The Bromance Book Club

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  The door swung open. Gavin threw the last several books under a blanket and knocked Mack down to sit on them.

  Thea walked in, followed quickly by Liv, and every man froze.

  Gavin cleared his throat. “Hi. Hey.”

  Thea’s eyes darted around the room. “Um . . . ?”

  Gavin remembered their costumes. “Oh, uh, the girls w-w-wanted to play dress up.”

  “I see.” She looked around again. “And where are the girls now?”

  “Asleep upstairs.”

  “I see.”

  Mack looked over the back of the couch and blew on his nails. “Hey, Thea. Congratulations about school.”

  Liv moved into the room and immediately spotted the take-out container. “Who ate my Chinese food?”

  Gavin pointed at Mack.

  Who had gone strangely still. He stared at Liv with wide eyes. Like, wide eyes. “Hi,” he said stupidly. “I’m, I’m Braden.”

  Liv shot him a glare that could have ignited a brush fire, and then she stomped toward the kitchen. In her wake, she left an unnatural, disbelieving silence, like the kind after a streaker runs naked across the outfield.

  A woman had just walked away from Braden-Fucking-Mack.

  “Never thought I’d see that,” Malcolm said in his calm baritone.

  “I feel like we just witnessed Jesus appear in a piece of toast,” Del said.

  Liv opened the fridge. “Oh my God! Did you guys eat my left-over pizza too?”

  She stomped toward the basement.

  “Liv, you might want to wait—”

  The slam of the door cut off Gavin’s warning, but no more than ten seconds later, Liv let out a yell. Her footsteps pounded on the steps as she raced back upstairs.

  The door flew open. She barreled out, gagging, and bellowed, “I. Hate. Men!”

  Gavin pointed to the front door. “Time to go, boys.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gavin didn’t exhale for twenty minutes, not until the guys had scattered, the women retired to their respective rooms, and he finally had time to retrieve the hidden books. He put them in two shopping bags and shoved them in the guest room closet. Then he sank to the mattress to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  That was a close one.

  The sounds of Thea’s nighttime routine drew him to her door. The splash of water in the sink as she washed her face. The quiet scratch of toothbrush against teeth. The slide of a drawer as she pulled out her pajamas.

  Open a vein, Del had said as he walked out the door, a sleeping Jo-Jo on his shoulder.

  Gavin knocked.

  “Come in,” Thea answered a moment later.

  She stood at her dresser, pulling out pajamas. His heart thudded with want and nerves.

  “How, um, how was today?” he asked, lingering in the doorway.

  “You mean at Vanderbilt or at the café?”

  “Both.”

  She gave a shrug. “Fine.”

  There it was. She was pulling back again. Take an emotional risk. “I was thinking of turning on the fireplace outside. D-do you want to come out with me?”

  Thea glanced at the bed and then back at him. “Um . . .”

  “We could read out there.”

  “O-okay,” she finally said.

  Gavin went out first to turn the fire on. Then he set out a blanket on the patio couch, opened two beers, and waited for his wife. She came out a few minutes later in his sweatshirt, a pair of leggings, and fuzzy socks. She’d piled her hair on her head. In her hands, she held their book.

  “Hey,” he said, struck dumb at the sight of her.

  She stopped a few feet away from him. “Hey.”

  “The fire isn’t hot yet, but I brought out a blanket.”

  “OK.” Her eyes darted to the couch, lingered there a moment, and then returned to his eyes. The expression in her gaze sent a shockwave straight to his impatient parts.

  She looked at him with longing. Blatant and unmistakable. Her chest rose and fell with labored breath. Her gaze dropped to stare at his mouth. His body went hot and hard. Painfully hard.

  He cleared his throat and he could barely get a word out. “You’re killing me, Thea.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You either have to stop looking at me like that or kiss me, but you have to be the one to d-do it, because I d-don’t want to ruin this.”

  Her eyes widened, but then she faked a laugh and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Gavin hid his disappointment and waited for Thea to sit first. Then he lowered to the couch next to her. Automatically, as if they’d done it a hundred times before, he turned so his back was against the arm of the couch so she could lean back against his chest. Thea pulled the blanket over their legs. Gavin wrapped his arm around her torso and tucked her against him. “This okay?”

  She made an mm-hmm noise and rested the back of her head against his shoulder. They stared silently at the fire for a moment, adjusting to whatever this was, whatever had started last night.

  “I hear you thinking,” he said.

  She answered with silence. Gavin held back his sigh. It wouldn’t do any good to get annoyed with her. He tried a different tactic. “We should’ve done this more often before,” he said quietly.

  “There never seemed to be time.”

  Open a vein. “There was, though. I could have made the time.”

  Her breath caught.

  “I put baseball first. I know that now. I missed everything. The girls’ first steps. Their first words. The trip to the emergency room when they were sick. I justified it all because my career was important, but I would give it all up right now if it meant saving us.”

  Thea slowly sat up and turned to look at him, probably to gauge whether he was being honest or not.

  She gave no indication either way, but he wasn’t prepared for what she said next. “Remember when you asked me how my mom was taking it that my dad is getting remarried?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The truth is, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since before Easter.”

  He had no idea where she was going with this, but it felt important. “Why?”

  “She’d gloat if she knew that you and I were having trouble.”

  He stiffened. “Gloat?”

  “When I got pregnant, she accused me of doing it on purpose. To, you know.”

  Holy shit. “Trap me into marriage?”

  “Yes.” It was one word, but it held a dictionary’s weight in hurt.

  “Jesus, Thea.” Fiction and reality suddenly collided.

  “She told me that I was definitely her daughter.” A sad laugh escaped. “Because she got pregnant with me on purpose.”

  “She told you that?”

  “I had always sort of suspected it, at least that I was not planned. My dad’s nickname for me was—” She stopped again. Gavin squeezed her gently with his arm until she started again. “He used to call me Shotgun.”

  Gavin’s hand clenched the arm of the couch.

  “I always thought when I was little that it was because I was kind of a little pistol as a kid. Then I learned that it had a specific meaning.”

  “How old were you when you figured that out?”

  “Nine.”

  Gavin cracked a molar. “Thea, you have to let me call that sonuvabitch.” Or better yet, let him drive all the way to the asshole’s house and slam his fist in the man’s face.

  “He’s not worth it.”

  “You are.”

  She studied his face again, looking for signs of deceit.

  “What your mom said—is that why you avoided me after you found out you were pregnant? Because you were afraid I’d think you were trying to trap me?”

  “Partly,” she said and s
hrugged. “And partly because I was just plain scared. I was young. We were young.”

  Gavin slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head. For once, he didn’t have to ask What would Lord Benedict do? to know what to say. “You getting pregnant was the best thing that ever happened to me. And not just because I can’t imagine my life without the girls, but because I can’t imagine my life without you.”

  A battle played out on her face, and he knew exactly the war that was waging inside her. A pathetic desire to believe him versus the cynical realities life had taught her. Words were beautiful. Didn’t mean they could be trusted. She was scared to cross this broken bridge, because she knew what was on the other end. Uncertainty and passion and joy—the kind that goes away. The kind that hurts.

  Love isn’t enough.

  “Thea, if anyone trapped anyone, it was me. I trapped you.”

  Thea’s lips parted again on a small breath. “What?”

  “I proposed wh-when you were scared. When you were vulnerable. I should have just made sure you knew I was in it for the long haul and let you adjust to the news before I brought up marriage.”

  A sarcastic eyebrow rose above her right eye. “I could have said no. I wasn’t helpless.”

  “But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I knew what it would be like being married to a Major League baseball player, but you didn’t. You never had the time to get used to it, to adjust to this.”

  Time stalled, and he noted every movement of her muscles. The way her jaw tightened as she swallowed. The way her eyes traced a path to his lips. The way she sucked in the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.

  And finally, thank God, finally, the way she reached out with one tentative hand and pressed it to his chest.

  She raised her face to his. Her expression was every bit as raw as last night, but also different. Last night she’d been overwhelmed. Tonight, she looked at him with longing. Desire.

  He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  * * *

  • • •

  Thea leaned into him, mouth open and willing. He wrapped both arms around her and hauled her onto his lap. The rush of blood pounding in her veins drowned everything but the sound of her trembling breaths.

  This was why she’d been hesitant to come out here with him. Why she’d needed space earlier in the day. This was what made him dangerous. She had no willpower in his arms, not after the beautiful things he’d just said.

  Oh, why had they stopped kissing like this? When had they stopped? And why couldn’t she stop now? Every second it went on, it became harder to maintain the barriers she’d built between them, but who was she kidding? They’d been knocked into fine particles of useless dust the instant he removed that blindfold and she realized he’d taken her to buy art supplies for their date. She could barely remember why she needed the barriers in the first place when little zings of pleasure ping-ponged from one body part to the next.

  “God, Thea,” he moaned, kissing a line down her jaw to her throat. She tilted her head and gave him access. His hand drifted up her waist into her shirt until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. “Can I touch you?”

  Thea shuddered with a yes. His fingers pushed aside the lace of her bra and caressed the hard tip of her nipple. She couldn’t stifle her reaction. She wrenched her lips from his and let her head fall backward with a groan. His lips found a new home on the sensitive pulse in her throat, while his fingers working magic against her swollen, aching breast. He flicked, rolled, tugged on the hard point of her nipple. All the while, his tongue plunged in and out of her mouth with an erotic rhythm.

  Thea sat up and pulled off her sweatshirt. Gently, but with a sense of urgency, Gavin slipped a finger beneath each bra strap and tugged them down over her shoulders. Her breasts popped free of their binding, and she reached around to undo the clasp. There was a rush of cold and then a flash of heat as his hands covered her flesh.

  She moaned and covered his hands with hers. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue plundered her mouth as his hands kneaded, his fingers twisted and flicked her hardened nipples.

  Butter suddenly barked and leaped up to chase something in the yard.

  Thea jumped, the interruption like a slap of common sense. She slipped off his lap and held her arm across her breasts. “Oh my God. What are we doing?”

  Gavin shifted uncomfortably. “Making out.”

  “We haven’t made out like that in a long time.” Thea tried to catch her breath as she pulled her sweatshirt back on.

  “Maybe we should,” Gavin rasped between breaths. He rolled his head to stare down at her, and the look in his eyes was as terrifying as it was heartwarming.

  “I should go to bed,” she said.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” Thea shook her head and stood. “I—I need some time.”

  Gavin stood and blocked her path. “Look at me.”

  She did, but reluctantly. His eyes bore into hers, asking questions that couldn’t be conveyed in words. “If we’re going too fast for you, we can take things slower. You set the pace, Thea. I promise. I won’t push you.”

  At her silence, he lowered his forehead to hers. “Talk to me, Thea. Please.”

  “I’m scared, Gavin.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about the consequences of such truth.

  But he answered with a truth of his own. “So am I.”

  Courting the Countess

  Oh, she could get lost for days in here, Irena thought as she took in the towering shelves of the library. If only she could. Benedict had been gone ten days. Ten days without a word from him or anyone else about what was happening at Ebberfield.

  And the only thing more infuriating than his inadequate explanations was her own dismay at his long absence.

  Irena had taken to exploring the library at night to keep from going mad.

  “Looking for something?”

  With a startled gasp, Irena whirled in the dark. Across the room, Benedict lounged like a lazy cat on a small couch. He raised his hand in a casual greeting that spoke of familiarity between them. His stocking-clad feet hung over the arm, and his shoulders filled out the cushion beneath him. He’d removed his jacket and cravat, leaving the skin of his throat exposed to her gaze.

  “You’re home,” she said as calmly as one could with a racing heart.

  “I am,” he said, his voice low and tired.

  “I didn’t hear you arrive.” And why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?

  “I did not wish to wake you.”

  Irena curled her bare toes into the rug. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Perhaps the same thing you are.”

  “You’re looking for books about the engineering of ancient Roman chariots?”

  “Thankfully, no.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Avoiding the temptation of the unlocked door separating our bedchambers.”

  “No. Not the same thing at all, then.”

  His hand flopped inelegantly against his chest. “You wound me, my dear.”

  A smile tugged at her lips despite her best effort to maintain a well-deserved state of self-righteous indignation. “I didn’t even know you were home, Benedict.”

  “And now that you do, what shall we do with our stolen time in the dark?” A teasing lilt had crept into his speech, but there was also a dark edge to his words, as if he were angry with her. But what right did he have to be angry? He was the one who had disappeared for days.

  “I suggest we look for my book.”

  With a graceful, fluid motion, Benedict straightened and rose from the settee. “Of course. Because what else do husbands and wives do in the dark?”

  Irena ignored the jab.

  Benedict slid the library
ladder along the railing that circled the room until he stopped at a section that looked like the sort where someone might hide books no one wanted. Which usually meant they were the kind Irena most wanted to read. He climbed the ladder several rungs and turned with one hand outstretched.

  “Candle?”

  Irena handed it to him and waited patiently as he cocked his head to read the spines. After a moment, he plucked a book from the shelf. He handed back the candle and then descended the ladder. Turning, he pressed a thin book into her. “Will this do?”

  She blinked in surprise at the title. “Engineering in Ancient Rome. I suppose this is exactly what I am looking for.”

  “Excellent. Then I shall light us a fire, and you can read to me until I fall into a deep slumber and forget the past ten days.”

  Her spine stiffened. “Forget the past ten days?” she snapped. “You disappear without a word after commanding me to stay, and you think I’m going to just read you to sleep?”

  Benedict dragged his hands down his weary face. “Irena, please.”

  “It’s late, my lord. You are clearly exhausted. Perhaps we should return to our rooms.”

  Benedict reached out and grasped her elbow. “I have no desire to spend another night alone in my empty chambers, Irena. Not tonight. Please. I just need to hear your voice for a while.”

  His quiet pleading broke her resolve. “What happened at Ebberfield, Benedict? How is Rosendale?”

  Benedict swallowed deeply but said nothing.

  Irena removed herself from his grip. “My lord, you have asked me repeatedly to trust you. Yet time and again you refuse to trust me. Until you do, there can be no starting over with us.”

  Clutching the book to her chest, Irena turned toward the door. She made it fewer than ten steps before he spoke again.

  “He’s gone. He held on for days, but his injuries were too severe. There was nothing to be done.”

  Irena turned around. In the low light of the candle, Benedict’s features chased a shadow that had nothing to do with the flickering flame.

  “Oh, Benedict. I’m sorry.” Irena walked back to where he stood. “You were close to him?”