by Taryn Quinn
Did that make her fickle or impossible to please? She wasn’t sure. But she hadn’t given up looking for that guy who would make her pulse race faster.
Kind of like Brad’s doing now?
“And yet you’re single. So I’m thinking what you’ve seen hasn’t been worthy of making you stick around. Am I right?”
“I almost got married before I moved here,” she said, surprised again at what came out of her mouth. Somehow she’d developed a disconnect between her brain and her vocal cords.
“Yeah? What happened?”
“According to my ex, I ran away to play with endangered birds.”
He laughed, tipping his head so his longish, dark blond hair tumbled into his eyes. They seemed caught between gray and blue, as if even his irises were incapable of making up their minds. Just like Brad, if rumors could be believed.
“According to my ex, I left because I couldn’t be with just one woman.”
He braced a hand next to her knee on the chair, his knuckles millimeters away from brushing her skin. The backs of his hands were lightly dusted with hair, much like the bare chest he insisted on flaunting whenever she was within view. Unlike the very straight hair on his head, his chest hair was almost curly, the kind that would be perfect for a woman to tug on.
If a woman were inclined to do such things.
“Well, gotta admit, a three-week marriage does seem pretty bad.”
“It was almost six weeks actually,” he said, his voice lacking any inflection. But his easy grin faded.
“You still did better than me,” she said, making her own tone brighter in denial of the flatness of his. Funny, she’d used his quickie marriage and divorce to dismiss him, but the tense expression he wore while discussing his ex almost made her jealous.
Maybe he wasn’t such a player after all.
“I didn’t even make it to the altar,” she added, registering his silence.
“Neither did Darla and me. We went to the JP. Justice of the Peace,” he said at her curious expression.
“Oh. I thought you’d gone to Vegas.” She didn’t really think that, but she wanted him to smile again. He didn’t seem like Brad without the semi-permanent grin.
“You have lots of thoughts about me, apparently. Most of them wrong.”
“Maybe I’m a presumptuous bitch.” Again she scratched her calf with her toes. Except this time she knew exactly where his gaze would go, and the idea didn’t disturb her as much as it had a few minutes ago.
Sunstroke maybe? It was awfully hot out here. Or could they have actually forged some sort of bond over broken relationships?
Some sort of platonic bond. Because, seriously, she wasn’t going there. Not with Kim’s little…err, younger brother.
Normally she didn’t have a problem with making a decision and sticking to it. But lately ping-pong matches had nothing on the wishy-washy flip-flopping she was doing in her own damn mind.
“Or maybe you want me to think you are so I lose interest.”
“Are you admitting you have interest?” she tossed back, wondering where Kim had disappeared to. Her friend had run to the store around the block. What could possibly be taking so long?
He leaned forward and snagged her free hand, dragging it to…what? He wasn’t really going to put her hand on his—
Yep, he was. Oh my God. She had her hand on her best friend’s brother’s sizable erection, and her fingers were all but twitching with the urge to wrap around him.
No. Absolutely not. Heat radiated through thin cotton, an undeniable temptation. If anything, he grew even harder.
“Take a breath,” he advised, his lopsided grin again overtaking his face. “For such a woman of the world, a man’s hard cock shouldn’t be all that big of a deal.”
“It is when my hand’s on it. Where the hell is your sister?” She tried to tug back, weakly, but his grip held fast. She really didn’t tug that much. Her palm didn’t mind its current location at all.
“Why? Scared?”
“Hardly. Let go.”
He did at once, shrugging. “You asked a question. I always preferred show to tell.”
Sara let her hand drop in her lap and willed it to stop tingling. “I’m going to call Kim,” she said, already pressing the speed dial button with the thumb of the hand that still clutched her phone.
“Gonna tell on me?”
In spite of herself, she laughed. “No.”
“Because you didn’t mind?”
The hopeful note in his voice made her laugh again, more softly. He was a difficult guy not to like. Really like. “She’s your sister.”
“No way. I was hoping that producer from Maury Povich was wrong.” His smirk jolted through her, reigniting the flare of arousal she’d tried to suppress.
“Funny guy.”
“Sexy girl.” He walked his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, not straying too far from her knee. His gaze probed hers. “I’m good at other things besides making people laugh. If you’re ever up for finding that out firsthand, you know where to find me.”
Then he got up and strolled away, going around the back of the house toward the driveway. A minute later she heard his truck’s engine rev.
Almost as much as she was revving.
Kim’s voice sounded on the phone, reminding Sara she’d dialed her number. Voicemail. She hung up in a hurry and stared at her cell, her chest heaving with the effort to keep from panting.
She wanted to find out. She really did. That had to be wrong. She was the gatekeeper of—
What? Brad’s honor? What a joke. He might not be thirty yet but he was clearly no boy. He knew his own mind. And his body.
Hell if she didn’t want to get to know them too.
In a way, this was Kim’s fault. She’d been the one to encourage Sara to pursue life and sex full tilt. A couple of years ago she’d been so fixated on her perfectly normal life with Pete it had never occurred to her to reach for more. A few pleasant orgasms got the job done, so why look for nirvana? It was too much effort. Too dangerous.
Big payoffs meant big risks. Potentially jeopardizing what she had with her best friend over some nookie would be stupid. Kim didn’t want to get tied down, but she fell in lust eagerly and often. She was also a hopeless romantic.
If Sara told Kim she was into Brad, she’d either start planning a year of double dates or she’d freak out. Either option made Sara want to forget the whole thing.
“I could ask her,” she muttered.
Would you mind if I fucked your brother? It wouldn’t take more than an hour. Then all three of us could forget it.
Sara snorted as Kim jogged into the backyard, her frizzy brown hair caught back in a clip. She carried two paper sacks of groceries and wore a bright grin.
Must be a family trait.
“Hey. Where’s stupid?”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to your brother.” The man whose cock I just had my hand on…
Sara shifted uncomfortably on the chaise and pressed her knees together as if she could make the liquid between her thighs evaporate.
“Who else?” Kim collapsed into the empty chair and set her bags next to her feet. “The jerk was supposed to paint the front porch this afternoon. Paint cans are out there. Lid’s even off one of them. But where the hell is he?” She blew out a breath. “I was sure he’d be back here bugging you.”
“What? Why? What would make you think he’d be here with me?”
Kim gave her a look. “Let’s see, maybe because he’s always around you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, my brother likes you. Which you know. What’s the big deal?” Kim rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her purse, letting out a muffled squeal. “Finally. I was wondering if I’d hear.”
“If you’d hear what?” Sara asked, grateful for the reprieve.
She’d gained control of herself now. With Brad and his erect cock out of the area, she could think clearly again. And sh
e had her priorities firmly in order.
She couldn’t stand the idea of anything disrupting the good setup the three of them had going. Hormones aside, she was willing to do whatever it took to ensure her housing situation remained relaxed and low-key. A no-drama zone. She was in a great place in her life. No reason to rock the bed.
Err…boat.
She liked Brad. Of course she did. To keep that liking at a manageable level, all she would have to do was remain steadfast in protecting her stable home environment. Easy enough, right?
Sara released a breath. Easy or hard, she knew what she had to do. Brad would lose interest if she didn’t engage with him. When he lost interest, maybe she would too. Or maybe she’d meet someone else, preferably soon.
Preferably before she responded in a way she’d likely regret.
“I met a guy.” Kim grinned and finally set aside her phone.
“Where? At the grocery store?”
“No. At work.”
Sara leaned forward, her own sex woes temporarily forgotten. “Who?”
“You’ll see at the fundraising dinner in a couple of weeks. I invited him. Speaking of, who are you taking?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Which showed her level of distraction about Brad. She always made sure she had a date long in advance of these shindigs. They tended to be tedious, but they were part of her role at the sanctuary and she never shirked her responsibility.
Who could she ask this close to the event? Her little pink book held a few prospects. None worthy of excitement though. Or even mild anticipation.
“What about Dr. Mikey?”
Sara laughed at Kim’s moniker for one of the other zoologists. Though he was pushing forty, Dr. Michael Eastwick looked closer to twenty. His baby face made him quite popular among the ladies, especially the well-to-do matrons who frequented the fundraisers and showed their appreciation for him through their checkbooks.
“He’s practically engaged.”
“Ah, that barely counts.” Kim tapped her glossy pink nails against her mouth. “What about Steve?”
“What about him?”
“He’s single. I think.”
Sara shook her head, thinking about the security guard who flirted with her—and every other woman within shouting distance—every morning. “No, thanks. Think I’ll be going to this one solo.”
“No way. I have a much better idea.”
Something about Kim’s sparkling grin made Sara’s skin tingle with nerves. “I get scared when you get ideas.”
“As well you should.” Her grin turned sly. “What about Brad?”
Chapter 2
Sara cleared her throat and crossed her ankles. She couldn’t be more casual if she tried. “What about Brad?”
“You know he’d go. He loves the sanctuary. I brought him last year and he donated a bunch of stuff for the annual auction. Free oil changes, that sort of thing.”
“So you take him and I’ll take your date,” Sara replied. No one would be able to tell she was the least bit vexed by this conversation, she was sure of it. Butter smooth, that was her.
Kim laughed. “Don’t think you and Greg would be a good fit. You and Brad on the other hand—” she wiggled her eyebrows, “—would make the perfect couple.”
Hmm, did she know a Greg? She was terrible about connecting faces with names. Besides, thinking about who Greg might be was way better than considering Brad as her date. Or her potential lover. “Don’t think so.” Sara’s breathing quickened, but she did her best to stay relaxed.
If relaxed meant gripping the arms of her chaise as if the chair was all that stood between her and certain death.
“You’re being stubborn. Want me to ask him? He even owns a tux. Cleans up pretty well too.”
Brad and a tux were a recipe for disaster. Naked disaster. “Thanks, but I’m sure I can—”
To her surprise, Kim frowned and waved a hand, cutting her off. “Are you fighting with him? Is that why he’s not here?”
“Of course not. Why would we fight? We have nothing to fight about.” Even Sara thought her laughter sounded forced. Okay, I give in. Wave temptation in a tux in my face. I can take it. “Fine. I’ll ask Brad. He might be busy, but I’ll ask.”
“Good. And I bet he’ll be happy to come.”
Her mind shot into a bad place at that particular statement. She popped to her feet before Kim noticed her constricted expression. A red-blooded woman could only disguise so much.
“We’ll see. But I promise I’ll ask.”
“Great. I think the four of us will have fun.” Kim rose and handed Sara one of the bags of groceries.
The storm clouds had already cleared from Kim’s eyes. She really did just want everyone to get along. To be one big, happy, sexually charged family.
Well, maybe not the last part.
It wasn’t as if Brad lived across town. He slept feet away from her own bed, separated by a few flimsy walls. If they…came together, she’d have to face him every day across the toaster. And she’d be damned if her actions caused her to leave before she was ready.
Sara sighed and juggled the paper sack, noticing the box of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies sticking out of the top. She grinned. Her best friend knew her too well. “It will be fun,” she agreed, renewing her vow not to let anything ruin the good thing she had going.
She could handle Brad O’Halloran.
Brad didn’t check his messages until he returned home later that night. He’d skipped painting the porch—and watching Sara sashay around in next to nothing—in favor of heading down to Harley’s bar. He’d spent most of the evening there, drinking a couple of beers, watching the game. A few times he’d caught women giving him the eye, which upped his mood even if he had no intention of pursuing any of them.
It wasn’t as if he collected phone numbers for rainy days, but he couldn’t say he minded attention occasionally. He knew he wasn’t the most gorgeous guy around. Fine by him. He’d never wanted to be some pretty boy who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He spent every day up to his elbows in grease and didn’t bother with his appearance beyond regular haircuts.
He reached back to brush his fingers over his raggedy ends. Speaking of which, he needed to take care of that soon.
Long hair, car grease, nights spent shooting pool and drinking longnecks. No wonder Sara wouldn’t look at him twice. They were as different as—
He didn’t even have an analogy for how different they were. She would. She always had a smart comeback or a sassy comment. Any guy unprepared around her would be left in the dust.
Rubbing his eyes, he fumbled through his texts. And saw Sara’s name.
When you get home, stop by my room.
His palm immediately dampened. How annoying. She made him feel like a teenager again, completely unsure of his moves. Worse, like he didn’t have any moves. Those girls at the bar didn’t make him feel like that. Yet he kept returning to the same damn well again and again.
Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was that her brain was as sexy as her amber eyes.
Or maybe it was the bikini.
Brad grinned and pocketed his phone as he stepped down from his truck. The bikini definitely weighed in.
He entered the house without making any attempt for quiet, forgetting it was heading toward eleven. His sister never stayed up too late unless she had a guy over. Since there were no strange cars in the drive, he guessed she was alone.
Sara never brought men home. After her assertion today about how much she’d seen and done—not a subject he wanted to dwell on overmuch—he had to think she was keeping her male friends away from the house intentionally. The question was why. It was her place too, for as long as she was staying there. She could have anyone over she wanted. He couldn’t guarantee the guy would leave in the same condition he’d arrived in, but she could’ve invited him anyway.
Except she didn’t.
If he were an optimistic sort, he’d think
that meant maybe his preoccupation wasn’t one-sided. But she’d tossed enough disdainful looks his way he had to conclude she didn’t want to step on his sister’s toes.
She wasn’t shy. If she wanted him, she would’ve gone for it. For whatever reason, the sex bug that had nipped him in the ass the first time she’d smiled at him and announced herself as Dr. Carmichael hadn’t bitten her as well. And that was too damn bad.
He swung by the kitchen on his way up to Sara’s room and snatched two golden apples out of the basket on the counter. One thing he and Sara had in common was a fondness for midnight snacks, though their usual choices were greasy and laden with calories. But he didn’t really feel like digging around for a bag of chips or searching through his sister’s chocolate stash. The apples would suffice.
After a moment’s debate, he headed to his room first to change into his well-worn pajama pants. It was the same thing he wore when the three of them got together for movie night, and Sara had never blinked twice. Of course he’d never been alone with her in her room late at night either.
First time for everything.
He palmed the apples and headed down the hall, unsurprised to feel his heart thudding in his chest. Anticipation rose inside him, hot and irrepressible. What would she be wearing? Probably her usual bedtime outfit of boxers and a snug T-shirt. In theory, completely unsexy. On her, they made him stone-hard in seconds.
She had one hell of a sweet body. Long legs, nice breasts. Some guys might have seen her as average, but those guys sure weren’t him.
Brad knocked on her closed door, briefly wondering where his sister was. Not that it mattered. This would be a quick chat, not some sort of loud, erotic sexfest.
Unfortunately.
“Come in,” Sara called.
