Deadly Storm
Hardy Brothers Security
Book Twelve
Lily Harper Hart
Text copyright © 2015 Lily Harper Hart
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Up Next
Author’s Note
Books by Lily Harper Hart
One
“Mandy?”
James Hardy let himself into his house, glancing around the living room for a sign of his wife. He was late – which meant she was either annoyed or lost in a project in her art studio. Since Mandy wasn’t waiting for him with a stern look on her face, James figured it was the latter, and let himself out through the back sliding glass door and headed toward the guesthouse.
A few minutes later James found Mandy just how he liked her: quiet and cute. Whatever she was painting – which always looked like blobs of color when she started – had her full attention. That allowed James the opportunity to look her over. She was dressed down in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top – which meant her work skirt and shirt were probably strewn about on the bedroom floor. Her blue eyes were contemplative as she tilted her head to the side, and her honey blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.
She was everything he’d ever wanted and more.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me?” Mandy was still focused on the painting, but she’d either heard him enter the guesthouse or somehow sensed his approach. He wasn’t sure which.
“I like watching you,” James said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his well-muscled chest. “You give me dirty ideas.”
“You always have dirty ideas,” Mandy said, wrinkling her nose as she studied the canvas. “I don’t need to be in the room for them.”
“Speaking of … are you wearing underwear under those pants?”
The question was enough to draw Mandy’s full attention. “Why?”
“I have no idea,” James admitted, grinning as he ran a hand through his brown hair. “I just can’t see any panty lines, and that makes me wonder if it’s because you’re not wearing any. If you’re not wearing any, I might have a little something I want to do before we order dinner.”
“What makes you think I didn’t cook?”
“I’ve met you,” James said. “If it’s not breakfast, you can’t cook.”
“I make kabobs all the time,” Mandy argued, her face so serious James felt the overwhelming need to smother it with kisses.
“I love you more than life itself, baby,” James said. “Putting meat and vegetables on skewers and grilling them isn’t cooking, though.”
“I also marinate them in red wine.”
“I stand corrected,” James said, taking a step toward her. “Now … come here.”
Mandy brandished the paintbrush, shaking her head as she skirted around his outstretched arms. “I’m working.”
“You’ve worked enough,” James said. “Those are workout pants, not working pants. I want to give you a workout.”
Mandy tried to frown, but she couldn’t keep a straight face. When the grin split her beautiful features, James knew he had her. “Put that paintbrush down.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?”
“I don’t care how dirty we get,” James replied. “I just know you’re particular about those ugly hobo chairs in the bedroom. I would hate for you to get paint on them.” He took another step forward.
“Those are not hobo chairs. They’re bohemian chic.”
“You say tomato … .”
“James?”
“Yes, baby.”
“You have to catch me if you want to play,” Mandy said.
James arched an eyebrow. “Since when is that the rule?”
“Since now.”
“Then you’d better start running,” James said.
Mandy stilled for a moment, her eyes probing as they met his dark brown orbs. Her face was hard to read, and for a second, James thought she was going to turn things serious. Instead, she dropped the paintbrush onto the palette and scampered in the direction of the adjacent bedroom. “Catch me if you can.”
James wasn’t worried about catching her. Even as she squealed when he slipped an arm around her waist and tumbled her onto the bed, the only thing that worried him was the fact that a hundred years would never be enough time to love her properly.
He needed a lifetime with her. He needed forever.
MANDY shifted in James’ arms, resting her chin against his chest as her eyes roamed over his handsome face. His eyes were pressed shut, but he wasn’t sleeping. She could always tell. When he gave in to slumber, his breathing was heavy and his heartbeat solid. Now his breathing was light, and his heartbeat was still coming down from the physical highs of a few moments before.
“Are you staring at me for a reason, baby?” James murmured, never opening his eyes.
“I just like looking at you,” Mandy teased.
James tightened his arm around her bare back and pressed her tighter against his chest. “That’s pretty schmaltzy.”
“How come it’s not schmaltzy when you say it?”
“Because I’m a macho man.”
“Ah.”
James pressed his lips to Mandy’s forehead. “Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”
“What makes you think anything is going on?”
“I know you,” James said. “If you were completely … satiated … by what we just did, you would already be asleep and the only thing I would have to worry about would be the drool on my chest.”
Mandy was offended. “I don’t drool.”
“Don’t worry, wife. I find it charming.”
“Oh, whatever,” Mandy grumbled, moving to pull away from him. “I’m so unappreciated.”
James refused to let her wriggle away. “I appreciate every single thing about you, baby,” he said, brushing his lips against her ear. “I love every little thing you do. I love the way you drool. I love the way you snore. I even like those cat noises you make when you … you know.”
“Your ego is huge.”
James reached over and tugged Mandy so she was on top of him, pushing the stray strands of hair away from her face so he could study it. “I do love you.”
“Oh, see, now I can’t even be mad at you,” Mandy said, her face softening. “You say sweet things and it’s impossible for me to be mad. It’s just not fair.”
As far as grins go, James’ was just about as charming as they come. “I know how that feels. I can’t stay mad at you either.”
“You stay mad longer than I do.”
“You throw shoes,” James countered.
“You … .” Mandy pursed her lips. “I love you, James. When I throw shoes, though, it’s because you deserve it.”
James feigned hurt. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
James held her tightly and then swiftly rolled over, effectively pinning her beneath his strong frame. Mandy didn’t fight the move, and her fingers rubbed his sensitive lower back, causing him to groan.
“Oh, keep doing th
at,” James said.
“You’re tense,” Mandy murmured as James rested himself on top of her, being careful not to crush her but also covering her completely. “What’s going on at work?”
“Nothing,” James said. “It’s been a quiet week. Grady stole my desk chair, though, and the one I’m using isn’t comfortable. If I had a wife who cares, she would give me a really long massage tonight.”
Since Mandy was the one who usually trolled for massages, James’ request took her by surprise. “Do you know what we should do?”
“You’re going to suggest getting a couple’s massage, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“I know the way your mind works, wife,” James said, lifting his head so he could kiss the tip of her nose. “You don’t like manual labor.”
“I … .”
“I already booked a session for us at that day spa you like,” James said, smiling ruefully at the surprised look on her face. “We’re going next Saturday. I tried for this Saturday, but they were already booked up.”
“We are?”
“We are,” James agreed, loving the furrow of her brow. “Do you know what that makes me?”
“The best husband ever,” Mandy said, rubbing his lower back energetically.
“I’m definitely that,” James said. “I’m also the man who loves you more than anything and knows how to make you happy. Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?”
“Admit I’m the better spouse,” James teased. “Admit I’m the one who always knows how to get things right.”
Mandy moved her hand from his back and slipped it to the front, cupping his manhood softly as he shifted. “Are you saying I don’t know how to get things right?”
“I … oh … that’s nice what you’re doing with your fingers there,” James said. “I … wow … I was wrong. You’re the best spouse. Don’t stop doing that.”
“James?”
“Hmmm.”
“I do love you.” Mandy extended her tongue and flicked it against the ridge of his ear, causing James to grind himself into her.
“Okay, one more round,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Then we need to eat.”
“Fine,” Mandy said. “I’m only doing this for you, though. That makes me the better spouse.”
“We’ll see what you have to say when I pay for the pizza,” James said, kissing her deeply. “Something tells me I’m going to be the king of the spouse hill when that happens.”
“DID you mean what you said?”
Mandy, clad in nothing but James’ shirt, sat cross-legged on the living room floor and opened the pizza box. After another hour of playing and cuddling, James’ stomach lodged a formal complaint and they moved to the main house so they could order dinner.
“What did I say?” James asked, handing Mandy some napkins and a paper plate.
“That I’m a terrible cook.”
“Yeah, there’s no way I said that,” James said. “I value my life – and my love – too much to ever say that. I said you don’t cook. If it’s any consolation, you make a mean omelet, baby.”
Mandy made a face. “But … a wife is supposed to cook for her husband. We’ve been married almost five months now. You’re right. I only cook breakfast for you, and I didn’t even do that this week.”
“It’s fine,” James said, brushing off her concerns. “I like pizza and Chinese food. We don’t have to clean up when we’re done either.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“What doesn’t seem right?” James was starting to get exasperated. Mandy veered off on weird tangents whenever the mood struck. He had a feeling it stemmed from insecurity, but he knew better than to ask if that was the case. That would only make her feel self-conscious – which was worse than insecure.
“You work hard,” Mandy said.
“You work hard, too,” James said. “I don’t think being a court clerk and having to listen to horrific cases day in and day out makes your life a bed of roses.”
“I know.” Mandy worried her bottom lip with her teeth and then jumped to her feet and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” James called to her back. “Don’t you dare get dressed. We’re not done yet. It’s supposed to be nice tonight. I thought we would take a bottle of wine into the hot tub and pick up where we left off once we were done eating.”
Mandy didn’t answer.
“Crap,” James muttered. He just knew something bad was about to happen.
When Mandy returned, she had a small catalog in her hand.
“Are you shopping for a cook?” James asked, nonplussed. “I don’t think we need one. I like takeout.”
“I’m not shopping for a cook,” Mandy said. “We already have a maid – which I feel guilty about.”
“Why do you feel guilty about the woman who comes into this house twice a week and cleans?” James asked. “It’s her job. She’s paid very well … and tipped extravagantly.”
“Paid by you,” Mandy said, her voice low.
Ah, there it is. James knew Mandy often felt like she didn’t contribute to the family funds enough. Her yearly salary at the courthouse was pretty much akin to his monthly income. “Mandy, don’t do that,” James warned. “I don’t care about money … or cooking … or freaking laundry. I care about you, and I care about me. I would be perfectly happy if you quit your job and painted your entire life. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.”
“Eat,” James ordered.
Mandy ignored him and focused on the catalog.
“What is that?” James asked, knowing she wouldn’t relax until they got to the root of her concerns.
“It’s the class brochure at Macomb Community College,” Mandy said.
“Are you going to take another art class?” James didn’t have a problem with it, except for the fact that it cut down on their quality time since Mandy could only attend classes at night.
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a cooking class.”
James made a face. “Why?”
“Because … I don’t know … wouldn’t you like a nice pot roast, or baked chicken, or … pasta thing?”
“Not if you’re going to call it a pasta thing,” James said. “Mandy, you’re the love of my life. I don’t need you to cook.”
“But … look, this class is only for six weeks and it covers all of the basics,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like me to be able to cook a nice, romantic dinner for the two of us? I gave you a granola bar on Monday and told you to pretend it was blueberry pancakes.”
James smirked. “And then I stopped at McDonald’s and got a steak and egg bagel on my way to work. It all turned out fine.” He tapped his chest for emphasis. “See, I’m here. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I’m taking a class,” Mandy said. “It’s twice a week. I think it will be good for us.”
“We’re already good,” James said.
“I’m taking the class.” Mandy was firm.
James sighed, resigned. “Fine.” He reached for his jeans, which he’d tossed on the couch when they came in, and dug around for his wallet. He found a credit card and handed it to her. “You’re going to have to cook naked if you want to make up for us having less time to spend together over the next six weeks.”
Mandy pushed the credit card back in James’ direction. “I’ll pay. It’s not your responsibility.”
“Baby, what’s mine is literally yours,” James said. “My money is your money. What is this really about?”
“I just want to be able to cook for you,” Mandy said, scowling. “Why do you have to make a thing about it?”
James didn’t think he was the one making a “thing” about anything, but he decided to let it slide. “I can’t wait until your first gourmet meal.”
Mandy visibly relaxed. “This is going to be good.”
James just hoped this wouldn’t end with her handing him a slice of jerky and te
lling him to pretend it was a steak. “It’s going to be great, baby. Now, eat. I wasn’t joking about spending the rest of the night in the hot tub. You’re going to need your energy.”
“Okay,” Mandy said, sighing. “I … wait … you got McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches without me? You know they’re my favorite.”
“It’s a good thing I’m already a goner where you’re concerned, wife, because you are a lot of work,” James said, cupping the back of her head and drawing her close. “I love you. Do what you want. Whatever happens, though, you are cooking for me naked. Now I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.”
Two
“What’s up, Buttercup?”
James scowled as his brother Grady entered his office at Hardy Brothers Security the next morning. James started the Southeastern Michigan business after a stint in the military, and when his brothers finished their own tours, they joined the business. While James loved and admired his brothers, they also knew exactly how to annoy him. “Do you have to call me that?”
“I thought princess was too formal,” Grady deadpanned. “What’s your deal? Why are you in such a bad mood?”
“Mandy,” James grumbled.
“What’s wrong with Mandy? Has she been shopping for a life-sized Martin Brody statue for the guesthouse again?”
James smirked. Mandy’s love of shark movies was notorious. He would gladly accept Martin Brody in his house if it meant Mandy would dump the cooking class idea and spend more time with him. That didn’t look like it was in the cards, though. “She’s taking a cooking class.”
Grady barked out a laugh. “What is she really doing?”
James arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, seriously? Why?” Grady sat down in one of the chairs across from James’ desk. “Why does she suddenly want to cook?”
“I have no idea,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “We were having a perfectly nice afternoon of … well, you know … and then she ran off on a tangent.”
“First off, you two are animals,” Grady said. “I keep thinking the honeymoon is going to end and you’re going to stop … doing that … twenty-four hours a day.”
“The honeymoon is never going to be over,” James said. “Don’t jinx us.”
Grady rolled his eyes. “Back to the cooking, what did you do to push her to the point where she feels she needs to learn how to cook? I thought you were happy with takeout.”
Deadly Storm Page 1
