JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3)

by Kristina Weaver

  Now here I am, with that same cold-hearted prick standing in my living room, glaring down at me as if I have anything to feel guilty about instead of the other way around.

  “What the hell is wrong with that boy?”

  I take great offense to that, and not because Ben doesn’t deserve it but because…well, because I freaking hate Lucian for breaking my heart, and I refuse to give him any sort of loyalty.

  “Please leave.” At least, that’s what I try to say. It comes out more of a ‘pweave weave’.

  And then I start coughing so hard I double over, somewhat afraid to look at my hand afterward in case one of my lungs have made a break for it.

  I hear a sigh, one of those resigned types of sounds where someone—him, the ass—is obviously practicing patience. As if I need his shit right now. With that thought comes the reminder that I’m out of a job and in a lot of crap where Ben’s concerned.

  The therapist had been clear. If I can’t get him under control, measures are gonna have to be taken to assure he gets ‘help’.

  I don’t know exactly what measures she was talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good, not from the way she’d looked at me.

  “Ashley!” he snaps, and I jerk back to reality when a set of hard hands lands on my shoulders, shaking me back to awareness. “I asked you a bloody question, woman.”

  Oh.

  “Nothing. His mom died, and then his father ran away.”

  That’s about the long and short of it. Oh, and I’ve been a total asshole in the sister department.

  “Christ. Your mother…I’m so sorry, Ashley.”

  “Yeah.” I shrug.

  What else is there to say? My mom’s six feet under, my shit for brains old man split, and I’ve managed to mess everything else up so royally I definitely want to cry.

  “Your father?”

  I look up at this point and have to steel myself against the compassion I see there. It’s hard, looking at him, seeing the softness I’d missed all these years, a softness he’d only shown me while whispering secrets to me late at night when we lay in the yard watching the stars sparkle up above.

  I have to force myself to remember that he’s the same boy—man —who’d whispered his love to me and then walked away as if I meant nothing. I still can’t understand how that had even happened. Part of me is convinced I invented that long summer, that the lonely exchange student hadn’t existed.

  But he did, does, is currently standing over me where I’m slumped on the sofa, his strangely penetrating eyes glaring at me in a way I can’t decipher.

  “Ashley!”

  What? Oh yeah. He’d asked about Wesley, the man I refuse to call my father despite all the time he’d been exactly that.

  “After Mom died,” I shrug, wiping my dripping nose across the wet sleeve of my sweater. “He just left, okay. One day he was here and the next he was gone.”

  Leaving me to raise a five-year-old who didn’t understand where Mommy went or why his father didn’t love him enough to stick around.

  And here comes the anger again, that slow, creeping fire that never fails to heat my blood whenever I think of him. If I had my way, if that asshole was standing in front of me right now, I’d kick him in the balls so hard he’d walk funny for the rest of his miserable life.

  Instead I’m stuck here with Mr Britain, waiting for him to get to the point of whatever reason he’s decided to plague my life again.

  “So you’ve been looking after Benjamin alone?”

  Why he sounds so angry is beyond me, but I’m just tired enough, and feeling sick enough to boot, not to give a crap about his issues right now. All I want is for him to leave so I can strip out of my wet clothes and fall into bed.

  Tomorrow’s not gonna wait on my ass, and I’d like at least a few hours of sleep before having to deal with Ben and the fact that I need to find another job.

  “Could you please leave?” I huff, feeling my eyelids droop with the fever gripping my body. “I want to go to bed.”

  My eyes are closed by the time I hear the door slam shut, and a tiny zing of disappointment hits me before I can squelch it.

  Woulda been nice to…what? Seeing Lucian Jasper again is not something I’d ever thought possible. Hell, I’d consciously forced myself to forget the man and my teenage emotions right around the time—

  No, I won’t think about that now. Now I just want to sleep and forget that this horrifying day ever happened. With that I allow myself to relax and fall further into the sofa cushions.

  Chapter Three

  I wake up feeling so crummy I groan and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. My head, if that pile of throbbing mush can still be called that, is pounding so fiercely I feel the pulse in my eyeballs.

  My throat feels like I swallowed razor blades, and if a herd of stampeding elephants didn’t have a rave party at my place last night, I can’t explain the pain gripping my muscles.

  I’m also weak as a new-born, so, when I do finally force my screeching eyes open, it takes a few clumsy attempts to throw myself off the bed and stand to shaky feet.

  The mirror, that rat bastard I avoid like the plague, tells me just how poorly I’m doing. There are dark rings beneath my eyes, my hair is tangled so badly I can’t pull a comb through it, and my skin is the same shade as a corpse.

  Scowling, ‘cause what the hell else can I do when I’m this far gone, I pull on a pair of shorts and my old college t-shirt. It’s only as the fabric is clearing my face that I realize I just woke up in my bed. Naked. I don’t remember taking off my clothes, since I’m almost positive I’d passed out on the sofa.

  What the heck?

  When I get downstairs, ready to face Ben and whatever the heck else I have to, I stop dead in my tracks, sure that I’m having a fever-induced hallucination.

  “Good morning.”

  Nothing comes out, and I’m sure I look like a spellbound fool as I stand stock still, watching a bare-chested Lucian putter around the kitchen, cooking breakfast while Ben sits docilely, his head down, so silent I have the insane urge to check for a pulse.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  It comes out more breathy than I want, but heck, the man’s shirtless and seriously built. His abs are…hard and rippling, everything my not so experienced female parts appreciate in a male of the species.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no ignorant miss, but never having…done much in the sexual arena past kissing a guy, well, the sight of his half clothed body does things to me that I’m not equipped to handle.

  “Making breakfast, my sweet.”

  The husky tone, not to mention the softly amused look, makes my belly clench and flutter as everything down south perks up and tries to take notice.

  Seriously, I feel all breathless, like one of those romance heroines, just looking at that hard mouth and the sensual curl of his lips.

  I snap out of my stalker stare only when he shovels eggs and bacon onto the three plates on the table and inclines his head.

  “Sit. You need to eat.”

  “I didn’t have eggs and bacon.”

  It’s dumb for that to be the first thing out of my mouth as I lower myself into a seat and stare at the food he’s made, but it’s all I can come up with as he takes the seat across from mine, his eyes never leaving me.

  “No shit. All you cook is oatmeal and that cheap stuff you get from the discount aisle,” Ben snarls, attacking his food like a starved animal.

  The set down makes my cheeks burn fiercely with embarrassment, and I swallow a breath, willing myself not to cry at the humiliation I feel at knowing that Lucian is now privy to the extent of my plight.

  I’m poor, yeah, but dammit, I still have my pride. I can’t bear the thought of anyone knowing that instead of getting groceries like a normal person, I browse the discount bargains just to keep us fed.

  “Benjamin! Apologize.”

  The barking growl is so harsh I jump a little and almost choke on the sip of coffee I’
d just taken, my throat burning as I cough a stream of caffeine all over my untouched plate.

  One look at Lucian and I know that nothing less than a full apology will suffice. He’s breathing harshly, almost snarling as he casts a feral glare at Ben, waiting silently as my poor little brother turns beet red and splutters around his fork.

  “Sorry.”

  It’s not exactly the sincerest thing I’ve ever heard, but I’ll take it, I think, allowing myself a peek at the man dominating my kitchen. I may not want him here, but he’s managed something that no one, not even the therapist, has been able to do in months.

  Ben never apologizes, never, so the fact that he’d not only gotten him to say sorry last night, but this morning as well, with only one word…well, I think I might want him to stick around a while, if only till I’m feeling a little closer to living through my dread disease.

  “You can do a lot better than that, Benjamin. And mind your bloody language around your sister.”

  “Uh, it’s fine—”

  “No! It really isn’t,” Luc says harshly, silencing me with a look. “If he cannot be grateful for the fact that you work like a slave to keep him in a home and fed, the least he can bloody well do is keep his attitude to himself. Now, I said apologize. Properly.”

  I feel like a total heel when his gray eyes meet mine, the depths shining with unshed tears, and he apologizes in a soft whisper that breaks my heart.

  It reminds me of the old Ben who’d clung to me and cried the day I’d told him that Mom wasn’t coming home. I want that Ben back, so badly I can’t stand it.

  “Thank you.”

  I say it and look at them both, letting the cold bastard know that, while I don’t want him here, I’m not such an animal that I can’t be grateful for this at least.

  But I still need to get him out so I can get things done and start looking for a job.

  “Thanks for breakfast, but we have things to do,” I begin, pushing my ruined breakfast away. “Ben, go get ready for school, kiddo.”

  Lucian, I can see, is not impressed by my newly reawakened backbone, but he waits till the kid is goes—another thing I’m grateful for—before pinning me to my chair with a glare.

  “You’re sick; you need food and your bed.”

  The snort that leaves me is unladylike in the extreme, and I smirk at him as if he’s just told me a particularly funny joke. Seriously? The guy comes back into my life for like two seconds and he thinks he can tell me what I need?

  “Yeah, but unfortunately I need to get him to school, and then I need to go get myself new employment.”

  Thank you, God, I don’t have to go to the diner today, thanks to Bill’s aversion to menstruating females, so I have the day to beat the pavement.

  “You have a job. Two, if I’m not mistaken,” he says regally, reminding me that I’m dealing with a guy who knows absolutely nothing about the real world.

  He probably sits in his ivory tower and stares at the world through a rose-tinted sheet of floor to ceiling windows. Me? I’m not so dumb. I know that if I don’t get my dragging ass in gear I’ll be sitting without a roof and nourishment.

  “One, since I quit working for you last night,” I say, standing to dump my plate into the sink. “And that won’t cut it, so—”

  He’s out of his chair and in my face so fast I don’t have time to back away. His fingers are like clamps as they settle around my shoulders and pull me in, bringing me screamingly close to his bare chest and the muscles my traitorous tongue wants to lick.

  I’m sick, not dead, so yeah, I can fully appreciate the arousal his closeness brings forth.

  “Resignation not accepted. Now sit down. You can eat breakfast while my driver gets Benjamin to school. And then you’re going to the doctor.”

  Another snort leaves me, and yeah, I’m aware that snorting at a man who is obviously a little crazy—I say this because of our past and the fact that he should know never to show his face here (long story)—

  “Ashley, sit down. Please.”

  “Why?” I ask, pulling myself away slowly. “You know…I don’t know why you’re here. You shouldn’t be.”

  No, he should be an entire ocean away, not here witnessing my poverty and humiliation. It kills me that he’s seeing me brought so low. By my financial needs and the fact that I can’t raise a kid worth a damn.

  He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m familiar with even all these years later, and smiles ruefully.

  “You were sick last night, and…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “No, you really aren’t. You’re sick, exhausted, and in way over your head with that boy. I’m here to help.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  Oh, yes, I do. I really do. I’m so tired of having all of this shit on my shoulders. Working, scrimping, worrying about keeping everything within my meager budget while my brother does his damnedest to destroy what little we have.

  And that damn ceramic cat. Sounds silly, but my heart is broken that he destroyed one of the few things Mom had cherished.

  “You may not want it, but you need it, Ash. Come on, love, you know you can’t keep at it for much longer,” he says, so kindly my eyes water. “If something isn’t done about the anger in that little boy, he’ll be lost. Let me help. Please.”

  “But—”

  He takes my face in his hands and looks down at me from his imposing height, ironically making me feel safer than I have in a long time, despite the danger I feel just from that one touch.

  “For him.”

  That, and the tiny spark of hope I felt seeing his eyes soften is all it takes, and I’m nodding before I can allow myself the time to think straight. Truth be known, I need help. I can’t keep going like this, no matter how badly I want to believe I’m Superwoman.

  Maybe, if I’m lucky enough for things to work out, I can finally discover why the love of my life had abandoned me when I needed him the most.

  Chapter Four

  Luc

  After making more eggs—no bacon, thanks to Ashley’s insistence—and watching my girl eat, I do what I’ve been dying to do since the minute I’d found her semi-conscious outside my office.

  I breathe again.

  I’ve been dying inside since the day I walked away from her all those years ago, and now that I have her back, nothing will stop me from keeping her.

  Sure, I’d put measures in place to get her working at Jasper Headquarters, and even had a man on her to keep watch when she skips between buses like a headless chicken, but last night was the first time I’d allowed myself the luxury of touching her.

  I have a plan, you see.

  Step one had been to ensure she was close enough that I could watch her. I hate that part of that had been her cleaning the offices while I kept an eye on her through the security cameras that link directly to my office.

  I’d had every intention of going after her, but first I’d had to get rid of every impediment in my life, beginning with my vicious ex-wife and her bloodsucking family.

  Now that I’ve let the past go, I’ve made up my mind to take what I want, and that something happens to be the one woman I swore I would never touch again.

  A few months of planning and all out obsession later, I’d planned to ‘bump into her’ and use my various seductive skills to bind her to me. Unfortunately, I’d learned she is now the exhausted mother of a juvenile delinquent who apparently enjoys making her fucked up life a misery.

  Well, that shite ends here. Today.

  I could give a good bloody damn what Ashley has to say; I will get that boy in line or I’m shipping his spoiled arse off to a boarding school in fucking Switzerland.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking, but no, I do not love Ashley Munro. I haven’t since that day I walked my teenaged arse to the airport and gone back to my leech family.

  But I want her, have for nigh seven years now.

  And what I
want I get, end of story.

  But first things first. I have to doctor my poor baby and get her back into fighting fettle, and also get her brother off our backs long enough to seduce my little virgin.

  Yes, she is as pure as the day I’d left her, and a bloody good thing, or I’m not sure I could have faced her without wringing her neck. Strange, but true: I have a mad possessive streak when it comes to that woman, and the thought of another man touching what I truly consider mine drives me insane.

  But she’s completely pure and untouched, and so she gets to live for what I have planned.

  “Just get me the bloody number for that quack shrink. Oh, and Brody? Not a word to my sister.”

  “You think I’m going anywhere near that female after the shit she pulled last week?” he asks, making me chuckle heartily.

  My younger sister is a force to be reckoned with, and she’s apparently decided that she wants Brody James, my VP. I could almost pity the poor fool for assuming he can escape the little vixen’s clutches, but, as with all things in life, a big brother will do what he must to give his baby sister her heart’s desire.

  I’ve decided to give her Brody. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Don’t be a baby, James. Now get me what I need and either go for it with Camille or sit back and wait for her to steamroll you. Now goodbye, I have a woman to nurse.”

  First, though, I need to get my bird, something that’s proving difficult now that I know exactly what her life entails. She’s up to her neck in debt, is working herself to death, and has the mothering instincts of a feral cat.

  And she’s bloody stubborn.

  Even after she’d agreed to let me stay and help I’d watched her mind start racing a mile a minute with doubts and suspicions. I knew she would eventually get to that place where she’d come to her senses and kick my arse to the curb.

  I can’t allow that yet, so I did the only sensible thing and crushed two mild sedatives into her orange juice. Now she’s fast asleep in her rickety bed and oblivious to my plans.