by Meg Benjamin
Lars had looked at her like that. Once upon a time.
Docia was dressed in jeans and a white cotton blouse, not what Sherice would have chosen if her father had been a billionaire. She glanced at Sherice’s bikini as they walked back to the pool together, then managed a tight smile. “I think Mama got your bridesmaid dress this morning. Did you get a chance to look at it?”
Sherice shrugged. “Lars said he’d bring me over tomorrow. I’ll try it on then.”
“Good.” Docia giggled. Sherice turned to see Cal pull her back into his arms.
A tight little ball of discontent bounced around in Sherice’s stomach. She turned back to the pool. A man stood at the far end rubbing himself with a towel. He was talking to one of those women who’d been sitting at poolside, the one in the flowered bikini. Someone should have told her about the advantages of solid colors in concealing figure flaws.
The man stretched and she saw an expanse of hard muscle and gold-flecked brown hair across his chest.
Yummy. Maybe Konigsburg had something interesting after all.
Pete took Olive for a quick trot around the yard, although for a greyhound she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about running. “Come on, Olive,” he panted, “let’s show your stuff here.”
Olive paused to sniff at an oleander bush and Pete surveyed the pool. Janie Dupree stood at the far end, talking to Otto Friedrich. As she turned slightly, Pete suddenly got a more complete look at her figure.
Whoa.
For somebody as small as she was, she had major league curves. Along with that perfect bottom he’d already noted, she had perfect breasts, full and round, just the right size to go along with the rest of her. Clearly, his earlier judgment that they were smallish needed to be revised.
Janie suddenly turned her head in his direction, and he quickly shifted his attention to Olive. When he glanced back, Otto Friedrich was scowling at him.
Oh suck it up, coach. You think nobody else notices her? Pete grinned at Otto, nodded at Janie, and started herding Olive toward an umbrella table where Lars sat by himself.
Lars had a margarita in one hand, sunglasses propped halfway down his nose.
“Hey, bro.” Pete dropped into the chair beside him. “How do you like Texas so far?”
Lars raised one eyebrow. “This isn’t Texas, Pete, this is billionairesville. Has no relation to ordinary life.” He took a long swallow of margarita, leaving a slight dusting of rock salt on his nose. “I’ve heard a lot about the place over the years—never actually saw it before myself.”
Pete frowned. Lars gave every indication of being slightly plastered. Of all his brothers, Lars was the most upright. Lars was responsible, Cal was nice, Pete was pigheaded and Erik was a jerk. They’d gotten all of that worked out when they were kids. For a moment, he tried to remember if he’d ever seen Lars drunk before. Not since his bachelor party, anyway.
Lars squinted at Olive. “What’s with the pooch?”
“She’s Cal’s. I’m dog-sitting.”
Lars looked up at him, then nodded slowly. “Good. Good for you. Get the hell out of Dodge, right?”
“Right.” He had no idea what Lars was talking about or what he was agreeing to, but Lars was satisfied. He leaned his head back against the chair cushions and closed his eyes.
“Where’s your wife?”
Lars didn’t move. “Somewhere,” he mumbled. “Look around. You can’t miss her.”
“What the hell kind of dog is that?” a man’s voice boomed from Pete’s left.
He looked up at Otto Friedrich, dressed in tight-fitting swim trunks that outlined his package like the outfits of some of the male strippers Pete had prosecuted over the years. His chest was broad and tanned, and the white towel around his neck contrasted nicely. No doubt an outfit meant to make maidenly hearts flutter.
“Olive’s a greyhound.” Pete kept his voice affable—no point in starting a fight unless Otto really wanted one. Of course, if he really wanted one, he’d be honor-bound to oblige.
“Not much to her, is there?” Otto glanced down at Olive and then smirked at Pete.
“Racer,” he snapped. “They don’t build up a lot of fat.”
Otto raised his eyebrows. “You’re racing her?”
“No. She’s retired.” Pete reached down to scratch Olive’s ears.
Otto made a sound that combined incredulity with scorn. He reached a hand toward Olive, holding his fingers in front of her nose.
Olive growled.
“Down girl,” Pete crooned. “Gee, Friedrich, she doesn’t seem to like you. Funny—she hasn’t acted like that with anybody else.”
Otto straightened, resting his hands on his hips. After a moment, he turned toward the other end of the pool. “Janie, sweetheart,” he called, “could you bring me my shirt and sandals?”
He turned back to Pete with a vaguely challenging stare. Pete wondered if having Janie at his beck and call was supposed to make up for Olive disliking him?
No comparison, as far as Pete could see.
Janie Dupree picked up a blue T-shirt and leather sandals from the side of the pool. “Are these yours? I can’t remember.”
Otto’s brow furrowed. Pete figured not being memorable was probably a new experience for him. As Janie walked up, Otto slid an arm around her shoulders, hugging her against his slightly damp chest.
“Those are mine. Thanks, sweet thing.”
For a moment, Pete thought he saw a flicker of distaste cross Janie’s face, but then it was gone. She bent down at Pete’s feet, extending her hand. “Hey, Olive.”
Olive sniffed at her fingers, then gave her palm a quick lick. Good girl.
Otto folded his arms across his chest, then glanced back and forth between Lars and Pete. His mouth curved into a smile that Pete found mildly threatening. “Okay, who’s up for some touch football?”
Pete and Lars glanced at each other and sighed. “Football,” Lars groaned, doing his best Harrison Ford voice. “Why did it have to be football?”
“Oh, c’mon, Indy, why not?” Pete managed a grin for Janie. “Look after Olive for me, okay?”
In Janie’s opinion, the game between the Toleffsons and Otto, Allie, Docia and Wonder should have been quite a battle. After all, except for Wonder, all the men were built like oak trees and coordinated to boot.
All the men were shirtless. If you didn’t count Wonder (and no one did except Allie), that expanse of gleaming, muscled flesh was quite a sight.
However, all in all the game wasn’t really a fair fight. The Toleffsons were getting creamed.
Janie wasn’t exactly sure why this was happening. The three of them together were a solid, dark-haired, six-foot-plus wall of power. They should have been able to beat anybody, including Otto, given that Wonder was one of his teammates.
Assuming, of course, that the Toleffsons took the game halfway seriously. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
The snickering gave it away. Every time one of them missed a catch—and that was pretty much every time one of them threw the ball—all three would collapse into snorting laughter, pointing at the offender and making insulting comments about a lack of coordination and grace that went back to the cradle.
They reminded Janie of three puppies tumbling around on the ground. Three very large, very well-built puppies.
When Pete had thrown his fourth interception of the game, allowing Otto to cruise across the goal line once again, all three of them howled with laughter.
“Jesus, you were on the baseball team,” Cal crowed, pointing at Pete. “Lars and I were runners. You should at least be able to throw a ball. You’ve got no excuse, man. You’re just bad.”
“Basketball.” Pete mopped his brow with his forearm. “I was only on the baseball team one year. And throwing a baseball is freakin’ nothing like throwing a football.”
“I was on a baseball team, and I can manage to throw a football. So far as I can tell, none of you guys can throw a football worth a damn,” Docia
said affably. “Cal’s brain is probably mush, but the rest of you have no excuse.”
All three Toleffsons collapsed in giggles again. Olive barked, dancing around them as they snorted.
Janie glanced at Otto. He didn’t say anything. As he watched the Toleffsons, his face was frozen, his mouth twisted in scorn. Janie drew her brows together in a frown. Otto wasn’t enjoying himself, even though his team was winning by a mile.
Pete picked up the ball again, moving back behind Lars to throw. Suddenly, Lars’s feet slipped out from under him on the grass and he collapsed on the ground in another gale of snickers. Pete’s throw bounced somewhere in front of Wonder.
Otto pushed Wonder aside quickly, scooping the ball up and running toward the makeshift goal they’d set up at the end of the yard.
“Get him!” Lars yelled from his position flat on his back.
Cal took two steps toward Otto, reaching to slap him on the back. Otto twisted suddenly, his shoulder catching Cal in the middle of his chest and sending him crashing down against the concrete strip that ran around the side of the pool.
Cal lay very still.
Janie clamored out of her chair and sprinted across the lawn, hearing the sound of thundering footsteps behind her.
“Cal,” Docia cried. “Oh god, Cal!”
She dropped to her knees beside him, one hand pressed to her mouth. Janie bent down to put her hand on Docia’s shoulder.
Both Toleffson brothers were huddled around Cal’s inert form. Pete leaned forward, grasping Cal’s arm. “Cal, can you hear me?” he bellowed.
Cal reached a shaky hand to his forehead, eyes closed. “Of course, I can hear you. Hell, they can probably hear you in San Antonio.” He began to push himself up slowly, rubbing the back of his head.
Lars pulled Cal’s arm across his shoulders as they stood together. “You okay, bro?”
Cal blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Yeah, sure. Now I remember why I always hated football.”
Janie glanced back toward the rest of the players. Otto stood holding the ball negligently at his hip, his lips slightly pursed. He was doing a great job of concealing his concern.
Pete turned toward Otto, his face thunderous. “Cheap shot, Friedrich.”
Otto shrugged. “He was over-balanced. I didn’t realize. Sorry.”
Janie took a breath. Otto didn’t sound that sorry. She glanced at Pete Toleffson again.
His hands were flexing at his sides, and his eyes were dark. Suddenly, he seemed huge, his shadow spreading across the grass in the late afternoon sun.
Lars stepped beside Pete quickly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Football, Pete. It happens. Remember?”
“Football sucks.” Pete’s voice sounded hoarse. His gaze stayed locked on Otto.
“The way you play it, sure.” Otto’s mouth curved up slightly.
“Time to cook dinner,” Reba chirped, stepping in between the two men. “That fire looks just right! We’ve got three grills over there. Who all’s gonna be our barbecue chefs? Peter, Otto, you start grilling now.” She pushed Pete gently toward one of the huge gas grills set up at the far end of the pool.
After a moment, each man headed toward a grill, regarding the other through narrowed eyes. Janie took another deep breath and blew it out. She had a feeling she was about to see barbeque become a competitive sport.
Chapter Seven
Janie studied Otto as he walked toward the nearest grill. His chest was marked by thick ridges of muscle. The fine dusting of reddish brown hair glinted in the sunlight. He looked like his body had been sculpted from bronze.
And she suddenly realized she hadn’t the slightest desire to know what it felt like to have him thrusting inside her.
Pete’s bare chest was broader but less muscled and covered in a thick pelt of black hair arrowing down to the waistband of his jeans. He was still breathing hard from the game and reaction to Cal’s accident, his chest rising and falling in the dying sunlight. Right then, he looked like the most dangerous man Janie had ever seen.
She took another deep breath. Her brain reeled with visions of Pete Toleffson, his shoulders gleaming in a darkened bedroom, his face taut with desire.
Clearly, she was losing her mind.
She wandered toward the grill where Otto regarded a small fleet of burgers and sausages with narrowed eyes. He held a long-handled spatula in one hand.
“Can I help?” Janie managed a smile.
Otto raised his eyebrows at her. “Women grilling? Don’t think so, sweet thing.”
Janie’s jaw tightened, her smile fading. “I grill at home all the time, Otto. It’s never been all that difficult.”
“You have to have a feeling for it.” He shrugged. “Men know meat.”
She pressed her lips together hard. So many things to say. So little time. So little chance that Otto would understand more than a fraction of it. She walked toward Pete Toleffson’s grill, trying not to grind her teeth.
Janie blinked. Pete was grilling zucchini.
Also eggplant, onion slices, and what looked like a few portobello mushrooms. A bowl of tomato slices sat on the shelf next to the grill.
Pete glanced at her. “Got any idea what eggplant looks like when it’s done?”
“Is it marinated?” Janie stepped forward, peering at the vegetables.
“Haven’t a clue.” Pete grinned at her. “Reba handed all of this to me and I’m following orders.”
Janie removed the tongs from his hand and rolled an eggplant wedge to its other side. “Marinated. And it’s got grill marks.”
“You think I should salt and pepper it?” Pete’s brow furrowed. “You don’t salt meat, but I’m not sure about mushrooms.”
“Nope, it makes them sweat. Plus they’ve all been marinated.” Janie flipped the eggplant wedges then handed Pete the tongs. “There. Now do the rest of the slices. Only don’t turn the mushrooms—the juice will spill out if you do.”
“Okay.” Pete industriously flipped vegetables. “You want to put those tomato slices out? I figure they go last.”
Janie nodded, picking up the bowl.
“You’re letting her grill?” Otto’s voice was tinged with outrage.
Janie glanced over at him, feeling Pete stiffen beside her. “Pete’s doing the vegetables, Otto,” she snapped. “I’m helping.”
“Vegetables? At a barbeque?” The outrage was definite now.
Janie took a deep breath, turning toward Otto’s grill. “Grilled vegetables are really good, Otto. Besides, Cal’s a vegetarian.”
Otto looked as if she’d just told him Cal was a devil worshipper. He would have been hilarious if he hadn’t been her date. After a moment, he recollected himself and pushed his shoulders back slightly. His naked chest gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine.
Pete had put his shirt back on again, Janie noted with a feeling of vague disappointment. The buttons hung tantalizingly open, reminding her briefly of his thick mat of chest hair.
Janie took another in a series of deep breaths. Okay, she was being unfair. Comparing Otto to Pete wasn’t right. Otto was Konigsburg. Pete was…somewhere else.
She glanced back at Pete’s grill. He was nudging the vegetables with his tongs, his forehead creased in concentration. Olive sat at his feet, watching him carefully. “Take a look at this, will you?” he muttered. “I can’t tell if they’re ready to come off or not.”
Janie studied the vegetables. “A few more minutes.” She turned slightly to look at his face. “So why don’t you guys like football? You all look like a high school coach’s dream team.”
Pete’s mouth twisted briefly. “Football was our big brother Erik’s game. We all went out for other stuff. The football coach wanted us, but we didn’t necessarily want him.”
Right. The big brother nobody liked. “So you played basketball?”
Pete nodded. “And baseball. Even wrestled one year.” One corner of his mouth rose in a half grin. “It was a small school.”
&nb
sp; “Hey, sweet thing,” Otto called. “Come and get it! Burgers are done.”
Janie picked up a plate and started toward Otto’s grill, then stopped. Pete was flipping vegetable chunks onto a platter. They looked a little charred around the edges, but overall good.
“Got any extra eggplant there?” she asked.
Pete glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in question. Then he grinned. “Have at it, ma’am. My veggies are your veggies.”
Pete sampled the portabella with a certain amount of trepidation. He was okay on grilling, but he hadn’t ever grilled a mushroom before, particularly one that looked like it had a glandular disorder. Tasted good, though, in a mushroomy sort of way. He leaned back in the lounge chair he’d grabbed in the pool pavilion, reaching for his beer.
Cal looked like he’d recovered from being sucker-punched by Friedrich. At least he’d eaten a full plate of Pete’s veggies and gone back for seconds. Beside him at his table, Docia munched on a hamburger, along with a healthy portion of bacon-studded baked beans and potato salad.
Obviously a mixed marriage. Good thing Cal was Mr. Nice.
Lars reclined in a lounge chair next to Pete, poking a little nervously at a piece of zucchini. Pete wasn’t sure why they’d all decided to go for vegan barbeque. Some kind of nutsy Toleffson solidarity, he supposed.
“You can get a burger. I won’t be offended.” Pete grinned at Lars’s scowl.
“Naw, it would give that SOB too much satisfaction.”
Friedrich glanced up at them. Pete raised a piece of eggplant in salute, then popped it into his mouth.
Friedrich regarded him as if he’d suddenly grown an extra head. He took a bite out of a hamburger that might have fed three or four members of his team and quickly transferred his attention to the big-screen TV in the corner of the pavilion that was showing a preseason football game.
