What was he up to? Good grief. He was practically thumping his chest and dragging his knuckles.
The other man took in Brody’s posture and obvious challenge in his voice. She almost laughed. Didi might be older, but he wasn’t brain-dead. She could tell by his bearing that he recognized when a superior man was present. Having never looked at it quite like that before, she eyed Brody in a new light.
“Actually, Jensen,” the suited-up professor drawled.
Aw, shit. Heather wanted to stop him before he stuck his foot in it, but Didi was oblivious to anything except the mano-y-mano thing playing out.
Stroking his tie, he plowed on. “I was just asking Ms. Clarke if she’d care to accompany me to …” He hesitated just long enough for Brody to sneer at him. “Um, to an academic event. A reception at the university.” He explained his invitation for a date in an apologetic tone.
Would it be overkill to smack both of them?
“Is that so?” Brody’s withering delivery didn’t miss the mark.
From a purely clinical standpoint, it was fascinating to observe the interplay between the two very different males. The Norse god with the advantage of size and presence. And the Bill Gates wannabe, well … his brain was overshadowed by the other’s brawn. It was biology, after all.
But from a female’s bewildered point of view, having two males staking her as their territory was wild. She’d never been in this position before. Brody so obviously marking her as his made Heather shiver.
All common sense stuttered to a halt and ran for cover when he turned his head and looked down at her. Where she expected to see at least a spark of the previous interest he’d shown, she found eyes filled with fury and shrank back.
“You’re busy that night, aren’t you?” he mock-asked.
First, her head wobbled back and forth—then bobbed up and down. His anger hit her like a freight train. The hard-to-miss demand in his expression stopped her cold. He’d told her to surrender on New Year’s Eve, and she did. It hit her that she and George had something in common … the way they responded to the man’s dominance.
The wary look on Didi’s face shook some good sense into her. “Um, yes. I’m pretty much booked solid for the next few weeks. Commitments, you know?” She threw that last in because it dawned on her that he’d never actually said when the reception was.
Brody smirked. Openly. She didn’t know whether to elbow him in the ribs or kiss the stupid off his face. All of a sudden, she felt bad for the poor professor. He’d inadvertently stepped into a big pile of shit.
“But gosh, thanks for thinking of me, professor. The university. Wow. Hope you have a fabulous time.”
“Yes, well,” he replied sullenly with a sharp glance in Brody’s direction. “Seems I’m late to the party.”
With a curt bob of his gray-haired head, he acknowledged them both then simply turned and walked away. She knew how he felt. When the brick wall showed up and smacked your head over and over, sometimes it was best to just … what? Surrender?
Aw, come on. Really?
Looking a bit too pleased as he watched the man run for the hills, she was sorely tempted to rip Brody’s head off. He couldn’t just walk away from her without a backward glance and then materialize whenever he wanted.
Hmph. And then she remembered why he walked away and it was hard not to visualize the appalling sight of her handprint splayed across his cheek. If it was possible for her to be instantly cowed, then this was such a moment.
She’d just have to take whatever he dished out. Her behavior gave him the upper hand. Not that he knew it. Like a coward, she’d let six weeks go by without trying to make things right or explain why she was sorry. In his mind, she must be some horrid, mannerless bitch. She’d acted that way, after all.
No doubt about it, though, the pissing contest with the Professor kind of surprised her. And the way he literally … appeared. What was that all about?
Heather examined the box he’d plunked down. The beat-up cardboard had seen better days. So too the jeans he wore. Instinct told her him showing up, dressed as he was … well, it was no coincidence.
“What’s with the box?” She tried to sound unaffected by his nearness and doubted she was anywhere near believable with her indifferent tone.
He turned his big body slowly and faced her. Trapped by two tables angled in an L and a stack of boxes blocking her way, the only way to put any distance between them was if she shoved him aside, ducked, and ran.
The smoldering head-to-toe look he conducted almost melted the clothes off her body, but when his eyes met hers, there was a hardness she knew was her fault.
“Hello to you too.”
She imagined her mother’s dismay at her daughter being called out for being so rude and didn’t hide the wince. With a deep breath, she hurried to make amends, stuttering to a clumsy halt when his scent filled her senses.
Having him stand so close was unnerving. Was he trying to rattle her because, if he was, he was doing a damn good job. And what the hell was up with the bad boy clothes and dirty blond scruff?
Don’t go there. Just do not go there.
Yeah, right.
She didn’t have to school her face for sincerity. The openness she expressed did it for her. “Hello.” Okay. So far, so good. “I’m surprised to see you, Brody.” Keep breathing. Just keep breathing … oh, my … he smells like soap and leather and something else that made her mouth tingle. “And surprised you’re talking to me after the awful way I acted.”
The corner of his mouth quivered. Was that a smile trying to break through? God. She hoped so.
HE WONDERED HOW she’d react to learn that when he wasn’t up to his eyeballs in busywork, he’d been keeping close tabs on her. Like really close. Creative utilization of skills—courtesy of his warrior past. The ability to stand right next to someone without detection was part of his uncommon skills.
But this encounter was not by chance. Not on his part. He’d put up with enough of her silence and decided to force the issue. See what happened.
Almost from the hour he landed in Maryland, he’d been in and out of a rented storage space that contained all kinds of shit that he needed to sort through. Filled with memories of his dead parents and some stuff from his time with Tracey that he didn’t want to think about, getting his shit quite literally in order was a priority. No way was he dragging even half of that crap across the damn country.
Actually, that was how the couch thing called a Tantra chair ended up in his apartment. His eyes lit on it first thing when he’d gone to the storage facility. An odd leftover from his San Diego days. And the unusual lounger? Pfft. A last-ditch effort to satisfy his exotic dancer girlfriend. Right before he’d left the last time, she’d been bitchin’ and complaining that he wasn’t wild or kinky enough in the sack.
That those words came out of her mouth only proved what a stupid bitch she was. Wild was not what he needed when he was off the military reservation. When he wasn’t scoping for a kill shot on his belly in a ditch for hours on end, he craved simplicity. Anything and everything that felt normal. Without those touchstones, he really would have lost his shit.
The fucking chair. He chuckled. The chair for fucking was a representation of how messed up things were back then. Tracey was what she was. Being his baby mama didn’t change much about how she lived her life. When he eventually tracked her down, and he knew that day was coming, he was going to make sure she understood that she fucked with the wrong person. And especially for stealing his kid and hiding the girl from him.
Brody mentally shook himself. The uncomfortable walk down memory lane felt like it came out of nowhere until he remembered the box. A bunch of crap he’d rescued from storage.
“I never stopped talking to you. The way I remember it, you made it pretty clear that talking wasn’t on the agenda.”
Oh, snap. She flinched at his terse comment. Good. No way was he letting her off easy.
Pointing at the beat-up carto
n, he rolled a shoulder. “Bunch of shit for George. Stuff I had lying around. Doggie toys, a water bowl.”
“Oh,” she murmured. Using his body, he’d trapped her against a table, so her soft words hit his ears and the skin on his face. He could feel her turmoil and found it exciting. Maybe keeping her off balance was the way to move forward ‘cause no way was he giving up on her.
He reached for a loose curl, which escaped her ponytail. Gently feathering it away from her face, his fingers lingered, outlining the shell of her ear. Fine time for his dick to wake up.
Activity was buzzing all around the room, but they might as well have been on a deserted island. Despite several people intently watching their exchange, he didn’t give a fuck. This was between him and her. If she was the woman he thought she was, giving her and them a chance to start over was the only way to go. She’d either rise to the challenge or shut him down right now.
No more dicking around. Time to find out.
“Are you ready to tell me about this awful way you say you reacted? I deserve to know what the fuck happened, Heather.”
She blinked a couple of times then flushed bright pink. He was relieved to see that she wasn’t indifferent to their predicament. And she still didn’t know the half of it.
Heat. Hope. Relief. All coursed through him when her hand sought his and squeezed.
“Can we talk? Later.” She glanced around, as aware as he was of the many eyes on them.
“There’s a meeting tonight. Are you going?” He knew damn well she wasn’t but asked anyway. Bob, the therapy leader, let him know a couple of weeks ago that she’d dropped out. When Brody expressed concern, Bob let it slip that she was seeing a private therapist and also that he approved. Said it was a sign that she was ready to move on. God. He hoped so.
“Nooo,” she confessed slowly. “And that’s one of the things I’d like to tell you about. But not here.”
Since she’d turned down his obvious suggestion, he said nothing. Let her think through whatever was going to make this easy.
“Um, how ‘bout tomorrow? We could get hot chocolate at the skating park.”
Hot chocolate at an outdoor park in the dead of winter. Sure. Why the fuck not? Not going to be much opportunity to do that once he was in the Southwest.
“Text me,” was all he said. His plan was to smile then walk away, but somehow, his brain didn’t get the message. In full view of everyone looking, he touched a finger to her chin and lifted at the same time his head descended.
The kiss was gentle, quick, and heavy with emotion. He wanted more—lots more—but this wasn’t the time. There were things to work out; plus, he’d decided that no way was he initiating anything intimate. That part was on her and came with conditions. Conditions he planned to spell out.
He didn’t hide his surprise when she whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re going to have to do better than a face slap to make me lose interest.”
He enjoyed a good Sunday. After his folks passed away, he and Pops made every effort for the last day of the week to be something worth looking forward to. Today was going to be a good day. He could tell.
Making his way through the crowd of families out enjoying the bright, cold winter day, Brody held a bag with some scones he’d wrapped in a towel after a quick microwave heat-up and a jar of something to slather on. Carmen hooked him up with an oversized care package that was almost yesterday’s high point. Only Heather being open to him was better.
It was cold, but he liked the brisk temperature. Liked the way his boots sounded on the salt-covered walkway edged by piles of snow. He liked to imagine that because this was his last winter in the East for a long while, the season kept hanging on. There really was a snow event every couple of days, ever since his return.
Thinking he was going to arrive before her, Brody let out an amused chuckle when he saw her anxiously pacing back and forth in front of the café. Typical. She’d probably been here for at least an hour. Heather would camp out in the rain to get a good concert ticket. Overcompensating was her way of controlling the environment.
Because he saw her first, it was easy to make a slight detour so he could come up behind her and smash through the flimsy advantage she thought was hers.
She was wringing her hands as she peered along the walkway, waiting for his arrival. A moving cluster of people forced her out of the way, pushing her to the edge of the walk. Stepping directly behind her, he leaned in and drawled close to her ear, “Hola, pretty lady. Looking for me?” She whirled around so fast that they collided, chest to chest. He grinned into her shocked face. “Now, that’s how a guy likes to be greeted!”
After a brief squeal, she recovered quickly, stepped back, and patted her heart. “Oh, my word. Brody! You scared the life out of me.”
Laughing at her discomfort, he drawled, “Surprise. The marksman’s best friend.”
They were both so stunned by what came out of his mouth that you could hear a feather drop. Brody couldn’t remember ever making a joke about any of that before. She wasn’t the only one lost without a road map.
Anxious to move them away from the weird moment, he teased, “Someone promised there’d be hot chocolate.”
“Oh, right. Right,” she chattered. “Best cocoa in town according to Yelp. And they use real fresh whipped cream.”
“Well, good.” He showed her the bag. “’Cause I brought treats so lead the way. It’s too cold out here for you. What the fuck are you wearing, woman?”
Seriously. What the fuck? Didn’t she bother to check the weather report? She looked more like she dressed for a first date than a public meet-up.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Hold on. God, he was thick.
This was her way of what? Flirting? He sure as shit didn’t understand anything about how a woman’s mind worked, but he wasn’t so dumb that he didn’t suddenly realize why she wasn’t dressed for a Russian winter. Staying warm wouldn’t give her a chance to wear something pretty. And a woman dressing pretty was all about impressing a man.
When she frowned at his teasing, he did a quick about-face. He wasn’t a complete blockhead—just mostly.
She dressed up for you, dumbass.
“It’s called a sweater dress, if you must know, and it’s warm enough.” She said this in a snippy, hurt voice that made him feel like a dick. He had about three seconds to get a smile.
Alex used an expression that fit this situation. Bitches like romance. With a cheeky grin, he told her, “Who knew a sweater could be so … charming?” Deliberately eyeing her legs, he got the smile he was after when he growled, “And those boots. Unf.”
Jamming her hands into the pockets of a light jacket, she posed in her sexy boots and he could tell his compliment pleased her.
“I like your boots too.”
Such a simple, straightforward statement, yes. But when she said it while eyeing his old footwear, he picked up on something else. Maybe a bit of curiosity along with what sounded like heat. So she liked the boots, huh?
“You’re dressing differently these days.”
Another simple statement but he heard the question it masked.
“That I am,” he answered with a dry tone. “Seems we both have some explaining to do. Now, hurry up and get inside before your ass freezes off and our bag of treats goes cold.”
Nodding with a little laugh, she shivered and made a face. “Yikes. We really are in the witch’s tit zone. Come on,” she said and turned to the door. “Let’s head for the fake fireplace in the back.”
As she scooted inside the little café with him right behind, he wished she’d worn just the sweater dress and no coat. He bet the dress clung to her fantastic curves and so with that and her fine ass and those fucking boots, he’d be slobbering the whole way.
The universe smiled on him when she found a table near the enclosed gas fireplace and whipped off the coat, tossing it over an empty chair. Just as he imagined. The dress was made to mess with his mind.
He was sure
the color had some ridiculously stupid name, but as far as he was concerned, it was gray. A dark, smoky gray. The turtleneck style and long sleeves covered her from chin to knee, but nothing ever looked sexier. Like a second, warmer skin, the fabric clung to every curve, and dammit, if she wasn’t wearing a wide, well-worn leather belt that weirdly matched his boots.
They sat and exchanged idle chitchat while waiting for their hot drinks. It was a nothing sort of five minutes that gave him, and her, a chance to settle in. The outcome of their conversation remained uncertain, but whatever way it went, lives would be affected.
When the waitress delivered their order and wandered away, Heather didn’t lose any time. That part of who she was would never change. The woman was a straight shooter.
“In all the years I’ve known you, Brody Jensen, not once have you sported a pair of jeans. Yet each time I’ve seen you recently, that’s what you’ve worn.”
She took a careful sip of the nuclear hot, hot chocolate that left a blob of whipped cream on her top lip. Maybe it was foolish to think of a grown ass woman as adorable, but he couldn’t help it. She was.
“Weren’t you voted Most Buttoned Down Instructor at last year’s commencement fair?” She nodded through the asking and arched an eyebrow. “All this time, I thought your entire wardrobe consisted of suits and ties. The most casual I’ve ever seen you involved khaki pants and a polo shirt.”
He chuckled, relaxed in his seat, and brought a booted foot onto his knee. My goodness. She’d been keeping score all this time. Seemed to him like the lady and her no-strings-attached bullshit was just that. Bullshit. Well, well, well. Wonders never ceased.
“Yet here you are. Black leather jacket and all.” She grinned and lowered her voice. “Who are you and what have you done with my fr-”
Censoring what she was about to say, he watched her chomp down hard on her lip. Women. No way was he gonna let her hide from what she almost blurted out.
“Sounded like you were you about to call me a friend.”
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 13
