by Lori Foster
“It affects me,” he said. “Keep it up and I’m going to look indecent when I meet the head honcho.”
A rush of heat painted her face, her gaze dropped down his body, and she bit her bottom lip.
In anticipation of seeing him hard? He had a little more control than that—but not much. Not with her. “Mary—”
“This is interesting.”
Brodie turned fast and found a small man in a wheelchair, his body frail but his expression alert. Well, hell. If he didn’t miss his guess, he’d just met Therman Ritter.
Busted.
CHAPTER SIX
BRODIE WAITED, FOR what he wasn’t sure. All the man did was study Mary through one squinted eye with a bushy gray brow lowered over it. His still-thick hair, precisely cut, was more a steel gray than Jolene’s white hair.
Wearing jeans, sneakers and a casual button-up shirt with the cuffs of the sleeves turned up, he looked comfortable in his chair. His gaze shifted to Brodie.
Age might have weakened his body, but a keen intelligence showed in those shrewd gray eyes. “You nailed it,” Therman said.
“Head honcho, you mean?” He’d already been caught; no way to back out of it now. “I figured.”
Beside him, Mary quietly groaned.
Therman tapped his fingers on the chair arm. He murmured, “And you’re Brodie Crews,” as if taking his measure.
Unable to fully judge the man’s mood, Brodie said, “Guilty.” He stepped forward, bringing Howler along with him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Given his smaller size, Therman’s grip was surprisingly firm.
Releasing Brodie, he sat back in his chair and smiled at Howler.
Was everyone here an animal lover? Brodie had a feeling a large part of his warm welcome was thanks to the dog.
“Aren’t you a handsome fellow?”
Yeah, Brodie knew that definitely wasn’t for him.
Surprisingly, Howler went straight for Therman, nosing against him gently.
The old man grinned and cupped the dog’s large head in both hands. “Call me Therman.”
He assumed that part was to him. “All right.”
Howler sat beside Therman, his head over his legs, and let out a long sigh.
Resting a hand on Howler’s neck, Therman asked Mary, “You have it?”
She immediately withdrew the box from her briefcase and brought it to him.
He opened it with near reverence. “Ah.” Those calculating eyes slanted toward Brodie. “You know what this is?”
Brodie shrugged. “Hair.”
“She didn’t tell you whose hair?”
“Told me it wasn’t any of my business, that if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”
A wide grin split his wrinkled face. “Mary understands me well.” He glanced at her. “Would you mind seeing what’s keeping Burl? I’ll starve to death before he calls us in to eat.”
“Oh.” Her gaze bounced from Therman to Brodie and back again.
Brodie could tell she didn’t want to go and he grinned. Yeah, let her wonder what he’d say and do. Served her right for misleading him.
Since she didn’t have much choice with Therman waiting, she relented. “Of course.” The quick smile that curved her lips never quite reached her eyes. Flashing a quick glance at Brodie, she warned, “I’ll be right back.”
He was still grinning when Therman said, “She’s afraid you’ll insult me.”
“If I do, it wouldn’t be deliberate.”
“Be yourself. It’s not a problem.” Putting the box across his lap and taking Howler’s leash, Therman turned his chair. With a small control, he wheeled it toward a set of inner doors. “Come on, boy.”
Brodie had no idea who he meant that time, but he followed them both anyway. “I haven’t always been on my best behavior with her. I didn’t meet her under ideal circumstances and—”
“She told me.” Therman waved off his explanation. “I got a good laugh out of it.”
Thoughts jumping, Brodie stepped around him to open the door. “All of it?”
Therman laughed. “She tried to talk me out of hiring you. Wanted me to take on your brother instead.” They entered a connected room built in a semicircle with floor-to-ceiling windows. The same wood flooring continued, but the walls were painted a light cream color with a variety of displays situated everywhere—musical instruments, pictures, paintings, clothes. “I insisted you would suit better.”
Great, Therman liked him—but did Mary still regret being stuck with him instead of Jack? If he got bored, maybe he’d ask her, just to see what she’d say.
She might get all severe and lecture him, or she’d start laughing again.
Odd that either possibility excited him.
Realizing he’d been quiet too long, Brodie said, “I appreciate the confidence.” He looked around at the eclectic collection, grouped in a way he couldn’t identify, yet somehow everything seemed to belong.
Therman shrugged. “I’m told I can be demanding.”
“Yeah?” He wondered if it was age, illness or an accident that had the man rolling instead of walking. “Who tells you that?”
“Mostly Jolene.” Therman’s bushy brows bobbed comically. “No one else would dare.” He moved toward the back of the room. “If you agree to the terms, you might need to take off at a moment’s notice. I try to avoid holidays, but it’s not guaranteed. Nights, weekends, during inclement weather—none of that factors in when I have to act quickly on a piece that’s become available.”
Brodie eyed a display of morbid drawings. One was ink on a stained napkin, another marker on a torn piece of cardboard. Weird. Still studying them, he said, “Barring any emergencies with my family, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Therman rolled up to a pair of blue suede shoes, laces neatly tied, sitting on a grand display pedestal with an accent light aimed at it. Carefully, he placed the lock of hair over one shoe. “Want to guess whose hair that is?”
Bemused, Brodie tugged at an ear. “You shitting me?” He glanced at Therman. “Sorry, I meant—”
“Not shitting you, no. The guitar is his, the suit, signed album and signed school yearbook.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s an impressive collection, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Brodie looked at the lock of glossy black hair. He supposed the importance of it now made sense, at least for a collector. He shook his head and glanced around again, this time with new perception.
“Our Mary is a special woman.”
Our Mary? Brodie shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t bump anything and, trying to act like Therman hadn’t just thrown him a curveball, asked, “Oh?”
“The others here... They’re friends who offered help when I needed it, and now they’ve become like family. Their loyalty is the same as you’d have for your brother.”
Brodie figured that was more valuable than anything Therman could add to his collections, but he didn’t say so.
“Mary, though, she came to me as a stranger when I placed an ad for an intelligent, motivated, savvy businesswoman who could, as I explained to you, be ready on a moment’s notice without complaint or excuses.” Therman rolled to another display, this one of abstract images created with light, thick paint. “You agreed to those terms with the caveat that a family emergency would take precedence. That’s as it should be.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
Therman rolled again. Howler patiently followed until they stopped before a display of small figurines on glass risers. Quietly, Therman said, “Mary had no caveats before she accepted.”
The meaning of that stopped Brodie in his tracks. Therman didn’t look at him, but then, he didn’t need to. The tension in the man’s shoulders, the way he held his head, told Brodie that this was an important topic for him.
<
br /> Our Mary.
It was weird, but Brodie felt his heart go heavy.
In sadness?
Sympathy?
He wasn’t sure. Whatever the hell caused the uncomfortable sensation, he wasn’t used to it. Not with women unrelated to him.
There was a lot of meaning in the conversation, so Brodie didn’t take his usual out using sarcasm or jokes. Instead he came to stand beside Therman. “How long’s she been with you?”
“Three years.” While petting the dog, Therman peered over his shoulder. “She’s as loyal as the others, but not from familiarity or a long-standing bond. Her loyalty is from respect—and gratitude.”
“Gratitude for what?” A woman like Mary Daniels could have her pick of jobs. Probably her pick of men, too.
“She’s never missed a day,” Therman continued without answering his question. “Not a single day. Not in three years. She’s never balked at picking up and running at a moment’s notice. Never complained about a driver, either.” Those steely gray eyes pinpointed him. “Until you.”
Well, that sucked. “I don’t...”
Half under his breath, Therman muttered, “Had a few who were real pricks, too.”
Umbrage dug into his shoulders, making him stiffen. “I hope you fired them.” It annoyed Brodie, on Mary’s behalf, naturally, that she might’ve had to deal with jerks.
Jerks other than him, he meant. Shit.
“Didn’t need to. Mary managed them like a teacher with an unruly third-grade class.”
A reluctant grin caught him. “Yeah,” Brodie said, relaxing just a little. He had to remember that Mary Daniels was a force to be reckoned with. “I can imagine that.”
“I’ve never known her to date.”
Another bomb dropped unexpectedly. What the hell was Therman getting at? “You expect her to report her personal life to you?”
“No, but she’s here a lot,” he groused. “I think I’d notice, whether she mentioned it or not.”
“Hmm.” Maybe he’d ask her that, too, Brodie thought. Then he shook his head, unsure if he wanted to hear her mooning over some dude. Instead, he reassured Therman, “A woman like her, I’m sure she’s kept busy.” What guy could resist? If it wasn’t for the job, Brodie would have already tried his hand—
Mary burst back in, then paused as her gaze scoured over him critically, probably looking for telltale signs of monkey business. When he winked at her, she caught herself and, shoulders back, walked sedately toward Therman.
Which also put her close to him.
Brodie looked her over with new appreciation. The woman was all abundant curves and take-charge attitude in a sedate package that teased his senses. He noticed that a long tendril of hair, glossy and red, had escaped her updo. It draped over her shoulder, the curling end licking at her left breast.
Damn.
He must have made a sound because when she reached the back of Therman’s chair, she paused to glance at him, one supercilious brow raised. “What?”
Crazy that such a simple thing could thicken his blood...and his cock. Struggling to get it together, Brodie asked, “Did you run?”
A little breathless, she replied, “No, why?”
Fibber. He reached out and fingered that silky hank of hair between his fingers. The backs of his knuckles brushed beneath her collarbone. Even through the blouse, he felt the warmth of her skin. Seeing the pulse beating wildly in her throat deepened his voice. “You’re coming undone.”
Their gazes held.
A sudden “Harrumph” intruded.
Mary jumped away from him, yanking her hair when he didn’t let go quickly enough. Wincing, she turned her back on him and jabbed the hair back into that hideous bun.
Therman didn’t turn to see them, but he did say, “If you young people can zip it up for now, I’d like my dinner.”
Embarrassed heat splotched her cheeks, but Mary said calmly, in that strict authoritative voice that Brodie found hot, “Burl has it ready. Would you like me to take Howler?”
“I’ve got him.” Therman turned his chair and with the dog keeping pace, rolled out of the room. Mary stuck close to him, but while she pressed her pretty mouth with anger, her gaze repeatedly strayed to Brodie.
The interest was there, for both of them.
The big question now, at least from Brodie’s perspective, was what to do about it.
* * *
MARY KNEW SHE walked stiffly, but holy smokes, she might have caught fire when Brodie touched her. Right there, with Therman present. She wanted to fan her still-hot face but didn’t.
She also wanted to ignore him—and couldn’t.
Against her better judgment, her gaze repeatedly flicked his way, and each time she found him watching her. He was an irreverent person, often mocking, always baiting, yet now he seemed incredibly somber.
Why did he look so different?
Why was he looking at her differently?
Therman talked to the dog as they made their way to the formal dining room, telling him what a strapping lad he was and praising him for his manners as if the dog understood every word.
“I used to have a dog.” Therman tipped his face up to Mary. “A little yapper, no bigger than this one’s head.” He stroked Howler from his ears to the base of his scruff. “My wife, God bless her, got him five or six years before she passed, but he was never really her dog. No, he took to me right off.”
Mary said, “Vera told me about him.” She knew he’d loved the dog, and maybe that was why, in all the time since, he hadn’t gotten another.
“Never met a more temperamental creature, or one that adored me as much.” Therman grinned at some memory. “He was always on my lap and used to bite anyone who got within reach.”
“That amuses you?” Brodie asked with his own grin.
“He couldn’t really hurt anyone, but he’d give a mean pinch.” Therman cocked his bushy eyebrow and admitted, “I used to lure people over to me, just to see them get nipped.”
“I guess you being you, no one got mad?”
Mary wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but Therman seemed to get it.
“Oh, I’m sure they did, but they hid it.” Sounding disgruntled, Therman complained, “Respect is one thing. Cowardice is another.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brodie said.
Therman snorted. “I can’t picture you swallowing your ire, so don’t spin that yarn on me.”
He gave a short, rough laugh. “No, I won’t.”
Eyeing him, Therman said, “You wouldn’t have gotten mad at the dog, either.”
“With you egging him on? I’d know where to put the blame.”
Therman grinned.
It amazed Mary that they already got along so well. In one respect, she was relieved, because their friendliness would make her job easier. But in another, she almost felt...left out.
Like a third wheel.
The friend who got taken along out of pity, but never truly belonged.
For Brodie, it seemed simple to just fit in. She imagined most men liked him. And most women probably wanted him.
She did—even though she knew she shouldn’t.
They’d be working together for the foreseeable future. Somehow she had to insulate herself from his appeal. It wouldn’t be easy, but then, little in her life had been.
* * *
TWO WEEKS LATER, Brodie dragged himself into the shop in time to see his brother preparing to head out. First things first, he decided, yawning as he made his way to the coffee machine. God bless her, Charlotte always fixed a pot first thing, and she knew to make it strong.
Jack poked his head out of the office and asked, “Late night?”
Brodie poured the mug full. At least three times a week, Therman sent him and Mary out. It was more than he’d exp
ected, but with the amount of money he made he didn’t have any complaints. The work was easy and there wasn’t anything he’d rather be doing—especially since he enjoyed spending time with Mary, even though she’d retreated into professional politeness.
For now, he’d let her have her way. Eventually she’d loosen up again—he hoped.
“Actually, I got in by six,” Brodie said. “It was a short trip.”
Sauntering out of the office, Jack asked, “So why do you look like you haven’t slept?”
Because he hadn’t. To stall, he drank a gulp of coffee, and burned his mouth.
While he grimaced, Charlotte breezed in, looking extra pretty in a simple yellow sundress, her curly brown hair in a long loose braid.
Her blue eyes were lighter than Red’s, he noticed, as she looked him over with humor. “Our boy, Brodie, isn’t used to being around a woman who doesn’t fall at his feet.”
Jack, the dick, lounged against the wall, arms folded. “Seriously? She isn’t begging you for it?” Dripping sarcasm, he asked, “It’s been weeks now. What’s wrong with the lady?”
“She’s smart,” Charlotte sang, while patting Brodie’s shoulder. “And she’s a professional.”
“Meaning she can’t sleep with the hired help?” Jack tsked.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?” Brodie asked him.
“I have at least fifteen minutes to heckle you.”
“In that case, fuck off,” Brodie said to Jack, and then to Charlotte, “You used to be such a nice girl, but you’re developing a real mean streak.”
“It’s from being around you two.” She sashayed past on her way to her own small office.
It was a teasing statement, but it hit Brodie like a brick. He looked at his brother and saw Jack was just as poleaxed.
They stared at each other.
Jack spoke first, saying, “We probably are a bad influence.”
“No probably about it.” He swallowed more coffee, this time welcoming the burn.
“She’s twenty-five now, not fifteen.”
“Which just means she’s ripe for picking, and what if someone like me goes after her?”
Jack choked and, like a loyal brother, asked, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
