by Roni Loren
“Sure you do. You’re a pig.”
“Cela . . .” He stared back at me like he was searching for the right words. As if any response could explain away what I’d seen. I had to hold myself back from screaming at him some more.
When no response came, I shook my head, and took a step toward the door. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m with her, too,” he said finally.
I barely resisted rolling my eyes but did halt my exit to look at him. “Well, obviously.”
“No, I mean . . . Jace knows.”
My lips parted, my jaw going slack. “He what?”
“He knows that I’m with her.”
Before I could blurt out my disbelief, he raised a palm, cutting off my response.
“I promise you he’s fine with it. I know it’s a lot to understand because it’s not the norm. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. But it works for the three of us. We all love each other and are happy being together.”
I blinked, the way he’d said the last part giving me pause. “All?”
He wiped a hand down his face, closing his eyes like it was too hard to look at me and answer at the same time. “I’m with Jace, too.”
“With,” I repeated, almost more to myself. “Like with?”
He gave a slight nod of admission.
“Holy shit,” I murmured and sat on the edge of the bed, the truth breaking through the neat structure of my reality. My brother was in a relationship with two people. And bisexual? My brain hurt. “And did you ever plan on telling me this?”
He looked away, confirming my suspicion that no, he wouldn’t have. “I wanted to protect you. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to keep such a big secret from the family.”
My parents. Oh, God. If my father even had a suspicion that Andre was interested in guys, it’d be Armageddon all over again. I suspected this may even be a higher offense to him than my sister’s teen pregnancy and abortion. He’d have the priest over for an exorcism.
“And I didn’t know what you would think,” Andre said, his voice quiet.
I peered up at him then, catching the rare vulnerability in his dark eyes. God, how could he even have worried about what I’d think? I loved him. That didn’t come with conditions. “What I think is that I want you to be happy. If they make you happy, then that’s all I need to know. I’m just hurt that you didn’t feel like you could share that with me. That you’d think I’d judge you.”
He sighed and sat down next to me on the bed. “I guess part of me still feels like you’re my baby sister and too young to know that kind of thing about me.”
“I’m twenty-three, Dre. I’m not a toddler.”
His lips curved. “I know.”
Then another thought hit me, and I punched him hard in the arm. “Oh my God, and you totally jumped my case for being with two guys. Meanwhile, you’re doing the same damn thing!”
He grabbed his arm, rubbing the spot I’d hit. “Hey, do as I say not as I do.”
“That’s bullshit,” I declared. “And you’re so going to make that up to me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, really. And how am I going to do that?”
I pressed my lips together, thinking of the earlier talk with my father and then with Wyatt, the plan that had come to mind when I’d seen that wax-sealed envelope. And I knew exactly how Andre could pay me back. “You, dear brother, are going to take your little sister to The Ranch.”
He shot off the bed like a roman candle had been shoved up his ass. “The hell I am. That’s not even kind of an option. You don’t know what type of place, what kind of stuff, what happens . . .”
“I do. And you will. I have someone I need to talk to who’s there and it can’t wait.” I stood up and straightened my skirt. “After cake, we’re going on a road trip.”
“Cela,” he warned.
“If you don’t, I’ll get the address from Jace and go myself.”
Lines appeared around his mouth. “They won’t let you in. It’s members and their guests only.”
“Young, innocent woman wanting to try out some new things. I’m guessing I could convince someone to help me out and get me in.”
He groaned. “Dirty fighting, Marcela.”
I smiled and grabbed his hand. “I learned from the best. Now, come on. Cake!”
He gripped my hand, halting me from my exit, and I turned back. His eyes were searching. “Why are you doing this, Cela? What purpose could it serve? You’re leaving in a few days.”
I wet my lips, nervous to say the words aloud even though they’d been floating through my brain for longer than I’d care to admit. “Maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, Cela,” he said on a weary sigh, his hand releasing mine. “Don’t do this. Not for a guy.”
I looked away, unable to deal with that big-brother stare and that disappointed edge in his voice. “Maybe I’m doing it for me.”
“Sure you are.” He stepped over to me and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “But I’m not going to be Papá. Your life, your decision. I’ll drive you out there if that’s what you really want.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. “Thanks, Dre.”
Tonight would probably turn out to be a huge mistake. Clearly, Andre thought it was. But it was my mistake to make.
I couldn’t walk away.
Not yet.
Read more of Cela and Foster’s red-hot romance in
Part V of NOT UNTIL YOU
NOT UNTIL YOU BEG
Available from InterMix on July 9, 2013
Keep reading for another special excerpt
from the next book in Roni Loren’s Loving on the Edge series
CAUGHT UP IN YOU
August 2013 from Berkley Heat
Kelsey stared out the side window of Wyatt’s BMW, trying to get her skin to stop crawling and her heart to stop its attempt to bust out of her chest. When Howie Miller had stepped into the restaurant, it was like being yanked back eighteen months—her life rewinding and then hitting the Play button at the shittiest part.
Well, almost the shittiest part.
She’d been so careful. Had picked up and moved her whole life to a completely new area. She’d even registered her apartment and all her utilities under another name. And the cops had said they would never reveal that she’d been the informant. But the look in Howie’s eyes when he’d pushed her against the wall had said he knew exactly whose information had put his brother in jail. If Wyatt hadn’t followed her out there and distracted him . . . She didn’t even want to think about it. In that world, being a snitch was a capital offense. And Howie had looked more than ready to mete out her punishment.
Wyatt, who’d been quiet for the last few miles, glanced over at her. The lingering anger over what Howie had done hovered there in the tense lines of his face and his grip on the wheel. He looked as if he wanted to beat up the guy all over again. “What did that punk want with you? I’m guessing it wasn’t a random attack.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said, turning back toward the window, wishing she didn’t have to have this conversation with Wyatt. Wyatt, who only knew her as the chatty waitress and his brother’s friend. Nothing else. None of the ugly stuff. She’d hoped it could remain that way.
“Was he an ex or something?”
She grimaced, the idea making her stomach turn. “God, no.”
Wyatt blew out a breath like that was the best news he’d heard all day. “Then what?”
She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with the silver bracelet she’d treated herself to when she celebrated her first year sober. That day had felt like such a fresh start, like a new life was there for the taking. But apparently the dregs of her past were determined to stir up and muddy everything again. “I helped put his brother in jail a while back. He wasn’t supposed to know it wa
s me, but I guess he figured it out and was coming to pay me back.”
“Christ,” he said under his breath as he took the turn toward her apartment complex. “Thank God he’s going to be behind bars now, too.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts,” she said dryly.
Wyatt flexed his fingers against the steering wheel again, those big, beautiful hands of his knotted with tension. “You need to file a restraining order on him when you get home. Just to be safe.”
She had to fight back the scoff that wanted to jump out of her throat. Restraining orders were worth about as much as the ink used to sign them. In her experience, they usually just served to instigate the person further—like waving a flag at a crazed bull. “Sure. Will do. My building’s the one there on the right.”
“You’re humoring me,” he said, displeasure coloring his tone as he swung the car into a parking space.
“I’m sorry,” she said, letting her head fall back against the seat, exhaustion setting in now that the adrenaline had left her system. How long had it been since she’d slept? She couldn’t quite remember. “I’m not trying to be flip. I just—everything was going so well and now I have this to deal with. I want to throttle that asshole.” She opened her eyes, staring forward. “Is it supposed to be this hard to live a drama-free life?”
She caught his smirk in her peripheral vision. “Some people would call drama free boring.”
She turned her head toward him. “Boring sounds amazing.”
He smiled fully now. His jaw was still a little swollen from the punch, but that didn’t reduce the impact of the expression. God, he was gorgeous when he let that grin slip through, lighting up all those dark features and revealing the dimples hidden beneath. He smiled so infrequently that it felt like a gift each time it happened, like she’d won some secret contest.
She stayed where she was, enjoying the close-up view of him too much to look away. But in the small space of the car, the ocean blue of his eyes darkened behind his glasses the longer she sat there, his humor morphing into something decidedly more intense. Heat seeped through her in a slow roll, the playful fantasizing about her fictional boyfriend becoming more of a desperate itch for the real thing.
Wyatt reached out, his large palm cradling the side of her face. “You’re too young and too sweet to have so much history in those eyes.”
She wet her lips, her cheek tingling beneath his touch. “I’m not that young, Wyatt. Or that sweet.”
He stared at her, that blue gaze boring into her with the precision of a surgeon’s knife, and she thought he was going to lean over and kiss her. She wanted him to. Even though she knew it was a ridiculously bad idea, knew that the minute she crossed that boundary with him, she’d be just another woman he’d bedded. She was well aware of the score with guys like him. Had tripped down that path a few too many times in the past. Wealthy men didn’t date women like her—they entertained themselves with them.
But all Wyatt did was brush a thumb over her mouth, swiping the moisture she’d left there, and then lowered his hand with a softly expelled breath. “Come on. I’ll walk you up. You need rest.”
She blinked, the loss of his touch like a cold wind against her face, and tried to drag herself back to reality. “Oh. Um, don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine.”
But he was already opening his door. “I’ll feel better if I see you safely inside. I rarely get the opportunity to feel chivalrous.”
She laughed, breaking some of the tension that’d been thrumming through her body from the imagined almost kiss, and pushed her door open to climb out. “Is there a white horse to ride up the stairs?”
“Nah, he’s in the shop.” He offered a little bow and a bent elbow. “Will my arm suffice, fair lady?”
She tilted her chin up in her best imitation of haughtiness. “I guess that will do.”
He smiled and took her hand, linking it around his arm. “Lead the way.”
If Wyatt had any opinions about her modest apartment complex and its peeling paint or sagging stairs, he kept the judgment off his face. She knew he’d probably never spent a night in anything less than five-star accommodations, but she wasn’t going to bother being embarrassed about where she lived. She’d worked hard to get her own place on the decent side of town and even if it wasn’t much, it was hers.
She guided him to her door and reluctantly released herself from his hold to slide the key into the lock. There was a note taped above the doorknob, and she suspected it was the landlord telling her rent was a day overdue. She grabbed it and turned the knob, stepping inside.
She expected Wyatt to follow, but when she turned around, she found him leaning against the doorjamb like a vampire who needed permission to cross the threshold. “You can come in if you want.”
His mouth lifted at the corner. “Probably better I don’t. Leaving the car was hard enough.”
So she hadn’t imagined the almost kiss. She set her purse down on the breakfast bar, debating whether or not to push the issue. Even nudging a toe down this road was a bad idea. But she couldn’t help herself. The question that had been hovering in her mind ever since that first week he’d started coming to the restaurant spilled out. “Why do you come to the cafe every morning? Jace told me where your building is. It’s not convenient.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Because I like you.”
She absorbed that for a second, the matter-of-fact way he said it. The answer didn’t shock her exactly. He wasn’t one of those guys to throw lines at her and shamelessly flirt, but she could tell when he looked at her that he wasn’t just concerned about getting her attention for a coffee refill. However, mixed in with that subtle interest, she always sensed some underlying layer of distance. Like he was watching her from the other side of bulletproof glass. “So why didn’t you kiss me in the car?”
He pushed himself off the doorframe and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Same reason.”
“Right.” At least he was honest. Message, loud and clear. If they slept together, she would never see him again. “You don’t date.”
“No, I don’t. Not very dateable, I’m afraid.”
“Sure, with the good looks, your own company, and the penchant to save waitresses in dark alleys, women must run away in horror,” she teased. “Come on, you know you could have your own season of The Bachelor and fill Texas Stadium with the contestant casting call.”
His curving lips had an edge of resignation to them this time. “Women like me on paper. But the reality isn’t as bearable. I work from seven in the morning to past ten most nights. I’m a control freak in all aspects of my life. And my social graces leave a lot to be desired.”
“Meaning, you can be an asshole.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “My tolerance for others is limited.”
She had already gathered that about him. The glare he’d sent that customer who’d interrupted them today could’ve bent the silverware. “Yet you visit me every morning.”
“You’re exceptionally tolerable,” he said, stepping inside finally and picking up the note that must have fallen to the floor when she’d set her purse down.
His comment and having him only a pace away from her—in her apartment, alone—had her thoughts disintegrating for a moment. To stop herself from moving even closer and embarrassing herself, she went for the safety of humor. She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes in her best southern belle impression. “Oh, Mr. Austin, you say the sweetest things. You should write poetry.”
He chuckled and handed her the paper, his hand lingering against her fingers for a few extra seconds. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. LeBreck. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”
“Will do my best.” The loss of the skin-to-skin contact left her feeling even more alone than she had a minute before. She looked down, unfolding the paper in her hand to have something to do besides g
rabbing the lapels of his jacket and taking the kiss for herself. “Thanks again for everything today. I’m really sorry you had to get inv—”
Her words stuck in her throat like a wad of taffy as she stared down at the drawing on the page—a very familiar, distinctive D.
“Kelsey?” Wyatt’s voice filled with concern. When she didn’t respond, he came toward her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.”
She closed her eyes, a wave of nausea and raging anger rolling through her. A firm hand grabbed her elbow, steadying her. She took in a deep breath through her nose, trying to keep the temptation to lose her shit at bay. She’d been here before. She could handle it.
Of course, before she could’ve taken a shot of whiskey and smoked a cigarette. But neither of those options were available anymore. This time she was on her own in every way.
“He came here first,” she said, her voice sounding flat.
Wyatt took the paper from her fingertips. “Who? Miller?”
She nodded, trying to regain her internal composure so that Wyatt didn’t notice how she was running around and screaming on the inside. “I need to get out of here.”
“Wait, what?” Wyatt asked as she pulled away from him.
“Miller’s part of a much bigger operation—the D-Town Players.” She headed toward the closet on the far side of the living room and yanked it open, a plan trying to form in her swirling brain. How long had they been standing here talking? What if someone was already heading this way? Where the fuck was her suitcase? “That note is letting me know they know where I live.”
“Fuck, Kelsey,” Wyatt said, lines deepening around his mouth. “How involved is this? Is it some sort of street gang?”
She shook her head, squatting down to move a few boxes at the bottom of the closet. “They’re much more organized than that. I don’t exactly know how big it is. I was never privy to that.” She dragged her overnight bag out of the back corner and turned around. “I just . . . dated some prick who was a drug runner for them back when I was too stupid to know better.”
