The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3)

by Natasha Anders

  “Please send her my thanks,” he said. “Why’d you bring the pie? I thought we’d be spending the day together again.”

  Lia did her best not to gape at the unsettling man. There he sat, in nothing but his underwear, after presenting her with the most ridiculous proposition and then insulting her food, still expecting to accompany her on her day’s errands? It was confusing and contradictory and strange.

  Worse, she had been so tempted to take him up on his invitation for a final fling. Nothing was stopping her—she didn’t have a man in her life, and she was a consenting adult with the usual wants and needs. Why not take him up on the offer? He was attractive, and he was very good in bed. And despite his current contrariness and his extreme rudeness, he was often an entertaining, if enigmatic, companion.

  If they were up front about this being nothing more than a fling, then neither would have any expectation of more from the other. He wasn’t ever going to be the right man for her, she knew that. So why not simply enjoy him and what they could have together?

  “Well?” he prompted, impatient with her silence, and Lia blinked, coming back to the present with a jolt.

  “You didn’t seem to enjoy yesterday; I didn’t think you’d want to go with me again.”

  “I want to see Spike again.”

  “Who?”

  “The boxer, Titan.”

  “His name is Trevor,” she reminded him frostily, and he wrinkled his nose.

  “That’s a terrible name for a dog. Who names a dog Trevor? You might as well have called him Clive. Or Norman. Or Claude. Anyway, I wanted to see how he’s doing today. You did say you go to the animal shelter every day, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the old folks?”

  “I see the seniors twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.”

  “Pity. The dancing was great exercise. So what’s happening today? Animals and . . . ?”

  “Just the animal shelter, and then I’ll be dropping some blankets and clothes off at the homeless shelter.”

  “I can help with that. I have one good arm,” he said. He seemed desperate, and she wondered about that. Maybe he was the type of person who preferred activity over their own thoughts. It was strange, and she wanted to ask him about it but stopped before she formulated the question.

  It wasn’t her business.

  “I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you’re not done by then, I’m going without you,” she said, and he grinned before scooping a huge portion of waffles into his mouth.

  “These waffles are brilliant, princess,” he said between bites. “Make them yourself?”

  “Of course.” She helped herself to some coffee and sipped while she waited for him to finish. He was done in less than five minutes and excused himself to shower and get dressed. Thank goodness.

  She was getting way too used to seeing him in his underwear.

  He required help with his shirt again. Another one of those ridiculous dress shirts, and she found herself once again cutting the ruined sleeve away. She worked quickly, with barely a quake in her fingers, even though she was even more aware of the heat from his chest after their earlier conversation. Worse, she found herself wanting to stroke that silky skin, kiss it . . . possibly lick it.

  Crumbs! She was completely losing it. She desperately needed to pull herself together. After fastening the last button, she patted her hot cheeks in an attempt to cool them down.

  “You okay?” he asked her softly, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound of his voice. He’d stood so docilely while she was buttoning him up; now she looked up at him and caught the wicked glint in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips and knew that he’d been well aware of her reaction to him.

  His thick, uneven stubble hadn’t been shaved in at least two days, and it was beginning to enter the short beard phase. It was a shade or so darker than his dirty-blond hair and made him look even more rugged and masculine than usual. She would never have believed that possible. Not when he was already so unbelievably and unfairly sexy.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said stiffly. She was stronger than this—she would not let this man, no matter how lethally attractive he was, unsettle her so.

  “Liar,” he said with a roguish little grin, and she cleared her throat and stepped away from him. “Any time you want to rip my clothes off, Lia, I’ll be right here waiting.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with what she hoped sounded like scorn and grabbed her car keys. “Let’s go.”

  The animal shelter was their first stop of the day, and Brand made a beeline for Trevor’s pen, chatting amiably with Siphiso along the way. Lia went through her usual Thursday routine, walking some of the smaller dogs, playing with the puppies, and cuddling the seniors. The older dogs were least likely to be adopted, and it broke Lia’s heart every time she visited them because she wasn’t sure which ones would still be around when she returned the following week.

  The time she spent at the shelter was nearly up when she realized that she hadn’t seen Brand since their arrival. She spotted Siphiso and asked him about it.

  “Oh, Mr. Brand? He’s still with Trevor.”

  “Still? He’s been there all this time?”

  “He asked if he could sit with him.”

  “What do you mean, sit with him? Like, in the pen?” Her voice raised in alarm, and Siphiso smiled.

  “No, he’s just sitting outside the pen, talking and talking. Trevor moved a little closer.”

  “He did?”

  “Just a little.” Siphiso grinned happily.

  “Oh gosh.” Lia’s hands went to her mouth. It was the only reaction Trevor had shown to anyone in months. Immediately she worried. What if Trevor chose to trust Brand? What if Brand simply upped and left one day and Trevor felt abandoned again? She wasn’t sure if she should encourage this. But maybe it would pave the way for Trevor to open up to other people.

  She hastened to Trevor’s pen and found Brand sitting flat on his butt, facing the pen, back against the wall with his legs drawn up and his arms resting on his spread knees. He was still talking. His voice sounded hoarse, and he seemed to be discussing a movie with the dog. An animal movie. One that she recognized.

  “‘Baa-ram-ewe, to your own self be true’ and I shit you not, mate, those fuckin’ sheep moved for him. Nice and neat like, straight into their pen. It was pretty cool.” He stopped talking abruptly and tensed when Trevor tensed, the dog sensing Lia’s presence before Brand did. His eyes lifted to hers, and he grinned sheepishly.

  “Are you telling him about Babe?” she asked disbelievingly, and he wrinkled his nose self-consciously, melting her heart.

  “We’ve already worked our way through a couple of real dog movies.”

  “Such as?”

  “The one where the three dogs get lost and have to find their way home.”

  “I believe it was two dogs and a cat.”

  “I didn’t want to upset him by using the C word,” he said lightly.

  “I see.”

  “And the one about the huskies that get left behind and have to fend for themselves. But in my version, all of the dogs were rescued.”

  This was so unexpectedly sweet. Lia wasn’t sure what to make of it. He kept his voice low and soothing while he spoke with her, even though Trevor had withdrawn and crept back to his corner, his eyes wary as they watched her every move. Lia took her cues from Brand and kept her own voice quiet while she spoke.

  “Are we leaving?” he asked, and she nodded. His eyes went back to Trevor, and he heaved a sigh before struggling to his feet. She reached over to help him, but he shook off her hold. Surprising, considering he always seemed to actively seek her hand whenever he wanted to get out of chairs.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, mate,” he promised Trevor.

  Naturally everybody at the homeless shelter knew Lia and wanted to chat with her. Sam was starting to comprehend that she was considered something of a saint by the
good citizens of Riversend. It pissed him off a little, because they all seemed to want something from her. Even when she was in the middle of one thing, they were already buttering her up to do the next thing.

  He’d noticed it with the old folks—yes, she was there to play the piano twice a week, but then there were all the requests that she fetch things, bring things, fix things, make things. At the animal shelter, they’d asked her to organize a fund-raiser, some kind of annual fete that apparently only Lia could do right. At the library, after she’d finished reading to the kids, the librarian had asked if Lia would mind baking—not buying or just bringing, but baking—confectioneries for the next adult-literacy class. Lia, of course, had said yes. Because Lia seemed incapable of refusing anybody anything. Anybody except Sam, of course. She was quite comfortable telling him no.

  Now he watched, increasingly irritated, as the man they called Oom—which apparently meant “uncle”—Herbert asked Lia if she would mind terribly fetching another few boxes of donated goods from the Catholic church. Lia’s face lit up with a warm smile.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” she said sweetly, and Sam’s teeth gritted in annoyance. It was none of his business—after he left they would continue taking advantage of her because she allowed it. If she enjoyed being the town’s general lackey, then far be it for him to intercede.

  A lanky guy, about Sam’s age, wearing a sweater-vest, a tight-looking bow tie, and a pin-striped short-sleeved shirt, approached Lia as she was sorting through some of the clean blankets that had been donated to the shelter. Sam, who was standing to one side, not helping, not interfering, and not really talking to anyone, immediately stood upright, his gaze sharpening as he took in every aspect of this newcomer. He didn’t like the proprietary way the man was looking at Lia, and he liked it even less when the skinny bastard touched her. Not just touched her—encircled his bony hand around her arm before she even knew he was there. The shock on her face spurred Sam into action, and he was beside her in three seconds flat.

  The other man was taller than Sam, but he was skeletally thin and Sam knew how to intimidate with nothing but a glare and an open, loose-limbed stance. Legs braced apart, shoulders back, hands loosely hanging at his sides, he looked combat ready. He was combat ready, despite his injuries. If this guy didn’t move his hand from Lia’s arm very soon, Sam was going to fuck him the hell up.

  “Problem here?” he asked grimly, and Lia blinked from the other guy to Sam, looking completely confused. She pulled her arm out of the other man’s hold, and Sam relaxed marginally.

  “Who are you?” the taller man asked resentfully, his huge Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  “Brand. You?”

  “Gregory Marsh. Dahlia and I are seeing each other.”

  Sam looked at Lia and raised his eyebrows at her. She looked uncomfortable and slanted her eyes away from his.

  Really? This guy? This was the guy with whom she was getting serious? Okay, so this was a small town and maybe there weren’t many eligible men around, but Lia was . . . she was Lia, and this guy was not worthy of her. Not because he was weird-looking and smelled funny, but because he didn’t look at her like she meant the world to him. He didn’t look like he’d appreciate strawberry flowers on his waffles or breakfast faces, and maybe Sam didn’t appreciate those things, either, but it was already established that Sam was the wrong man for her. If this was an example of the kind of man she considered right, then she was going to have to reevaluate her wish list. Because this guy was all kinds of wrong for Lia.

  “Gregory, what are you doing here?” she asked uncomfortably.

  “I saw you come in, and since you haven’t been answering my texts, I thought I’d come over and ask you in person if you’d like to have dinner tonight.”

  “I-I . . . can’t.” Brand watched the uncomfortable little exchange with extreme interest. Lia didn’t seem all that into her Mr. Right. What was that all about?

  “Why not?” Good old Greg practically snarled the question, his gaze sliding to Sam, who made no secret of his avid curiosity. Once again the other man’s hand went around Lia’s arm, and Sam heard the low growl in the back of his throat. The other two heard it as well, and both of them looked at him in shock. Truth be told, Sam was a bit shocked as well. But the sight of that arsehole’s bony hands on Lia’s soft skin pissed him off and made him want to get violent. Luckily for Greg, he released Lia’s arm, but he shifted so that he was standing between Lia and Sam. He lowered his voice, but Sam still heard every word. As he was certain Gregory intended him to.

  “The other night was so good. I can’t stop thinking about it. Your soft skin, your sweet mouth . . . the way you rubbed against my . . .”

  “Stop it,” Lia hissed. “That wasn’t what you imagined it to be.”

  “Why are you doing this? Are you playing hard to get? Or are you just a cocktease?”

  Lia gasped, and Sam’s temper snapped.

  “Not very gentlemanly of you, mate,” he chastised, grabbing the back of Gregory’s scrawny neck and yanking him away from Lia. “Fuck off out of here before I snap you in two. Don’t let the cast on my arm fool you—I’m pretty capable of breaking parts of you if I want to.”

  The guy gave him a terrified look but still managed to get a word in before he scuttled off back to whatever fucking hole he’d crept out of.

  “I know we have something, Lia. Call me.”

  The encounter had drawn stares, and Sam met every curious pair of eyes challengingly before everybody looked away and pretended to go back to what they were doing before.

  “Seriously, Lia? That guy? He’s the guy you were getting serious about?” Lia winced and refused to meet his eyes.

  “You’re going to have to look at me sometime, sunshine,” he said, surprising himself with the endearment. It suited her much more than the more aloof “princess” did. The endearment startled her into looking at him, and he smiled at her. “Tell me about Gregory.”

  “Not now,” she said, her furtive gaze going around the room, where everybody was looking at everything but Lia and Sam.

  “Then I believe it’s time for lunch.”

  It was only as they were walking into MJ’s that it finally registered with Lia that it was Thursday and that Daff was waiting for her at their usual table. The expression on her sister’s face darkened when she saw Brand, and when Lia looked at the man walking beside her, she saw that his face bore a similar expression to Daff’s.

  Well, they would have to suck it up and play nice, because Lia was angry and irritable after Gregory’s confrontation and she really, really needed a glass of wine or something to soothe her nerves.

  She didn’t acknowledge either of them when she sat down, merely summoned Suzy over and ordered a glass of red wine, leaving both of her lunch companions to stare at her in surprise.

  “What? I can’t have some wine with my lunch?” she snapped, and Daff’s eyebrows went straight to her hairline.

  “Okay, asshole, what did you do to upset her?”

  “Me? Ask her creepy boyfriend, Ichabod Crane. He’s the one who came slithering over and embarrassed her in front of half the town.”

  “Icha—wait, do you mean Grantley Marsh?” Daff asked Sam with wide eyes.

  “Gregory,” Lia corrected automatically. Daff ignored her interjection, keeping her eyes on Brand’s face.

  “Lanky fucker, wears bow ties, has the beginnings of a comb-over and a gigantic Adam’s apple?” Brand elaborated for Daff’s benefit.

  “Ugh, where did you run into him?”

  “Homeless shelter,” Brand said concisely. Lia refrained from saying anything. Her drink arrived and she smiled gratefully at Suzy before downing half the huge glass in one gulp.

  “Oh, of course, the bank’s across the street from the homeless shelter,” Daff breathed with a slight shake of her head before elaborating. “He’s the bank manager.”

  “That explains that, then.”

  “And he confronted Li
a?” Daff looked completely thrown by that information. Like someone had just told her that they’d taught a monkey to talk.

  “Full on,” Brand said grimly, his face going dark at the recollection. “Grabbed her arm and asked her why she hasn’t been returning his texts. Why haven’t you been returning his texts, Lia? I thought he was your guy?”

  “That bastard?” Daff asked, her voice dripping with scorn. “No way. He’s a handsy asshole who thinks grinding himself up against an unwilling woman counts as foreplay.”

  “What?” Brand’s eyes narrowed and his head whipped to Lia as if seeking confirmation, but she didn’t feel like confirming or denying anything. She just wanted to drink her wine and pretend the other two weren’t there. She averted her gaze and stared off into the middle distance. Refusing to acknowledge either of them until the wine had mellowed her mood a bit. But apparently her refusal to speak was enough of a confirmation for Brand, if his next words were anything to go by. “That motherfucker! I should have torn him apart.”

  He looked set to do so, too, Lia observed, taking another calming sip of wine. His good palm braced against the tabletop, as if he meant to push himself up and go Gregory hunting. She’d never seen him look so angry before, and she found it both gratifying that all that rage was on her behalf and intimidating when she knew he was fully capable of maiming or killing with his bare hands.

  “Calm down, Brand, it’s none of your business,” she said, injecting a measure of unruffled coolness into her only slightly shaky voice.

  “What did he do?” Brand asked, his voice still holding that dangerous edge.

  “Nothing. We just kissed, that’s all.”

  “‘We’? As in you and he? As in you were a willing participant in this embrace?” he asked tersely, and she shrugged.

  “I knew he was going to kiss me. I was prepared for it.”

  “Prepared? What the fuck does that even mean?”