Driven to Distraction

by Lori Foster

  Charlotte blew him a kiss on her way out.

  “Yes, my boss requested Brodie specifically, but that was based off internet research. I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to hiring you instead—”

  “No.” Brodie turned a chair to face her profile and slouched into it, his sprawled legs only inches from touching her small feet.

  As Red inhaled, her extraordinary chest swelled, her chin tucked in and her brows came down. It was an impressive show of anger and control.

  If he wasn’t such a dick, he might have felt chastened.

  She slowly turned her head to pinpoint him with her brilliant blue-eyed disdain. “You look inebriated,” she stated, her voice a little louder than it needed to be.

  “Cuz I was. But that was last night. Now I’m just suffering a hangover.” He winced theatrically. “Have a heart and talk a little softer.”

  “Why,” she asked, her voice not one iota quieter, “are you working in the sun if you’re—”

  “How else will I learn?” Keeping his face straight wasn’t easy, but her expression made the effort worthwhile.

  Her brows smoothed out, then lifted. “Pardon?”

  Jack laughed—and since he was a loving brother, he at least moderated his tone. “Brodie is a big believer in self-discipline.”

  “More like self-castigation,” Charlotte muttered as she returned with a tray of sandwiches and chips on paper plates. “If he suffers the ill effects of his decisions, maybe he’ll make better ones.”

  Brodie saluted her with his water bottle, then took half of his sandwich and offered it to Howler. The dog gulped it down in one big bite, then waited hopefully for another.

  “Damn, man. You seriously gotta learn to chew.”

  Ears up and alert, the dog licked his loose lips.

  Red blinked quickly.

  Brodie blinked back at her. Mocking. Taunting.

  Why, he didn’t know, but it just happened.

  She rolled in those soft, plush lips and turned away, her curvy little body stiff. “Mr. Crews—”

  Jack and Brodie both said, “Yes?”

  Her spine straightened even more. Her gaze stayed only on Jack. “I’m quite sure my employer would be pleased to—”

  “Jack’s not available.” Brodie bit into the other half of his sandwich.

  Her hands fisted in her lap. “I haven’t yet said when I need him.”

  When she needed him? Smirking, the wheels already turning—

  Jack glared a not-too-subtle warning at him, cutting off the joke he so badly wanted to make. Yeah, he got it. They needed the job.

  He swallowed the bite and asked, “What’re the specifics for the job?”

  Somehow, the little prude managed to stiffen even more. She looked ready to break—and damn, how he wanted to see that.

  Her attention only on Jack—or so she wanted them to believe—she pulled out a manila folder from the soft briefcase she held in her lap.

  Tilting his head, Brodie studied her shapely calves and trim ankles beneath a knee-length skirt. Her skin was pale, her legs smooth, her feet small.

  Hell, he’d known plenty of small smooth pale women, so why was he getting so twitchy?

  “The job is immediate.” She slid the folder across the desk.

  As she did so, the skirt grew taut over her sexy rump and rounded thighs.

  Yeah, he noticed. Hell, no amount of alcohol or morning-after headaches would keep him from seeing something that luscious.

  Little red ringlets, curled from the humidity, stuck to her delicate nape and dangled around ears decorated only with pearl studs.

  Realizing he was taking interested inventory, Brodie lounged farther back in his seat and gestured for Jack to open the folder and peruse the contents.

  First, Jack set aside the enclosed business card, then looked over what Brodie assumed to be a proposed contract. After a few seconds of reading, Jack asked, “Marigold, Kentucky?”

  “A very small town that borders Tennessee. I’ve estimated it to be a single-day job. Five hours to drive there, an hour to retrieve the item my employer has purchased, then the drive back.” She nodded at the papers. “Sign and you’re hired.”

  Jack turned the contract so Brodie could see it, but spoke to the lady. “This says five thousand dollars. For a day job?”

  Brodie nearly whistled. That was some serious cash. “What are we picking up? A dead body?”

  Soft lips pinched. “Of course not.”

  “A live body?”

  She swiveled her head to glare at him, cobalt eyes trying to cut out his heart.

  “Hey, I’ve seen The Transporter.”

  She inhaled, making her breasts strain the front of that damp, thus sheer, blouse. “What my employer has purchased is very important to him. He wants to ensure its safety...and it needs to be delivered to him by end of day tomorrow.”

  “Does the contract say what it is?” Brodie asked.

  “Does it matter?” she returned.

  Jack and Brodie shared a look, but hey, five grand was five grand. If he got there and it was anything shady, he could deal with it then.

  Decision made, Brodie enjoyed telling her, “Well, Jack’s out.”

  “True,” Jack said with sincere apology. “I have a previous commitment that can’t be changed. But Brodie—”

  “Your first choice,” Brodie chimed in.

  “—is absolutely available.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Knowing he’d gotten his way, without quite knowing why it mattered, Brodie put his arms back in a relaxed pose, his fingers laced behind his neck so he could pop out some tension without being obvious about it. He really did feel like shit.

  Yet the day rapidly improved.

  Miss Priss glanced at his armpits, scrunched her face in disapproval and turned back to Jack with a plea. “But—”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said.

  She disapproved of armpits? Everyone had them, even prissy redheads. Brodie smiled. “I can leave at 5:00 a.m.”

  After prolonged hesitation and, he guessed, some teeth grinding, she finally nodded.

  Thwarting the lady felt so good, it even took the edge off the drumbeat in his temples as he watched her averted face. “Just give me the address and the name of the person I’ll be seeing, whatever other info I need, and I’ll get it done.”

  Silently, she closed her briefcase, slid a long strap over her shoulder and stood.

  Jack came to his feet, too.

  Brodie didn’t. He tipped his chair back on two legs and watched the frustration play over her face. She wasn’t a real beauty, but she was certainly pretty. The hair was a showstopper. Those eyes, so damn blue they defied description, would always draw attention. And that mouth, even while compressed in annoyance, could inspire fantasies.

  Here in the cooler air, her freckles weren’t as noticeable.

  Shame. They were kinda cute. Maybe sexy even.

  All that with curves galore in such a small package, and it was no wonder she affected him.

  “Ahem.”

  Brodie forced his eyes off the lady long enough to cock a brow at his brother.

  Jack’s scowl sent a message loud and clear: if you lose this job by being an asshole, I’ll make sure you regret it later.

  Knowing Jack, he’d probably take advantage of Brodie’s diminished state. Sighing, he decided to attempt some gentlemanly behavior.

  But Red beat him to it.

  “I’ll have all the pertinent details, as well as half the payment, with me tomorrow before we leave. We can finalize the contract then.”

  His chair dropped forward with a clatter, making his head nearly explode. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw to contain his brain, which seemed to be doing aerobics between his ears. When it finally eased
up he cracked open one eye.

  Both Jack and Red watched him, the first with pity, the second with annoyance.

  “We?” Brodie rasped, unsure he’d heard correctly.

  “It is my responsibility to ensure the safety of my employer’s purchases.” She looked down her nose at him. “You are merely the transporter.”

  Merely the transporter? Indignation brought him to his feet so that he towered over her. Her haughty little nose barely reached his collarbone, but did she back up a step?

  No, not this ballsy lady. Instead she tipped back her head and met him glare for glare.

  Brows drawn together, Brodie pointed a finger and opened his mouth.

  But she wasn’t done.

  “Be sober tomorrow.”

  He almost sputtered at that flat demand. “I don’t drink and drive!”

  One brow arched up. “No hangover, either.” Her stern gaze dipped over his body, and then she dismissed him as she turned away—with a last cutting remark. “And, Mr. Crews?”

  He waited.

  One hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “If you truly want the job, you must be fully dressed.”

  With that edict, she marched out of the office and toward the exit.

  Brodie stepped out to the hall to stare after her, watching that well-rounded behind barely sway at all as she went through the door and into the dusty yard. Well, damn.

  Joining him, Jack put a hand to his shoulder. “I like her.”

  “You would,” he grumbled. But honestly, he liked her, too. The lady was a fireball. He started to grin.

  “No,” Jack said. “We need the money, so don’t fuck it up or I’ll demolish you.”

  “That’s the thing with you,” Brodie complained with good humor. “You only look like the civilized one.”

  * * *

  MARY CURSED HERSELF for the hundredth—maybe the thousandth—time as she sat on the bed, her laptop open before her at three in the morning. Her eyes burned and she couldn’t stop yawning, but then she hadn’t slept much through the night.

  She put the blame for her sleepless night squarely on the boulder shoulders of that scruffy-faced, rude, provoking cretin that Therman insisted she hire. When he’d first named Brodie Crews as the courier he wanted, she’d thought nothing of it. Their last transporter had relocated and hadn’t been that reliable anyway. Twice he’d been unable to accept Therman’s assignments, and that had left them scrambling for a replacement. If Brodie Crews worked out, Therman wanted him on retainer.

  But then her boss, Therman Ritter, an eighty-six-year-old eccentric sweetheart, didn’t have to be around the man. No, Therman stayed tucked away in his million-dollar retreat, collecting his “valuables” and avoiding society.

  It was Mary’s job to socialize, to make human contact and to ensure the acquisitions happened without a hitch. She always accompanied the courier to guarantee Therman’s interests were respected—and kept private.

  She should have had Mr. Crews sign the contract yesterday, but at that point she’d still been hoping to talk Therman out of hiring him.

  And she’d wanted to get away from the man as quickly as possible.

  In some indefinable way, he threatened her peace of mind and her carefully crafted persona. A first for her, and damn him, she didn’t like it.

  Looking over all the research she could find on Brodie, she marveled that Therman had chosen him. She couldn’t find one overwhelming reason to explain why her unusual boss had focused on that brother instead of the other, but she did know now that Jack wouldn’t have been accepted. Therman had been very clear on that point.

  Thank God Brodie had insisted, because Therman had been very displeased with her efforts to switch up brothers. Her descriptions of them, her comparisons, hadn’t mattered at all.

  Therman wanted Brodie, and only Brodie.

  It wasn’t the Mustang Transport website that had convinced him. It was still being built and contained only the basics. It wasn’t Brodie’s bio, either, which mostly mentioned his history as a courier and dedicated work ethic. Nor would it be his stellar driving record, because that was expected for his career choice.

  No, the one thing that had won over Therman was Brodie’s rescue of that oversize, long-boned dog. Therman had read a lot into it: compassion, determination, duty, honor... The list went on and on. That single heroic incident had convinced him that Brodie was the perfect person to complete the job.

  Frustrated, Mary sat back against the pillows and read the too-brief article again. Brodie had found the dog chained to a stake in the broiling sun near a junkyard. No food, no water. Signs of abuse.

  Mary swiped away a tear, furious with the idea that anyone would ever mistreat any animal. In many ways, it was the same as mistreating a child. One couldn’t speak, and the other was often too afraid to tell.

  Brodie must’ve been furious, too, because he found the owners and offered for the dog. In doing so he’d apparently stumbled onto a drug deal in progress. Guns were drawn, shots fired—and somehow Brodie had come out of it whole hide, with three men wounded. He’d taken the dog home, rehabilitated him and given him the cushy life.

  That was a year ago, and while Mary did consider it incredibly heroic, it had absolutely nothing to do with transporting Therman’s valuables.

  Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she closed her laptop and got up to shower and dress. It’d be a long drive, requiring professional yet comfortable clothes. Knowing things didn’t always go as planned, she carried an overnight bag with an outfit change and other necessities, just in case. In the past she’d been caught in downpours, had food or drinks dumped on her, and once she’d slipped on a muddy hill.

  Since she detested her freckles, she also packed her makeup for touch-ups.

  Today, she would not let Brodie rile her.

  She wouldn’t deliberately breathe in his earthy scent, either.

  Or admire his body... The way those massive shoulders flexed with each small movement, or how his muscular frame tapered into lean hips, and how that damp, curling body hair teased down his torso and into the loose jeans that hung so low...

  Mary stifled a small groan. Ungluing her feet from the floor, she rushed into the shower, vowing that she definitely wouldn’t notice that.

  Given her instructions on his presentation, namely that he be fully clothed, it should be a little easier.

  She’d never known a man like him, never experienced such casual rudeness and disregard for propriety, never met a man so, so...unashamedly masculine.

  She’d never felt the ridiculous magnetism.

  Mary covered her face, whispering aloud her shameful truth, “Physical attraction.” She was hotly, keenly turned on by a goon, a brute, a man who flung his maleness out there for all to gawk at.

  And gawk she had.

  Over and over again the scenario in the office played in her mind. The way he’d slouched in his seat, uncaring that his legs had sprawled out, his big feet in the rough boots almost touching her chair, those solid thighs straining the worn material of his jeans.

  The soft bulge behind his fly nearly impossible to ignore.

  He’d positioned those thick arms behind his head, exposing his underarms as if it were a casual thing to display himself in front of a possible client. The pose had flattened his impressive pec muscles into solid slabs over his chest, while bulging his biceps and tightening his abs.

  And she’d looked. Against her will, against her usual comportment, against every proper behavior she’d always adhered to, she’d been unable not to look.

  It was as if all decorum and civility had been stripped away from him, leaving only hot, raw man and she, as a woman, had instinctively reacted.

  But that was yesterday and this was today, and today would be different. She’d see to it.

  By the
time she headed out of her apartment to her silver Ford, she’d donned as much armor as she could.

  Subtle makeup covered her freckles.

  Her wild hair was tightly contained in a knot at the top of her head.

  She wore a long loose gauze skirt that skimmed her ankles, with a snug-fitting tank, topped by a blouse for extra coverage in case his car’s air-conditioning made her too cool, and comfortable slip-on sandals. She looked neat and professional, but not stuffy.

  And best of all, her overblown curves weren’t that noticeable.

  After stowing her briefcase and small overnight bag in the back seat, she checked her phone one more time to ensure she hadn’t missed any messages. Therman often had last-minute instructions, but today, with Brodie, he remained silent.

  Ignoring the tiny thrill zinging through her bloodstream, she set off for the Mustang Transport office.

  She had a feeling today would be quite the adventure—because Brodie Crews was quite the man.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE OFFICES WERE EMPTY, the air heavy and still, only Howler’s snores breaking the silence.

  Brodie glanced at his phone screen to check the time, then returned it to his back pocket. Red was two minutes late. He folded his arms. What if he’d scared her off? What if she’d found some other courier to take the job?

  They could use the money both to make repairs to the existing office and to expand the business. But that was only part of the reason he wanted her to show.

  Yesterday he’d been in a fog of discomfort, so he wasn’t sure if her impact on him had been as sharp as he remembered. Red hair, blue eyes, a full rack and a handful at the rear... Nice, yes. Sexy, sure.

  But altogether, did she really pack such a lusty punch to the libido, or had he only been weakened by the hangover?

  He kept picturing her with her frowns and derision, contrasted with that rockin’ bod, and why the hell that’d make his cock jump, he had no idea. But even now he felt it, the brief stirring, the pull.

  Fuck that.

  Today, he decided, he would play it cool. He’d be businesslike. Circumspect. Calmly polite.

  If she showed.