by G. K. Brady
To say this question came as a surprise was the understatement of the year. Her brows knitted together. “Uh, no. Why would I do that?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I have a job opening that pays really well?”
“Giving care to a certain body part?”
His dimples made an appearance despite the fact he hadn’t turned on his brightest smile, and he trained liquid brown eyes on hers as if he was trying to read something. She disguised her body squirm by crossing her legs.
When he spoke, his voice rolled out in a sexy, whiskey purr. “Tempting as that sounds”—he waggled his eyebrows—“I’m actually thinking of my mother.”
“You want me to take care of your mother’s body part?”
He chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, and not just one part. All her parts.”
Sarah’s confusion must have shown all over her face. When she didn’t chuckle back, he rushed on, the liquor-and-sex tone gone from his deep voice. “She hasn’t stopped talking about meeting you and your dog.” In a quavering falsetto, he added, “‘When are you going to have that nice dog and her grumpy owner back over?’”
“Your mother said I was grumpy?” Sarah cringed a little inside, recalling Gage’s words about her coldness that day.
“Not exactly. That was my contribution.” He flashed her a smile that showed off his pearly whites, and her mind made a quick detour to whether they were all his. “She loves your dog, and apparently—though I have no idea why—she loves you too.”
Her cringe factor evaporated. “Um, thanks?”
“Right? I’m baffled too. Anyway, I was thinking since I can’t seem to hire a professional she likes—mostly she denies she needs help, but that’s another story—why not hire a non-professional she does like? And bonus, the dog is tuned in to her. It’d be like having two caregivers for the price of one.” His grin broke free, deepening the dimples. The thought of licking them sprang into her head, and she blinked rapidly, trying to bat away the ridiculous, intrusive image.
No way was she going to work for this playboy. She’d probably have to be on her guard twenty-four-seven to deflect his roaming hands and lips, and it had nothing to do with her being attractive. No, it was the mere fact she had X chromosomes that acted like a magnet to his steel dick. Whoa! Do not think about his dick and steel at the same time. Do not think about his dick. Period!
To distract herself, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “So what would I have to do?”
“Be there during the day to help her do the little stuff. Her fine motor skills come and go, and sometimes she needs help buttoning something, or she can’t brush her hair, for instance. The more stress you can take off of her, the better she does. When I’m on the road, you’d need to spend the night. This is still new to her and me, so we’re working it out as we go.”
“How did you end up with her living with you anyway?”
He tugged a hand through his hair, and her eyes followed the motion. Jeez, he had thick hair. With lustrous streaks that reminded her of gold satin ribbon. She’d kill for hair like that. Why was it wasted on a dude? And did he go to a salon and have his hair highlighted? Yeah, she could totally see him being that guy. Nonetheless, she couldn’t avoid thinking of her fingers plowing through his thick strands. Stop!
His baritone pulled her back to the here and now. Thank God he wasn’t a mind reader because she didn’t need him getting the wrong idea. “She’s been living with my brother, Ronan. He and his wife recently had their third kid, and the house got a little rowdy for Mom, so voila.” He flipped his hands outward as if presenting something. “Quinn’s turn.”
When she didn’t respond right away, he helpfully added, “Voila is French for ‘ta-dah’!”
She gave him her best eye-roll. “Any other siblings? What about your dad?”
“Ronan and I are it. As for my dad, let’s just say Europe’s his home base and leave it there.” The tone of his voice told her way more than his words had. Something shifted in his eyes, like he’d eased open a window, catching her off guard.
“What does he do?”
“He coaches hockey. In Poland.”
Surprise overtook her features before she could reel it in. “Is he Polish?”
The window Quinn had cracked open snapped shut. “Long story.”
“So you’re your mother’s keeper, and you’re not happy about it.”
An exhale whooshed out of him. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. It’s just … it was unexpected. She’s never been that fond … Ronan’s the golden child, and it never occurred to me she’d want to move out. But that doesn’t matter. I just wish I could’ve planned … Yeah, if we’re being honest here, I guess I’m not thrilled. But I’m trying to adjust.”
Sarah snickered. “Having your mom around must make it tough to entertain the ladies.”
His mouth parted, and he regarded her for a moment, as if thoughts whirred through his mind that he debated spilling. Instead, he shrugged again—a little too casually. “However you wanna look at it. I did have this really cool place with incredible views, and I miss it. But no way would it have worked for her. So I rented the ludicrous house you saw yesterday.”
Huh. The thought of him doing something selfless for his mom might’ve nudged her opinion of him slightly to the positive side. “The house is ludicrous? I thought it was Architectural Digest-worthy.”
“It’s too big and pretentious. It reminds me of that person who tries too hard.”
She bit back the “Like you?” on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she went with, “But your mom has her wing and you have yours. Lots of privacy. Not to mention a sweet hot tub, a park for a backyard, and a gorgeous pool.” Jeez, now she was gushing like she was really impressed by his house. It occurred to her he might think she was equally impressed with him. Which she most certainly was not.
The appraising look was back on his face, though there was a smug quality to it now, lending it a “gotcha” vibe. Troll. “You saw the hot tub, and you liked it,” he said with a hint of … of triumph?
Her answer was a snarky huff.
He shifted his posture and his expression. “Okay. So we’ve established you like the house. That’s good … No, great! Means you’ll like working there.”
She held up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast, Sparky.”
He snorted, sounding like a moderately annoyed bull. “Why do you call me that? And what the hell did you mean the other night with your ‘lube and tune’ comment?”
She leaned back—way back—to stare down her nose at him, praying she wouldn’t tip over. He was bigger than she’d first thought, and the best she could do was try to level a smirk at him. “It looked to me like you were about to get lucky, so I was just being friendly and wishing you a good time.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You did get lucky, didn’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “None of your damn business.”
“Well, it will be if you expect me to stay overnight on occasion. No es bueno. After all, I might be bumping into puck bunnies every morning. Not that I give a rat’s ass, but if it happens often, I’ll need hazard pay.” Wait. Was she actually considering his offer? Nuh-uh. No way.
“Well, good—that you don’t give a rat’s ass—because it’ll still be none of your business,” he tossed back. His eyebrow dipped. “How does your brother put up with you?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Aw, did I hit a nerve? Sorry. You just seem to bring it out in me.”
To her surprise, his glare morphed into another one of his big-ass smiles. “Yeah, well, you bring out the worst in me too. But to show you what a great guy I am, I’m still willing to hire you. For a ridiculous amount of money.” He signaled the waitress.
Sarah twirled her nearly empty drink. She hadn’t noticed she was getting low, but apparently he had. Which made total sense. Any good Casanova was tuned into what it took to get into a girl’s panties, and it was usually damn quicker
with liquor. Not that she’d ever assume he was aiming for her panties. It was just that he had this built-in pickup autopilot thing going on. Whatever it was, she didn’t want him thinking he could keep sitting with her just because he ordered her a drink.
“I don’t think me working for you is a good idea, Sparky.”
His smile didn’t waver. “And why’s that, Sunshine?”
She burst out with a laugh. “Sunshine? Are you kidding me? Where’d you come up with that one?”
“Must’ve been your sunny personality that inspired me.” He downed the rest of his cocktail.
The waitress materialized beside them, her hip jutting into Quinn’s face. He seemed not to notice. Probably used to it. “A bourbon and Coke for the lady, and a rum and Coke for me, please.” He slid a twenty into her apron pocket so discreetly that Sarah wouldn’t have noticed if the waitress hadn’t given him a hip bump along with a sultry “Thanks.” Like stuffing a stripper’s G-string. Probably used to that too.
He raised his empty glass to Sarah. “So what do you say, toots? You could have your own wing. Hell, your dog could have his own wing.”
Her prickle-meter shot upward, and she felt as though every flea that had ever lived aboard Archer had suddenly taken up residence on her. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure. Quinn just affected her that way, apparently. She shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not the caregiver type.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not caring or giving, nor do I have a bottomless well of patience.” Not true, though I’m turning over a newer, meaner leaf. Starting now.
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” he shot back. “The caring crap doesn’t matter. As for a bottomless well of patience, you’ll definitely need that to deal with my mother. I know I do.”
So he agreed she wasn’t the caregiver type? For some unfathomable reason, this really irritated her, and she let mouth run wild. “I wasn’t referring to your mother.”
A defeated sigh whooshed out of him. “Then I take it that’s a no.”
“That’s a no.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Shit, I’d sure like to know what I did to piss you off.”
“You’re a man, and you’re breathing,” she bit out.
His head jerked backward, but he quickly recovered. “So’s your brother.”
She raised her own empty glass in a toast. “He’s the exception.”
Quinn rose, all traces of his smile gone. In a frosty timbre, he said, “I’ll be sure the waitress brings you that drink. Nice talking to you, Sunshine.”
As she watched him walk away—trying not to focus on his broad back spanning his fitted button-down shirt—a twinge of remorse needled her. She’d been a bitch. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t earned the full force of her fuck-all-men salvo. But in her own defense, guys like him wielded their confidence without thought. With practiced ease. Like pulling breath into their lungs. And they invariably broke women’s hearts. Women like her mother … like her.
While she chatted with Lily and Natalie, she glimpsed him lavishing his brilliant smile on two blonds at the bar. One of them was practically sprawled over him, and they were scarfing up whatever BS he was feeding them, giggling every time he opened his mouth. As if they weren’t thinking of his big fat bank account. As if it was only because what he had to say was so damn witty.
Normally, she didn’t let annoyances distract her, but for some baffling reason her gaze was continually pulled toward the cozy trio. Call me sociologically curious. The sprawling one looked like the woman who’d been with him a few nights ago. Girlfriend? Doubtful. He probably had a “type,” and they all looked like these two. Barbie dolls with laughably out-of-proportion busts. How did they not tip over? Her engineer’s mind would puzzle that one out later.
Sarah glanced down at her own chest. Not busty, but not flat either. Today she wore a T-shirt that said, “Warning! I Do Dumb Things.” Yeah. Like wasting way too much brain power on lady-killers and the ladies they kill.
Before Wolf had ripped her heart out with his pointy fangs, she’d never worried much about her looks. That’s not to say she didn’t take pride in her appearance because she did. She was toned and lean because she was disciplined about her fitness. Though her office environment was casual, she dressed impeccably—not to turn heads, though she’d done plenty of that, but because she enjoyed presenting a professional appearance. And it had paid off. Despite her junior rank, she’d been tapped for some plum projects. Her boss had said her image, the way she carried herself, caused people to take her seriously, and by extension, their firm. That same confidence had been what drew Wolf to her, he’d once confessed.
Ironic that the very part of her he’d found attractive was the first one he’d tried to manipulate. More ironic, she’d let him do it. Hadn’t she always striven for independence? Worn her sass like a badge of honor? But she’d twisted herself into a pretzel to please him, to be all things to him. Why she hadn’t registered the maneuverings in their relationship she hadn’t a clue, but now she found herself constantly second-guessing her appeal.
Blind love made people do stupid things.
She stood and blazed a path to the ladies’ room. No sooner had she locked herself in a stall but Sparky’s giggly groupies stumbled in. Cocking her head, Sarah peeked through the door’s gap.
One of the blonds fanned herself. “Oh my God, Dory, he is even hotter in person! You lucky bitch!”
The one named Dory pushed her friend’s shoulder. “On top of that, the man is packed. I thought I was gonna choke when I went down on him.”
A shock of electricity jolted Sarah’s gut. Oh God, oh God, oh God! No, no, no! TMI! I do not want to hear this.
“I love those dimples. And his hair! And he’s so funny!” Not-Dory squealed. “Now I get why you nailed him in the backseat of his truck the other night.”
Gah! And now more information I can’t unhear!
Dory applied scarlet lipstick and puckered at herself in the mirror. “His very nice truck. That was fun once, but tonight he’s gonna have to take me to his place or a nice hotel if he wants to fuck me. I am not a slut.”
Sarah suppressed the overpowering urge to explode with a laugh.
Not-Dory’s manicured eyebrows bounced. “Maybe he gets off on doing it in cars.”
Dory grabbed her double-Ds and gave them a squeeze. “This is what he gets off on. And he can have them in his fancy house or a high-end hotel with room service.”
They broke into a gigglefest and headed out of the restroom, Not-Dory saying something about a freeway. Or was that a three-way?
The jolt that had zapped Sarah’s gut took on a roiling sensation that made her wonder if she’d be able to keep her dinner down. She pulled in deep cleansing breaths, willing her stomach’s contents to settle down. As she did, her mind wandered for a moment. Were these the kinds of women men really wanted? Dainty, top-heavy darlings who spent more time sculpting their assets than their brains?
Well, it appeared to be what Sparky wanted, just as it appeared he was about to get himself another lube and tune tonight. Probably more than one. Good on him.
But who gave a flipping fuck? Not her, that was for damn sure.
Chapter 6
Never Proposition a Fish
Quinn parked inside the unlit garage at the back of his dark house and threaded his way inside. What time was it? 5 a.m.? Jesus, he was beat. Crawling into his own bed was his prime mission.
Until he walked into his house and found his mother curled up on the couch in the family room.
Shit! Busted!
She hadn’t been there an hour ago, when he’d sneaked himself and Dory out of his own house. Did Mom know he’d brought a girl home? Nah. Impossible. He’d taken Dory to an unused guest room in a separate wing and had made sure they kept the noise down—though Dory’s voice had climbed when he’d told her it was time for him to drive her back. Yeah, he’d felt a little douchy about that. Not that he hadn’t taken
care of her too because he had, and she’d acted as though she’d enjoyed herself.
Nevertheless, girl had to understand the score. He didn’t cuddle, and he never let them stay over. Hell, he never brought them home! He was still trying to figure out why he’d let himself get talked into it. Once again, he’d turned over common sense to his low-IQ dick. Dory had been clinging to him like a statically charged piece of plastic he couldn’t shake free. Between her rubbing her hot body against him and just enough alcohol in his system to hip-check his smarter self out of the equation, turning over control to his libido had taken on an undeniable appeal.
They couldn’t go to her place, and she wouldn’t do the backseat again, so he’d brought her here because it seemed easier than trying to grab a hotel room at 2 a.m. Rookie mistake. Well, he wasn’t bringing her here again. Didn’t plan on seeing her again.
Meanwhile, his mother seemed to be asleep, and his prime mission shifted to getting away without disturbing her. Guilt tugged him toward her still figure. She looked peaceful, and relief spread through him.
As he crept toward the stairs, her sleep-raspy voice nearly launched him out of his socks. “You’re late.”
Fuck me! She’d always had eyes in the back of her head. “I’m too old for curfews … in my own house,” he retorted. He pivoted in time to see her pull herself upright, and he softened his tone. “Why are you awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I thought moving out to the family room would help, but I was wrong.”
He took a seat beside her. “Bad night?”
In the dim light, he recognized the mother from his youth. No lines, no gray. The sight tightened steel bands around his chest, and he quickly forgot his fatigue. When he’d been a kid, he’d thought his mother was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. And now? She was still there.
A sigh escaped her. “Yes. No. Just the usual.” She zeroed in on him, like she used to do when he lived at home and her sixth sense had tipped her off that he’d been up to no good. Pretty much all the time. “I saw you won the game. Did you have fun celebrating?”
