by Lori Foster
“Where have you been?”
In contrast, Stack sounded like calm personified when he replied, “What hospital? I’m on my way.”
“Finally!” And then, with annoyance, she named the local county hospital.
Not far away at all, Vanity realized. So, did that mean Stack’s family all lived nearby? If so, how come she’d never seen any of them?
Keeping to the speed limit, Stack drove from the quiet back streets and headed for the main drag. “How’s Mom?”
“I don’t know!” his sister wailed. “The doctors haven’t told us anything yet.”
Knuckles going white on the wheel, Stack went from relaxed to tightly wound. “Us, meaning fucking Phil is there?”
Fucking Phil? Vanity had no idea who that might be, but clearly Stack didn’t like him.
“Of course he’s here—with his wife.”
“Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Whoa. Vanity didn’t need to be psychic to pick up on all the bad feelings. She made no pretense of not listening in, and even put her hand on Stack’s shoulder.
When he frowned at her, she smiled.
Blowing out a breath, he returned his attention to his sister. “So, what happened?”
“I don’t know. She just collapsed. I got home and...” The voice faded, then picked up anew. “When Mom fell, she hit her head. There was blood everywhere. I freaked.”
“Listen to me, Tabby. Head wounds bleed a lot. You should know that. Was she hurt bad or was it just a cut?”
Silence, then a choked sob. “I don’t know!”
Good God. If Stack didn’t still look so calm, Vanity would have been scared to death for his mother.
“Let me talk to Phil.”
“Why?”
With a hoarse laugh, Stack said, “I can’t hurt him through the phone, sis, so just put him on.”
“He went to the snack area to get a Coke.”
Stack’s chest expanded on a frustrated inhale. “He should be right back, then.”
“No, probably not. He was going to get some air, too.”
“Yeah, good thing he’s there with his wife, offering so much moral support.”
“Go to hell, Stack!”
As if that didn’t faze him at all, he said, “I’m on my way.”
Overcome with relief, she said faintly, “Thank God. Hurry, please.”
“Try to keep it together until then, okay, sis?”
“I...I will. Stack? I’m scared. I don’t want to be here alone.”
Alone? Vanity glanced at Stack. So, as he’d said, the man who must be his sister’s husband was of no use at all.
Stack said softly, “I know. Just hang in there. It’ll only take me ten minutes, tops.”
“Love you.”
“Ditto.” Stack disconnected and, like a bubble waiting to burst, silence filled the car.
Vanity tried to be patient, but when Stack said nothing, she gave up with a mental shrug. “Who’s Phil?”
Irritation bunched his shoulders. “Fucking Phil.” He flashed her a warning glare. “Stay away from him, okay?”
“Sure. But who is he?”
“My sister’s asshole husband.”
Oooookay. “That much I got from the conversation.”
Running a hand over his head, Stack cursed low. “He’s trouble. That’s all you need to know. And seriously, steer clear of him.” Again his gaze came her way, dipping over her with what felt like territorial privilege. “If he so much as looks at you funny, I want to know.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Just as the car fire had earlier, he seemed to explode. “This is why you should have kept your sweet ass at home! You don’t even know Phil, so how the hell can you know—”
“You’re yelling at me? Seriously?” Unlike him, she spoke low. And mean. Like...really mean. “My apologies for barging in. I shouldn’t have. Soon as we reach the hospital I’ll call a cab. I can wait in the lobby until it arrives.”
“Fuck.” Pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, Stack muttered again, with more feeling, “Fuck.”
Vanity folded her arms and stared out the passenger window. But she knew she wasn’t being fair, so after six or seven minutes had passed, she took a breath and again faced him.
More moderately, without the sharp bite of anger, she said, “I overstepped when I promised you that I wouldn’t. For that I really am sorry. This was supposed to be simple sex as friends, not a home invasion. My only excuse is that things have gotten off track in a big way. First that awful wreck, and now this...” A deep breath helped her regroup. “I just wanted you, that’s all. And here I am bringing as much drama as your sister, and that just might...might run you off before I even get all the goods.” She made a face. “Best laid plans, right?”
After her rambling explanation, his quiet, “I’m sorry,” meant more just by the simplicity of it.
“You’re sorry?”
“My family has the unique ability to make me lose my cool.” He pulled into the hospital parking lot, chose a spot and stopped the car. Turning in the seat, he faced her. “We need to clear this up.”
Disappointment weighed heavy on her. “I know.”
He half grinned. “Short of aiming an Uzi at me, I’m not sure you could chase me off at this point.”
Oh. Well, now, that sounded nice. She started to smile, but then Stack’s gaze went past her, looking through the side window, and his eyes narrowed.
“Stay put a sec.” Jaw locked, he opened his door and got out.
Vanity twisted to watch as he walked toward two men standing just outside the glare of security lights. Heads down, standing close together, they made an exchange.
Fucking Phil? She assumed so.
Yes, she would stay put as Stack had ordered, but he said nothing about leaving her window up, and in the dark quiet of pre-dawn, she was able to hear his every footfall.
So did the two men. One looked up, then faded farther into the shadows until he disappeared.
Stack didn’t seem to care about him. No, he’d zeroed in on the other guy, the one with the shaggy brown hair, smarmy smile and dark eyes. He was tall, but not as tall as Stack. Leanly built. His posture slouched.
Steps long and sure, Stack made short work of closing the distance.
As if seeking escape, the man glanced around himself but then must have decided against trying to run. Instead, he quickly stuffed something into his pocket and, with terrible acting skills, attempted a jovial greeting.
“Stack. Whassup, man. Haven’t seen you in a long—gak!”
The nervous chatter ended when Stack caught the man by the front of his shirt and stepped him up against a lamppost.
Vanity soaked it all in—mostly just impressed with Stack’s imposing presence, his straight posture while lifting a full-grown man to his tiptoes, and the contained way he muttered a dire threat.
“Get rid of it before you come in the hospital. And I don’t mean to hide it in the car with my sister.”
“Hey, hey,” Phil said, his tone conciliatory. “We drove separate, dude. Chill out.”
“Drove separate, how?”
“Tabby came in your mom’s car.”
Stack released him with a light shove that made Phil’s head ping against the metal pole. A finger pointed in his face kept him there. “You’re on notice. Bring that shit anywhere near my family, and I’ll take you apart.” Turning his back on him, Stack strode away.
“You don’t gotta be like that,” Phil called after him. “It’s just a little weed, man, that’s all.”
Stack didn’t acknowledge him, and Phil, making a stupid face, flipped the bird at his back.
Then he saw Vanity watching. And Stack opening her door. He realized they were together, and he positively blanched.
Lacking any sympathy for the doofus, Vanity ignored him as rudely as Stack had. Together, with Stack’s arm around her, they walked past Phil and into the ER entrance of the hosp
ital.
Stack’s sister was there, waiting for him, her face ravaged from crying—and yet Stack still didn’t seem overly concerned.
He released Vanity just in time because the sister launched herself at him, her sobs out of control. With a long-suffering sigh, Stack caught her to him.
He looked at Vanity over his sister’s head and said, “Vanity, this is my sister, Tabitha. Tabby, meet Vanity.”
Hysterical cries died as if someone clicked off a movie. Silence, a stiffening of shoulders, and a second later her head left Stack’s chest and instead jerked around to stab Vanity with ripe curiosity.
“You share similar features,” Vanity said as if she hadn’t just witnessed pure lunacy. “Though of course you’re far more feminine.”
Tabitha dropped back to her own feet. She swiped her cheeks, blindly sought a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, and...beamed at Vanity.
Unsure what to make of that, Vanity tried a smile that didn’t quite appear.
Sly, Tabby cast a look at Stack, then back to Vanity. “Well, well, well. Things just got very interesting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WALKING PNEUMONIA. NO WONDER his mother felt so bad. She hadn’t collapsed as Tabby had claimed, but she’d been coughing, lost her breath, stumbled and fell. She’d hit her head pretty hard, but luckily didn’t have a concussion.
Still, she’d gotten a few stitches, a lot of bruises and, according to the doctor, a bad attitude.
Sounded like his mom. She didn’t take well to illness or injury. Like a petite steamroller, she always plowed on.
Overall, she wasn’t badly hurt. But she would need a lot more rest, meds, and her head would no doubt ache for a while.
Since she had her eyes closed, Stack took a moment just to look at her. Thanks to her frequent salon visits, her hair was a little lighter than his and Tabby’s. She usually had it styled. Tonight dried blood left it stiffened, darker around one side of her face.
A few new smile lines—his dad’s description—showed around her eyes and mouth. In better circumstances, she’d probably have downplayed them with makeup. Being here like this, with the loss of dignity, would make her nuts. She always tried to make the best appearance.
Not that his dad had ever cared. Through good times and bad, sickness and health, he’d loved her openly. Just as his mother had loved his dad.
Memories wrought a sad smile as Stack recalled the way his dad had always chased his mom, the outrageous compliments, the risqué teasing. Every day, for as long as Stack could remember, his dad had made it clear that he desired her, that he wanted her. That she was it for him. Always.
Stack and Tabby had grown so used to it, it hadn’t embarrassed them. Much.
Always flustered his mom, though. She’d blush and smack at his dad and whisper for him to behave. But she’d also smile with love shining in her eyes.
There were times she’d been sick, times she’d been sad over the loss of a relative or friend, times she’d been stressed or worried, and his dad would pamper her into near insanity, to the point she could feel little except happiness.
They’d been deeply, demonstratively in love...until his dad died six years ago.
“I hope you’re not mentally making funeral arrangements, because I’m not gone yet.” Lynn Hannigan hadn’t bothered to open her eyes to make that outrageous statement. “Do I look too awful to get a kiss? After all, it’s been a while.”
“You never look awful.” Stack came in, carefully seated himself on the side of the bed, and took her hand.
When she gave him a one-eyed glare, he dutifully bent and kissed her cheek.
She closed that eye again. “Better. But if I’m not dying, why were you hanging over there, being all pensive and morbid?”
He huffed a small laugh. “Actually, I was thinking of Dad.”
“Oh, Lord. If the man was still alive, he’d be fretting over me, pampering me and—”
“Loving you.”
“Especially that.” Her eyes tightened.
Stack considered her pained expression. “Headache?”
“It’s like a herd of angry elephants are having a brawl.”
The sentiment made him smile despite his concern. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you more.”
“All you had to do was call. You know that.”
That same eye peeked open again. “And say what? That Tabby was the same, that Phil was still around, that nothing much had changed?”
He didn’t reply. Yeah, he’d made those stipulations, told them all that until they got their shit together—which namely involved kicking Phil to the curb—he wouldn’t be around to witness the lunacy.
Yet here he was.
“Tell you what.” He concentrated on the nastiest of bruises just under her stitches. “Here on out, you and I can meet for lunch or something. At least once a week. More if you want.”
She sighed. Of course she couldn’t. Cleaning up Tabby’s messes was a full-time job.
Stack gently patted her hand. “We’ll make it work.”
“I’d like that.” Another peek. “Because I love you.”
“Ditto.”
The sniffling alerted them both, and a second later, Tabby peeked past the curtains. “Mom?”
“She’s okay.” Stack stood and made room for his weepy and worried sister to slip in. “No concussion. But she has walking pneumonia. And exhaustion. She needs some downtime, Tabby.” He crossed his arms. “The doc tells me she was trying to take care of your dogs when she started coughing and fell.”
Tabby glared at him. As if their mother was deaf, she hissed in a loud whisper, “What do you expect me to do? I have to work, and my landlord said I couldn’t leave the dogs there unattended anymore.”
Stack popped his neck and swallowed down his ire. No way would he get into this with her. Not again, definitely not here. Showing his teeth in a “we’ll discuss it later” smile, he said, “I’ll let the two of you visit.”
“You don’t have to run off. Your girlfriend seems to be enjoying herself.”
Alarm raced up his spine.
Oblivious, Tabby said, “Mom, did you know Stack brought a woman with him?”
That got both of his mother’s eyes open. She even lifted to one elbow. “What? Who?” She looked around. “Where is she?”
“In the waiting room with Phil. You should see her. She’s beautiful, built and really nice, too.”
“Stack,” his mother said, getting her first good look at him. “Are you in a tux?”
“Be right back.”
“I want to meet her!”
Stack didn’t reply. For a woman who only moments before had been incapacitated with a headache, his mother still knew how to issue orders. Urgency made his stride long and hurried as he went down the hall, past friendly nurses and a few worried visitors, all the way to the waiting room.
Vanity had her nose in a magazine.
And Phil, fucking Phil, was seated too close beside her, talking nonstop, fake laughing, schmoozing, doing his utmost to get her attention.
Vanity ignored him—just as she sometimes ignored Stack.
But this time, as she felt his stare and looked up, she immediately put the magazine aside. Smiling, she came to him, walking right into his arms. “Hey.” She squeezed him with comforting concern. “How’s your mom?”
In that moment, Stack felt a lot of things. Too many things, damn it. At either side of her head he threaded his fingers into her long hair, anchoring her for his kiss.
Out of deference for the hospital atmosphere, he kept it brief. “She’s okay. How are you holding up?”
“Me?” She laughed, looking not just gorgeous, but precious, too. Her hand rubbed his biceps. “I’m not the one who was hurt.”
That earned her another kiss before he lifted her arm and feathered his fingertips over the soft skin above the bandage. “It’s been one hell of a day. You haven’t had any sleep.”
“Neither have y
ou.” That sweet, teasing smile twitched into place. In the barest of whispers, she said, “But at least I had two orgasms, so all in all, for me, it’s been a pretty good twenty-four hours.”
Urges rushed through Stack. The urge to hold her. To laugh with her. To use her to chase away the endless frustration he worked so hard to hide. To maybe confide in her about how badly he wanted to demolish Phil—and why.
To somehow claim her...for more than a quick taste.
In that moment it all became clear to him. Vanity tried to control things. But he needed that control, and once he had it he’d sway her to his way of thinking.
Namely, that one day together would never be enough to get his fill. Hell, a week together might not do it.
She constantly took him by surprise, so maybe it was time for him to start surprising her. He’d start right now.
Because they lingered, Phil cautiously edged toward them. Stack stopped him with a dead stare meant to convey his utter disdain. Must’ve worked, too.
Raising his hands, Phil slunk away.
“Tsk. That wasn’t very nice,” Vanity chided. “You should save that wolf’s glare for the cage.”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with him. Ever.” Assuming she’d take heed of his warning, Stack drifted his hand down her arm until his fingers twined with hers. “Come on.” He brought her along as he retraced his steps back to his mother’s bed.
Bemused, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I need to talk to my mom. And then to my sister.” And maybe to fucking Phil. “But I want you with me.”
“Aww.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s sweet.”
Stack popped his neck again. “It’s not sweet, and it doesn’t mean anything.” Even though he’d never before willingly introduced a woman to his family.
And if it wasn’t for Phil...yeah, he’d probably still feel compelled to keep her close. He’d blame that on blue balls. She might have gotten hers, twice as she’d pointed out, but his was still very much on the “to do” list.
