The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3)

by Natasha Anders

  He draped an arm around her waist and tugged her back until he was spooning behind her. Of course, they’d cuddled this way before, but this was different—she was asleep and it kicked his every protective instinct into hyperdrive. She was asleep and vulnerable, and it was his duty to keep her safe. He couldn’t imagine never doing this again, of leaving her to sleep on her own on Monday when he now knew how small and defenseless she was in her unconscious state.

  He sighed and buried his face in her hair; it smelled hot and sweaty, with lingering traces of her shampoo still present. As he felt himself start to drift toward sleep, he found himself acknowledging that Lia was right—sleeping with someone was different. It was intimate.

  It meant more.

  The urgent buzzing of his phone jarred him awake just an hour later. Sam turned his head and glared at the lit-up phone as it vibrated on the nightstand. He reluctantly lifted his arm from around Lia’s waist to reach for it. Colby’s name was on the screen, and he swore beneath his breath.

  “Brand!” he snapped.

  “Boss, we have a problem,” Colby said in greeting, without any of the usual pleasantries. Brand only half heard her, because Lia stirred and then coughed. The sound was harsh and grating and made him wince.

  Fuck! That didn’t sound good at all.

  “Colby, as you so succinctly informed me the other day, I pay you to solve problems. So fucking deal with it! I have more important things to worry about at the moment,” he whispered.

  “But—” Lia’s coughing was getting worse, and he disconnected the call before Colby could complete her sentence. He switched off the phone and tossed it aside before easing his arm under Lia’s back and helping her to sit up.

  “Deep breaths, sunshine,” he instructed, keeping his voice calm. “I’ll get you some water and some of that cough syrup, okay?”

  She groaned in response, the coughing relentless. He rushed to get her water and her medication. Anxiously watching while she swallowed everything down and then curled up into a miserable ball as the violent paroxysm of coughing continued. He wrapped himself around her, gently stroking her back and murmuring comforting little words that made no sense into her hair. Eventually the coughing fit subsided, and he reached for a tissue to dab the tears from her face and then gave her another one for her streaming nose.

  “Not a pretty sight, I’m sure,” she croaked. Her throat sounded absolutely lacerated, and he gave her another sip of water. Her eyes were red rimmed and the tip of her runny nose was pink in her pale face, her full lips dry and chapped. Not her finest hour, to be sure, but all Sam saw was his adorable Miss Priss.

  “You’re always gorgeous and you know it,” he responded, and she half coughed, half laughed in response.

  “You’re such a liar. You’re finally getting your way, aren’t you?”

  “How so?” he asked.

  “Sleeping over. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

  “Well, there’s more wheezing and snoring than I anticipated, but it’s right up there with my first kiss”—with you—“and the first time I had sex”—with you.

  Because, while he hadn’t known it at the time, both of those moments had irrevocably changed his life. He wasn’t entirely sure how yet, but he definitely wasn’t the same man he had been a mere seven months ago.

  “I don’t snore,” she protested weakly, and he grinned.

  “Sure you don’t. Now get back under the covers and try to get back to sleep.” She curled up on her side without protest, and he slid in behind her to spoon her again.

  “What am I wearing?” she asked drowsily.

  “My favorite T-shirt. You’re welcome. And no, you can’t have it.”

  “I have nightgowns,” she pointed out.

  “You have nightgowns straight out of Downton Abbey. They don’t look comfortable at all.”

  “You watched Downton Abbey?”

  “It was inescapable. Stop talking, your voice is making my eyes water.”

  “Not sexy?”

  “Sure it is, if you find frogs sexy.” Her breath hitched in her throat, and a tiny, delightful sneeze escaped on the exhale. It was followed by two more.

  “What the fuck was that?” he asked, and she reached for another tissue to noisily blow her nose.

  “I sneezed. It’s polite to say ‘gesundheit’ or ‘bless you,’” she informed him, sounding like her old self, despite the exhausted slur in her hoarse voice.

  “It sounded like fairy farts, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing,” he teased.

  “Shut up,” she said grumpily.

  “How rude, Miss Priss, your manners are slipping,” he goaded, dropping a kiss on her temple.

  “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. For being here.”

  “No place I’d rather be, sunshine.”

  And wasn’t that the absolute truth?

  Lia felt marginally better the following morning when Sam set her laptop up on the coffee table. He placed a box of tissues on the easily accessible side table and a bottle of water and a roll of throat lozenges on the table beside the laptop.

  After that he retreated to the kitchen to do some tidying up, and Lia settled in to watch Daff try on dresses.

  The video image was thankfully clear, and Lia grinned when she saw the four faces pop up on her screen.

  “Hi, Lia!” they all squealed in unison, and she grinned, waving excitedly in reply. Her voice wasn’t great after her constant coughing the night before. She had woken up coughing at least three times during the night, and Sam had patiently helped and comforted her through each horrible convulsive attack.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked.

  “Better,” Lia whisper-croaked in response, and everybody winced at the sound of her voice.

  “Ugh, don’t talk, okay? You sound like an old man who’s been smoking a pack a day for the last eighty years.”

  Ah, Daff. Ferociously descriptive as always.

  Sam, who could hear everything, snorted in amusement, and Lia shot him a glare. He widened his eyes and lifted his shoulders, obviously battling a grin.

  “So what’s the plan?” Lia asked, ignoring her sister’s previous comment.

  “Daff has to tell us what kind of dress she has in mind. I’m thinking something princessy and poofy.” Daisy grinned.

  “Over my dead body!” Daff dismissed.

  “I want to see you in a poofy dress, Daff,” Charlie piped up. “It’s always been my dream to get married in a poofy dress.”

  “Your dream, kid,” Daff said pointedly. “Not mine. And you’d better not let your brothers know you’re dreaming about wedding dresses already. Spencer will shit a brick and then badger me for information about any secret boyfriends you may have.”

  “Well, what’s your dream wedding dress?” Daisy prodded, and Daff rolled her eyes.

  “A bikini . . . in Thailand!”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” her mother gasped, sounding genuinely terrified that Daff would follow through on her words.

  “Nope. We’re doing this thing,” Daff said grudgingly. “So I suppose I’m looking for something simple and elegant. A bit vintage.”

  “And boring,” Charlie pouted. A shop attendant, who had been listening to the exchange, directed them to a rack of stunning crystal-encrusted designer gowns, all gorgeous and elegant. They picked out a few to try on, and Daff disappeared into the dressing room to get changed. Another attendant brought a bowl of fresh strawberries and champagne for the ladies—sparkling grape juice for Charlie. Sam, who was remaining discreetly in the background, but also seemed to be following the flow of conversation, brought Lia some sparkling water in a champagne flute. She giggled appreciatively when he presented the glass with a flourish.

  Daisy was holding the phone and all Lia could see were feet and floor as the other ladies looked through the dresses while waiting for Daff.

  The attendant announced that Daff was ready to show t
he first dress, and everybody scrambled to sit down. Lia made a frustrated sound when Daisy’s camera skills left a lot to be desired. Her hand kept moving, her finger partially obscured the view, and she kept muffling the speaker with her hand. Sam peeked over her shoulder to see what the problem was and swore.

  “Hey, Daisy! Hand the phone over to Charlie—her camerawork is bound to be better, she spends so much time taking selfies.”

  “Hey!” they heard Charlie protest, and Daisy’s hand wobbled.

  “Is that Brand? Why is Brand with Lia . . . What’s going on?”

  “We’ll explain later, now hand the phone over, Daisy. Daff will be right out. I don’t want Lia to miss it,” their mother urged impatiently.

  “Fine,” Daisy muttered, sounding disgruntled, and there was a moment of confusion as the phone exchanged hands. Sam was right—the girl was a much better camerawoman than Daisy.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, then shooed him away. This was a girls-only affair. He winked at her and retreated again, just in time.

  Everybody inhaled collectively when Daff entered the room. Or rather, she trudged into the room. She looked far from happy.

  “This looks like a frickin’ nightgown, doesn’t it?” she complained. “The collar is also way too high, and all this lace is really scratchy.”

  Womp, Womp, Womp, Womp!

  Lia stared at her glass of water and really wished it was alcohol, because she sensed this was going to be a long day.

  It was on the sixth dress that the nascent bridezilla stepped out of the dressing room, looked at her reflection, and promptly burst into tears.

  Everybody else was sighing and sniffling, too, because Daff looked absolutely beautiful.

  It was a slinky silver-white 1920s-style dress, with intricate, scalloped beadwork, a modest V-neck, and sheer, beaded butterfly sleeves. It had a dramatically low scoop back and a slight chapel train, also with that intricate embroidery and beadwork to give it that extra wow factor.

  “Oh my God, you look amazing,” Daisy breathed reverently, breaking the hush that had descended over the group.

  “Isn’t it too much? It’s too much, right?” Daff lamented, unable to take her eyes off her reflection. “Spencer won’t recognize me in this. It’s . . . it’s . . . Oh my God, I love it. How can I love it? It’s just a dress.”

  “It’s so pretty,” Charlie said. “You look like a movie star or something.”

  “Mom?” Daff’s voice was questioning, and Charlie swiveled the phone to focus on their mother, who was fanning her face with one hand and dabbing at the tears on her cheek with the other.

  “You look beautiful and you know it’s the right dress. We all know it.”

  “It’s so expensive. We could use the money for our honeymoon or something, it seems a waste to—”

  “Your fiancé is rich AF,” Daisy reminded her, and Daff frowned.

  “I don’t want him to pay for my wedding dress, it’s—”

  “Your father and I are paying for it, Daff,” their mother interrupted her in a no-nonsense voice.

  “But . . .”

  “No buts. Now, do you want that dress?” Charlie turned the phone back to Daff, who was running her hands over the beadwork. She turned to look at her back.

  “My butt looks amazing in this,” she joked and then giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually getting married. To my gorgeous Spencer.” She squealed and covered her face. “Of course I want the dress!”

  Everybody cheered and Lia, who couldn’t stop smiling, swallowed past the lump of emotion in her throat. She so wished she could be there with them in this moment, but she was grateful she got to share it even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

  She looked up at Sam and discovered him staring at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but he smiled when their eyes met.

  You okay? he mouthed, and she nodded. And she was fine. She felt only elation for her sister. None of that envy and no residual “it should have been me” sense of entitlement.

  It was wonderful to finally be free of those destructive emotions. But staring at Sam, it soon dawned on her that those feelings had just been replaced by something much stronger and potentially a lot more destructive.

  She had broken the number one cardinal rule of a successful short-term fling. She had stupidly gone and fallen head over heels in love with Sam Brand.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Were you in love with him?” Sam asked unexpectedly the following afternoon, while they were cuddling in front of the TV again. “Your fiancé. Were you in love with him?”

  “With Clayton?”

  “If that’s his name,” he muttered. “Unless you’ve had more than one fiancé.”

  “At the time, I thought I was. Now I know I wasn’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Because I now know what real love feels like. And it was nothing at all like what she’d felt for Clayton—it was deeper, more painful, and more frightening. She also knew Sam better than she’d ever known Clayton. Taking care of someone during the worst period of their life was pretty revealing. Then there was his passion when they had sex, his tenderness when he was cuddling her, the genuine sweetness he displayed at the retirement home, his compassion and patience with Trevor, his sense of humor, his irreverence . . .

  The list was long, it was filled with both strengths and flaws, and she loved every single one of them.

  “Lia?” he prompted. “How do you know you weren’t in love with him?”

  “Because I’m not married to him. If I loved him, I would have overlooked his flaws and married him anyway, wouldn’t I?”

  “What you said he did to Daisy wasn’t just a little flaw that could be overlooked,” Sam pointed out.

  “And then there was that, his behavior proved that I didn’t really know him. How could I be in love with someone I didn’t really know?”

  He took her hand in his, his thumb absently stroking her palm as he contemplated their joined hands.

  “I’ve never been in love,” he admitted, and she laughed.

  “Of course you haven’t. You don’t do commitment. You’ve been pretty clear on that, and falling in love is a huge emotional commitment.”

  “I always thought of commitment as something that requires foresight and planning. Falling in love is something that just happens, isn’t it? Nobody plans on it. You’re just fucking about, minding your own business when, boom, you look up at someone, lightning strikes, and you realize that you’re in love with them. Isn’t that how it works?”

  Considering that that was pretty much exactly what had happened to her yesterday, Lia couldn’t argue against that.

  “Perhaps,” she acknowledged uncomfortably. “Although it could be a gradual slide into love, too, I suppose. I think that’s how it happened with Daisy and Mason. They were friends and they spent a lot of time together, getting to know each other, getting to like each other . . . Falling in love was like an awakening for them, I think.”

  He seemed to mull over her words.

  “That makes sense, too, I guess, a gentle slide. It sounds less painful, or potentially lethal, than a lightning strike.”

  “Why are we talking about this?” she asked, and he shrugged.

  “I was just interested.”

  “It’s a weirdly specific thing to be interested in,” she pointed out, and his thumb made little circles in her palm.

  “I was curious about the guy,” he said with a shrug. “The prick who hurt you.”

  “It could have been worse,” she said, and his eyebrows slammed together.

  “How?” he asked blankly.

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I could have married him.”

  Spencer took Sam back to the cabin the following morning. Lia was feeling a lot better and didn’t need anybody else to come and stay with her. Fortunately, Sam showed no signs of getting sick, so it looked like Lia was the only one unfortunate enough to get th
e flu. One of the hazards of working with children.

  Lia would be returning to work and her charities in two days’ time and found herself at loose ends after Sam left.

  She should have known Daisy would call her as soon as she was able, and sure enough, late Monday afternoon, her phone trilled. She sighed when she saw Daisy’s name on the screen but lifted the phone to her ear anyway. Better to get it over sooner rather than later.

  “I can’t believe you’re sleeping with Sam Brand,” her sister started without preamble. “I told you he’s an ass with women, didn’t I? Because if I haven’t, allow me to tell you now . . . he’s an ass with women, Lia. Erased numbers, pictures, contact details, remember? Harassment charges, remember?”

  “I’m not about to harass the man, Deedee,” she said with a little chuckle. But her youngest sister was not amused.

  “Lia, he’s going to hurt you.”

  “Oh, I know that, but it’s my own fault. I stupidly went and fell in love with him. It was against the rules, but I had to go and break them, didn’t I?” Lia heard the bitterness in her own voice and shut her eyes tightly.

  “Oh, Lia,” Daisy whispered.

  “Look, it’s okay, Deedee. Honestly. I knew the risks going in, and it’s not Sam’s fault I went and broke the number one rule of our fling. He did nothing to make me fall in love with him. I mean, have you heard him speak? It’s enough to turn the air blue . . . and I fell in love with him despite that. He told me he doesn’t do love and commitment, and I still went and fell in love with him. It’s like I’m a sucker for punishment or something. That said, I don’t regret a single moment and wouldn’t change a thing about the last few weeks with him.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Daisy asked softly.

  “I’m going to do what I must. I’m going to protect myself.”

  When Sam switched his phone back on, it was filled with missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Colby, a few were from Tyler Chambers, three or four were from Lally, and two were from his mother.

  He wasn’t in the mood to deal with work-related issues right now. He hadn’t felt a single pang of regret for hanging up on Colby the other night and wasn’t in a particular hurry to find out what the crisis was this time. Based on the people who had tried to reach him, it was definitely Lally related. He shook his head, not even bothering to check the texts, and called his mother instead.