by Abby Niles
At least one of them seemed to have some.
In response, Scarlett wrapped herself around the man, and his shit-eating grin made it clear that she’d been told to move. Delaney shook her head sharply and planted her hands on her hips.
“That don’t look too good,” Blake muttered.
Brody agreed, but he stayed where he was, waiting to see if Delaney would be able to handle the situation on her own. He would rather not interfere again. He’d already pissed off Scarlett in a way he’d never seen before, and he really didn’t want to egg her on in her current condition. God only knew what the fuck she would do as drunk as she was, when she’d seemed willing to do practically anything sober.
He sure as hell wouldn’t be the reason she went over the edge and did something she couldn’t take back.
“You going to intervene here, cuz?” Blake asked as the standoff between the threesome stretched on.
He shook his head slightly, keeping his gaze locked on Delaney, whose posture shouted: Do not leave with him.
Finally, Delaney locked her fingers around her friend’s forearm and tugged. Scarlett yanked away, scowling. The man tried to usher her around the other woman again, but she shuffled in front of them. An awkward dance ensued, and all the while, the tiny woman’s fierce you-will-not-leave-with-my-drunk-friend-asshole expression never slipped.
“You’re right. She’s a feisty little thing,” Blake said, his words tinged with awe, which was a huge thing coming from him. Other people rarely impressed him.
“Delaney has never taken shit from anyone.”
She was proving that more than ever, and her protector stance was obviously starting to get under Scarlett’s skin. She let go of the man and swayed close to her friend, finger raised, anger pulling her lips tight to slightly bare her teeth.
What the fuck?
Brody’s brows pulled together. Scarlett wasn’t a saint. She did get angry like every other person on the planet, but her anger had always been displayed with a purse of the lips, clench of the jaw, and jutting up of the chin—and a death stare that went right through you. He would know. He’d had it directed at him once when he’d brought Ryan home from his bachelor party so staggering drunk that he had puked right on the carpet at her bare feet.
But this aggressive woman looking like she’d actually attack her best friend of eighteen years was not Scarlett at all.
The two women exchanged heated words and sharp gesticulations. Then lips did purse, a jaw did clench, and a chin jutted up in the air. But it wasn’t Scarlett’s. It was Delaney’s as she moved aside and swept her arm in a dramatic fashion toward the exit.
Oh. Hell. No.
“You’re on, cuz,” Blake said. “She’s too drunk to be leaving with that fucker.”
“Already on it.”
Brody rushed toward them. By the widening of Delaney’s eyes and the sudden relaxing of her shoulders, she saw his approach. Not that he needed permission to step in, but he wouldn’t lie—having her best friend’s support would go a long way tomorrow when Scarlett was nursing one hell of a hangover.
Scarlett leaned against the guy as they made their way to the door. Brody picked up the pace and lunged forward to latch his hand around her elbow. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Scarlett’s head snapped down to his fingers then slowly lifted. Fury brightened those blue eyes.
“Let. Go,” she bit out between clenched teeth.
Had she really just gritted? Holy fucking shit.
“Nope,” he said. “You’re staying right here.”
The guy stepped forward and tapped-shoved his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Hey, buddy. You need to move along.”
Brody stared down at the place the man had poked him then lifted his gaze to the fucker. “Touch me again, asshole, and see what happens.”
The man paled visibly, swallowed, and took a step back. He still managed to say, “Just leave the lady alone, okay.”
“I’m the bad guy? You’re trying to escort an intoxicated woman out of a bar—even though her best friend has been trying to stop you for the last five minutes—and I’m the bad guy?”
“I was just going to help her back to her room.”
“I’m sure you were, but we no longer need your help.” He all but sneered the word. “I’ll take it from here.”
Scarlett jerked her arm out of his grip. “The hell. I’m goin’ with ’im.”
The guy smirked and started to put his arm around her waist again.
“Touch her and I’ll break your face,” Brody said with every bit of the cage fighter he had in him.
The man was smart enough to lower his arm. A huff came from Scarlett, and she swayed forward and poked him hard in the chest.
“Mindyerbusiness,” she slurred through the reek of alcohol. “My life. My party.”
Goddamn, how much had she had to drink?
“Wait,” the guy said. “You know him?”
“Course, I know ’im. ’E’s Brody ‘Leavemethefuckalone’ Minton.”
The guy’s eyes widened as his gaze raked Brody up and down. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah. Tell all your other buddies that Brody ‘The Iron’ Minton says this woman is off-limits or they’ll deal with me.”
“Yeah. No problem.” He started backing away slowly, and Scarlett’s eyes bulged almost comically.
“Don’t be a wuss. ’E’s not gonna do anythin’.” She slashed her arm toward Brody. “’E’s like a fuckin’ kitty cat. Never even hit nothin’ outside of the stupid cage. Hell, ’e even owns a kitty cat named Princess.” She chortled.
What she said was true, but she underestimated him. He would hit that man and any other fucker who messed with her. “Don’t test me, Scarlett.”
The man kept backing away.
She actually stomped her foot. “Don’t go!”
He just waved his arms then turned and bolted.
Scarlett spun on Brody. “You. Suck!”
“Come on. You need to lie down.” He took her arm again and started to turn her toward the exit.
Again, she yanked away from him. “I’ll lie down when I damn well want to.”
She was so volatile. A mass of bubbling rage that was about to explode. Where the hell was all this intensity coming from? Was this the explanation for his best friend’s absence? Had Scarlett had some sort of mental meltdown? Ryan hadn’t mentioned anything when they’d hung out last week. All his best friend ever talked about was how well their marriage was going and how happy he was.
Scarlett looked far from happy.
“You’re starting to make a scene,” Delaney said as she stepped up to the two of them.
“I. Don’t. Care!” She stumbled back. “I won’t go back to my room.”
Delaney sent Brody a pleading look. “I can’t handle her right now. Honestly, I don’t even know what to do. I’ve never seen her like this.”
It was a relief to know he wasn’t the only one thinking Scarlett wasn’t acting like herself. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. I’ll take her back to my room and make sure she doesn’t leave.”
“Thank you, Brody.”
He nodded then stepped toward Scarlett again. She pointed at him. “Stay back. I won’t go to my room.”
Heat crept up his neck, from embarrassment or anger he wasn’t sure. He was feeling both pretty damn hardcore right now. He hated being in the middle of public drama. People were gawking like they were watching a live taping of Days of our Lives. And that pissed him off. Not to mention the fact he was completely over Scarlett’s antics. Drunk or not, she needed to get her shit together.
The more she backed away from him, the angrier he was getting. Charging her, he grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder, not missing a step toward the exit. Thunderous clapping erupted around him, making the moment even more humiliating. God, he couldn’t wait to tell Scarlett every goddamn gory detail of this encounter tomorrow so she’d be as mortified as he was.
/> As he stormed out of the club and made his way down the garden path, he ignored the curious stares from the people he passed. Fuck, he’d stare, too, if there was a man carrying a raving lunatic over his shoulder.
And that was exactly what Scarlett was right now. Raving. Lunatic.
She beat her fists against his lower back, sputtered obscenities, demands, and threats. By the time he shoved his card in the lock and banged open the door to his room, his patience was completely gone. He strode across to the bathroom. After opening the glass door to the walk-in shower, he dropped Scarlett onto the natural-colored marble floor then turned on the shower full blast.
Icy cold water hit her square in the face, and she sputtered then scrambled to get out. He put his hand on top of her head and kept her there. When she tried to wrestle away and crawl between his legs, he stepped over her, ignoring the biting chill of the water as it saturated his shirt to his skin. Crouching, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her up, and sat down with her.
The water beat down on her face and neck, splashing up onto his face. She struggled to get free, raking her nails across his knuckles and bucking against his hold. If he hadn’t been so damn furious with her, he would’ve laughed at her feeble attempts to wiggle free from him. When she apparently realized that he had no intention of letting her go, she screamed—long and loud. He grimaced. Fuck, he hoped no one heard that. The last thing he needed on top of all this was to deal with local authorities.
Suddenly, she went quiet and completely still. He waited for a renewed burst of energy, but she remained silent. Had she passed out?
Just as he had that thought, a weird sound came from her, and her shoulders jerked. He loosened his grip, and her head flopped forward, shoulders still shaking.
“Scarlett?” Fuck, had he hurt her? He leaned around her and fumbled to turn the water off.
As the sounds of the cascading water died, the sad muffled whimper came again. He shifted to her side and gently brushed back the curtain of drenched blond hair. Her teeth clamped down hard on her bottom lip, her chin wobbling.
“Scarlett?”
She slowly looked up at him. Mascara stained the skin under eyes and streaked down her cheeks as tears illuminated the blue of her eyes.
“I just wanted to be wanted,” she murmured before the slight control she had over her emotions broke, and she pressed her face into his wet shirt and sobbed.
They were deep, soul-wrenching sobs, the cries of someone who’d been hurt terribly. Unsure of what to do, he kept his arms to his side, but the longer she wept, the more he needed to hold her—to take away whatever pain she was feeling.
He wrapped his arms tight around and let her cry herself out. When she finally grew silent, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He felt the shake of her head against his chest.
I just wanted to be wanted.
What could she have meant by that? Ryan had told him just last week how he had taken her on a romantic getaway to the mountains. How they had had such a wonderful time together…
A soft snore reached his ears, and he glanced down. Lips slightly parted, eyes closed—she was more passed out than asleep. He felt for her. She was going to be hurting in the morning.
This presented a bit of a dilemma, though. He couldn’t put Scarlett to bed in wet clothes. While stripping this woman had always been a forbidden fantasy of his, her drunken weeping had never played into the picture.
He stood then lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. After laying her down on the couch, he closed the shutters on the sliding glass doors that overlooked the ocean. He returned to the bathroom and grabbed one of the white terry cloth robes, then came to stand beside the couch.
Looking down at her, he allowed his gaze to follow the soft lines of her face. Even passed out cold from too much alcohol, she looked more like the Scarlett he’d known for years.
Soft. Sweet. Innocent.
The hard woman from before was a mystery to him, a layer of Scarlet he never realize existed. It was too bad it took…whatever had happened…to free this side of her.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted her so he could unzip the back of the dress. He kept his eyes adverted while the fabric fell loose. God knew, he was going to have to look eventually, and there was no need to torture himself sooner than necessary. Once he had the zipper undone, and the top of the dress had slid from her arms, he laid her back down. Keeping his gaze on the dress and not on her skin, he quickly yanked it the rest of the way off and let it plop to the ground.
A lump formed in his throat when he was faced with an undressed Scarlett. The only thing covering her beautiful, sun-kissed skin was a slip of black lace between her legs and a matching bra. Jesus.
He snatched the robe off the arm of the couch and quickly wrapped her in it, knotting the belt at her waist. He carried her to the bed, and after covering her with the blankets, he knew he had to call Ryan.
This was no longer about Scarlett out to cheat on her husband. This was something else entirely. Since Ryan seemed oblivious to it, he needed to let his best friend know what he’d witnessed so he’d be ready for her when she came home.
As he stepped out to the patio then onto the sand, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed the number for his friend. A light breeze blew his hair as he listened to the crash of the waves.
Ryan answered after a couple of rings. “Hello?”
Brody opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a feminine voice that caused a rock to form in his stomach.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning. Who the hell’s calling?”
A scraping noise came through the speaker, sounding very much like a palm being pressed over the phone. Though it dulled Ryan’s voice, it didn’t mute it. “Shhh. A friend of mine. Go back to sleep.” Then in a much louder voice. “Brody? What’s up?”
Feeling bitch-slapped, he dropped his arm and stared at his phone. What the fuck? He lifted the cell back to his ear, but he couldn’t get one word to pass his stunned mouth. He hung up.
Turning back toward the room, he stared at the woman curled up in his bed, reheard her words, replayed her sobbing.
He’d had it all wrong. She wasn’t cheating on her husband. Her husband was cheating on her—and Scarlett knew all about it.
The sudden excitement he felt scared the fucking shit out of him.
Chapter Three
Scarlett’s stomach lurched as she rolled over onto her back, groaning. Her mouth felt like a sandstorm had passed through, and she licked her dry tongue across her parched lips, trying to spur on some moisture. The pounding behind her eyes was cruel and unusual punishment.
Kill me now.
She had no one to blame but herself. What had started as a way to relax had spiraled completely out of control.
Prying open her eyes, she flinched away from the bright room, groaning again.
“Here. Drink this.”
The deep, masculine voice surprised the crap out of her, and she stiffened as she stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at the unknown man. She tried recollecting a name, a face, but last night was nothing but a big blur.
She hadn’t really gone through with bringing a man back to her room, had she? She talked a good game yesterday, but that was all it had been—talk. Oh God, what had she done? Not once in her life had she ever done a one-night stand. She didn’t even know the proper etiquette for such a situation. Did she stay for a while to chitchat, or did she get up and leave ASAP?
“Scarlett? Drink this.”
Wait. That voice sounded very, very familiar. Turning her head on the pillow, she found Brody towering beside the bed, the same disapproval as yesterday still radiating from his caramel-colored eyes. Refusing to witness his obvious judgement, she lowered her gaze to his broad shoulders then to his red cotton tank. They continued down his muscular arm, taking in the amazing, colorful comic-book themed sleeve, then settled on the orange sports drink in his hand.
> Yuck.
She looked past him. Right outside the overly large sliding glass door was the beach. That wasn’t her view. What was she doing in Brody’s room? She slowly pushed to a sitting position. As the covers fell to her waist, she stilled at the terrycloth robe wrapped around her.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Don’t remember anything, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”
She swallowed, panic squeezed her chest. “Did we…I mean…”
Mortifying heat warmed her face. She hated that reaction whenever she tried to talk about sex. It happened every damn time. All she was trying to get out was had they hooked up. And like all the times before, she found herself struggling for words.
“Sleep together?” Brody lifted a brow. “No. I slept on the couch.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Then what happened to my clothes?”
“I hung them outside last night to dry them out.”
Scarlett stared at him as she tried to remember why her dress would be wet in the first place. Nothing came to mind. “Did I jump in the pool or something?”
“That would’ve been preferable.”
Jesus. What had she done last night? From the disapproval radiating from Brody, nothing good. “Just tell me. I can’t remember anything.”
“I tossed you in the shower to shock some sobriety into you. You passed out. I couldn’t put you to bed soaking wet.”
Well, if that didn’t give her a cringe-worthy impression of how bad off she’d been. “How did I end up with you? I know I was with Delaney, and we’d gone to a couple of the bars, but I don’t remember bumping into you.”
“You didn’t really bump into me. I inserted myself into a situation between you, some fucker, and Delaney.”
“At one of the bars?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty safe to say you won’t be easily forgotten by a lot of people around here.”
A scene flashed inside her mind. She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Ohmygod. You actually carried me out over your shoulder.”
