compelled to say yes.

  It had been a very long time since they’d had a drink together. And they were both pathetically single and obviously destined to remain that way for a while.

  “Actually, I’m fun personified.” Cory downed more beer. “I signed up to get my chakra read.”

  “What?”

  “Dontcha know what a chakra is?”

  “Sounds like New Agey mumbo to me.” Dillon uncapped his next brew.

  “I even had yogurt and granola for breakfast today. On. A. Whim.” Why Cory imparted that with such weighty significance, Dillon had no clue. “Do you know how long I’ve had Wheaties with skim milk, a glass of OJ, and a cup of black decaf for breakfast? Years, my friend. Years.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “No kidding. Most of the time you won’t even speak to me. Now I know why you’ve been crawling up my ass lately.” Cory’s charcoal eyes gleamed with unholy amusement. Combined with the sickly cast of his skin from the blue lights, he rather resembled a demented, well-dressed Smurf. “Think I’m gonna let her go scot-free because you wanna bone her?”

  Dillon faced front and center, his gaze lasering in on a Rolling Stones poster on the wall. But all he could see were Alexa’s stricken eyes.

  “You’re drunk.” Truth be told, they were both soused. Neither drank much as a rule, and clearly they both sought to abandon their mental faculties as fast as humanly possible.

  “Am not.”

  “Are so. You never use the word ‘boned.’ Normally you call sex ‘intercourse.’ Never even heard you use slang before. So…drunk.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Dillon tipped back his beer. “Why don’t you ask out Vick? She’d be way more interesting than Mel.”

  “I told you, she’s too young. Practically a child. She’s as fun as a hurricane. Or an ingrown toenail.”

  Dillon croaked out another semi-laugh. “That’s lame.”

  “No lamer than you being in love with Lex.” Cory smiled at him around the mouth of his beer. “She’ll never want you because of me. She hates me.”

  His chest had gone tight in direct contrast to his suddenly spongy brain cells. “Yeah, I gathered that. So I lied like a moron. I am a moron.”

  “No arguments.”

  He laughed until his jaw throbbed. It was better than banging his head against the bar until he passed out, the only other option on the table. “See why I don’t spend more time with you?”

  Cory’s pause made him glance over in silent question. “You used to like me.”

  He had, a long time ago. Before sibling rivalry had become the sibling feud from hell. As the years passed, his best friend had turned into his biggest competition—and worse, there was no competing with Cory. He got straight As and had never wavered for a second on his plan for his life. He’d also accepted his role in the business with the zeal of a nerd snapping on his pencil protector. So Dillon had stopped trying to compete, instead choosing to play to his own strengths: enjoying women who enjoyed him right back and rebelling against everything Cory stood for.

  Even when what he stood for was exactly what Dillon embraced as well, despite their different approaches.

  Working with Alexa—and becoming excited again about marketing and business plans and all the stuff he’d labeled as “pencil pushing” in his mind—had reinvigorated his love of the other side of the desk. He wasn’t taking a more active role in the company just because he had to. He wanted to.

  “I’m back now,” Dillon said quietly. “I’m in, one hundred percent.”

  And this time, he’d make sure they did things right, with a joint focus toward profit and helping smaller businesses thrive whenever possible. He wouldn’t skirt the fringes any longer. The only way to ensure that Cory didn’t lose sight of the trees in the forest was to keep drilling the branches into his damn brain.

  “With the business?” Cory’s voice lowered. “Or being my brother?”

  Guilt flared on the back of Dillon’s tongue, and the beer suddenly tasted sour. “Both. You can count on me.”

  Cory slanted him a measuring look, then nodded and sipped his drink.

  “Since I have lost time to make up for on the brotherly score, you might want to know the ’rents are on the warpath. Since they’re gearing up for retirement, once they have more free time their concerns about your lack of a social life are gonna
take precedence. Big-time.”

  “I have a social life,” Cory muttered.

  Dillon ground the heel of his hand against his suddenly throbbing left eye. Suddenly the place felt like the inside of a toaster oven. “Your right hand doesn’t count.”

  Ignoring him, Cory looked down at the tool belt Dillon had tossed on the stool between them. “What the hell’s this?” He withdrew a purple item from one of the pockets and held it up to the light.

  Dillon blinked. What looked like tiny butterfly wings extended from the middle of the cylinder, and the rest of the shaft had ridges like a potato chip. He frowned. Or like a—

  “Nice vibe.” Bobby the bartender smirked as he circled his rag over the bar. “Big plans?”

  Cory dropped the vibrator as if he’d learned it was a live nuclear reactor. “That’s not mine.”

  Bobby nodded understandingly. “His?” he asked, jerking his chin at Dillon, who’d snatched up the toy and already put it away. Well, back in his tool belt. His brother touching Alexa’s…pleasure tools seemed way wrong. At least he assumed it was hers. Who else’s could it be?

  “Never leave home without it,” Dillon said somberly.

  Once Bobby gave them the thumbs-up sign and moved on, Cory leaned closer. “She’s plying you with sex toys?”

  “She was,” he said, unable to elaborate. Even thinking about what had happened at Divine made him want to rip the bar out of the wall. He’d done this. Not Cory. His stupid ideas and schemes had landed his ass in this very spot, and damn if it didn’t hurt.

  More than anything ever had.

  “Lucky bastard. By the way, just so you know—the Taste of Froot thing’s not happening.”

  “No?” Dillon couldn’t claim to be displeased. Maybe now Cory would find other kittens to kick than Divine. Though he’d never think of Alexa as a kitten. She was too strong and independent. Too utterly capable of taking care of herself.

  And how, judging from the accoutrements he’d just discovered.