The Wrong Man

by Natasha Anders

  Brand insisted she join him in eating the delicious spaghetti bolognese she’d whipped up. Despite having prepared his meals before, this was the first time Lia actually found herself eating one of those meals with him, and it felt way too cozy and domesticated for comfort. Especially when he started chatting about Daff and Spencer’s engagement and Mason and Daisy’s unexpected visit. The small talk went against her list of rules, and she was reticent in her responses. She could tell that her unresponsiveness was beginning to frustrate Sam, but she didn’t really know how to fix the situation.

  Not much of a drinker, she took a tiny sip of red wine to fortify herself and another undignified slurp of pasta. Lady and the Tramp had it so wrong—this was the least romantic meal on the face of the planet. Then again, she wasn’t exactly striving for romance here, so it was best to get those kinds of thoughts out of her head right now.

  “Tell me about the guidelines,” Brand unexpectedly requested, and she blinked, a little surprised.

  “What do you mean?” she hedged, and his icy eyes snapped impatiently.

  “You know what I mean, Lia.” He so rarely used her name that it took her aback to hear it emerge from his mouth. “These so-called rules for a successful fling that you seem to be adhering to so religiously.”

  “You should thank me for sticking to the rules. Things can get messy very quickly without rules, Brand.”

  “You don’t fucking have to tell me that, sunshine. I’ve been following rules most of my life. I’d just like to know what they are so that I know when I’m not overstepping. Attempting to have a decent conversation is clearly making you uncomfortable, which means that I’m probably breaching one of your sacred rules, so how about letting me know what the fuck they are?”

  “They’re pretty basic,” she said. “The usual stuff. Like—um—no giving or receiving gifts. I mean, that’s an obvious one, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” He didn’t sound convinced, but she ignored him and continued hesitantly.

  “And not leaving stuff behind. Like clothing and things. It would feel too intimate. And no sleeping over. That’s a big no-no. I did have no introductions to the family down as well, but that horse has pretty much bolted from the barn.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want me to meet your family?” He seemed offended. “I’m a likable guy.”

  “Of course you are. But introducing your fling to your parents is a stupid thing to do—they’d have expectations. But I wasn’t the one who introduced you. You met them in your capacity as Mason and Daisy’s friend, so that’s a bullet dodged, I suppose. And naturally, you wouldn’t introduce me to your family and friends.”

  “Naturally.” Again, he sounded offended. Or maybe defensive. She wasn’t sure which. His reaction just seemed . . . off. And she couldn’t pinpoint why. She’d expected his agreement, even approval, on these stipulations. But she couldn’t get an accurate read on his mood at all.

  “Also, it’s good to remind yourself, when you go into something like this, that there’s an expiration date. It’s going to end. So better to maintain an emotional and intellectual distance. I like you, but I don’t want to find myself liking you more than I already do.”

  “And that’s why you won’t allow yourself to have a conversation with me? In case, God forbid, you find yourself liking me more?”

  Or loving you. She kept the words unspoken and stared at him mutely, allowing him to draw his own conclusions.

  “It would complicate things if we became friends.”

  “Well, I thought we were friends and I fucking like you, Lia. Sue me. I wouldn’t be attracted to you if I didn’t like you!”

  “You barely knew me the first time we did it, Brand,” she reminded him, and his face darkened.

  “That doesn’t count,” he said, and she tilted her head as she tried to figure him out.

  “Why not?”

  “It just doesn’t. I like you now. I consider you a friend. Sorry for fucking up your rules!”

  Sam didn’t know why he was so pissed off. He just was. She wouldn’t talk to him because she didn’t want to be his friend? What in the actual fuck? He was outrageously offended by that, and he had no clue why. So what if he’d never been friends with any of his past lovers? They’d all just served an obvious purpose. He fucked them a few times and then he moved on. No friendship required. Just an understanding that it was an extremely finite, mutually pleasurable arrangement. Still, sometimes things tended to get messy, and on the surface Lia’s rules made sense. In fact, he would have been thrilled if some of his former partners had adopted the same mind-set.

  But inexplicably, all Sam wanted to do was find a hard copy of her fucking rules and tear them the hell up, right in front of her. Then burn the pieces and piss on them to put out the fire.

  “Any other rules I need to be cognizant of?” he asked tightly, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth before nodding.

  “No sleeping over, as you know. And no postcoital cuddling.”

  Postcoital? How fucking clinical that sounded. Well, that certainly explained why she dashed out of his arms every time they finished.

  Sam wasn’t a cuddler, he didn’t give a fuck about cuddling . . . but what if he wanted to hold her close for easy access in case he got horny again? She obviously hadn’t considered that, which was incredibly selfish of her. And what if he fell asleep for a brief moment while he was holding her? What if she did? Sex was a natural soporific; these considerations were well within the realm of possibility.

  “You can’t like me,” she insisted. “Not really. You don’t even know me.”

  “Sure I do, you’re my Miss Priss.” Sam didn’t know where the possessive pronoun came from, but it made him wince because she wasn’t his anything. He’d never considered any woman his.

  Ever.

  And he wasn’t about to start now.

  He was starting to gain a new appreciation for these rules of hers. If it meant keeping things in perspective, he was all for it. Using a possessive pronoun in relation to a woman was dangerous. He needed to rein that shit in. Fast.

  But seriously, the embargo on talking would have to go.

  “I’m all for these rules of yours, they make sense, but you can’t expect us not to talk. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t see the point of banning casual conversation. I’m an awesome guy, I’ll give you that,” he said, knowing his lack of modesty would get a smile out of her. She fought against it, but her lips quirked at the arrogant proclamation. “And many women in your position have displayed appalling lack of judgment and poor taste by falling in love with me. But you’re more intelligent than most of them, and the mere act of talking is not going to make you fall in love with me. Quite the opposite, probably. And trust me, I’ve spoken to many, many women and I haven’t fallen in love with a single one of them. And I’m not about to start now.”

  “Don’t worry, Brand, there’s no danger of me falling in love with you, either, that’s not what concerns me . . . it’s the intimacy. It would feel too much like a relationship. And it can become confusing. I’d like things to remain clear-cut and uncomplicated between us.”

  “Want to keep me firmly in the fuck buddy category, do you? I can respect that. But even though I’m only a booty call, so to speak, you still have to spend some time with me outside of bed. And I’ll be damned if I’ll sit in silence when we’re in the car, or sharing a meal, or with your family.”

  She was quiet as she mulled over his words, a cute little furrow coming and going between her brows.

  “What about keeping things friendly but casual?” Sam suggested.

  “No personal conversations?”

  “What constitutes a personal conversation?” he asked. She stared down at her half-eaten meal and prodded the remaining pasta with her fork. Absently playing with her food while she considered his question.

  “Questions about previous relationships, maybe?”

 
“Is that a question or a statement?”

  “Statement?” The questioning lilt at the end of the word made him grin.

  “Okay, what else?”

  “I don’t know. If it feels inappropriate, I’ll let you know that it’s out of bounds.”

  “Seems fair.” He watched her push her food around her plate for a while longer. “You going to finish that?”

  “I think I’m done,” she said, meeting his eyes without hesitation.

  “Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes dropping to her mouth, and he dragged his chair closer to hers. “Well, I’m just getting started.”

  It was the last thing either of them said for a very long while.

  Sam awoke when he felt Lia carefully extricating herself from his arms and climbing out of bed. He frowned and opened his eyes to watch her fumble around in the dimly lit room for her clothes. Once again she made her way to the bathroom to dress, and he pushed himself up to glare at the frosted glass pocket door that led to the en suite.

  Despite three intense—and extremely satisfying—sessions since dinner, he didn’t want her to leave. He had an insatiable appetite for Lia, and he would rather she stayed close while he worked it out of his system. He knew her hunger for him was equal to his own, and he didn’t understand why she limited their portions in this way. Didn’t she recognize that in doing so, she would only lengthen the duration of their fling?

  She exited the bathroom, fully dressed, and stopped abruptly when she saw that he was awake.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Stay.”

  “No. I can’t. It’s close to midnight. I don’t want my family to know about this. And if I’m here till all hours of the night, they’ll figure it out.”

  “It’s none of their business. You can fuck whomever the hell you want.”

  “They’ll be concerned.”

  “Would they think I’m some rapey monster and you’re my innocent victim?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not why they’d be concerned.”

  “Why then?”

  She hesitated, and Sam knew he was venturing into forbidden territory.

  “Because of Clayton,” she finally admitted, shocking him by actually replying. “Because of how I was after the engagement ended. They’ll worry that when this ends, I’ll react in the same way.”

  “How were you after the engagement ended?” he asked, and she smiled. The expression was both sweet and sad.

  “That’s out of bounds,” she said, the words quiet, and Sam bit back his instinctive profane response.

  “Of course it is,” he responded, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He could tell his reaction confused her—truthfully, it confused him, too. But he hated not knowing something so integral about her. Even though he knew he shouldn’t want to know. He should like not knowing.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and he nodded grimly. Then he watched as she turned to leave, even while everything in him wanted to snatch her back and keep her with him.

  “Lia?” he called, just as she reached the landing. She stopped and looked back at him. “Text me when you get home.”

  She nodded and then she was gone.

  “Psst!” Lia jumped in fright at the urgent hissing sound coming from her right. She’d just exited the cabin and the surrounding woods were dark aside from the porch light and the few lights coming from Spencer’s house.

  A little freaked out, Lia contemplated dashing back inside or making a run for her car, which was parked just a few yards away. Clearly the cabin was the sensible choice, and she turned to flee back inside when the hiss came again. This time accompanied by words.

  “Psst! Lia!”

  “Crumbs,” she muttered beneath her breath when she recognized Daff’s voice. She should probably have known that her oldest sister would eventually figure out what was going on. Especially since Lia had stupidly made no real effort to hide her car from view. She turned in resignation, and her eyes widened when Daff emerged from between two of the cherry trees that separated Spencer’s property from Mason’s.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Daff asked, her voice still pitched low, and Lia’s eyebrows flew to her hairline.

  “Me? It’s the middle of the night. Have you been standing outside in the cold all this time waiting for me to come out? And what are you wearing?”

  “Don’t deflect,” Daff said, folding her arms over her chest. Her plaid-covered chest. She seemed to be wearing a man’s pajama top. And fluffy rabbit slippers. She looked so unlike herself that Lia couldn’t stop staring at her in bemusement. “I knew something was up when Brand spun that bullshit story about his pain meds. How can you be sleeping with him? He’s bad news, Lia. He’s a player!” She spat out the last word as if it were the vilest insult she could come up with, and Lia laughed, which—if Daff’s shocked expression was anything to go by—completely threw her sister.

  “I know that,” she said, holding her hands up in a placating manner. “Everybody knows that, which is why he’s perfect.”

  “I don’t get it,” Daff admitted, and Lia snorted.

  “I don’t want to have a relationship with him, I just want to have some stress-free fun.” Daff gaped at her like she had grown an extra head, and Lia sighed. “I’ve always been so good. I just wanted to try something different. This thing with Brand is temporary, and there’s no danger of me mistaking it for anything else. He can’t hurt me because I already know what to expect from him. It’ll end, he’ll leave, we’ll both move on.”

  “What if you fall in love?”

  “With Sam Brand?” Lia forced a hearty laugh that sounded genuine enough to fool her sister. Truth was, she hadn’t really expected to like Brand this much. He was fun, witty, arrogant, supremely self-confident, and genuinely likable. She needed to tread carefully, and despite what she’d told Brand earlier about there being no danger of her falling in love with him, she had to guard her heart more closely than she’d expected to.

  “It’s all happened so fast, Lia. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Not that fast,” Lia admitted with a blush. “We kind of, sort of . . .”

  “What? Spit it out.”

  “At the wedding, we . . .”

  “No! Oh my God! Are you serious? Are you telling me you and Brand had sex at our sister’s wedding?”

  “And at the hen party.” Lia wasn’t sure why she was admitting this, but since Daff knew this much, she might as well know the rest. She was gaping at Lia like she didn’t know her at all, and some part of Lia enjoyed shocking her jaded older sister. It made her feel daring and interesting and unpredictable.

  “What the fuck is going on out here?” Brand yanked open his front door and glared at them. His hair was sexily mussed, his chest was bare, and he was wearing a pair of boxer briefs. Lia immediately salivated at the sight of all that beautifully tanned nakedness and forced herself to focus on Daff, who was giving Brand her version of a death stare.

  “You dick! I told you to stay away from my sister, didn’t I?” she seethed, and Brand’s chest heaved in exasperation.

  “You did.” He nodded.

  “You did?” Lia gasped at the same time.

  “I did. When we first met him and he wouldn’t stop staring at you,” Daff confirmed, then focused on Brand again. “But you just couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you?”

  “To be fair,” Brand said, his voice measured, “neither could she.”

  Lia snort laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She should probably be offended or shocked by the comment, but little Brand said shocked her anymore. He just entertained her. Daff, however, looked totally stunned and for once seemed lost for words.

  “Why are you spying on us?” Brand demanded to know.

  “Please, I have better things to do with my time. I couldn’t sleep and came out for some fresh air when I saw Lia’s car, and then Lia herself coming out of the cabin. At frickin’ midnight. How ca
n you send her home this time of night—have you no regard for her safety?”

  Brand’s eyes were troubled as they ran over Lia’s body.

  “I wanted her to stay. But I’m pretty sure she thinks she’ll catch cooties or something if she stays the night.”

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Daff muttered beneath her breath.

  “Oh, come on!” Brand protested in exasperation. “Stop acting like I’m some cheesy silent-movie villain. Your sister and I are adults, engaged in a mutually beneficial relationship—”

  “Fling,” Lia corrected, uncomfortable with the R word in this context. Brand sent her an annoyed glare.

  “The point is, we know what we’re doing, and it’s none of your business.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Daff said, throwing up her hands in irritation. “Fling away. But let’s be clear, Brand, you hurt her and I’ll castrate you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lia muttered. “Stop this, both of you. Daff, the castration thing’s a bit much.”

  “I don’t think so,” Daff said belligerently.

  “Brand’s right, this is none of your business. I appreciate your concern and I love you for it, but I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Famous last words,” Daff muttered.

  “Look, just . . . keep this to yourself, okay? I don’t need the whole family trying to give me their well-intentioned advice, and Brand doesn’t need to be threatened by every member of the family. It’s unnecessary. He’s not doing anything I haven’t explicitly agreed to.”

  “Very explicitly,” he emphasized smugly, and Lia flashed him an irritated look.

  “Brand,” she warned, and he shrugged before folding his arms over his chest. “Daff, you owe me. I didn’t tell Daisy about you and Spencer when you were doing your no-strings thing. And you know how difficult it is for me to lie.”

  “I do, which is why I’m having a hard time believing you’ve successfully kept this from us for so long.”

  “It’s different—nobody knew about it, nobody asked questions. I didn’t have to say a word.”