by Lori Foster
Damn it. Jack didn’t need this right now. Belatedly lowering his voice, he said, “I didn’t spank you. It was one playful smack to get your attention.” And talking about this was getting to him.
Ronnie poked him in the chest. “That’s why you want me at your house, though, right?” With a teasing purr, she asked, “So we can do the nasty again?”
“It wasn’t nasty.” He hated the way she put that, making it sound so base and insignificant, as if she could find the same satisfaction with any other man.
Like hell.
“I won’t deny wanting you.” This time he slowly brought her closer until they touched from knees to chest. Looking down into her beautiful gray eyes, seeing only the color and clarity, not all the kohl and other paint, he softly insisted, “But there’s more than sex going on between us and you know it.”
A taunting smile curved her lush lips and she nudged him with her belly. “Unless you’ve taken to carrying a gun in an odd place, I think that’s your dick between us.”
Jack inhaled sharply. Yes, he was getting hard and it infuriated him. He didn’t want her to have such an undeniable effect on him, not now when he needed to make an important point.
Fighting back the need to take that smiling mouth, to soften it with a kiss that’d curl her toes, he said, “There are things we need to discuss before we get off track.”
Her gaze shuttered, then focused somewhere around his collarbone. “I’ll agree to sex,” she muttered, one hand resting against his shoulder. “But the other stuff... I’ve already talked too much.”
Finally, with Herculean effort, he got his polite mask back in place. He’d need all his self-possession and then some to deal with Ronnie when she was dead set against him.
He almost let the importance of talking slide away. Sex with her again... He’d awakened wanting her, and he wanted her still. He had a terrible suspicion that the craving wouldn’t go away any time soon.
Only the mutinous look in her eyes kept him from agreeing. She expected him to give up on her—because that’s what everyone else had done. Even after she’d escaped a madman, her family hadn’t welcomed her back.
In many instances, he’d be suspicious of the person rejected, wondering what behavior had caused that break in love and respect.
When it came to Ronnie, she’d been little more than a kid, and there was never a good excuse, no viable reason or sound logic for anyone, most especially her family, to treat her so heartlessly.
He’d grown up with his mother making him and Brodie top priorities. He knew without a single doubt that his mom would have fought the devil himself to keep her sons safe. Whenever he’d screwed up, she’d given him hell with the same enthusiasm that she doled out affection. She’d taught him respect by demanding it for herself, showed him that he could make mistakes by admitting to her own. They laughed a lot, disagreed on occasion, and loved unconditionally.
Ronnie had been denied the same, and it broke his heart for her.
In his experience, people who suffered emotional wounds either became needy, clinging to one and all in their pain—or they withdrew behind walls of ice to ensure they’d never be hurt again.
Ronnie had fought for her independence, to make it on her own without needing anyone for any reason.
Now he’d have to fight to win her over.
“Ahem.”
They both looked up to see a crowd at the door. Given the grins his mother and Charlotte wore, Brodie had shared what he’d overheard.
Great. Just freaking great.
Ronnie took an instinctive step away from them, squeezing into his side before realizing what she’d done. Squaring her shoulders, she thrust out her hand and took a big stride toward his mom.
Face composed, chin up, she said, “Hi. I’m Ronnie Ashford. I hired Jack as a driver.”
“I’m Rosalyn Crews, Jack’s mom.” She took Ronnie’s hand in both of hers and didn’t let go. “I brought the boys lunch. Come join us, okay? There’s plenty.” Not giving Ronnie a chance to refuse, she tugged her out the door while adding, “I love your hair. That cut is amazing. And you have stunning eyes. Charlotte told me so, but I couldn’t quite envision it all.”
Charlotte carried Peanut, which meant Howler trotted anxiously beside her.
There went his afternoon alone with Ronnie.
Brodie gave him a hard nudge. “Bet I can guess what you’re thinking.”
Unlikely, since Jack barely understood his own thoughts.
“I had no idea you were into that stuff.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
Brodie just grinned. “Hey, to each his own.” He started to walk away.
Jack drew him back.
Maybe his brother would be a good sounding board. “Hold up a second.” Leaning out the door, Jack called to his mother, “We’ll be there in just a minute.”
She stuck her head out of the breakroom to wave him off. “Take your time. We ladies will get to know each other.”
And...maybe that wasn’t a bad idea either. His mother had more than enough affection to go around, and God knew Ronnie could use a dose or two.
Closing the door, Jack turned.
Brodie’s grin widened knowingly as he took a chair. “Tell big brother all about it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NORTH TOOK HIS time setting up the room. A narrow cot, recently purchased, was positioned in the farthest corner but didn’t touch either wall. It was chained to the floor by an imbedded grommet. Here in the secret room of the basement, with cracks that crawled along each surface, damp permeated everything. He didn’t want Veronica’s bed ruined.
Not until he ruined it himself.
If only she’d stopped when he’d struck her rear window, he’d have her now. She’d be there, on that bed, one leg shackled. Helpless.
The timing had seemed perfect, but instead of confronting him, as he’d expected her to do, she’d chosen to flee. Smart girl.
He’d also assumed she would return to the hotel room. He’d planned to surprise her, to chat amicably until the right moment when he’d stab her with the syringe...
Oh, but the surprise on the big man’s face had almost been worth his own disappointment. How had he missed the yellow Mustang? It wasn’t like him to overlook such important details, but the hunger had swelled in him, beating like a pulse in his brain.
He’d thought he was close to having her.
He’d thought he was finally able to feed the hunger.
Oh, that little witch. North chuckled. She’d evaded him for now, but in the end, she’d pay for all the trouble.
Excitement bled through his veins, feeding his need with an adrenaline rush. Drawing a shuddering breath, he ruthlessly suppressed it. It wasn’t yet time...but soon.
No more assumptions. Now he needed detailed planning.
In the middle of the room, where Veronica couldn’t miss it, he’d opened his table and arranged his tools. Before he ever used them, they often had the desired effect of weakening a person’s will through sheer, unadulterated terror.
He adored that pale, stricken expression, the loss of hope, the consuming panic that peeled eyes so wide, they were surrounded by white.
He’d read enough about Veronica to know she was a fighter. He, however, wouldn’t take any chances. He had plans to wear her down long before she ever entered this room. He didn’t like hiring out the fun work to others, but sometimes it became necessary. He would plague her to keep her off balance and if she got wounded... Well, ultimately it would make her more malleable.
And in the end, he could fully enjoy the payoff.
Shivering with anticipation, he needlessly straightened the arrangement, touching each instrument with reverent delight.
She’d give back his property, oh yes, she definitely would, but first he’d have his
fun.
With one last look around the dank, windowless room, he knew he’d found the perfect victim.
Now to bide his time...until she was finally his.
* * *
AFTER GIVING BRODIE a bare-bones breakdown on Ronnie’s family history, Jack explained how they’d met.
“She comes across like sex is no big deal, but she has so many misconceptions—”
“Like a friendly little spanking?”
“Damn it, I didn’t—” Jack growled and ran a hand through his hair.
“Whoa, sorry. No reason to rip yourself bald.” Brodie gestured. “You were saying?”
Feeling like he’d somehow betrayed Ronnie, Jack scowled at his brother. Talking about it wasn’t easy, not because the topic was that unusual. But the woman most definitely was.
Fuck it. Brodie was his brother, and under the circumstances, his needling didn’t matter.
“This doesn’t go any farther.”
Brodie’s expression darkened. “Since you’re distraught, I’ll let that slide. Doubt me again, though, and we’re going to have problems.”
Laughing at Brodie’s affront, Jack scrubbed both hands over his face. It wasn’t funny. Not a bit. And still his brother could lighten his mood. “I saw how Mom and Charlotte looked. You said something—”
“No, doofus. They were grinning at you, not her. The way you look at the girl almost embarrasses me, and you know that’s not an easy thing to do. It’s obvious to me and them that you’re head over ass.”
Head over ass...in love? The idea didn’t unsettle him as much as it should have. “I don’t even know her that well.” What a lie. In many ways, he felt like he already knew her better than anyone else did. “It’s only been a few days.” They’d been apart more than together since he’d met her...was it really only a week ago?
“So?” Brodie made it clear that time didn’t matter. “I’m not saying you have to marry her tomorrow or anything. But you definitely need to see where it’s going.”
Yes, he did—assuming he could convince Ronnie, and there was the crux of the problem. “She tries to distance herself from everyone. Me, included.”
Brodie shrugged. “That’s never bothered Mom. She and Charlotte are in the breakroom right now schmoozing her. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” Ronnie was probably going to kill him, but she deserved a few more minutes with them first. If anyone could warm her up, he’d bet on his mom and Charlotte.
Sobering, Jack sat on the edge of the desk and ordered his thoughts.
Brodie didn’t rush him, but they were both aware of the women waiting just down the hall.
“She’s far from inexperienced,” Jack said, trying to explain without in any way insulting her. “But she’s so standoffish, so determined to avoid even the hint of a relationship, I think her experiences have been...fleeting.”
“No good details, huh?”
“Doesn’t seem like she’s ever stuck around long enough to discover any details.” The euphemism worked, since foreplay was, by necessity, detailed—with touching, tasting, stroking...and sucking—all in key places. “She treats sex like an appointment with a limited time to get things done.”
“Except with you?” Brodie asked.
Jack shrugged. Except with me. After they’d enjoyed themselves twice, she’d stayed the night, allowing him to hold her until dawn. And then she’d reverted to old habits, sneaking away like a thief.
Or a woman who wouldn’t admit her fears.
“With the way things went,” Jack said, “I already know she’ll refuse to stay tonight—”
“Even though someone might be after her.” Brodie stood to pace in the limited areas of the small office. “I saw the rear window in her car. Something big definitely hit it, but you know how it is with rocks. They come out of nowhere sometimes.”
“No,” Jack denied. “Her instincts are as sharp as mine. If she says someone threw it, then that’s what happened.”
Brodie gave it some thought. “Well, I have an idea to offer, but it’ll be a pain in your ass.” He held out his arms. “It’s all I got, though.”
At this point, Jack didn’t think he could be picky. “Let’s hear it.”
* * *
IN HER HEAD, Ronnie pulverized Jack. Twice. Where the hell was he? How dare he dump her off with his mother, of all people?
At least she got to hold Peanut, who was now clean, brushed, and wearing a collar—which made her like Brodie even more.
Thanks to the gentle care the cat had received, comfort and security had replaced the panic. Peanut curled up on Ronnie’s knees, allowing her to stroke two fingers along his back. Howler didn’t complain, but he laid his massive head over her lap so he could remain close, his worried eyes going often from the kitten to Ronnie and back again.
He hovered, like a mother would hover over her only child.
It was so obvious that the long-boned dog felt possessive when it came to the tiny kitten. Of course Ronnie stroked him, too. He was such a big but gentle beast.
Like Jack.
Remembering how Jack had reacted when saving the kitten, she wondered if Howler, too, could be ferocious when necessary.
“Aw, they both adore you,” Rosalyn Crews said. “Animals are a good judge of character, obviously.”
Obviously not, Ronnie thought, or both animals would steer clear. Her character, she well knew, left a lot to be desired.
As Howler crowded closer, Rosalyn laughed. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, ma’am.” She liked animals. They seldom rejected a friendly hand.
“Call me Ros,” she said, while cleaning off the round table. “I insist.”
Ronnie bit back another “yes, ma’am,” changing it at the last second to “Okay, thank you.”
Rosalyn flashed her a smile. Jack’s mother was bubbly. And sweet. And down to earth.
A likable woman...who Ronnie didn’t want to like. Hell, she didn’t even want to know her, but already felt like she did, at least a little. Ros Crews was just that open, that welcoming.
Ronnie had already been drawn in, feeling an almost instant affinity for the older woman, maybe because of her appearance.
Jack’s mom didn’t have a single ounce of artifice.
A high ponytail held her long, light brown hair away from a face too young to have grown sons. Her jeans were as faded and broken in as Ronnie’s favorite pair. The sweatshirt she wore had probably come from Brodie, given how big and sloppy it was on her.
And her eyes—Jack’s eyes, Brodie’s eyes—were absolutely stunning on a woman. Rosalyn didn’t need mascara, not with those incredible lashes.
Honestly, she could see why Jack’s dad kept slinking back. The wonder of it was why he’d ever cheated in the first place. He had to be a complete fool.
Ros caught her looking. “If I’d known we had company, I might have changed.”
“You look great. Comfortable.”
That made Ros laugh. “I live for comfort.”
Ronnie nodded. “Me, too.”
Holding out the hem of the sweatshirt, Ros explained, “Brodie outgrew this his junior year. It’s old enough to be really soft. Especially cozy on cool days like today.”
When she began setting out food from a large tote bag, Ronnie said, “I should go,” vowing she’d give Jack hell the next time.
“But...” Ros paused, each hand holding a container of food. She managed to look both hopeful and understanding. “Please stay and have lunch with us.”
All the niceness unnerved her in its unfamiliarity, or so Ronnie told herself, because denying the appeal of it was easier than admitting that she’d never known this much warmth and easy acceptance.
In truth, it scared her a little.
But the food...the food looked amazing. Fried chicken, pot
ato salad, and more. Hell, she could always eat.
Howler apparently felt the same.
The dog finally gave up his sentinel by the kitten to look longingly at the food. He licked his chops as if already tasting it.
“You big mooch,” Ros said with affection. She opened the door and yelled down the hall, “Brodie Archer Crews, come and take care of this animal.”
Immediately the office door opened. “Yes, Mom,” he sang back.
By leaning forward just a little, Ronnie could see Jack prodding Brodie along—two big gorgeous men with similar traits and unique styles.
Her heart gave a little flip of visual appreciation.
In his hand, Brodie carried a large dog treat. Howler, not being a dummy, ran to greet him.
It wasn’t fair. They were both so gorgeous and friendly and...damn it, nice. She wasn’t used to that, to people who went out of their way to counter her belligerence.
And to have a mom like Rosalyn, a woman who welcomed a weirdo like her without batting an eye...
Of course, Ros didn’t know that Ronnie was a weirdo. She didn’t know about the nonstop nightmares Ronnie suffered, or that her family had thrown her away, that she’d escaped a kidnapping, and...and what? That she was so damned dysfunctional, it terrified her when Jack was nice, and still she craved his hot bod and the things he could make her feel?
Yeah, not something you could tell a man’s mother.
Charlotte breezed back in, carrying several colas. “Who wants what?”
In the chaotic fashion only a family could bring, everyone answered at once.
Before Ronnie could say again that she was leaving, Jack pulled up a chair to her right, cleaned the top of a Coke can with a napkin, popped the tab, and set it in front of her. Brodie took the chair to her left, so close that his elbow bumped hers. He grinned at her when she gave him a sharp look.
Conversation happened around her, all while the kitten purred and Howler returned to chew on his bone beneath her chair. At this point, even if she wanted to push away from the table, she couldn’t. Not without tripping over the dog.
