Last: A Copperslane Romance Novel

by Garnet Christie

“I doubt Brett is cut from the same cloth as Lance. Brett seems like a strong person. I hope it’s not rude to say this, but Lance always reminded me of a weasel.”

  I stop a snort. She’s not wrong. Looking back at it now, there was something shady and not forthcoming about Lance. For the most part, I know what field Brett is coming from.

  “It’s time you move on from that.” Lizzie’s voice breaks off my thoughts and her cheeks round with a soft smile. “He seemed super interested in you.”

  “Yeah . . .” I wring my hands together, sickness weighing me down in the chair. “I wouldn’t call what Brett holds for me ‘interest.’”

  “Okay. So Brett is obviously not marriage material.” Her slim shoulders lift then fall. After looking around, she leans across the table and lowers her voice. “So he wants to bang your brains out? What difference does it make?”

  “No—”

  “Who wants to fuck whose brains out?” Cora belts out the question and every head in the coffee shop turns as silence hits the air.

  Lizzie and I both wince.

  “God,” Lizzie grits her teeth and tugs at Cora’s shirt, yanking her down into the chair. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere. You’re so embarrassing.”

  “What?” Cora shrugs. “What did I do?”

  “Don’t look now,” I say. “But everyone is watching.” Unlike my friends, I have a head-on view, and I’m praying for the floor to suck me up as I shoot a strained smile to our onlookers.

  Lizzie glances over her shoulder and turns ten shades of crimson. “Oh, holy . . .” She snatches up her purse and bounds to her feet. “We’re leaving.”

  “Good idea.” I’m already standing.

  “No, we’re not.” Cora points to her house coffee, fresh and steaming. “I have—”

  “Ruined everything.” Lizzie latches onto her arm and pulls.

  When Cora refuses, I grab her other arm and yank her to her feet.

  We’re shuffling out of the coffee shop, fast as our feet can keep up. The whole time I’m partially keeping my head down, partially granting everyone awkward grins.

  A whoosh of needed cold air encompasses me after we step outside. Even that isn’t enough. I undo my jacket as we stride along, Lizzie and I trying to keep up with Cora’s longer legs.

  “Golly, dum-dum.” Lizzie hip bumps Cora.

  “Ouch!” Cora leans closer to me and rubs her hip. “All I said—”

  “Dropping F-bombs like that is never cool, Cora.” Lizzie’s breath trails in the air as she sighs. “Seriously, what happened to your filter.”

  “Bee broke it.” Cora jerks her thumb towards me.

  A laugh busts out my lungs, echoing in the air. She always knows how to make me laugh. Catching my breath, I shake my head. “You’re so full of bullcrap.”

  “I agree.” Lizzie is anything but giggles as she squints. Bundling her coat around her, she wiggles her finger in the air. “When we go to dinner tonight, try to not say outlandish things like that so loud.”

  “I’ll try.” Cora’s brow lifts. “No guarantees.”

  I smile. Dinner. It’s only brunch, but a puddle of drool is already living in my mouth. There’s a divine Italian place we’re hitting up tonight, and Italian food is something I’d die for. It’s my favorite. Peeking around Cora, I address Lizzie. “What time are we going and who’s coming?”

  “Seven.” Lizzie’s mouth lifts. “And last time I heard everyone is coming.”

  My mouth falls open. “Everyone? Like ‘everyone’ in our cabin everyone?”

  Cora snorts. “Is there another kind of everyone?”

  And just like that, my happy hopes die. That means Brett will be there, which no doubt means more staring. My eyes glaze over as I flick my vision to the sidewalk. “Great.” If I sound flat, I don’t care. “Can’t wait.”

  “Hey, don’t sound so put out.” Cora’s arm rubs against mine. “Our hottie Brett Walker will be there.”

  I gulp, dread winding around my core. That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Cora makes a throaty mmm and laughs. “Dinner and a show, am I right?”

  “Yeah.” My laugh sounds weak, but probably only to me. “I guess you’re right.”

  A show. More like a circus. And now I can honestly say I’m not looking forward to tonight. Brett Walker is turning out to be my final lemon in life. His ugly stares are souring everything about my getaway weekend, and I don’t know how to make lemonade out of this situation. To be frank, I don’t know how to make lemonade at all, and I’ve been out of sugar for years. At the moment, I’m pretty sure life is decidedly against me.

  I take a deep breath, for once trying to stay positive. Two more nights. Two more nights and I can escape back home and not have to worry about ways to avoid Brett. Two more damn nights.

  I can do it. I hope.

  Chapter 5

  My stomach growls, the need for pasta is heavy, and Lizzie and Cora are waiting in the car for me. Rounding the darkened corner of the hallway, I’m ready for dinner. I’ve dressed in my favorite sheer cream blouse and snug jeans. The blouse was Mom’s. I always wear it for special occasions.

  After many years, I still get compliments on this thing, proving it’s a classic, like a little black dress only better. The oversized floppy bow at the collar is my favorite detail.

  I’m looking down, retucking the blouse into the waistband of my jeans, when I have a crash landing—one that’s hard enough to make me bounce back a step.

  “Umph.” Immediately, I know the maker of that gruff voice.

  Brett. My knees sway at the sound, but a mixture of annoyance and disdain swirls through my core.

  This is the first time I’ve seen him since this morning—mainly because I’ve been hiding out in my room like a grounded teenager. I tried to outline a few things for a new book idea, but I didn’t get far. All my plots were dead ends. I spent most of my time getting ready so I’d feel pretty tonight . . . which thank goodness for that.

  I need this confidence to not faint under his suffocating intimidation. It reeks from the man, residing in his spread-out stance. In the partial darkness, I see the workings of a heated glare while he peers at me past the end of his nose. I waste no time sending the look back.

  Pocketing his hands, thumbs out, he encloses my space by moving forward. I don’t know why, but it’s a total turn on. Lust bolts from my clenched thighs to the floor, making my toes curl along the way. Crap. I despise how helpless I am to control my reactions, which only happens when we’re together.

  When he swallows me in his shadows, he flips the switch on an emotional dryer. Everything in me ends up jumbled and full of static.

  Sexual static in this case. The fact he’s narrowing his eyes doesn’t change what he charges in me. Same goes for when he finally addresses me. “What did you and your girls talk about today?”

  He’s not being nice, but the man still has my stomach exploding with butterflies. I’m deranged. That’s the only answer to my bizarre hot and cold energy.

  He lowers his head and a spearmint scent lightly floats across my skin. “I asked you a question. What did you say?”

  I bet he tastes good. But I don’t want to find out.

  “Blondie?”

  I like how it sounds when he says it. It leaves me thirsty, drying all the saliva in my throat. After managing a dry swallow, I steady my voice. “Not about Moni—”

  “Don’t.” His voice snaps like hard leather. “Don’t even say that name.”

  “Why?” I shuffle toward him, cinching my arms across my chest. Our body heat collides and I hear the pace of his breath quicken. “Last time I checked, she isn’t Voldemort. Death Eaters aren’t going to descend if we say her name.”

  His brows furrow, and the floor creaks while he shifts his weight to the opposite foot. “I haven’t a single fucking clue as to what you’re talking about.”

  My mouth dangles open. “Seriously? Don’t you read or watch movies?”

  “Don�
�t have a need for movies. Reading? Paperwork? Things that make me money? Yes.” An evil smile passes across his mouth, and I can sense the jab that’s about to occur before he spits it out. “Fiction? Made up shit that brings no purpose to the world? No.”

  “Mmm.” My head bobs as I refuse to feel the lashing of his words. “That explains it.”

  His nostrils flare, and that satisfaction of watching him get trapped in his own game sends me flying higher than a ball sailing out of the park in a home run. However, some of the victory deflates when he shuffles closer. Our shoe tips rub against one another, and again, he smells amazing. I’m praying he can’t hear how hard my heart knocks at my sternum, because I feel its waves in my heels.

  He threads a large hand through his gelled back hair. His black, medium-length hair kisses the nape of his neck and there’s a wispiness to it. A slight crunch occurs when he flexes his fingers. A few springs come undone as he frowns. “To answer your question, I don’t need any slip-ups from you. If people suspect anything happened, all my plans are trash.”

  “Plans?” My ears pique with interest. “What plans?”

  “Ha.” His laugh is dark, but a lightness takes over his eyes. He almost looks amused. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Humor me.” I cock my head to the side and bite my lower lip, rolling it through my teeth. “Perhaps a better understanding will encourage my silence.” I lower my pitch at the end to sound ultra calm and enticing, but all I feel is hot blood sludging through my veins and my knees weakening.

  All thanks to the way he stares at me.

  His jaw clenches, and there’s a flicker occurring in his eyes while they fixate on my mouth. I bring a hand to my throat when he takes a breath so deep the buttons strain across his chest. There is no exhale.

  It renders my limbs useless and my core heavy. Shit. Heat creeps upward towards my cheeks, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to respond to him.

  The wood floor groans as I step back, retreating into the darkness. “You know what . . .” The words want to knot up in my throat. “Just forget it.” I take a side step, preparing to dart around him.

  “Her husband owns land.” He sounds normal while addressing me, and whatever that was a second ago has passed. No space is given while he passes into the dark, joining me in it. “Land that I need. Really need.”

  I watch his wide silhouette move as he rubs at the nape of his neck. He’s a specimen of power, and I’m grateful he can’t see how rounded my eyes are, or how bright my cheeks flare. The dark we’re sharing tells me lies, making me feel intimate with him, and even though we’re anything but, he has me captive. My vision traces the outline of his shadowed thighs. They’re perfectly widened against his narrowed waist, playing in harmony to the span of his chest. He creates a beautiful X shape. One of muscle—of pleasure.

  Sadly, not my pleasure. I’ll never experience any of it. I make a note to write about this body instead. My shoulders tighten when Brett’s voice rumbles in the dark, reminding me we’re talking about Monica.

  “If her husband finds out what happened, he won’t sell me the property, and that’s a problem. I need your silence.”

  His words slap the heated desire I’ve been feeling for him right out of me. Bile hits the back of my throat and disgust twists in my stomach. “That’s it?” My voice goes hard and flat. “That’s your reason?”

  Please tell me he isn’t this selfish. Please tell me I didn’t just meet the biggest dick-bag on the planet.

  “Yeah.”

  I refuse to believe it. Brett must care about jeopardizing Monica’s family—he must. Even if it’s only a little. My nose screws up. “You mean that? That’s your only reason? Not because you feel bad for using her or possibly getting their marriage in trouble?”

  “No . . . I mea—”

  Scratch that. Turns out he is the biggest dick-bag on the planet.

  “That’s pathetic.” Aversion carries my legs as I skirt past him. I’m running a little late and upon hearing this, I’m so done giving him my attention.

  ”Excuse me?” What sounds like shock laces in his deep voice.

  “You heard me.” I spin on my heel after coming into the light. “Thinking only of yourself and not caring one iota for possibly troubling their marriage is pathetic.”

  He doesn’t move, but there is a hard scoff. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I’m telling you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what—”

  “Mouth. Shut.” He whispers it, but damn, it’s harsh . . . but still not harsh enough.

  Bitterness coils around my tongue. It stands equally next to the anger shooting through my raw nerves. My eyes narrow. “Fuck your plans. They suck.”

  I swear he gasps. “Bianca . . .” That is shock I’m hearing. His voice is easily an octave higher.

  The utterance of my real name makes me pause, forcing my attention. Not in a good way. My fingers dig into the frame of the large wooden arch before the last flight of stairs. “If I have to tell someone, I will.” There’s no warmth in my voice for him. Brett has killed that tonight.

  “You wouldn’t dare. You’re not serious.” When he finally comes out of the shadows, his mouth is wide open.

  I take it as a good sign and nod. “I am. Your plan sucks, you’re a douche, and I’m not guaranteeing you anything.” My teeth grind together. “Now leave me alone.”

  “Bianca.”

  Tearing myself away, I scurry down the staircase, not looking back, not acknowledging him as he says my name once more.

  I’m halfway down when I hear his low laugh, and I do mean low. It’s continuous, dark, maybe even a little unhinged.

  A chill brushes up my body, and I rub my arms. I have no idea what that reaction means, but I have a pretty good inclination I’m going to find out, and I don’t think I’m going to like it.

  Chapter 6

  “That blouse always looks so nice on you.” Lizzie’s finger trails down the sleeve as we wait to be seated. “It was your mom’s, wasn’t it?”

  A smile perks up my mouth while I stroke over some of the fabric. “It was.”

  “I’m sure she’d love to know how much you cherish it.” Her voice is hushed in our gathered crowd. Anytime she refers to my mom, she does this. I think it’s her gentle way of connecting. Both of her parents are gone, and while we rarely talk about the loss, I sometimes wonder if she hopes talking about our moms will make it less painful someday. That will never be the case. At least not for me.

  I don’t talk of Mom much, of her struggles and tragic end, but Lizzie knows how close I keep her to my heart. Kathryn Stanley has been a driving force in my life, even writing is a memory to her. I did it because she never got to do the things she loved. All Dad did was squash her interests and control her. And Mom? Well, she was tender. Never using a harsh word, or loud voice. She wasn’t born to be a fighter, and so she died.

  Because of Dad.

  He drained all the color from her, leaving her to believe her world was pale and bleak. In reality, the only thing dreary was my dad. Dad didn’t suck all the vibrancy from me. Thankfully, there’s enough fire in me that I still fight. Mom’s ending will not be mine. If anything, I fight harder because of her.

  But I still miss her.

  That thought is hammering in my skull, pulling my heart down when the restaurant doors open.

  Brett steps in, and our crowd sounds happy to see him with their bright hello’s. The only thing I can conjure for him is a scowl.

  Inconsiderate prick. He’s the douche we’ve been waiting on since they won’t seat an incomplete party. Everyone has been here for a while. Except him. Not that he cares. He’s proven he doesn’t think about anyone except himself, which is something I should have seen from the start. Ogling him this entire time has been foolish on my part, but I won’t do it anymore.

  Contempt is easier than breathing now. Observing him from across the room, my mouth snarls up when taking in his ba
re forearms. Once again, the sleeves to his button-down dress shirt are rolled up and there’s no coat in sight.

  “Doesn’t he own a damn jacket?” It’s freezing balls cold outside.

  Cora is the only one who hears me above the commotion. Ducking for my ear, she snickers. “Do men that hot need one?”

  “Last I checked he’s human.” My voice has a hard edge that I can’t hide. “Yes, he needs a jacket.”

  Cora’s thin brows quirk together. “Someone’s in a bad mood.” Her lips purse out. “You haven’t eaten much today. Let’s get that hanger out of you, huh?”

  “I’m not hangry. I’m—”

  “We’re being seated,” one person from our group calls out, and my words die.

  A shuffle occurs as all fifteen of us reposition. Some people meander over to form groups of who they want to sit with. Then we start a line. Either way, we’ll be seated between three tables. I’ll of course be with Lizzie and Cora. Besides them, I’m good with just about anyone else—except Brett. I know he won’t sit by me. Not after the words we exchanged.

  I’m relieved, really. Our distance will mean dinner will be better than I expected. Maybe our fight was a good thing. I’m claiming that while draping my coat over the seat-back. I’m at the end. Cora will be at the head since she’s a weirdo who needs her space. Lizzie will sit next to me.

  “Mind if I sit in between you two beautiful ladies?”

  I’m pulling my seat out when my spine stiffens. Brett. Holy shit, it’s Brett, and his voice oozes like dark corn syrup. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s addressing Lizzie. She’s all giggles with a high flush in her cheeks.

  “Oh, of course,” Lizzie says, sliding down to the next seat, sweeping hair behind her ear.

  There isn’t room for me to object—that makes my stomach plummet. This is most likely blooming from the laugh I heard earlier. Whatever idea Brett concocted after our discussion, I’m sure it’s rooted in this.

  Damn it. Damn it. More reason to stay in my room after tonight. My decision concretes itself as he sits next to me and then has the nerve to prop his hand on the back of my chair. What’s also not helping is how he’s angled, facing me. His muscular leg encroaches on my square of land. I snatch up my menu, working hard to shut him out.