Words die when Brett’s shoes stop in front of me. I’ve been fighting so hard to block him out that he’s closed the fridge and crossed the room without me noticing.
My head cranes back, and the strong scent of zest descends. His nearness bristles me the wrong way, causing me to shimmy away from his closeness.
He cocks his head and grins.
Staying was a mistake. It always is with him. “You know . . . ? Never mind.” Taking one shuffle to the right, I try to move beyond him.
“No.” He stops my attempt, moving with me. “I’m dying to find out where that was going. If they’re too strong, then what? Then they can’t stop a punch from someone like, uh, what was his name?” His vision floats to the ceiling for a moment. “Lance? Wasn’t that his name?”
Jerk. I scowl.
“Man.” His wide shoulders rattle with a chuckle. “Watching bean poles getting pulverized gets you going, is that it?”
“Why are you back?” I can’t hide the snark in my voice—don’t want to either.
“What?” There’s a brightness in his expression. I find it more upsetting than the fearsome stares. “Is there some sort of committee in this town that determines when I can come back?”
I huff through my nose, sinking deeper into growing irritation. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I really don’t see what kind of attraction this town holds for you.”
“Ha.” The outburst rings off the walls, only his gaze is much too soft, and he keeps it that way while his eyelids droop and his voice darkens. “You’d be surprised what I’m attracted to.” His growl at the end can’t be missed.
“Don’t.” My nose screws up, and a flush hits my cheeks. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Why?” His voice deepens. “Because you like it?”
“No.” I stumble back a step. “Because I hate it.”
“Your eyes and cheeks say otherwise, little one.”
Air involuntarily snags in my chest. I’ve never heard anything more sexually tangible in my life, and my core has never clenched harder in the process. Damn it. My body needs to get in sync with my mind, because he doesn’t deserve this reaction from me.
“What’s the matter, Bianca?” He utters my name in a way that’s only decent for a bedroom.
I skitter away from it, afraid to be sucked up in it. Afraid of liking it.
“Discovering you might like me more than you thought?”
“Hell no.” Revulsion ripples across my chest and I cringe. “I don’t like men who screw with married women, and I still don’t know why you’re back. You got your land. Isn’t that enough?”
“Oh, I got land all right.” He scrapes his palm over the stubble on his jaw. “But not the one I came for.”
“Well, if you didn’t get it the first time, maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t lie to men after messing around with their wives.”
His jaw grits, but it lacks its usual cruelty. I want it to be more.
Hating that he’s not loathing me like I’ve grown accustomed to, I narrow my gaze. “I hope your precious land gets swallowed up by a sinkhole.”
He snorts. “Do we even have those here?”
“I don’t know.” Twirling on my heel, I move for the door, deciding to forego water.
“Would it help if I told you I didn’t know she was married?”
I want to keep walking, but my feet cement themselves to the floor, and his voice forces me to glance over my shoulder.
“What?” My response is weak, zapped from the shock flooding me.
“I like sex as much as the next guy.” He rubs at his nape and shuffles toward me. “But I don’t sleep with married women. Frankly, because I don’t have to. I met Monica at a bar earlier that night, she told me her husband had just died. Turns out he was only gone for the weekend. And before I went back upstairs, she told me that if I slipped up and mentioned anything, that she’d call rape and have her husband run me out of town. And what man wants that?”
My jaw dangles open. “You mean—”
“She threatened me.”
Doubt forces my head to tilt as I study him. Would Monica really be that spiteful?
“Oh, come on, Bianca. You don’t believe me?” He finishes closing the distance between us. “When have I ever bullshitted you?”
Never. At least not that I know of, but I won’t admit that. Instead, I fake a detached stare. “Then why her? There are lots of girls in this town, so why did you pick her up?”
“She was attractive, so I thought I’d have a bit of fun.” His jaw clenches. “Imagine my shock when she got a phone call in the middle of blowing me and then slipped up by saying it was her husband?” Sucking in air through his teeth, his eyes widen a touch. “Then imagine me finding out her husband is the guy who owns the land I need after she’s threatened me.” A frown paints over his mouth and he jerks his line of sight away. “A huge fucking mess.”
Sincerity weaves itself into his voice, and I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
No. A flicker of aggravation drowns out that notion while recalling how he treated me. He could have been nicer. He could have been honest, sparing me multiple bouts of anxiety and anger.
I fist the hem of my sweater, confused by his confession, yet mad I had any empathy at all. “Why are you telling me this?”
His shoulders rise, then fall. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m tired of you looking at me like I’m the biggest piece of shit on Earth.” Coasting one hand through the top of his hair, he sighs. “I mean, sure, my life isn’t going to earn me any gold stars, but I have my limits, Bianca.” He drops his hand. A sprig of hair falls forward, swooping down to rest on his forehead. “You said I used Monica, but actually I’m the one who’s been used. You think I don’t feel that?”
“I . . .” A sudden intense thrum occurs behind my eyes. It’s strong enough, stripping me of the words I want to say. I squeeze both eyes closed, pushing the pain away. When I reopen them, Brett’s frame blurs, but I force myself to speak the first thing that comes to my mind. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? You should have said something.”
He laughs, but it’s cold. “Ha. Excuse me for not spilling my guts to a group of strangers, and for craving some privacy.”
“Strangers.” The thrum turns to a sharp needling pain. I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose, and groan. “I saw you getting a blow job, I think we automatically skip the stranger stage.”
He grunts. “You shouldn’t have been down there in the first place.” The familiar snap in his voice makes my eyes pop open. When he comes into focus for a moment, his hard-set scowl floods my vision. “You . . .” He eyes me up and down. “You just shouldn’t have—”
“No.” A wave of angry heat floods my limbs, and I’m climbing to my tiptoes faster than I can stop it. “This isn’t on me. Don’t be pissed off at me because you can’t keep it in your pants.” Hot breath sucks in my lungs with an inhale. “I’m sorry Monica lied to you and did all those things, but you have to blame yourself too. If you weren’t getting blowies at random parties—”
Red lights up his face. “Gwad . . . shitty . . . fucking . . .” He grunts and breezes past me. “Why? Why do I even try with you?”
“If this is you trying, then I’d really hate to see you not try.”
“You’re not giving me a chance.”
“No.” I rub at the tender spot rising up at my forehead. “You just suck at doing anything nice.” A sneer forms on my mouth. “Even your apology about Mom’s blouse—”
“Shit, Bianca. I said I was sorry. Will you please stop making me feel fucking bad about that?”
“See.” Aggravation ruptures through my body. “This is what I’m talking about. You . . .” A crack splinters down my head. I wince as painful white encircles me, cutting off my words and train of thought. “Ah.” Shielding my eyes, I hunch over. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?” Brett’s large hand encloses around my shoulder. “Another headache?”
“Dammit.” The word slurs. “This is your fault. I only get heada—” I can’t speak as a sharp twinge makes me gasp.
“What can I do?” Concern weighs down his voice, and he tugs me into his arms. Just like I remember, they’re heavy, weighted, commanding.
“Don’t.” His wide frame engulfs me, as does his scent and warmth. Even through the haze of pain, my pulse accelerates. I try to pull away, knowing distance is the only thing to keep me safe from him.
“Bianca, stop being difficult.” He yanks me flush into his chest. His two heavy arms wrap around me, and a hand glides down my back. “Let me help you.”
I try to wiggle free. “Don’t hold me like that.”
“I’ll hold you however I want, damn it.” His hands drop, strong fingers dig into my hips, and he takes a deep breath.
His chest presses into me, and his marbled frame against mine sends my pulse soaring—each tap shooting down my spine. He smells so damn good, and molds to me like a blanket of comfort. I end up collapsing onto him. Even though I want to reel back and push him away, I can’t. I finally accept him—loathing and all.
“That’s it.” His fingers stroke through my hair, and his deep, gentle voice coaxes me to relax more. “Now, tell me what to do.”
“Take me to Cora.” My brows screw together in pain, causing me to put additional weight on him. “Don’t tell her I have a headache. She’ll make me go to the doctor if you do that, and I flat out don’t want to go.”
“Then what do I tell her?”
His voice is distant, but I still comprehend it. I think hard for a second, battling through the pain. Finally, I land on my best bet. “Tell her I tripped, sprained my ankle.”
He swallows hard. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do.”
“Very well.” His chest rises with a large breath and then falls. “If we’re saying you sprained your ankle, I better carry you.”
Panic surges through my limbs and my throat closes. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t—”
He bends down, and one arm scoops behind my knees. I’m promptly swept off my feet as he secures the other arm around my back.
Shit. My arms fling around his neck and my nose is nestling in the crook between his head and shoulder before I can even stop it. I use him to block out the glare of lights which only serve to increase my pain.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell her you have a headache?”
I grab the collar of his shirt, squeezing it tight. “Tell her and I’ll chop your balls off.”
As he carries me out of the garage, I hear what sounds like a sigh of frustration. “Fuck, you’re stubborn.”
All I do is close my eyes tighter. I don’t say anything and allow him to carry me to Cora. I let him do it while hating him every step of the way.
Somehow, Brett always sees me when I’m weak. And I can’t stand that—I can’t stand him.
Chapter 13
“You’re awfully quiet today.” Cora picks up her coffee and observes Lizzie’s withdrawn frame. “Everything good with you, or are you still keeping mum on a certain subject?”
Lizzie shakes her head. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.” Lizzie is a quiet creature by all accounts, but today she sounds weaker than normal—it’s been that way ever since she laid eyes on that guy last weekend.
Through the grapevine, I found out his name is Saber DuBois—uber fancy name if you ask me. Some say he lived here years ago. There has to be some connection between him and Lizzie, but she won’t say anything.
I’ve asked about it, Cora’s badgered the poor girl about it. Nothing. Lizzie is a vault of secrets concerning him. She clams up and pinches her lips anytime he comes around or is discussed.
“Hmm.” Cora arches her brow, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re gonna have to talk sometime, Liz.”
Her dark blue eyes glaze over. A chasm couldn’t make me feel more divided from her as she glues an indiscernible look onto her heart-shaped face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is icy while saying it, and coming from her, it’s enough to shut Cora up on the subject. Probably because it’s such a rare occurrence.
Cora sighs, runs her long fingers through the back of her bob, and slouches down in her seat. “Anyway, speaking about last night—”
“Good morning, ladies.”
My fingers grip anxiously around my cup at the sound of Brett’s voice, but there’s a flood of butterflies pulsing at the base of my stomach as well.
“Brett,” Cora’s voice rises over Lizzie’s to greet him. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Meeting a friend. We got some business to discuss.”
Looking over my left shoulder, there he is—all of Brett Walker. Impeccable collared shirt, rolled up sleeves, and roped forearms. Damn. I still hate him after that whole incident with my head last week. I think.
“Mind if I join you all till he gets here?”
Please no.
“Sure,” Cora pipes up. “Have a seat.”
Dang it. And of course he sits right across from me.
“Hi.” He gives me a sly smile.
“Hello,” I grumble out the greeting and avert my eyes to the table.
Replays of last week flash across my mind—replays I don’t want. The warmth of his hands sliding down my spine, the span of his solid chest pressing into mine, the way he picked me off the floor like I weighed nothing. It was sexy as—No. I force all of it away and dare to look him in the eye.
“How’s the ankle?”
“Better.” That’s all he’s going to get from me.
“Good.” The deep coy residing in his tone sends a ripple down my spine.
I can’t stand it. Especially when it’s backed up by the gentle glow swirling in Brett’s gaze. I miss the days he used to scowl.
Turning my face away, I remind myself of the inevitable truth. His niceness won’t last. Nothing lasts. The thoughts fall away when the table groans from Brett putting more weight on it.
“Bianca—”
“Coffee and a bagel.” Thankfully the moment is broken up when the server brings Brett his order. She places it down, bats her eyelashes at him, and darts away. Whatever Brett had planned to say vanishes with the server.
The silence lingers while Brett takes a few sips and bites while looking down at his phone.
“Ugh. There goes Miss Slut.”
My head bounces up at the voice of Cora. She’s glancing out the portrait windows of the coffee shop.
Lizzie’s brows furrow and she knocks her on the elbow. “That’s rude, Cora.”
“Rude but true,” Cora counters.
I strain over my shoulder and tilt my head. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“That’s ’cause you’re blind, Bee.”
Brett’s chuckle rings out. “I didn’t see anyone either. I also didn’t know this town had sluts.”
“Oh.” Cora’s face screws up. “We do. Well, one anyway.”
“What?” My shoulders lift in a confused shrug. Everyone here is amazing. I can’t help but poke. “Who on earth are you talking about?”
“Shame on you, Cora.” Lizzie sighs, wrapping her hands around her mug. “She’s talking about Monica.”
My eyes go wide. When I shoot a sideways glance to Brett, his are wider.
Lizzie shifts her line of sight to Cora. “You shouldn’t be saying things like that in mixed company.” She grants Brett a passing glance.
“Sorry not sorry.” Cora slumps hard into her seat back and taps a fingernail on the table. “Usually I can keep my mouth shut when it comes to her, but after last night, I can’t.”
“Last night?” Brett’s voice rises in interest. And it has me leaning across the table top.
“Yep.” Cora nods.
“Cora.” Lizzie’s voice sounds more like a warning shot.
“Then you don’t care?” Cora arches her brow. “It was in your basement after all.”
“Mph.�
� Brett sputters on his coffee and promptly places down his cup. He masks his shock through a cough. “Sorry. The coffee is hot today.”
I sit higher in my chair and flick my eyes over to Brett. He’s already staring at me. Both of our gazes are a bit wider than usual, but that’s all we’re showing. But I don’t doubt he’s feeling so much more.
“Oh gosh.” Lizzie sounds sick. “Do you mean she was with someone else again?”
My brows rise high at the last word.
“Who was it this time?” Lizzie rubs a hand over her eyebrow, something she only does when stressed. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked her to stop doing crap like that at my parties.”
Cora sighs and shakes her head. “Well, she’s still doing it. It was that pot-bellied dude who works at the furniture shop. Are you gonna tell her husband this time?”
Lizzie’s shoulders slump. “What’s the point? He didn’t listen last time when I caught her with his own brother.”
I muffle a gasp.
Brett twists in his seat. I swear his face looks green, and while I’m sure we both have things to say, there’s no way they’ll be aired out here.
“You need to have a talk with her,” Cora says, tapping her nail rhythmically on the table.
Averting her large blue eyes, Lizzie pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “I want to, it’s just . . . well, you know. After what she said two years ago . . .”
A long heavy pause dangles in the air. It scoots me to the end of my chair and I’m gripping the edges till I think a nail is going to break. When it becomes clear they aren’t going to go further, I snap. “What did she say?”
Lizzie pulls her mouth inward—she’s a tight vault. I won’t be getting info from her. Cora on the other hand twists her head, looking around the room, and then leans part of her upper body across the table.
“She said someone took advantage of her last year. Forced her into doing a blowjob or something.”
A gulp gets stuck in my throat. When it finally washes down, there’s a pool of sour acid in the base of my stomach. I push my drink away, the words spoiling my appetite. And while I feel bad for doubting Monica’s credibility, after what Brett told me I’m struggling to accept it at face value.
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