by Lori Foster
His chair dropped forward with a clatter, making his head nearly explode. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw to contain his brain, which seemed to be doing aerobics between his ears. When it finally eased up he cracked open one eye.
Both Jack and Red watched him, the first with pity, the second with annoyance.
“We?” Brodie rasped, unsure he’d heard correctly.
“It is my responsibility to ensure the safety of my client’s purchases.” She looked down her nose at him. “You are merely the transporter.”
Merely the transporter? Indignation brought him to his feet so that he towered over her. Her haughty little nose barely reached his collarbone, but did she back up a step?
No, not this ballsy lady. Instead she tipped back her head and met him glare for glare.
Brows drawn together, Brodie pointed a finger and opened his mouth.
But she wasn’t done.
“Be sober tomorrow.”
He almost sputtered at that flat demand. “I don’t drink and drive!”
One brow arched up. “No hangover, either.” Her stern gaze dipped over his body, then she dismissed him as she turned away -with a last cutting remark. “And Mr. Crews?”
He waited.
One hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “If you truly want the job, you must be fully dressed.”
With that edict, she marched out of the office and toward the exit.
Brodie stepped out to the hall to stare after her, watching that well rounded behind barely sway at all as she went through the door and into the dusty yard. Well damn.
Joining him, Jack put a hand to his shoulder. “I like her.”
“You would,” he grumbled. But honestly, he liked her too. The lady was a fireball, with the hair to match. He started to grin.
“No,” Jack said. “We need the money, so don’t fuck it up or I’ll demolish you.”
“That’s the thing with you,” Brodie complained with good humor. “You only look like the civilized one.”
* * *
Mary cursed herself for the hundredth—maybe the thousandth time—as she sat on the bed, her laptop open before her at three in the morning. Her eyes burned and she couldn’t stop yawning, but then she hadn’t slept much through the night.
She put the blame for her sleepless night squarely on the boulder-shoulders of that scruffy-faced, rude, provoking cretin that Therman insisted she hire. When he’d first named Brodie Crews as the courier he wanted, she’d thought nothing of it. Their last transporter had relocated and hadn’t been that reliable anyway. Twice he’d been unable to accept Therman’s offer, and that had left them scrambling for a replacement. If Brodie Crews worked out, Therman wanted him on retainer.
But then her boss, Therman Ritter, an eighty-six-year-old eccentric sweetheart, didn’t have to be around the man. No, Therman stayed in his retreat, collecting his “valuables” and avoiding society.
It was Mary’s job to socialize, to make human contact, and to ensure the acquisitions happened without a hitch. She always accompanied the courier to guarantee Therman’s interests were respected—and kept private.
She should have had Mr. Crews sign the contract yesterday, but at that point she’d still been hoping to talk Therman out of hiring him.
And she’d wanted away from the man as quickly as possible.
In some indefinable way, he threatened her peace of mind and her carefully carved persona. A first for her, and damn him, she didn’t like it.
Looking over all the research she could find on Brodie, she marveled that Therman had chosen him. She couldn’t find one overly-redeeming reason to explain why her unusual boss had focused on that brother instead of the other, but she did know now that Jack wouldn’t have been accepted. Therman had been very clear on that point.
Thank God Brodie had insisted, because Therman had been very displeased with her efforts to switch up brothers. Her descriptions of them, her comparisons, hadn’t mattered at all.
Therman wanted Brodie, and only Brodie.
It wasn’t the Mustang Transport website that had convinced him. It was still being built and contained only the basics. It wasn’t Brodie’s bio, either, which mostly mentioned other transports he’d successfully completed. Nor would it be his stellar driving record, because that was expected for his career choice.
No, the one thing that had won over Therman was Brodie’s rescue of that over-sized, long-boned dog. Therman had read a lot into it: compassion, determination, duty, honor... the list went on and on. That single heroic incident had convinced him that Brodie was the perfect person to complete the job.
Frustrated, Mary sat back against the pillows and read the too-brief article again. Brodie had found the dog chained to a stake in the broiling sun at the back of a junkyard. No food, no water. Signs of abuse.
Mary swiped away a tear, furious with the idea that anyone would ever mistreat an animal. In many ways, it was the same as mistreating a child. One couldn’t speak, and the other was often too afraid to tell.
Brodie must’ve been furious too, because he found the owners and offered for the dog. Unfortunately, in doing so he’d stumbled into a drug deal in process. Guns were drawn, shots fired—and somehow Brodie had come out of it whole hide, with three men wounded. He’d taken the dog home, rehabilitated him, and given him the cushy life.
That was a year ago, and while Mary did consider it incredibly heroic, it had absolutely nothing to do with transporting Therman’s valuables.
Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she closed her laptop and got up to shower and dress. It’d be a long drive, requiring professional yet comfortable clothes. Knowing things didn’t always go as planned, she packed a change, just in case. In the past she’d been caught in downpours, had food or drinks dumped on her, and once she’d slipped on a muddy hill.
Since she detested her freckles, she also packed her makeup for touch-ups.
Today, she would not let Brodie rile her.
She wouldn’t deliberately breathe in his earthy scent, either.
Or admire his body...the way those massive shoulders flexed with each small movement, or how his muscular frame tapered into lean hips, and how that damp, curling body hair teased down his body and into the loose jeans that hung so low...
Ungluing her feet from the floor, she rushed into the shower, vowing that she definitely wouldn’t notice that.
Given her instructions on his presentation, namely that he be fully clothed, it should be a little easier.
She’d never known a man like him, never experienced such casual rudeness and disregard for propriety, never met a man so, so... unashamedly masculine.
She’d never felt the ridiculous magnetism.
Mary covered her face, whispering aloud her shameful truth. “Physical attraction.” She was hotly, keenly turned on by a goon, a brute, a man who flung his maleness out there for all to gawk at.
And gawk she had.
Over and over again the scenario in the office played in her mind. The way he’d slouched in his seat, uncaring that his legs had sprawled out, his big feet in the rough boots almost touching her chair, those thick thighs straining the worn material of his jeans.
The soft bulge behind his fly nearly impossible to ignore.
He’d positioned those thick arms behind his head, exposing his underarms as if it were a casual thing to display himself in front of a possible client. The pose had flattened his impressive pec muscles into solid slabs over his chest, while bulging his biceps and tightening his abs.
And she’d looked. Against her will, against her usual comportment, against every proper behavior she’d always adhered to, she’d been unable not to look.
It was as if all decorum and civility had been stripped away from him, leaving only hot, raw man and she, as a woman, had instinctively reacte
d.
But that was yesterday and this was today, and today would be different. She’d see to it.
By the time she headed out of her apartment to her silver Ford, she’d donned as much armor as she could.
Subtle makeup covered her freckles.
Her wild hair was tightly contained in a knot at the top of her head.
She wore a long loose gauze skirt that skimmed her ankles, with a snug-fitting tank, topped by a blouse for extra coverage in case his car’s air conditioning made her too cool, and comfortable slip on sandals. She looked neat and professional, but not stuffy.
And best of all, her overblown curves weren’t that noticeable.
After stowing her briefcase and small overnight bag in the backseat, she checked her phone one more time to ensure she hadn’t missed any messages. Therman often had last minute instructions, but today, with Brodie, he remained silent.
Ignoring the tiny thrill zinging through her bloodstream, she set off for the Mustang Transport offices.
She had a feeling today would be quite the adventure—because Brodie Crews was quite the man.
Don’t miss Driven to Distraction by New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster, coming soon wherever HQN books and ebooks are sold!
Copyright @ 2018 by Lori Foster
ISBN-13: 9781488095368
Cooper’s Charm
Copyright © 2018 by Lori Foster
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