Rebecca stopped and looked up at him. “I’m all yours.” Her voice was softer than it usually was, and standing next to the aqua tank, with the light reflecting off her face, her words hit him hard. All his. If only…
If he’d stopped to think about it, he might not have stepped closer. He might not have leaned one hand against the tank and dropped his head until his lips were hovering inches above hers. And he certainly wouldn’t have told her what he’d been thinking since the first time they met.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Her hand flew nervously to her hair. “Brody…”
“It’s true,” he whispered just before his lips touched hers. He meant for it to be a quick kiss, enough to let her know he wanted more, but still mindful that someone might walk in. But her mouth was so soft, softer than he remembered from the last time they kissed. That night seemed so long ago. The woman in his arms meant so much more to him now, and before he even realized it, Brody was cupping her jaw and deepening the kiss. Her lips parted, inviting him in, and her arms found their way around his neck. Then on a soft moan, she leaned into him, the heat of her body a sharp contrast to the cool glass of the tank, and for a few brief moments, Brody forgot all sense of time or place.
A thud from inside the tank yanked them back to reality, and Rebecca tensed beneath him. “What was that?”
Brody looked up to find a small hammerhead shark moving through the water. Little cockblocker. “We have company.”
“Guess we better get going.” Rebecca smiled up at him. “What’s next?”
Christ, what didn’t he want next? For starters, he wanted to peel her out of those jeans and bury himself between her thighs until her legs were shaking and her fingers clutched his hair in a lick of pain that left no doubt about her pleasure. But there were surely cameras covering every inch of the place, and they’d already given the security guards watching the monitors, not to mention the agitated shark, enough of a show. So, for now at least…
Brody stepped back and tried to discreetly adjust his jeans. Not that Rebecca didn’t already know the effect she’d had on him. The evidence pressed against her thirty seconds earlier had made that pretty damn obvious. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her away from the glass. “You have to see it to believe it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brody parked the truck in a lot on Rush Street. Something told him a bar under a bridge wouldn’t have valet, and even if it did, he could only imagine the looks he’d get rolling up in the battered, and now mud-splattered, truck.
“Where to?”
Brody nodded toward one of the bridges spanning the river. “The other side.”
The metal bridge rattled and groaned beneath their feet as the evening rush hour lurched past them. When they reached the end, he guided her toward a metal staircase that looked more like a fire escape than an entrance to a business.
“It’s under the bridge?”
Her uncertain look was almost as amusing as her driving. “Yep.”
“Is the bouncer a troll?”
He laughed. “Watch your step. The last one is a doozy.” Brody held out his hand to steady her as she hopped down from the final tread. Above them, a sign with the words “The Horny Troll” rattled with each truck that passed overhead.
“Looks like I was right about the troll.” Rebecca raised a brow. “Any particular reason you chose this place?”
“Is that your way of asking if I’m horny?” He was, but it had nothing to do with their destination. The sassy Rebecca from Cole and Olivia’s kitchen would have shot right back with a zinger. But the woman standing in front of him looked all at once unsure. “Would you rather go someplace else?”
“Not at all.” She gave him a smile that reinforced her words. “I like offbeat places. Just wasn’t sure how you even knew about this one. I’ve lived here for years and never heard of it.”
That didn’t surprise him one bit. By her own admission, Rebecca was no party animal, and even if she were, he doubted she’d ever frequent an establishment with this one’s name or location. He wouldn’t have guessed a future king would have either, yet that was exactly who had told him about it. According to His Royal Highness, lunch on the sidewalk at Tavern might have been the place to be seen, but apparently The Horny Troll was the place to disappear.
“All part of expanding your horizons.” He yanked open a wood door that was even heavier than it looked. “What’s your poison?”
Rebecca drew a blank. “My poison?”
Surely she’d heard that expression before? “Your drink of choice.” He gestured for her to go inside first. “I’m guessing you’re not a whiskey girl.”
Rebecca laughed. “Hardly. More like Pinot Grigio. With ice.”
It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit pub, but once they did he took a long look around. The walls were covered in a dark, knotty wood, the lighting was low, and the floors were sticky. It was absolutely perfect. The kind of place a guy like him could spend hours without a single person giving him a second glance. The music wasn’t too shabby either, judging by the fact that CCR was playing from a jukebox by the door.
Brody glanced around for a table, but there weren’t very many and nearly every one of them was taken. Not that it mattered. Rebecca was already saddling up to the bar. That would have been his preference too, but he’d have figured her for a leather booth kind of girl. Then again, he wouldn’t have pictured her as the type to spin donuts in a plowed field either. Seemed she wasn’t the only one who needed to stop making assumptions.
He slid onto a stool beside her. “Teach me how to do a shot,” she said with a determined nod.
Brody gaped at her. “You’ve never done a shot?” Now that was one assumption he’d have thought was a safe bet.
“Nope.”
“All right… Well, normally I would order you something sweet, like a blow job.” He grinned. “But something tells me that’s not on the menu here.”
A stocky bartender wearing a plaid shirt and dark green suspenders wiped his hands on a towel that looked to have been put to good use over the last few hours. “Welcome to The Troll.” The middle-aged man gave them each the once-over, but either he didn’t recognize Brody, didn’t care, or didn’t want to bother him. Brody’s money was on the latter. Judging by the amount of Bears paraphernalia hanging on the walls, chances were slim this guy didn’t know what their new quarterback looked like. But this was the kind of place people came to disappear into dark corners. Something told him no one bothered folks here, and judging by the fact that Hank came and went without it hitting the news, not much gossip leaked from these walls. “What can I get for you?” he asked as he set two small napkins on the wood bar.
“How about a blow job?”
The guy next to her choked on his beer, but the ruddy-faced bartender wasn’t the least bit fazed. “Sorry, no whipped cream. How about a Jameson?”
“Sounds great,” Rebecca said. Brody would have bet a round for the whole pub that she had no idea what she’d just ordered.
“Two whiskeys, coming right up.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened, confirming his suspicions.
“Make it one whiskey and an iced tea,” Brody said.
The bartender gave a tight nod. “Right. One whiskey and a club soda, coming right up.”
Rebecca swiveled toward him on her stool. “Not joining me?”
He jingled the keys before shoving them back into the pocket of his jeans. “Not when I’m driving.” Brody had two hard-and-fast rules—he always wore a condom, and he never had so much as a single beer before getting behind the wheel.
The bartender set the drinks on the bar. Brody watched as Rebecca brought the small glass to her lips. “Don’t taste it,” he warned. “Just knock it back.”
She pulled the glass away from her mouth. A single drop of amber lingered on her bottom lip, and he had to fight the urge to lean in for a whiskey-laced kiss. Instead, he gr
oaned to himself as her soft pink tongue darted out to lick away the errant liquor.
“Here goes nothing.” She brought the shot back to her lips, tipped her head back, and swallowed it in one gulp.
“Whoa!” a woman said from behind them. “Do my eyes deceive me, or did Rebecca Halstead just do a shot?”
Rebecca began to sputter and choke. “It burns,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse and strained.
“Here,” Brody began to say. But he didn’t need to finish offering his club soda. Rebecca had already snatched it off the bar. He turned to discover the witness to this monumental milestone was none other than Olivia Grant. Cassie was right beside her.
“What are you guys doing here?” Rebecca asked when she was done draining half his glass.
“This is Hank’s favorite place to hang out,” Cassie said. As if on cue, Cole and Prince Henry himself came through the door. In his faded jeans and well-worn University of Georgia baseball cap, Hank looked about as far from a member of the royal family as possible. And despite the simplicity of his disguise, it almost always worked. If only Brody could be so lucky. Dressed up in a suit or relaxing in jeans and a T-shirt, he was nearly always recognized.
“Makes him feel like he’s back home,” Cassie added. “But without the watchful eyes of parliament and the press.”
Hank wrapped an arm around his fiancée’s waist. “Plus, it’s the only place in town where I can get a proper stout.”
Cole shook Brody’s hand, but the look in his eyes told Brody he wasn’t thrilled to find him in a bar with his sister. Unlike the other three, who were all wearing jeans, Cole was dressed like he was headed to work. At least he was in what they called “business casual” and not a suit and tie. Olivia’s influence, no doubt. “First round’s on me,” he said to the group.
“Excellent!” Conor seemed to appear out of nowhere. If Cole was a bit overdressed, Conor was the opposite. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and his famous bottle opener flip-flops, Conor was definitely the yin to his best friend’s yang.
“And you’ll get the second one, I’m sure,” Cole teased. He didn’t bother waiting for Conor to reply. Instead, he made his way down the bar until he found an opening and waved the bartender over.
“Come on.” Olivia grabbed Rebecca by the hand and tugged her off the barstool. “I see a table opening up in the back.” With that, the three women hurried off.
“I’m going to hit the loo,” Hank said.
“See if you can score us a pool table,” Conor told him as he slid onto Rebecca’s vacated stool. “Oh, sorry,” he added before attempting some indecipherable accent. “See if you can procure us a billiards table, old chap.”
Even though he was shaking his head, Hank was smiling to himself as he walked away.
Conor leaned in. “Looks like your cover’s been blown.” He nodded toward the other end of the bar. “Three babes have the target locked and loaded.”
Brody glanced over his shoulder, even though he was half afraid to take his eyes off Conor. He never knew what that one might do next, and given his Top Gun reference, it wouldn’t have surprised Brody one bit if Conor had gone all Goose on him by launching into what would undoubtedly be a horrendous rendition of “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.”
Sure enough, a beautiful trio stood at the end of the polished bar, smiling like they’d just hit the Saturday night jackpot. They were dressed as though they’d just come from a baseball game, each wearing Cubs T-shirts that were either cut into crop tops or tied at the waist, and shorts that barely covered their asses. But more than likely they’d merely watched the game from one of the bars along Waveland, and if he had to guess, not a one of them could tell him who won the game, much less the final score. One of them took out her phone and snapped a selfie that no doubt included Brody in the background.
He turned back to Conor and shrugged. “From what Hank said, they won’t last long.” Sure enough, within minutes the bartender waved his hand, and a bouncer with more shoulders than neck approached the three women.
“Let me get this straight,” Conor said. “First, you don’t even notice the three smoking-hot babes come in, and now you’re going to let them get tossed out?” He pressed his palm to Brody’s forehead. “You feeling okay?”
Brody batted his hand away. “I’m fine, dipshit.” But Conor was right about one thing. A few weeks ago, Brody would have noticed the scantily clad girls the moment they walked through the door and been sizing them up in an effort to determine if he should take his pick or go for all three. But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for the same old, same old.
From somewhere in the rear of the pub, Rebecca laughed. Instinctively, Brody turned in her direction.
“Holy fuck, you’re starting to fall for her.”
“It’s not like that. We’re just friends,” he said, invoking the cliché statement that nine times out of ten was used in a lie. “She’s showing me around Chicago, and I’m…”
Conor raised his eyebrows as he waited for what he assumed would be something salacious.
“She said she’s never been very outgoing, so she wants someone to take her on a few adventures. That’s all it is, believe me,” Brody said. Problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure which one of them he was trying to convince.
“You better be careful, dude,” Conor warned him. He reached for the basket of popcorn one of the waitresses had set on the bar and pulled it closer. “Cole might have backed off as far as you two hanging out as friends, but if he catches wind you might break his little sister’s heart? Let’s just say the Bears will be cashing in on that insurance policy they took out on your arm.” Conor laughed, but Brody got the impression he wasn’t joking. “You have to keep in mind, Cole’s not like most overprotective brothers. He’s got a lot of guilt.”
“Over?”
Conor paused with a fistful of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “You don’t know the backstory there?”
“Well, I’m assuming they have different dads?” With different last names, it was the logical conclusion.
Conor shook his head then stuffed the popcorn into his mouth, leaving Brody hanging. Figured he’d take that moment to stop talking with his mouth full.
“Same dads,” he said when he was finally done chewing. “Rebecca goes by her mother’s name. She never even met her dad.”
“He didn’t know about her?” It was the only explanation that could justify ignoring your own flesh and blood.
“Oh, he knew about Rebecca, all right. Her mother was their maid, for Christ’s sake. Cole was the one who didn’t know.” Conor reached for another handful of popcorn, but Brody stopped him with a hand to his wrist.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know the whole story. Just that Rebecca’s mom was living out west when she was born.” He pulled his hand free and grabbed another clump of what was surely stale popcorn. “It’s not something we ever really talk about.” Must have been one helluva touchy subject if not even Conor brought it up. The guy wasn’t exactly known for his tact.
“And her dad never wanted to meet her?” Brody couldn’t imagine a man not caring enough to meet his own child. He took every precaution not to end up a baby daddy, but if that ever happened, he sure as hell wouldn’t ignore the kid.
“Worse than that,” Conor said. His ever-present smile vanished, and his brow creased. It was the first time Brody had seen him look so down. “Old Man Grant had nothing to do with her. No visits. No child support. No college funds. Not even so much as a birthday card.”
What the actual fuck? The dull ache that had been building in Brody’s gut was now a burning anger.
“When did Cole find out?”
Conor’s shoulder’s sagged. “When Rebecca’s mom died.”
Jesus fucking Christ. A deadbeat for a father and a mother who died too young. No wonder Rebecca had led a less-than-adventurous life. With no one to count on but herself, it wasn’t like she had much time to be carefree.
> He glanced to the rear of the bar where Rebecca was sitting with Olivia and Cassie. Whatever they were talking about had left a warm smile on her face. Brody knew without a doubt that he’d do anything to keep that smile from fading.
“And the worst part is, they didn’t even tell Cole. His mom and dad had died in a car accident when he was in college, so he would have fucking loved to know that he had family besides his crazy grandmother.”
“Her own grandmother wouldn’t claim her?” Brody didn’t know why, but this was even more surprising than what he’d learned about Cole’s father.
Connor laughed, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Their grandmother makes Daddy Grant look like an old softie. No way in hell she was going to spill the beans about another heir. Hell, she tried to take everything from Cole as it was.”
“So how did he—?”
“He overheard her talking about an article she saw in the news.” Conor shook his head. “Even the freaking butler knew, and Cole didn’t.”
“Did someone say my name?” Cole set two beers and a club soda on the bar. Connor spun away, grabbing one of the beers and beating a hasty retreat. So much for his wingman.
“I heard a bit of what Conor was saying. And while I don’t like my family’s business being broadcast in a pub, I know dipshit meant well.”
“Cole—” Brody began, not even sure where he was headed. There was so much he wanted to say. About Rebecca. About their asshole of a father. How he understood Cole’s need to protect her. How he wanted to as well.
“Look,” Cole interrupted, not giving Brody a chance to say any of what was ricocheting around his skull. “I went along with this little farce for Rebecca’s sake. Partly because she would have broken my fingers if I interfered and partly because it seemed innocent enough. You needed a tour guide, and she needed to do something besides sit in her apartment reading books.” He frowned at the remnants of popcorn Conor had left all over the bar, then looked Brody square in the eyes. When he did, all trace of levity was gone. “But what Conor told you is only the half of it. She’s been through a lot, and I won’t have someone like you fucking with her.”
Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3) Page 17
