The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3)

by Natasha Anders

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, but he could see her breathing change while a hectic flush bled into her skin.

  “Maybe we should retreat to the barn?” he suggested wickedly. “I have very fond memories of that barn. We could do a reenactment. What do you say?”

  “Be good. This isn’t appropriate behavior for this setting,” she said firmly, and he groaned.

  “I love it when you speak etiquette to me, sunshine. It’s like you want me to take you to a dark spot around the corner, pin you to the wall, and have my nasty way with you.” She didn’t say anything, just turned her head and looked at him, and Sam bit back a groan at the expression in her eyes. So much mute longing, heat, and lust. Her pupils were dilated and her breathing was much too fast. She licked her lips, ran her eyes over his face, down his throat, then his chest until they dipped to his crotch. And stayed there. He felt her gaze like a touch and, embarrassingly, despite the crowd all around them, felt himself harden like a teenage boy.

  Shit! His silly little game had backfired severely, because he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of an unspoken sensual assault.

  “Later,” she promised, her voice low and throaty and meant only for his ears.

  Sam groaned and willed his erection away as she walked away from him without a backward glance.

  Lia was happy to spend time with Daisy and Mason again. She had missed her baby sister fiercely, but part of her couldn’t wait for the braai to end so that she could collect on the promise she’d been seeing in Brand’s eyes all evening. How could she still want him so desperately after last night and this afternoon? It was like a dull ache that faded but never truly went away. And every time she looked at him and met those smoldering eyes, the ache intensified sharply.

  Her dad was the self-proclaimed braaimaster for the evening, and even though Spencer and Mason constantly tried to take over the grill, he kept them at bay with sharp, humorous reprimands.

  “My house, my braai. You youngsters think you know everything. Stand aside and watch a true master at work.” He ignored the good-natured heckles from the younger men, talking his way through his barbecuing process as if he were tutoring children.

  Meanwhile, the women were sitting around the patio table, catching up and fussing over Charlie, who pretended to struggle out of affectionate hugs even while everyone could see she loved the attention. It was a lovely evening and every effort was made to include Brand, even though he held himself slightly apart.

  Lia knew that he couldn’t feel left out—her family was much too welcoming for that. She wondered if the entire scene was a little too cozy and domesticated for a man like Sam Brand. He had an in-built reserve that she had noticed at the wedding. He seemed quite happy to be an impartial, if pleasant, observer. He joked, participated in conversations, and was very at home with the men, but there was always an aloofness to him.

  When dinner was finally served, everyone—barring Charlie, of course—had a nice alcoholic buzz going. Conversation around the table was loud and cheerful, and when her mother brought out a chocolate cheesecake for dessert, the atmosphere mellowed, everybody just content to be there and hang out.

  “I have something to say,” Spencer suddenly proclaimed, his voice a little too loud and a little too nervous. Everybody immediately paid attention. Spencer wasn’t the type to willingly address a crowd. Not even family, so this was unusual to say the least. Daff had a perplexed frown on her face as she watched him get up and speak to the table. “This wasn’t planned, but it feels right because . . . because we’re all here.”

  He turned to look down at Daff, whose eyes widened.

  “Spencer, what are you doing?” she asked warily.

  He grinned.

  “Maybe, as gestures go, it’s not so grand . . . but you know me, darling, I’m not great at grand,” he said, and Daff gasped at his words. Her hands flew to her mouth when he dropped to one knee in front of her, and this time everybody else gasped. “Daffodil McGregor, I’ve been carrying this around with me for months. Everywhere I go, I’ve had it close to my heart. I couldn’t decide what type of gesture would most reflect my love for you, but then I realized that there just isn’t one big enough. You’re the beat of my heart and the sun in my sky. You’re my everything, and I love you.” His voice was starting to wobble, and his cheeks and ears were going pink, but he forged ahead, lifting a ring that Lia was too far away to see. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Daff just looked at him, eyes wide, face frozen, hands still covering her mouth. She didn’t seem to be breathing. She didn’t answer, and Spencer started to look nervous.

  “Uh, Daff? Marry me? Will you?” She leaned forward to palm his face in her hands.

  “You sound like Yoda,” she said with a little giggle before planting a huge kiss on his lips. “And yes, Spencer Carlisle, my big, wonderful man . . . marry you, I will.”

  Everybody cheered and got up to engulf the couple in kisses and hugs. Lia’s eyes welled up; she felt overwhelming happiness for her oldest sister. They were a wonderful couple and belonged together . . . but . . . she also felt a stab of loneliness when she realized that this kind of relationship with someone was farther and farther out of reach for her.

  She moved forward to kiss her sister and hug Spencer and then fawned over the beautiful rose-gold ring, with its pear-shaped peach sapphire. It was delicate and feminine and understated and simply perfect for Daff. The evening, which had been winding down, found new life, and talk turned to weddings and honeymoons. Lia kept smiling, kept enthusing, was happy to say yes to Daff’s request that she be her maid of honor. And all the while tried to keep the vicious talons of envy at bay. It was unbecoming and it was ugly.

  Her face was starting to ache with the effort it took to keep smiling, and her head was starting to pound. She kept her gaze away from Brand’s, not sure she even wanted to lose herself in his arms tonight. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry and hate herself for being so petty and pathetic and stupid.

  Sam didn’t know how none of Lia’s family could see how very much she was hurting. He knew how much she wanted what Daff and Daisy had. And he couldn’t understand how Lia, with her strawberry flowers, her gentle disposition, and her sweet, ladylike dresses, had not been snatched up by some grateful guy yet. Why was she having so much difficulty finding this Mr. Right of hers?

  Sam knew the only reason she’d agreed to this thing with him was because she felt the right man was no longer on the horizon for her. She had compromised some unspoken rule of hers and had instead chosen to have some fun with someone she recognized was completely wrong for her. Sam knew he was being a selfish bastard in reaping the rewards of her broken dreams, but he was only human—and a weak one when it came to resisting her appeal. And he would continue to enjoy her until she either ended it or he left, whichever came first.

  He watched her laugh, joke, and make suggestions, while the sadness in her eyes never dissipated. It was surprisingly distressing for him to see her like this. He didn’t want her sad. He wanted her stern or disapproving, happy or angry, turned on and consumed by desire . . . anything but this absolute heartbreak in her beautiful eyes. He wanted to take her to bed and distract her from the world and its disappointments.

  But he couldn’t. Not right now. Right now he had to watch her put on a brave face and get sucked into planning her sister’s wedding.

  The evening finally ended because Daisy and Mason were both absolutely exhausted. Everybody, with the exception of Dr. McGregor, who had his free clinic in the township, planned on meeting for breakfast at the farm in the morning, and Lia’s mother insisted that Brand join them. Daff and Spencer promised to bring him. Everybody departed in a flurry of goodbyes until it was just Lia left with her parents. Luckily cleaning up had been a group effort, so there wasn’t much to do but bid her happy parents good night.

  When she was finally in the privacy of her own room, Lia sank onto her bed and wrapped her arms around her shudde
ring body.

  “Get a grip, you idiot,” she scolded herself. “Your sister’s getting married—it’s a wonderful thing.”

  What was wrong with her? Was she really this self-absorbed? She swiped at a couple of errant tears and loathed herself for being this way. There were other things in life. Marriage wasn’t the key to happiness, she knew that. She’d very nearly made the stupidest mistake of her life because of her eagerness to get married and start a family. If she’d followed through with that wedding, she’d be completely miserable now.

  She would allow herself this one moment of self-pity, and then she would move on. She was better than this, stronger and less pitiful than this.

  Her phone beeped, and she reached for it. A message from Brand.

  I could send you pics of my dick so that you’d know exactly what I’m in the mood for, but even I’m not that crass. Shocking, I know.

  She snorted and swiped at a tear with the back of her hand, then thumbed a response.

  €===3?? She smiled through the sheen of tears.

  LIA!! WTF? That is in no way an accurate rendering of my cock. It should be at least €=====3!!

  She giggled, surprising herself with the lighthearted sound. He was incorrigible and unapologetically crude at times. But she was getting used to it and even finding it funny and refreshing. He was base and obscene and somewhat shocking, but she liked his honesty.

  My apologies. Will have to reacquaint myself with the appendage in question, so as to refresh my memory. She blushed while she typed the words, hesitated for a moment, and then sent the text.

  His response was almost instant.

  Get over here right now! You should be here, riding my cock, not moping alone in your childhood bedroom.

  How did he know she was moping? She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to talk about anything meaningful. She and Trevor the boxer were in the same boat right now—both in serious danger of becoming way too attached to someone who would be leaving soon.

  She reminded herself of Rule One and Rule Eight, possibly the most important rules on her list. No falling in love, and accepting that the end of their fling wasn’t a matter of if, but of when. Keeping things casual and physical only would be the best way to ensure that there would be no danger of falling in love.

  I’m on my way, she promised. A quick shower and change of clothes later and she was sneaking out of the house like a teenager. Her parents weren’t nosy about her private life, but they would still be concerned if they saw her leaving at this time of night. And Lia would rather not be confronted with difficult questions she had no way of answering right now.

  Sam was waiting for her by the front door like some overeager schoolboy. When he heard the car drive up, he flung the door open and watched her exit the vehicle. She had changed her clothing and was now wearing a flowery slip dress—risqué for her, as it was an inch above her knees—a pair of strappy sandals, and a green cardigan. He could tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and his mouth went dry as he wondered if she was naked on the bottom, too.

  She didn’t say a word, simply launched herself at him, plastering her lips to his desperately, muffling his greeting as her tongue plunged into his mouth. His arm went around her and pinned her close, his hand landing in the small of her back and fisting the fabric of her dress. He was keen to discover if she was wearing panties, but she slipped out of his hold before he knew what her intentions were and pushed him back into the cabin. She shut the door and then turned to look at him again, her expression wild and unfocused. Her eyes drank in his face, and he opened his mouth to speak again, not sure how to react to this marginal aggression. He liked it and wanted to see where she was going with it, but he wasn’t quite sure if she was okay.

  She was tugging at his tank, dragging it up over his chest and kissing his skin as it was revealed. They awkwardly managed to remove it completely before she was on her knees and yanking at his drawstring gym pants. She fumbled impatiently with the ties and finally got them undone. She shoved his pants down past his thighs and reached beneath the waistband of his boxers to free his rampant cock. She was moving entirely too fast, and he was about to pull her back up to take control and slow things down, when she took him into her mouth.

  He groaned and fell back against the wall, thumping his head in the process. He didn’t even register the pain as she continued to lick and suck her way up and down his shaft.

  “Fuuuuck. Don’t stop,” he implored, and she looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes. There was too much vulnerability in them—this didn’t feel right. It killed Sam, but he reached down and encircled her arm with his hand and pulled her up. She released him reluctantly, and despite the absolute pain he felt at the interrupted blow job, he gave her a gentle smile.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please let me.”

  “Ssh,” he responded before claiming her lips again. But this time the kiss was softer, deeper, filled with the tenderness and reverence she deserved. When it ended she shook her head.

  “No. Not like that. I want hard. I want rough. No gentleness. Not tonight.” Her words made him frown. Her texts had put him in a playful, sexy mood . . . he hadn’t been expecting another frantic coupling. They’d had plenty of those over the last twenty-four hours. He wanted fun and flirty tonight. But clearly Lia needed something else.

  She kissed him again, and her hand dropped to his straining length. Sam hissed at her touch, but she quickly released him and turned to stand with her back against the wall.

  “Here. Like you said earlier. Up against the wall.” Sam made a feral sound at the back of his throat and moved to cage her body with his, placing his good arm against the wall while he kept his cast out of the way for fear of hurting her with it.

  “There’s a condom in my pocket. Put it on me, then wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist,” he urged hoarsely, and she obeyed without hesitation. Her back was supported against the wall while she hung on to him with her arms and legs.

  He grunted in satisfaction and reached between them—gratified to discover she wasn’t wearing panties after all—to take his shaft in hand and position himself at her entrance. He braced his arm against the wall above her head for support and entered her with one long, delicious stroke.

  They both cried out when he was fully sheathed, and he stood like that for a moment until she wriggled against him.

  “Do it,” she urged. “Hard and fast, please.”

  “Fuck me, it drives me wild when you say please,” he growled against her mouth and gave her exactly what she asked for.

  It was hot and hard and fast and dirty. And it was over sooner than Sam would have liked. They ended on a rare mutual, mind-blowing orgasm that left them sagging against each other for a second before they ran out of strength and slowly melted to the floor.

  Afterward they sat side by side, breathing heavily, with their backs against the wall.

  “You okay, sunshine?” he asked after he’d finally managed to regulate his breathing.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I really needed that.”

  Which didn’t exactly answer his question.

  “Do you want to talk?” he asked softly. “About earlier? About the engagement.”

  She turned her head and looked at him for a long, unfathomable moment, a small frown furrowing her brow while her teeth worried her lower lip.

  “I have to get home,” she said.

  “Lia . . .”

  “I’ll see you at breakfast.” She leaned over and gave him a quick, wholly unsatisfying peck on the lips before pushing herself up from the floor.

  “Lia. Wait . . .” She didn’t; she picked up her little cardigan and bag where she had dropped them at the front door and was gone before he even managed to get up off the floor.

  He wasn’t sure he liked these fucking rules of hers. It was amazing how much he’d learned about her over the last few days and how he knew that this behavior, this reluctance to share her thoughts, was co
mpletely aberrant for her.

  He had enjoyed the Lia who had already envisioned her unborn nieces and made up names for them. Who had happily shared her misconceptions about his job and had sweetly sympathized with him about his supposed breakup. He wanted that Lia back. Sure, the sex they had now was scorching hot, but it left him feeling oddly hollow when she wouldn’t exchange a single meaningful word with him afterward. He was confusing himself with these unprecedented longings. Sam didn’t like discussing feelings with women at any time, and especially not after sex. He didn’t want to know their thoughts and emotions, and he for damned sure didn’t want to talk about his.

  So why the fuck was he so concerned about how Lia McGregor was feeling right now? It was bizarre, and he didn’t like it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Family breakfast at the McGregor homestead was as noisy and vibrant as dinner had been. Everybody was loud and boisterous and talking over one another in an attempt to be heard. Sam enjoyed it because it meant that he got overlooked in the confusion. Which left him to watch Lia. She was quieter than the rest, speaking only when she had an opinion to offer.

  Once again she barely acknowledged his existence, and it made him want to say or do something outrageous to catch her attention. He didn’t, though; instead he minded his manners like a champ and resisted the impulse to get a rise out of her. Still, it grated that she pretended he wasn’t even there, but he knew it was probably another one of her ridiculous rules.

  Because he was so intent on watching her, he noticed the flare of panic and discomfort in her eyes before Daisy’s words registered. It made him sit up and pay attention to the conversation.

  “Who told you that?” Lia was asking Daisy, and the younger woman shrugged amiably.

  “Daff. She said you wanted to move into my house. You’ll want to get rid of Daff’s crap first, though—apparently she doesn’t know that moving out means you have to take all your stuff to your new place.”