by Katee Robert
Which way was the path? She turned a slow circle, trying to figure out where Brock had gone. All she had to do was take that first step, pick a direction and walk. It was easy. It wasn’t like she was in the wilds of upper New York State.
Oh my God, I’m going to wander for hours and end up dying ten feet from safety because that asshole left me here.
“Lord, woman, the path is right here.” Brock stalked back through the trees, and she had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep from throwing herself at him and begging him not to leave her out here alone again. He stopped a few feet away and narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Not even a little bit. She couldn’t tell if her hands were shaking so hard that they were making her shoulders shake or if that was her entire body struggling not to cling to the safety Brock suddenly represented. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s not like I can’t Google Maps my way to safety.”
She knew her fear of the forest was unnatural; she still couldn’t stop her body’s shaking. She had to get out of here right now, or she was in serious danger of bawling in front of Brock.
Over her dead body.
Chapter Six
Brock stepped closer to Regan, moving slowly so as not to spook her further. Because she was spooked. Her eyes were a little too wide and her entire body was shaking so hard he could see it from here. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here.”
If he’d stopped to think before storming off to make his point, he would have realized there was a reason she hated the woods beyond her being a city girl. City girls turned up their noses at places like this, but they didn’t jump at little noises or panic at the thought of moving off the path.
Stupid of him to miss that.
He touched her shoulders, giving her the chance to move away, but she only took half a step closer. “You left me out here.”
So fucking stupid. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know which way to go and—“ She snapped her mouth close and took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine.”
She was a hell of a long ways off fine, but now wasn’t the time to point it out. “Why don’t we get you back to civilization?”
“God, yes.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, ready to catch her if she stumbled in those ridiculous heels, and guided her back to the path. She didn’t relax until they left the trees completely, her shaking lessening and then disappearing altogether. She took her next few steps a bit quicker, moving out from beneath his arm. “I’m okay.”
Did she realize how many times she’d said it? He didn’t think so. A woman like her wasn’t going to respond well to coddling, but he also couldn’t leave her alone when she was in such an obviously fragile state of mind. Truth was he didn’t want to leave her just yet. So he went with the most blunt approach. “What do you need?”
Regan blinked, seeming to come back to herself a little. “To sweat until I feel in control again.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest one particular activity that would fit the bill, but he couldn’t do it. Brock might want to get inside her again more than was healthy for his state of mind, but he wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of a woman so clearly off her game. So he put a check on his dick and went with a safer question. “Do you run? Or are you one of those prissy-pants elliptical users?”
Her eyes flashed. “I can run you into the ground, Scarlett.”
There was the spitfire he knew and enjoyed. He grinned. “Prove it.”
“Gym. Fifteen minutes.”
“Done.” He watched her walk away, glad to see some of the swing back in her step. Shaking his head, he headed to his room, happy for the excuse to change out of these damn clothes. But he’d been informed by both Colton and Kady that they expected him to dress like a grown-up, not in the faded jeans and T-shirts he favored, for the duration of the week. It was a relief to throw on some basketball shorts and one of his favorite old T-shirts, and head to the gym.
He found Regan already there, dressed in a pair of those tiny black shorts that were designed to bring a man to his knees, and a tank top. She nodded briefly at him. “Let’s do this.”
“So serious. You really need to learn to loosen up.”
As expected, she bristled. “And you could stand to loosen up a whole lot less.” She hesitated, some of that vulnerability showing on her face. “Do you care if I plug in my music? I can’t run in silence.”
The fact that she was willing to play it aloud instead of putting in earbuds made something inside him warm. He found he could really look forward to these moments of sweetness in the midst of all the tart he enjoyed. “Sure. I’m not particular about what I listen to.”
“As long as it’s got some twang, right?”
“Darlin’, your prejudice is showing again.”
She popped her iPod into the jack next to them. It was a token of how nice this gym was that it actually had docks for electronics instead of just an old radio like the one he frequented. Immediately a familiar strain of music came from the speakers. Brock stared. “‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston’?”
Regan shrugged. “Dropkick Murphys are underappreciated.”
Maybe, but he hadn’t expected a poised and pretty woman like her to have any sort of appreciation for Irish punk. She stepped onto her treadmill and said, “Seven miles an hour good for you?”
“Sure.” It’d be a nice easy pace.
“Then enough chatting. Let’s get to it.”
He obeyed as she cranked up her speed. Soon enough, they were both jogging comfortably. It was so strange. He would have guessed that she’d need a drink to calm her nerves after that fuckup in the trees, but she’d come at him with the running thing. And now her iPod was playing Social Distortion and she was humming along under her breath, which was something he never would have expected.
Turned out there was a lot about Regan that surprised him.
And masochist that he apparently was, he wanted to stick around and find out more. It didn’t matter that she seemed more than willing to write him off as a worthless POS. He had this perverse desire to prove to her that he was more than good enough for a woman like her.
They kept going, running until the miles melted away and his breath sawed through his lungs. He fell into the familiar pace, though his thoughts circled around the woman next to him.
What would it take for her to reconsider her initial judgment of him?
He didn’t like the thought of having to prove himself to anyone—not after he’d been trying and failing for the last thirty-odd years with his father. It stuck in his throat that Regan so blatantly preferred Logan to him. She’d lose her damn mind if she met Caine. He was just as driven, polished, and successful as Logan. Maybe more so.
And Brock knew just how well he measured up against his brother.
Did he really stand a chance against Caine 2.0?
…
It took twenty minutes before Regan was finally able to think straight. And her first thought was that two gym sessions in a day was going to leave her hating life tomorrow. She took a quick swig of her water and let herself finally look at Brock in the mirror.
She’d expected him to show up in a cutoff shirt that exposed those tanned and toned up arms to perfection. But no, he wore a threadbare T-shirt that had long ago faded from black to gray, the writing on the front indecipherable from countless washings. With the faint sheen of sweat on his skin and his feet thumping the treadmill in perfect rhythm with hers, he looked like temptation.
He’d handled her.
The realization didn’t sit well. She’d been about to freak the hell out when he’d come for her, and he’d known it. Instead of patronizing her or washing his hands of it—both of which she’d deserved after some of the stuff she said to him—he’d taken care of her. In a really unexpected way.
Normal people didn’t offer to jog until they couldn’t feel their legs just so the crazy woman could outrun her fear. But Brock had. Still was.
She glanced down. Three miles. That was good enough. She slapped the stop button and waited until he’d done the same to speak. Or maybe she was being a coward, because it was significantly more difficult to say the words than she would have expected. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He flashed her a grin. “Though if you’re feeling particularly grateful, I could go for a drink.”
She could fall into that smile if she let herself. Enjoy this time with him and then get back to her life at the end of the week. They’d probably have a whole hell of a lot of fun.
No.
If her little freak-out earlier had proven anything, it was that when she deviated from her plan, she got into trouble.
He wasn’t part of the plan. They’d had fun last night, and he’d helped her out today—in more ways than one—but that didn’t mean a single thing in the grand scheme of things.
She wanted what her parents had—a true partner who loved her more than anything else in the world, supported her in her choice of career, and brought stability to her life. Which meant someone equally driven, who had the same set of goals Regan did.
Brock wasn’t that.
But Logan might very well be.
She couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity to get closer to Logan and see if he would be a good fit. That was the plan for the week. Not to lose her head—or, God forbid, her heart—over a Southern playboy with too much time on his hands.
Her control once again firmly in place, she gave him her professional smile. “Like I said, thank you for helping me out. Have a good rest of your evening.”
She snatched her iPod off the dock and made it nearly to the door before he came after her. “Whoa, hold on there. I’m only talking one drink.”
It was more temptation to say yes than she wanted to admit. Because damn it, she actually kind of liked him even though he drove her to distraction.
Get a grip, Regan. You’ve dated guys like him. Only a fool gets involved with a man expecting him to change. It doesn’t happen.
She wasn’t a fool. So she patted his arm. “Then go ahead and get one. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity for company, too, if it floats your boat.”
“There’s only one person whose company I’m interested in right now.”
Right now. Which just went to prove her point. Brock might prefer her right now, but that could change in an instant. She might wake up one day and realize his interest had shifted to some buxom blonde or a sultry redhead overnight. She didn’t need that kind of aggravation and uncertainty in her life. She couldn’t live with the fear that he’d get bored and leave just like he had every woman before her.
Which just reinforced that Logan was the better option. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” As little as I can possibly manage.
If today had proved anything, it was that she couldn’t afford to spend any more time with Brock. He made her forget herself, forget what was important.
And that was unforgivable.
Chapter Seven
Brock showered and spent the rest of the evening flipping through television channels. He was tempted to cruise through the bar, get a drink and the scope of the land, but he knew it for the bullshit ploy it was.
He wanted to see if Regan was there.
It was pretty damn clear she wanted to be anywhere he wasn’t, but he couldn’t leave it alone. Because he knew she’d had a good time with him, when it came to both sex and verbally sparring. She just had her perfectly styled head all wrapped up in the idea of Logan.
So it came to that. Did he bow out? Let her throw herself at Logan, and watch them flirt for the next few days?
The thought turned his stomach. He didn’t want to see her in the arms of someone else. Not to mention Logan owned a goddamn outdoors company. The man spent as much time as he could outside of the city. He free-climbed mountains for Christ’s sake. What the hell did she think was going to happen the first time she followed him into the forest?
But she didn’t see that. All she saw was the man’s success and his charming smile and… Brock was not doing himself any favors sitting alone in his room thinking about this.
He threw on his favorite pair of jeans and a shirt and headed down to the bar. Even though he told himself not to, he scanned the room for Regan, coming up blank. There were plenty of gorgeous women and some of them even gave him clear invitations, but he made a beeline to the bar. There was only one gorgeous woman he wanted to spend any time with, and she wasn’t here.
He was so screwed.
As he cut through the crowd at the bar, he was a little surprised to find Colton there alone. “Hey man.”
“Hey.”
He took the seat next to his friend and signaled the bartender, a pretty blonde with the practiced smile of bartenders everywhere. “Coors Light.”
Colton laughed. “You can take the man out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the man.”
“Can’t help that I have superior taste.”
“If you like your beer to taste like flavored water.”
Brock smiled his thanks when the bartender slid the beer over and pretended not to notice the way she lingered, clearly willing to chat him up. “Dual purpose—I hydrate and drink at the same time.”
He laughed again. “It’s good to see you, Brock. We didn’t get a chance to talk much the other night.”
The last few days had been a hectic frenzy of planned activities with no end in sight. “You know me—same shit, different day. Napping in my office and hoping no one actually needs anything from me. Not like you, big shot. Getting married and snagging that casino contract in one fell swoop. I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t play the slacker role with me. You’re not just floating through life like you want everyone to think. If you’d just tell people about the foundation, no one in their right mind would see you as a slacker.”
He never should have told Colton about the Blue Boat Foundation, but he was the only person who would truly understand why Brock put his blood, sweat, and tears into the company. It was for Reed. So kids didn’t have to go through what their best friend did—a mother who couldn’t handle the abuse, so she left, and a father who drank too much and liked to knock his kid around.
Knock his kid around. That’s how Reed described it the one time they’d talked about it. As if it wasn’t that big of deal. And Brock, naive kid that he’d been, had believed him. Or at least he had until that night when he was watching his best friend bleed out from a slash to his stomach while Reed argued that he didn’t need a hospital. Until he’d realized exactly what “knocking around” really meant.
The memory still made him sick. If he could spare even a handful of kids that experience, he’d move heaven and earth to make it happen. It had nothing to do with proving something, and everything to do with the helpless victims. Maybe Reed’s mom would have made a different decision about leaving her boy behind if something like the Blue Boat Foundation existed back then. It could have saved his best friend a lifetime of pain and suffering.
It would have meant that a kid wouldn’t have had to watch his friend bleed and struggle to understand why Reed wouldn’t go to the hospital, while he did his damnedest to stop the bleeding.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Have you told your family?”
And open himself up for what would no doubt be a lecture on how his time and effort could be better spent on McNeill-owned accounts? He was sick of it. McNeill Enterprises wasn’t a bad company by any means, but he was doing so much more useful work with the Blue Boat Foundation. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
“You do realize that you’re a little past the age of teenage rebellion, right?”
Brock laughed. “Say it isn’t so.” He sipped his beer. “I’m doing just fine. And this weekend is about you marrying that beautiful woman before she wises up and calls the whole thing off. Stop worrying about m
e.”
“Go ahead, turn it around on me like you always do.” Colton finished off his drink. “Thing is, we’re friends. That means I have license to worry about your ass. Me and Reed, both.”
“Just don’t be getting any crazy ideas like an intervention. That shit’s for the birds.”
“You would say that.” He laughed. “Now I’m going to go see what my beautiful fiancée is up to. Try not to have too much fun tonight.”
“I’ll attempt to restrain myself.” He raised his beer at Colton and watched his friend make his way through the small groups of people to the door. It was good to see him happy.
Brock turned around to face the bar and took another pull of his beer. Colton was wrong. He didn’t need to tell his family shit about what he was doing with the Blue Boat Foundation. If he did, it’d reek of him crawling to Daddy and begging for approval. He was better than that. Either his dad was proud of him or not, but he wouldn’t whip this out of his sleeve as evidence that he was a man of worth.
He wondered what Regan would say if she knew, and inwardly kicked himself. He refused to tell her for the same reason he refused to tell his family. Either she saw him for the man he was, or she didn’t, but he wasn’t going to trot out proof to try to convince her.
Disgusted with himself for even considering it, he finished his beer and paid his tab. Obviously he wasn’t fit company for anyone right now. He’d sleep off the mood and regroup in the morning.
Then he’d figure out what the hell he was going to do about Regan.
…
The minutes ticked away, dragging from one hour to the next while Regan watched the clock. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Brock’s face when he offered to let her run him into the ground so she could shake the fear dogging her steps. He hadn’t had to do that.
That didn’t mean she actually wanted to spend more time with the charming ass, but she could be grateful.
She glanced at the clock, cursing when only two minutes had gone by. “This is ridiculous.” The damn sun wasn’t even up and here she was, tossing and turning and losing sleep over a pretty man. It was like she’d transported herself back to seventh grade.
