The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3)

by Natasha Anders

  “Until Brand had to cover for you with the bullshit pain meds story.”

  “Look, just keep it to yourself, okay? Please.”

  “Fine. But you can’t expect me to keep it from Spencer.”

  “Spencer, uh . . . ,” Brand started to say, then stopped abruptly, and both women looked at him curiously.

  “What about Spencer?” Daff asked, and Brand shrugged.

  “Nothing. He’s a good guy.”

  “Fine, you can tell Spencer, but no one else,” Lia agreed.

  “I hope to God this works out the way you’re both expecting it to. I don’t want you to get hurt, Lia.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Brand mock pouted, but Daff wasn’t amused.

  “Trust me, I’ll take great pleasure in hurting you if you make her shed one tear.”

  “I won’t,” he promised, suddenly dead serious. “I would hate to make her cry.”

  Daff watched him for a long moment before finally nodding.

  “Fine, I’m going to have to take you at your word. For now. I’m starting to freeze my butt off, so I think I’ll head back home. Lia, let me know when you’re home safe. Good night.”

  They both bade her good night and watched her retreat back to the bigger house about a hundred yards away.

  “Spencer already knows,” Brand told Lia, surprising her with the information. “But I didn’t want to throw the guy under the bus. Wouldn’t want her to take her bad mood out on him.”

  “How does he know?” Lia asked, and Brand lifted his shoulders.

  “Apparently he’s known since the stag. He’s an observant bastard.”

  “Daff’s not going to like that he didn’t tell her.”

  “He won’t tell her if he knows what’s good for him.”

  Lia laughed at that response. “Oh, he’ll tell her, and she’ll be angry for two seconds, which he’ll deserve for keeping a secret like that from her in the first place. But they’ll be fine.”

  Brand reached out to cup her face, and she lifted her eyes to his.

  “You okay? I know this wasn’t ideal.”

  “I’m fine,” Lia admitted with a serene smile, because she really was. This encounter with Daff had shown Lia that she was stronger than she knew. She tended to back away from confrontation, but she was proud of the way she’d stood her ground with Daff.

  Brand surprised her with a gentle kiss before resting his forehead on hers.

  “Stay?”

  “No.” She kissed him and stepped away from him. “Good night, Brand.”

  He said nothing, merely watched her moodily as she got into her car and drove away. He was still standing on the porch watching as she took the turn toward town.

  CHAPTER TEN

  To Daff’s extreme irritation and Lia’s discomfort, the rest of the family started inviting Brand to absolutely every family gathering. Sunday lunch, a potluck dinner on Monday. Tuesday was another holiday—International Workers’ Day—which meant yet another family cookout. Their mother and Daisy fawned over him and fussed over his injuries, and Lia suspected Charlie had a bad case of hero worship. The teen had so many questions about Laura Prentiss and a few of his other well-known high-profile clients. Mason, of course, had a long-standing friendship with him, and Spencer was in the honeymoon phase of a budding bromance with the guy.

  Even their father enjoyed discussing football with him, the older man being a fan of the English Premier League. Brand, of course, knew a few of the players personally—information their father found ridiculously impressive. When Mason pointed out that he knew some of the same people, their father had dismissed him by saying his information wasn’t as current.

  Lia knew it annoyed Daff no end that everybody liked him so much—she never had anything to say to Brand, and when she did speak to him it was short and to the point. Lia also avoided speaking to him in front of her family, but only because she was terrified she’d seem too familiar with him, which would raise questions about the nature of their relationship.

  She could tell that Brand disliked her polite indifference, but he never attempted to breach the distance she maintained, thankfully respecting her boundaries. When he got her alone, though, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. And whenever they finished and she prepared to leave, he’d invite her to stay. It was getting harder for Lia to deny that one-word request, which made it all the more important for her to maintain her resolve.

  Wednesday afternoon, after their visit to the animal shelter and the retirement home, Lia drove him to Knysna for his doctor’s appointment. He was becoming increasingly popular with the seniors. He’d been a graceful loser at Sunday night poker and every lady’s favorite dance partner at the Monday and Wednesday seniors’ dance.

  He was . . . nice. Against her better judgment, and despite her careful observance of the rules, Lia was starting to like him more with each passing day.

  “This is an exceptionally beautiful part of the world,” Brand was saying as he watched the passing scenery. “So verdant, but with all these stunning ocean views. I think, once we get the South African division up and running, I’ll get a holiday home here.”

  “It’s a sound investment—this is a great place to live or vacation,” Lia agreed, keeping her voice neutral and her eyes on the road. But her heart was racing at the thought of Brand being a regular in the area and possibly in her life.

  “You can come stay with me whenever I’m in town,” he suggested with a sidelong smile, and she shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “No. I won’t do that.” She sensed his scrutiny, and her fingers clenched around the steering wheel. “You know there’s an expiration date on this thing between us. Once you leave, it’s over. I’m not going to be your woman in this particular port.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” he asked, the frustration and anger in his voice surprising her.

  “It was a play on words,” she explained. “You know? That whole woman-in-every-port thing?”

  “And you think I have a woman in every port?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, Lia. I’m not quite the man whore you seem to think I am. I don’t have an international harem of willing ladies on standby for sex every time I happen to wander into their part of the world. Any man who does is an arsehole.” His vehemence surprised her, and she sent him a quick, confused look before refocusing on the road. He intercepted her look and heaved a huge, gusty sigh. The sound was filled with annoyance.

  “Why does that surprise you?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “I can’t figure you out, that’s all.”

  “Here’s a little tidbit for your consideration: the last person I fucked before coming back to Riversend was you.”

  She resisted the urge to full-on stare at him as she navigated past a couple of long-haul trucks and then shook her head in disbelief.

  “That’s a blatant lie,” she denied, giving him a venomous look. “I don’t care if you’re a player, Brand. This whole thing between us works because of the type of man you are. You don’t have to fabricate BS stories to make me think more of you.”

  “Why would you think I’m lying?” he practically yelled, sounding completely affronted.

  “Because of Laura Prentiss,” she yelled back, shocking herself by raising her voice.

  “Fuck,” she heard him swear, the word low and vehement. “Lally doesn’t count. At all.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Jesus.” She saw him lift his left hand to the back of his neck and massage his nape. “Because she and I . . .”

  “Oh my God,” Lia breathed, interrupting him. Feeling like blinders had been ripped from her eyes. “Oh my God! You’re in love with her, aren’t you? You don’t consider what you do with her in such base terms because it’s more special.”

  “What the fuck?” Complete disbelief in his voice. “Lia, are you shitting me with this? Where do you come up with this bullshit?”

  “It’s true, isn’t
it? How could you do all those things with me when you’re in love with someone else?”

  “I’m not in love with Lally, for fuck’s sake! Stop saying that. Lally and I aren’t even together . . .”

  “We’re here,” she interrupted him frostily as she pulled the car into a vacant spot outside the orthopedist’s office. “You’d better get in there or you’ll be late for your appointment.”

  “We’re not done talking about this,” he insisted, and she released the steering wheel to pin him with what she hoped was a completely indifferent look.

  “I think we are. I’m going to get some lunch. Text me when you’re done.” She pulled the key from the ignition and tossed it into his lap. “Lock the car, please. See you later.”

  She left before he could say another word and walked brusquely toward the city center to find a restaurant. She didn’t have an appetite but needed to process what had just happened. If Brand really had feelings for Laura Prentiss, then Lia was doing the unthinkable—she was placing herself squarely in the middle of a possibly redeemable relationship.

  Combined with the nickname and the obvious reluctance to discuss her and his supposed breakup with the woman, Lia should have seen this coming a mile away. Lia had offered to be his rebound girl, but if he loved the woman, there was so much more at stake. If he stood any chance of getting back with her before, Lia could quite possibly have ruined it by getting involved with him.

  Sam stared dispassionately at his skinny, pale right arm. It looked completely alien to him and smelled pretty funky as well. It had healed enough over the last six weeks for the doctor to feel comfortable about not recasting the limb. The genteel older man had bombarded Sam with a list of aftercare instructions and had recommended a few good physiotherapists in the area for rehab.

  Sam sent Lia a text to let her know he was done. He thought about their earlier conversation . . . or was that an argument? He didn’t know how to categorize that particular exchange of words, because it had been so fucking peculiar. Lia had a penchant for seeing things a certain way and then stating them as fact without anything to back up her words. The stuff about Daisy and Mason’s future kids had been cute, but this shit about Lally and Sam was so far out there, he wasn’t sure how to respond to her words. Or even if he wanted to respond. It was probably Sam’s fault for fostering the belief that he and Lally were involved in the first place, but nothing he had ever said or done had hinted at him being in love with Lally.

  He waited in the doctor’s reception area, ignoring the flirtatious glances the receptionist was casting his way, keeping his eyes glued to the huge plate-glass window. When he saw Lia walking toward the doctor’s office, he felt an odd, twisting sensation in his chest. The feeling was unfamiliar and freaked him out a little, but he knew it had something to do with Lia and the way she was dressed—pretty and fresh in a plain turquoise knee-length A-line summer dress. And the way she walked—shoulders back, chin up, hips swaying gently with each step. And definitely the way she looked—sweet and wholesome with her sun-kissed freckled nose, her glossy brown hair, worn in a loose ponytail, and her earnest gray eyes, so luminous and expressive a man could lose himself in them.

  She was lovely.

  Lovely wasn’t a word Sam typically used. But it perfectly described Dahlia McGregor.

  So fucking lovely.

  He was absently rubbing his chest, trying to ease the crazy, unfamiliar flutter, watching as every step brought her closer to him. She looked pensive and remained unaware of his scrutiny until he exited the doctor’s office to meet her at the door. She stopped and lifted her eyes to his. Sam’s breath stalled. He felt nervous . . . he wasn’t sure why.

  Her eyes moved over his face and then down to his arm, and a genuinely happy smile lit up her face.

  “The cast is gone,” she pointed out unnecessarily, and he grinned sheepishly, lifting his puny arm like a kid showing off a scrape.

  “It looks like shit,” he said, his voice rough, and she laughed.

  “Not for long, I’m sure. You’ll have it whipped into shape in no time at all.”

  “Lia—”

  “Sam—” They spoke simultaneously, but it didn’t escape Sam’s notice that she’d used his name. He liked it. He more than liked it. He wanted her to continue calling him that. He wanted to hear her shout it out when he made her come.

  “Me first?” he asked, trying to ignore his reaction to the sound of his name on her lips. She nodded. “Lally and I were never involved. It was something the press fabricated, and neither of us cared enough to correct them. In fact, we figured it might even deter her stalker.” He laughed self-deprecatingly and lifted his arm. “It clearly didn’t.”

  “Why did you say you were? I mean, I understand why you didn’t correct the press, but why did you lie to me?” she asked in confusion, and Sam felt a stab of remorse. He felt like a bastard, and he inhaled deeply.

  “Okay, this is going to make me sound like a prick, and maybe I am a prick. No, I definitely am . . . but I thought it might help me get you into bed. If you knew we weren’t involved, you would rescind your offer to be my rebound girl. Since I didn’t really need a rebound girl.”

  “Okay, the rebound thing may have been one of a few deciding factors,” she admitted uncomfortably. Her honesty winning out again. “I thought it was an adequate excuse to allow myself to enjoy you, in a guilt-free, uncommitted way. But when I thought you were in love with her, I felt terrible about getting in the way of a potential reconciliation.”

  “She’s a client. Nothing more.”

  “You have a nickname for her.”

  “Everybody who knows her personally calls her Lally. How the fuck did you make the leap that I was in love with her?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that you deliberately misled me about the nature of your relationship with her?” she asked pointedly, and he felt an uncharacteristic swell of remorse. She continued before he could reply. “Mainly because you always use the F word when you refer to our intimate encounters. I thought maybe you considered your interludes with her in a different, more romantic light.”

  “Your thought processes are so bizarre and so fucking fascinating,” he mused, shaking his head. He dropped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her over to drop a kiss on her head.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she said, and his brow lowered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t like that you lied to me,” she explained. “I feel . . . I don’t like it.”

  “Lia, it was a lie of omission. If that. You were the one who decided that Lally and I were together. I never said we were. Nothing I said was overtly dishonest.”

  “Your very carefully worded responses to any of my questions relating to your relationship with Laura Prentiss were completely dishonest and you know that.”

  “God, first you’re pissed off with me for supposedly being in love with Lally and then you’re pissed off with me because I’m not? You’re being irrational, Lia.”

  “I’m angry with you for lying,” she corrected. “That’s not a small thing.”

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “You did.”

  “What does it fucking matter?” he finally asked, his voice raised and bordering on a shout. “We were having fun. Enjoying each other. None of it was serious, why are you acting like this is some huge betrayal? I’m not your boyfriend, princess! My relationship, or lack thereof, with Laura Prentiss has no bearing on us. Frankly, it’s none of your goddamned business—yours is a temporary presence in my life and I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  His words made her blink, pause, and retreat. He watched it happen—a complete emotional withdrawal—and he couldn’t blame her. He swallowed, almost tasting the words he’d just spewed at her. They were acrid and foul. Completely unpalatable. He opened his mouth to say something else. Something less . . . something more . . .

  Just something.

  But she’d turned away from him and w
as heading back to the parking lot, her back ramrod straight while her cute ponytail swayed perkily with each step she took. He stood watching her uncertainly for a moment before following her.

  They spent the first half of the twenty-minute drive back in strained silence. Finally deciding that he needed to say something—apologize at least—Sam opened his mouth to talk.

  “Lia.” She leaned forward and turned on the radio. An overly cheerful DJ was discussing the weather with his cohost, and they were both way too fucking enthusiastic about it. Sam took the hint and shut his mouth, and the second half of the drive was filled with annoying DJ chatter.

  When she brought the car to a standstill in front of the cabin, Sam pointedly turned down the radio and shifted to face her. She kept her gaze straight ahead.

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have kept the truth from you. I didn’t even have a legitimate reason for doing so, it just seemed like—”

  “Brand”—she turned to meet his eyes, and he tried not to flinch at the distance he saw in hers—“you’re right. You don’t owe me any apologies and certainly no explanations. I overstepped. It was out of bounds. I think, since your arm is out of its cast, you don’t need me anymore. So why don’t we call this experiment of ours a partial success and move on from there?”

  Fuck.

  “I still hate doing my own cooking,” he pointed out. “And I paid you for two weeks’ help.”

  “In light of our situation and the intimacy, I don’t feel right accepting your money. I’ll be returning it.”

  “No. For fuck’s sake, Lia. You only agreed to help me because of that money. You clearly needed it for something.”

  “I didn’t earn it, and to accept it after what happened between us just feels wrong.”

  “Look, we don’t have to end things. I mean now that everything’s out in the open, it’ll be better. No more secrets, right?”

  “I have to get back to my studies,” she shocked him by saying, and he was confused for a moment.

  “Studies?”