by E J Frost
“Happy to spank you down anytime, girl—”
We both look up as the hallway door cracks open. Mac doesn’t even bother to tuck himself away but puts his arm around me and draws me close, so my lady parts are concealed against his body. When Logan pokes his head around the door, Mac relaxes his hold.
“Can I borrow Bren for a few minutes?”
“As long as you return her in the same condition,” Mac says. There’s an undercurrent there I don’t quite understand, but it’s reinforced when Mac slips his shirt around me and buttons up the front before sending me Logan’s way with a swat on my ass.
“Ouch, Sir.”
“Rule thirteen, girl.”
“Haven’t signed the contract yet, Sir.”
Mac growls and I beat a hasty retreat, following Logan into his office.
My spine stiffens as Logan shuts the door behind me. Mac might have complete faith in both of us, but I know Logan doesn’t like me. Whatever he’s going to say is not going to be good.
“Sit,” he says, pointing those two fingers toward the long, leather couch across from the cold fireplace. I fold down onto it with a wince because, damn, my ass is sore. Mac’s killing me. I expect Logan to sit at his desk. Instead, he sits at the other end of the couch, crosses his long legs, and levels me with that dark, Dom glare.
I push my shoulders back and fold my hands in my lap. I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. Even if I had, if anyone’s going to reprimand me, it should be Mac.
“Sir?” I say, trying to keep it respectful without showing throat.
“I want to talk with you about Mac.”
I swallow hard while I parse that through. He wants to talk with me, not to me. Big difference. And about Mac, not about whatever he imagines I’ve done wrong.
“Yes, sir?”
“What’re you doing with him?”
Man, there are so many ways I could take that question.
“He collared me and offered me a contract,” I say.
Logan waves that aside. “What are your intentions?”
He sounds like one of the dukes in Emily’s books—and yes, of course, I’ve read them, although I’ll deny it to my grave—asking me whether I intend to dishonor his daughter.
“Um, I’m not sure what you’re asking, sir.”
Logan rubs his hand over the arm rest and grips it, his knuckles blanching white. “Never thought I’d say this,” he mutters, before clearing his throat. “You’re good for him, Bren. Coming out of the service the way he has, I’m not sure it’s something you can understand unless you’ve been through it. He dedicated his whole life to serving his country and now it’s over. There’s no reason for him to get up in the morning. He’s adrift.”
Is he? I feel a hard clench in my gut at Mac hiding something so deep from me. Then I remember his easy comradery with the bikers. His desire for another brotherhood. He hasn’t hidden it from me. He’s shown me. And he gave up a chance at that brotherhood for me.
“I think he’s looking for something to replace that, sir, but I’m good with being his anchor in the meanwhile,” I offer.
Logan’s gaze sharpens. “Is this temporary for you?”
“That’s not what I meant. I know he’s looking for another band of brothers—” Wasn’t that a movie? I’m definitely not saying this right. “Er, brotherhood. Until he finds it, if he needs a reason to get up in the morning, I’ll be that for him. He’s good for me, too, sir.”
Logan puts his head down and stares at his knees. “Mac’s the best man I’ve ever known. I trust him with my life. Emily’s life. He will do the right thing no matter what the cost to himself. When I realized hurting my lovers got me off, I fell apart. It brought back a lot of feelings I couldn’t handle. Mac helped me accept my sadism and understand that I could still be a good person.” He lets out a long breath and I realize this is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen Logan. I knew they were close, but I had no idea the depth of his feelings about Mac. “Don’t fuck him over, Bren. His wife—”
Logan trails off, shaking his head.
“He’s told me about Amy,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “I’ve only heard his side of the story, but it sounds like she did a number on him.”
Logan gives one of his humorless laughs. Mac doesn’t seem to have those in him and I’m glad because I wouldn’t want that cold laugh aimed at me.
“You’ve got no idea,” Logan says. “Amy eviscerated Mac. I don’t know what she’s like now, but I met her several times while they were married. She was sweet and soft-spoken and never argued and never broke a rule and all the while she was destroying Mac’s fucking soul, cheating on him with everyone including Mac’s own base commander. You wouldn’t believe the things Amy told Naomi to turn her against Mac. Mac lives for that kid. We’d be in the middle of a mission and the whole world would stop because it was time for Mac to call his daughter. He never missed an occasion in her life. He spent eighty hours on cargo planes flying back from Africa just to spend four hours at her high school graduation. He risked a dishonorable discharge after eighteen years of service to go to her the first time she overdosed. And all the while, Amy’s telling Naomi that Mac abused her.”
I nod. I’m so glad Mac told me about that, even though it was hard to hear and made me question the foundations of our relationship.
“I’m not trying to get between you and Mac, Bren. I just want you to see that he’s different from Ten or the other Doms you’re used to—”
I hold up my hand to stop him.
“I would never compare Mac to Ten.” Particularly after Ten’s freaking tantrum. “I know Mac’s a very good guy. I know he’s devoted to his daughter and I’m sorry I was pissy he left to deal with her when I was dropping. I’ve apologized and I’ll try not to be an asshole about it again.”
Logan’s lips twitch. “You have no idea how badly I want to discipline you for that mouth.”
“You have no idea how grateful I am you’re not my Dom.”
Logan chuckles. “About that. You know I’ve asked Mac to move in with us once the third floor’s finished.” At my nod, he says, “You’re welcome, too. Emily would love to have to live here anyway, with or without you seeing Mac, but if you’re exclusive, then it makes even more sense. I can show you the blueprints if you’d like to see what we’re doing, but Mac’s going to have a suite of his own.”
“Mac mentioned you want this to be a family house. Are you sure I wouldn’t be stepping on your toes, sir?” I clear my throat before I clear the air. “I always got the impression that you didn’t like me very much.”
Logan nods. “Your brand of smart-assedness rubs me absolutely the wrong way in a scene, but I have no issue with you outside of one. You’ve been a good friend to Emily, and for Emily. She was feeling displaced when she first moved down from Syracuse and you helped her settle in and feel a part of the club. I haven’t thanked you for that, but I should. Whether or not you decide to move in, don’t be a stranger, Bren. And don’t ever think that I don’t like you. I’d have to beat you unconscious in a scene, but otherwise, we’re good.”
His grin tells me he’s kidding about the beating part. Mostly.
*****
I’m an absolute bag of nerves as we approach the sunshine and rainbow-covered doors of New Horizon Rehabilitation Center. I shouldn’t be. Mac and I have had two great days together, between his recovery of my design book, the ride up through the fall foliage with Napa, Wreck, and Tiana on the giant vibrator Mac calls a bike, pizza and head-to-head Frogger last night, to say nothing about the four orgasms he gave me this morning, making love, and it was making love, for hours. I should be as chill as if I’d just come out of the spa.
But the anxiety swirling around and around in my belly is going from cold to hot to cold until I feel like I have the fucking flu and the IHOP French toast and hickory bacon strips I had for breakfast are in serious danger of making a reappearance.
What if Mac’s daughter doesn’t like me? What
if she thinks I’m trying to replace her mom, or take Mac away from her?
I scowl at my reflection in the glass doors as Mac opens them. It’s not that I look bad. My dreads are under control in a long braid down my back. I’m pink-cheeked from the riding and orgasms, so I’ve kept my makeup understated: just eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. A blue and black sweater Bebe J gave me fits under my leather jacket without being too tight or revealing. I don’t want to be flashing my tits at Mac’s daughter. I’ve paired the sweater with black leather pants that are comfortable for riding. Now I’m worried they make me look too young, too edgy. Is Naomi some preppy college kid who will hate me on sight because of my dreads and Docs? I chew at my lip, tasting the faint peppermint of my lip gloss, and switch the bouquet of Black-eyed Susans I’m holding from hand-to-hand while I wipe my sweaty palms on my ass.
Mac glances at me, slips his hand under my elbow, and draws me off to the side of the two-story reception room with its round desk, empty seating groups, and a cheerful fire crackling in a central fire pit.
“Tell me what’s wrong, girl.”
I bite my lips. “Just stressing, Sir.”
“About what?”
I glance at the lady in blue-and-white-striped scrubs sitting in the receptionist surround. “Aren’t we on the clock, Sir?”
“Doesn’t matter if we are or not. What’s important here, girl?”
I blow out a long breath. I’m still getting used to being important to Mac.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m just a little nervous to meet your daughter.”
“What’s making you nervous?”
“I just hope she doesn’t hate me. Have you ever introduced a girlfriend to her before?”
“No, I haven’t.” Mac smooths his knuckles down my cheek. “Do you think I’m going to think any less of you if Naomi doesn’t take to you, girl?”
My stomach settles a little. Mac doesn’t let other peoples’ opinions influence his decisions; I’ve seen that again and again. “No, Sir. I mean, I hope not.”
“No, so put that out of your head. Put your hand on my chest and breathe with me for a moment, girl. This was not intended to stress you out.”
I set my palm on Mac’s broad pec, just over his heart. He’s wearing a camel-colored sweater so soft it must be cashmere. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest through the fine cloth. I match my breathing to his and after several deep breaths in and out, feel my stomach settle fully.
“I’m good, Sir.”
Mac leans in and kisses my forehead. “Yes, you are, my girl. And you try damn hard to please me. Don’t think it goes unnoticed just because I like your sass. I see what’s beneath it and I appreciate it.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He runs his hand down my arm and envelops my hand with his. “Now that you’re calm, let’s go.”
He steers me toward the reception enclosure and turns those killer blues on the receptionist, who visibly melts.
“I’m Michael McNally. Here to see my daughter, Naomi.”
“Oh, yes, she’s allowed visitors today. Your wife is already with her. It’s room two-fourteen. Up one floor.” The receptionist waves a pencil at the large staircase behind her. “Or take the elevator to two.”
“Thank you.”
Mac leads me to the stairs and keeps my hand in his as we climb them. “I’m not surprised Amy’s already here. She told me she wasn’t coming until this afternoon, so this is an ambush, girl. Means Amy’s in a fighting mood. Just remember what I told you. Whatever she says, it’s not about you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I try to keep that in mind, I really do. But when we walk into room two-fourteen, and I see the two women in it, both beautiful, both model-slender, both poised and polished, I’ll admit it knocks me right in the confidence.
The older woman—Amy, I assume—stands on her powder blue Jimmy Choo pumps that perfectly match the three-piece pants suit she’s wearing. She takes off her cat’s eye reading glasses, smiles like a ninth-level demon, and holds out her hand to me. “Doctor Haruna McNally.”
Mac’s ex-wife is a doctor? And I thought she remarried. Didn’t she change her name?
“Brenna Truelove,” I offer, shaking her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you.”
Okay, that’s a lie. But I think I carry it.
The other woman in the room doesn’t rise out of her chair. She has a fuzzy blanket thrown over her lap, but under it, she’s wearing a cream silk blouse, black skirt, hose and another pair of expensive shoes. Mistress Maude wears the same ones with the red soles. Fuck.
The hand she holds out trembles a little, and I’m gentler when I shake it.
“Naomi,” she says softly.
“Hi, Naomi. It’s nice to meet you.” This time, I’m telling the truth. Where Amy’s smile is predatory, Naomi’s just looks wounded. She’s a very pretty girl with her black hair, clear skin, and almond-shaped, dark blue eyes, but she looks unhealthy. She reminds me of the kids who came to Mother Kay’s from really bad homes. Not just places they were neglected, but places they were hurt. She has the same pinched, bruised look around her eyes.
There aren’t many places to sit in the small room, which has a bed, a dresser, a desk, and the two chairs Amy and Naomi are currently occupying. There’s a swivel chair tucked into the desk, which I grab and wheel over to sit next to Naomi.
She looks at me warily.
“I brought you these.” I offer her the bouquet of red, orange, and yellow flowers. “The fall colors are starting, and I thought you might like it if the colors were brought to you.”
Her wariness is replaced by faint surprise. “Thanks.” She takes the flowers and strokes a few of the petals. “That’s really nice of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glance at Mac, who is lingering by the door, apparently kept at bay by the fire and brimstone of his ex-wife’s glare. He meets my eyes and shakes himself free of his paralysis. Crossing in front of me, he swoops down to give Naomi a warm hug.
“How are you doing, kiddo?”
“Better, Dad.”
“You’re doing much better, aren’t you?” Amy says, taking her seat and putting her glasses back on. They make her look like the severe headmistress of some very expensive prep school; a look I think she’s cultivating with her glossy black hair drawn up in a tight chignon and carefully nude lipstick. “I told you this was unnecessary, Mac. All Naomi needed was to dial it back. She’s fine to return to school.”
I’m no expert, but Naomi does not look fine to me.
Mac steps back and leans against the wall beside the door. He crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s completing the twenty-eight-day program, or I’ll have her committed.”
Amy shoots to her feet. “What?”
“You heard me. She’s a danger to herself. She finishes the program, or I’ll have her committed. I’ve already gotten advice on this. I’m within my rights as her next of kin and I’m not backing down this time—”
“Mom,” Naomi interrupts, a wash of color blooming on her cheeks as she glances from me to her mother. “I’ll stay. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“We just talked about how much time you’re losing at school, Nay-Nay. You can’t afford to be out for a whole month.”
“You talked about how much time I’m losing,” Naomi mutters. “I told you, I’m keeping up with my classes. I’ve even gotten a tutor for multivariable calc now. We’re doing sessions over Facetime.”
Amy plants her hands on her skinny hips. “That is not a replacement for a classroom experience.”
Naomi looks distinctly uncomfortable and buries her face in her bouquet, sniffing the sharp-sweet, grassy scent.
“Mac,” Amy continues. “You’re damaging your daughter’s chances of getting a degree. As an educator, I can tell you how critically important attendance and classroom participation is. Don’t you care about her education?”
“I care about her living to get her degree. If that’s w
hat she wants.”
Naomi shoots Mac a glance that I’d swear is grateful.
“Of course, she wants a degree. I won’t have you talking her out of finishing college just because you stopped at high school.”
“This isn’t about me,” Mac says evenly, although I’d be pissed at that dig if I were him. “It’s about Naomi deciding what she wants. If it’s a degree, she knows she has my full support. If it’s something else, I’ll support her in that, too. What she’s not doing is going back to school and starting up on the speed again.”
“It’s not speed ,” Amy hisses. “God, Mac, you can be so ignorant sometimes.”
“I know how to Google,” Mac responds. “And I can read an entry on WebMD. I also know you’re defensive because you’re using again. I can see it in your eyes and the way you can’t sit still for two minutes. You’re not mine anymore, Amy, and I don’t have a say in how you poison yourself, but I do have a say in Naomi’s future, and I’m telling you both right now, it’s going to be drug-free, whatever she chooses.”
Amy shoots a glare at me that’s so venomous I recoil in my chair.
“How dare you criticize me in front of this pre-teen you’ve brought—”
Mac pinches the bridge of his nose. “Amy, let’s take this out into the hall.”
“Oh, no, you brought her here. You can stand there and listen while she hears some home truths—”
“Actually, I’ll go wait in the hall,” I say, starting to rise out of my chair. “Seems like you need to discuss things as a family.”
“Please stay.” Naomi’s thin hand circles my wrist. “Mom, if you’re going to yell at Dad, could you do it outside?”
Amy swings an incredulous glare at her daughter. I guess Naomi’s used to that medusian gaze because she just shrugs.
“Fine.” Amy grabs up her designer handbag and stomps past Mac, pushing open the door into the hallway.
With a sigh, Mac follows her.
I can hear Amy ranting at Mac before the door even closes.
Naomi and I sit in awkward silence for a long minute. Finally, she says, “I apologize for my mom.”
“Don’t apologize for her. You didn’t make her act that way.”
