by Stacy Gail
“I said I want you to—”
“I’ve heard this fixation shit goes all the way back to when the first Brody made his mark here in Texas. And you know what sucks? The gig sounds so damn good at first. Women fucking throw themselves at Brody men like they think we’re rock stars or something. The money, the luxury, the prestige that goes with the Brody name—all that useless shit acts on a certain type of woman like a crazy-ass siren song. When you’re a kid who doesn’t understand shit, that sounds like a wet dream. But I’ve seen the dark side of that curse up close and personal, and I want nothing to do with it.”
“Ryland—”
“You know my brother Desmond is actually my half-brother, yeah?”
She glared at him so balefully he could almost believe she was trying to murder him with her thoughts. “Everyone knows that. So?”
“So, Des is living proof that Brody worship is real, and it’s the most destructive force I’ve ever seen.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “There’s no such thing as Brody worship. You make it sound like your family has a damn cult following.”
“In a way it does, and you were a member of that cult just as much as anyone at one point in your life.”
Twin splotches of color stained her cheeks. “Get out. Just...get out.”
“Des’s mother was a married woman with a goddamned child of her own,” he pressed on, needing her to see why things had unfolded the way they had. “Yet none of that stopped that bitch from going after my old man like a heat-seeking missile. And what’d that spineless bastard do? Lost his head and gave in to the call of a stiff dick, just like his father before him. And he did it because some fangirl threw herself at him like a cat in heat, swept up in a fit of Brody worship.”
“How dare you.” A flash of what looked like pain tightened her expression. “I won’t stand here and let you compare me and my actions to a, a...a cat in heat, do you hear me?”
He held up a hand. “If you think I’m saying that, then you’re not listening. I’m saying that my father knew about the Brody worship curse, but he still got blindsided when a woman he was attracted to gave him the green light. He loved my mother, God knows he did. And before it all went to shit, my mother adored him. But because he got the hots for a piece of ass who had a Brody fixation, he put a permanent scar on their marriage, turned our lives into a never-ending war-torn hell, and fucked up Des something fierce. And my old man did it all because he didn’t make himself smack down the other woman who targeted him.”
“Smack down,” she repeated bitterly. “Like you did with me.”
“Hell, yes, exactly like I did with you. I went out of my way to smack all that Brody worship bullshit out of you so that you’d never again think that getting fucked by any one of us—it didn’t matter who—was going to be an event you could brag to your friends about.”
“Great. Mission accomplished.” The flash of tears in her eyes behind those glasses hit him hard, even as her face and neck turned the color of brick. “I wouldn’t come near any of you now if my life depended on it.”
“I’m fine with you not going near any of my brothers. That’s exactly what I want. But you’re going to have to reevaluate that plan when it comes to me.”
“Not going to happen,” she vowed as the furious tears spilled over at last, and she wiped at the wetness so fast she almost knocked her glasses off. “Get out, now.”
“You’re still not hearing me.” At last he got to his feet and set a course straight for her. She backed up, then kept backing up when he refused to take the hint that she wanted nothing to do with him. “The thought of having a fangirl pursuing me leaves me cold, you understand me, Celia? I’m the one who does the pursuing.”
“Good for you. Why don’t you go find someone who wants to be pursued?”
“I’ve found the one I want to pursue. I found her a long time ago. I can’t remember a time when just thinking about her didn’t get me horny as hell. What we’re going to have...it’s going to be real. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be built on hero worship or Brody worship, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, because there isn’t an ounce of that shit inside of her.”
“I’m happy for you. Thrilled, even.” She backed into a dining room chair, then skirted around the table. “Thanks loads for the information. Now leave. I’m sick of looking at you.”
“There are lots of reasons why I’m telling you all this, though I know you’re not in any kind of mood to hear it.” He dropped his voice the more agitated she became, just like he did when he had a high-strung horse on his hands that wanted nothing more than to cave his cranium in with one good kick. “It’s pretty goddamn important to me that you know you can trust me, especially since I know what people generally think about us Brody men. They think we’re unmarriable, that we’re good for nothing but fucking and forgetting. Hell, I’ve even overheard people talking in town about that very thing, literally using that word—unmarriable. Can you believe that shit? Unmarriable. They don’t have a fucking clue. I’ll never have my head turned by a woman who throws herself at me. You can take that to the bank, Celia. I’ve seen what special kind of hell that brings, so I swear I’ll never be tempted, no matter what some idiot bitch might do down the road.”
Agony flashed through her eyes like lightning. “You mean an idiot bitch like me. I get it, you ass. Don’t you know I fucking get it?”
“But you don’t, darlin’. I’m telling you as plain as I know how that despite all the bad history the men in my family have, and all the shit that comes with being a Brody, you’ve got my solemn vow that I’ll never be unfaithful to you. When you and I are together, that’s it. We. Are. Together.”
The statement froze her in place, and while she was playing statue he took advantage by rounding the table to her side. “Wait...what?”
“But here’s the thing. That kind of deal only works if it goes both ways. I won’t have any more talk about you having other men over, or going on dates with anyone who’s not me. And I sure as hell hope I’ve cured you of your case of Brody worship, because I’m a possessive man. What’s mine is mine. I don’t share, not even with my brothers. You’re with me exclusively, or this shit ain’t happening.”
“You’re deluded,” she breathed, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “I just told you that I’m sick of looking at you. What part of that could possibly make you imagine that we’re together?”
“What it tells me is that my plan worked. You’re done with wanting to bag yourself a Brody. Even though it stung, it had to be that way so I could be sure of you. Now I know I can have you around my brothers and not worry you’d try and have a go at one of them.”
Her eyes narrowed furiously. “Is that why you acted so strangely when Fin showed up last week? You thought that after kissing you, I might jump on him like...like some cat in heat, as you put it? Do you actually think I’m that much of a slut?”
Damn it, she wasn’t listening. “What I know is how strong the Brody fixation can be. I’ve seen it, Celia. It can override even the best of intentions.”
“So that’s a yes. You think I’m that much of a slut. That I’d fuck any Brody who came along.”
“There was a time when you would have done exactly that,” he reminded her, and his stomach tightened as his words made her recoil as if he’d slapped her. “But not anymore. I know I can trust you now, so we can go ahead and get on with things.”
“You see? Right there.” Her lip curled back in a snarl. “You are deluded. There’s nothing to get on with, especially now.”
“Yeah there is, though right now you’re too pissed off to admit it even to yourself. But that’s okay. I had to light that fire inside you to burn away all the shit, so I understand. You need time to let that fire burn itself out. I’m fine with that, just as long as it doesn’t
get out of control and burn us down before we even get started.”
“There is no us,” she shot back, shaking her head in teeth-gnashing fury. “Now for the last fucking time, get out.”
The last part was screamed, and with her hands balled up and shaking it was clear he’d pushed her to her limit. Anything he did now would do more harm than good. “Okay, darlin’,” he said gently, moving toward her. She once again took a step back, this time also dragging a chair directly into his path. He paused, then half-smiled as he shoved the chair aside like it weighed nothing, and proceeded to move past her without touching her. His hands itched to reach for her as he passed, but grabbing her and trying to force her to see exactly where they stood wasn’t going to work.
Not tonight, anyway.
“Tomorrow,” he said simply, making both her and himself that promise before he headed for the door.
Chapter Seven
Tomorrow.
With the sun not yet high enough in the sky to warm the soil, Celia closed the heavy garden gate behind her, gloves and hat in place. She made a beeline for the long row of waist-high broccoli plants, stifled a squeal at a spider’s web near one of them, and plucked up the blunt-tipped harvest knife from her bucket of tools.
Tomorrow.
“Shut up,” she muttered, slicing a thick broccoli floret from its base and placing it in the awaiting straw basket. Life would be awesome if she could manage to cut off her train of thought as easily, but that was impossible. She’d learned that the hard way the night before, when sleep hadn’t come to her until the wee hours of the morning, only to be lost to her a few measly hours later.
Tomorrow.
What did that mean, exactly? Did Ry have more humiliation in store for her? More opportunities to point out how embarrassingly shallow and indiscriminate she’d been during her teen years? Because he’d been right. The only reason she hadn’t been banged by every Brody brother was because no one had ever taken her up on what she’d so gleefully offered. She’d thrown herself at whichever Brody was around whenever the opportunity had presented itself, just like every other girl in Bitterthorn. It had been a game, and whoever managed to catch the eye of one of the Brodys won the prize.
And what prize was that exactly?
She frowned, trying to get her tired brain to cough up an answer while she moved from plant to plant. What prize had she and all her girlfriends really been playing for in their never ending attempts to bang a Brody?
Bragging rights.
If any of them had managed to have sex with a Brody, they would have gotten frigging bragging rights.
Ugh.
God, what a stupid game.
And what a stupid, arrogant girl she’d been to play it.
As her fury and humiliation eased to a dull roar, realization that she’d never looked at the Brodys as actual people began to filter in. It finally dawned on her that she couldn’t blame Ry for not wanting to be pursued. That childish game cheapened him as a human being. In her eyes, he’d been nothing more than a notch on a bedpost.
How revolting.
Worse, how revolting it was that playing that game hadn’t even bothered her until now.
A sound of self-directed disgust escaped her throat as she worked. There was no excuse for her callous behavior toward the entire Brody family when she’d been younger. At the time she’d assumed that while the Brody brothers were generally thought of as unmarriable, they were still good enough for some casual fun.
Like toys.
They’d been good enough to play with—to bang and brag about—but never thought of as something that should be taken seriously.
Ugh, again.
If any man had ever dared to view her that way, she would have gone into face-slap mode in a hot minute.
Certainly she’d never forgive it.
Celia had made her way through the broccoli, the onions and garlic, the Swiss chard and lettuce, and stopped to check out the riotously growing sugar snap peas on a trellis when she caught the sound of an approaching engine. Because it was still so early, she didn’t have any expectations that the sound had anything to do with her until it came to a stop right at the garden’s edge.
Tomorrow.
With her heart bounding into her throat, she turned in time to see Ry slam the driver’s door of his truck that he’d parked on the grass just outside the garden’s gate. Her eyes widened further when he blasted without pause through that gate, his burning eyes never leaving hers as he zeroed in on her like an arrow.
What the hell...?
“You can’t park there,” she tried to say, because really, she had standards. They might be in the Deep South, but parking a pickup on the grass was just way too cliché for her. Then he hauled her up so hard against him her feet left the ground and her hat flew off, and still he kept moving until her back was flat against the fence slats.
Whoa.
“Never again,” he grated, his voice more dangerous than she’d ever heard it. “We are never doing this again, Celia. I fucking mean it.”
Shock made it hard to find her voice. “Wh-what?”
“You got this one night all to yourself to be mad at me, and I hope you enjoyed it, because that’s it. That’s the only one you’ll ever get. From this point on when you get pissed at me, we hash it out even if it takes all night. But we are never going through another night like this, where I’m in one damn place and you’re in another damn place, and you’re outta my reach so I can’t make you stop being mad at me.”
That got her attention. “You can’t stop someone from being mad at—”
Without another word, his mouth came down on hers, and in that heartbeat of time everything else fell away. The only thing left to do was let him take her mouth in a kiss that was wet and deep and so sensual it felt like an act of carnal sex.
If she lived to be a hundred, this was one kiss she’d never forget.
She also had to acknowledge that Ry could, at least for the moment, stop her from being mad.
When the worst of the storm driving him had passed, the mood of the kiss changed, evolving into such a long and thorough exploration of her mouth that it made her toes curl and muscles melt. Her hands were in his hair without her knowing how they got there; her tongue wantonly dueled with his, daring him to bring more heat to an already-growing flame.
He took up that challenge like a champ.
With his mouth never leaving hers, one of his hands found its way under the loose gauzy material of her white peasant top. He caressed a fiery path up her spine as if hungry for the feel of her, and if his low hum of approval was an indication, he loved having that hunger satisfied. Then, with a twist of his wrist her bra came undone, and that hand slid over her rib cage and captured her breast.
Her breath caught with a shudder when his callused hand cupped the full underside and lifted it as if sampling how well she fit into his palm. Then the air suspended in her lungs whooshed out in a nearly soundless purr as his thumb abraded her nipple before he boldly rolled it between his fingers.
Damn, damn, the man knew how to use his hands.
Wetness surged between her legs, the intimate flesh in her cleft pulsing with a lusty demand she had no choice but to give in to. Hungry for more, she arched into his touch, and her hands traveled down to his hips to pull them hard against her.
“That’s it, darlin’.” The words came on a low groan, and the sound of it delighted her. She was also delighted by the poker-stiffness of his cock pressing into her pelvis, making her excitement rocket into the stratosphere. “You want what I can give you, don’t you? You want me inside you.”
Saying it out loud made it hotter and more real somehow, to the point where she could practically feel his hard flesh stretching her, filling her... “Yes. Damn it, yes.”
“How bad do you want me, my beautiful Celia?” His mouth
moved to her neck while he continued to alternately squeeze and caress her breast. His free hand traveled to the waistband of her well-worn jeans, kicking her excitement up another degree. “If you want me, you’ve got to tell me.”
There was no point in denying the obvious. “I want you. I can’t breathe, I want you so much.”
“Prove it, darlin’. You don’t know the helluva night I had, convincing myself I’d fucked up with you and that I’d never have another shot at you. I need you to make me believe it.” His mouth came back to hers for another deep kiss while his fingers popped the top of her jeans and worked the zipper down. Her gasp broke the kiss, and he looked down into her face with stormy eyes. “Make me believe you, Celia.”
The world seemed to hold its breath as she gazed into his hot-as-hell eyes. Then, as she pulled his head back down to hers, she rocked her hips so that his hand got all the encouragement it needed to slide through the opening of her jeans and past the barrier of her undies.
Yes.
“Celia.” He breathed her name into her mouth, even as she gasped into his when his fingers slid through the slickness soaking her panties. He took his time working her channel before pressing and circling her clit, making her whimper at the sharp stab of pleasure. “My sweet Celia, you’re so wet for me. You have no idea how much I love that. How close are you to losing it, right here and now?”
“Damn it.” That was the best answer she could come up with. If he wanted to make fun of how hot she’d gotten just from a few kisses, there was nothing she could do about that. She just didn’t want him to stop. Besides, he should know better; when his hand was inside her panties, now was not the ideal time to have a chat.
“Gotta make sure my woman’s not still mad at me, so it’s up to me to put her in a good mood.” His words came in between shallow breaths, but she barely noted that. She was too busy rolling her hips, rubbing herself eagerly against his hand even as he massaged her clit, and the friction they created was so sweet and pure she couldn’t even breathe. “That should be another rule for us, yeah? If I make you mad, I’ve gotta make you come. If you make me mad, it’ll be your turn. Deal?”
