Driven to Distraction

by Lori Foster

  “You know.”

  They thought Charlotte couldn’t hear, but she leaned out of the doorway and smiled. “You’re perfect, Brodie—just not perfect for what I want.”

  “Which is?” he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

  “Marriage that lasts. A battle-free home. Two babies, a boy and a girl. Happy-ever-after.” She waved a hand. “All that.”

  He opened his mouth but shut it again. She’d answered without hesitation, completely stumping him. He turned to Jack. “I got nothin’.”

  Jack scowled, but said only, “Pretty sure you can’t dictate the sex of your babies, hon.”

  That made Brodie a little green, thinking of Charlotte, who was his little sister in every way except blood, giving birth.

  “I can do anything I set my mind to. You two taught me that.”

  Brodie rubbed the back of his neck. “Well...” Charlotte waited, her expression patient and expectant at the same time. “It’s just that you’re setting some impossible goals.”

  “Men aren’t perfect,” Jack explained.

  Brodie nodded.

  “Overall, we’re really imperfect.”

  “Assholes, even,” Brodie added.

  Jack shot him a look. “Speak for yourself.”

  “I think he was.” Charlotte laughed, bringing their attention back to her. “When I find the man I want, which I’ll do without any help from you two, thank you very much, he won’t be like either of you.”

  Jack straightened. “What’d I do?”

  “You schmooze,” she accused.

  He drew himself up in indignation. “I do not.”

  Snickering, Brodie said, “Yeah, you do.”

  “And you,” she said, pinning Brodie in her gaze. “You’re too full of yourself to know a good thing when you see it.”

  “If by thing, you mean Red—”

  “See,” Jack interrupted with a sneer. “He’s not too stupid after all.”

  “She never said I was stupid!”

  Jack opened his mouth, but Charlotte beat him to it. “No, I didn’t. And I never would. You’re both wonderful. Smart. Caring and considerate.”

  Brodie watched her warily.

  “But you two can be so incredibly dense.”

  Jack tried to speak.

  Charlotte wasn’t having it. “And yes, I meant Mary.” She shifted to Jack. “You hold women away with distant politeness, and Brodie drives them away with mockery.” She put her little nose in the air. “If I didn’t love you both like crazy, I’d call you cowards. But that would be mean, and I’m never mean.”

  Brodie snorted.

  Jack glanced at him. “She’s been insulting us for ten minutes and she doesn’t think that’s mean?”

  “She must’ve taken a few lessons from Mom.”

  The outer door opened and Mary stepped in, Howler on her heels.

  Brodie shook his head. The dog rarely bothered to stir himself for anyone, but he adored Mary and followed her around like a lovesick pup.

  She stopped when she saw them all in the hallway, Jack outside his office, Brodie near the coffeepot, and Charlotte lounging in her office doorway.

  Jack and Charlotte grinned at her.

  Brodie refilled his cup.

  Howler plopped down to his butt and leaned against her legs, almost throwing her off balance.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Am I interrupting?”

  Today she wore a sleeveless navy blouse with peach-colored capris that should have clashed with her hair, but instead made the red more intense. The shirt was long and loose, draping over her full breasts like a tent, blending into her rounded hips in a way that totally hid her waist. If he was a blind man, or as stupid as Jack accused, he’d think she was shapeless.

  But the opposite was true: the more she covered, the more he saw, and damn it, the more he wanted her.

  Those vivid blue eyes went from his face, to Jack’s, to Charlotte’s as she waited for an answer.

  “Not at all.” Charlotte shifted away from her lounged position. “Come on in. Coffee?”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Charlotte looked pointedly at Brodie. He rolled his eyes, but turned to fetch the cup. Looking away from Red, even with her still in proximity, would give him a few seconds to get it together.

  All night he’d thought about her—mostly in the sexual context. Not since he was seventeen had he suffered so much unrequited lust. It sucked.

  Couldn’t be healthy. Hell, he’d never believed in blue balls, but if he checked out his own, he’d probably find them in some shade of misery.

  Behind him, he heard Jack ask, “Where are you off to today?”

  Mary said, “Indiana. We’ll only be gone a few hours.”

  “Short notice again?”

  “That’s usually how it works. A collector decides spur of moment to let something go, and whoever jumps on it first gets it. Sometimes there are auctions so it goes to the highest bidder, but for the most coveted items, all the serious bidders are already aware of who has what. Odds are they’ve already been making offers in hopes of striking the right number.”

  “Brodie said your boss is a great guy.”

  “He is.”

  Charlotte piped up. “He’s invited you both to dinner—what now? Three times?”

  “Yes. Therman likes to get firsthand accounts, plus he likes to know the people working for him. Talking during dinner gives him a chance to get more familiar.”

  Bringing the coffee to her, Brodie said, “Like one big happy family.” Except that Red still kept herself apart. He could sense it, and so could Therman.

  Why did she do that? Why cut out people who cared?

  Her fingers barely brushed his as she accepted the cup, and he felt the jolt clear down to his suffering balls.

  He watched her mouth as she sipped, saw her lick those fantasy-inspiring lips—

  Jack’s shove caught him off guard and he damn near ran into the wall before whirling around, seriously thinking of shoving back.

  Jack’s grin and Mary’s alarm halted him.

  Brodie pointed at his brother. “Soon.”

  “Pay no mind to them,” Charlotte said. “They’re always threatening to kill each other, yet as you see, they’re both still here.”

  “I wasn’t going to kill him, brat. Just bloody his nose.”

  “If we’re comparing noses,” Jack said, not the least bit worried, “anyone can see yours is the one that’s been broken.”

  Mary gasped, then scowled at Jack in accusation. “You broke his nose?”

  “Not me, no,” Jack quickly reassured her. “He got it smashed playing the hero.”

  It took a second for her expression of anger to clear before Mary asked with exasperation, “Again?”

  Brodie started to deny it, but everyone conspired against him.

  Charlotte said, “That’s our Brodie, always jumping to the defense of helpless maidens, innocent dogs and even the occasional outnumbered man.”

  “It was the last,” Jack explained, “that left his nose bent.”

  “That’s enough.” Brodie glared at Jack, and for once he took the hint and shut up.

  Unfortunately his glares didn’t work on Charlotte, and she turned into a Chatty Cathy.

  “See, there’s this sweet guy in town who everyone knows isn’t a fighter. In fact, Willard is a little slow, if you know what I mean. Anyway, one night in the bar where he works as a server, he accidentally bumped into this jerk who decided to go ape-shit over it. Willard would have been annihilated, so it’s a good thing Brodie spends much of his free time there.”

  Brodie choked on his coffee. Oh, great. Now Red would think he was a drunk!

  “The jerk grabbed Willard by his collar,” Charlotte said. “He
had him on his tiptoes, yelling into his face, threatening him.” At this point, she beamed. “Then Brodie stepped in.”

  Red’s eyes were huge with interest.

  Jack took over the story. “Brodie told him to knock it off while also squeezing the guy’s wrist—which got Willard loose real quick. When he’s pissed—and he was—Brodie has this low lethal voice that only an idiot would ignore.”

  “That would have been the end of it,” Charlotte continued. “Except that the bully wasn’t alone, so Brodie ended up taking on four of them—”

  “Might’ve been five,” Jack mused.

  “—and Brodie got in his fair share of hits, but he also came away from it with a few bruises—”

  “And a bloody nose.”

  In a flourish, Charlotte finished, “But overall, he kicked their asses.”

  With her lips slightly parted in awe, her eyes now brightened with fascination, Mary stared at him.

  “For the love of... We’re going to be late, Red.” A second passed and Brodie corrected himself. “Mary.” He stalked for the door, but on his way out, he added, “And it was only three, none of them fighters.” If his brother and Charlotte kept it up, she’d start thinking he was a brawler—a drunken brawler—without enough sense to avoid a fight.

  Just as he stepped out, he heard Jack ask, “Why does he call you Red Mary?”

  He let the door close behind him.

  Steamy air enveloped him and he paused in the dirt yard, hands on hips, head tipped back to draw in a deep breath. He needed more coffee, damn it.

  He needed to get Red naked and agreeable. But even more than that, he wanted to get to know her, the real her. No one other than Charlotte would call him considerate, but that was what he was trying to be. Ever since Therman talked to him about Mary, he’d been plagued with the need to understand her, to get inside her head and find out what made her tick.

  Coming on to her wouldn’t accomplish that, but then, he wasn’t sure what would. Indecision was not his forte. He was man who liked action.

  Action with Red... Yeah, that’d work.

  The door opened behind him and he heard Howler’s panting breath as he and Mary caught up to him.

  She touched his arm, which brought him around to face her, and she demanded, “Only three?”

  Obviously, she was still stuck on that. “They weren’t fighters, just idiots.” Dark clouds offered a brief respite from the morning sun. In this light, her blue eyes looked velvety. Her brows were pinched together, that incredible mouth firm.

  He slowly inhaled, absolutely racked with pulsing need.

  Unaware of his struggle, she folded her arms. “If they weren’t good at fighting, how did you get a broken nose?”

  She looked incensed for him, making him chuckle despite his absurd state. “I got shoved from behind and literally ran into a fist, otherwise I wouldn’t have.” He turned and opened the car doors to let out some of the accumulated heat.

  “But three.” She persisted. “And if you knew they couldn’t hold their own, then why did you brawl with them?”

  Brodie threw up his hands. “See, I knew you’d look at it that way.” He reached in and started the car to get the cooler air going. “What those two tattletales failed to mention is that I tried to settle things without it getting physical. I told them Willard was a gentle guy and that I didn’t want to fight.”

  “I take it that didn’t do it?”

  He shook his head. “The guy still took a swing, I blocked it and all hell broke loose.” Howler looked between them, then plopped down to nap until they settled things. “At least Willard wasn’t drawn into it. Jack made sure of that.”

  “Jack was there?”

  “Charlotte, too.” He stared down at her, annoyance creeping up his neck. “You don’t think I recounted all that nonsense to them, do you?”

  Mary shrugged.

  “And just so you know, we were there for a damned fund-raiser. The bar is where almost all the fund-raisers are held. Hell, my mother was there. So don’t start thinking I’m a drunk.” It was bad enough the way they’d first met; he didn’t need his family to shore up that impression.

  Her lips twitched. “Charlotte did imply—”

  “Charlotte is like a little sister and sometimes her favorite thing is to give me shit.”

  “And Jack?”

  “What about him?”

  The corners of her lips lifted, fascinating him. “If he was there, why didn’t he help you in the fight?”

  With an offended frown, Brodie said, “I didn’t need help!”

  And that set her off. She gave that sweet, silly giggle he’d heard before, which quickly escalated to a chuckle. Hugging herself, she started to outright laugh, and when she looked at his face, she hooted with hilarity.

  For Brodie, it was the tipping point.

  The happiness on her face, the twinkling of her bluer-than-blue eyes, the dropping of all her barriers...

  Her shoulders felt small and frail in his large hands as he eased her closer to his body. Her breasts brushed his chest and her laughter died. Instantly startled and very aware, her gaze locked on his.

  But she didn’t pull away.

  “It’s so fucking hot, the way you laugh.” He put his mouth over hers. A closed-mouth kiss suitable to a schoolboy, and still it made his cock stir.

  Lingering there, his lips pressed gently to hers, he breathed in her warm, unique scent. Goddamn, she smells good. Like sunshine and flowers and...woman.

  He wanted to eat her up, and thinking that made him groan.

  Slowly, he urged her flush against him, her body so deliciously rounded in all the right places. Her arms unbent, falling loose at her sides. Her head tilted back to keep the contact of their mouths.

  All in all, she rested in his arms, not fighting him, but not actively participating, either.

  And it maddened him with lust.

  “Mary?” Her heart thundered against his chest, her breath coming fast and hot. Nothing passive in that.

  She leaned closer and made a small sound of need.

  He didn’t know enough about her, why the kiss felt so special, or why she seemed so surprised by it. In good conscience, he couldn’t proceed until he had some answers.

  Getting them wouldn’t be easy, but he figured Mary was more than worth the effort.

  As if waking, she slowly opened her dazed eyes, her lashes fluttering. That particular look would be good for his ego, if only he wasn’t so worried.

  He kissed her once more, quick and firm, then stepped back to give her room to breathe. Deliberately breaking the spell, he asked, “You’re not going to slap me, are you?”

  She swallowed and, still mute, shook her head.

  “Should I apologize?” Damn, he wasn’t sure what to do. He sensed the moment was incredibly fragile—he just didn’t know why. “If I did,” he continued, “it’d be a lie because I’m not sorry.”

  Her gaze skipped away and she drew a long, shuddering breath. When she looked at him again, her eyes were clearer even though a rosy flush still stained her cheeks.

  Arousal, not embarrassment. Nice.

  “No, you don’t need to apologize.” She cleared her throat and the next words were a little stronger, less husky. “But we should get on our way so we’re not running late.”

  Though it felt like a reprieve, Brodie didn’t like it. Already she’d started around the car to the passenger side. Howler realized what was happening and bounded up and into the back seat, taking his position in front of the harness.

  The drive wouldn’t be as long as some, but Brodie had a feeling it’d be strained—and he didn’t care. All he could think about was kissing her again.

  Longer. Deeper. Wetter.

  Mouths open, tongues playing, lots of heavy breathing...

  Damn. Un
less she insisted otherwise, he’d be taking care of that at the first opportunity.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARY NEEDED A DISTRACTION, and she needed it fast. They’d been on the road for over an hour without much conversation. She could breathe again, thankfully, but keeping her thoughts off Brodie wasn’t easy.

  The way he’d kissed her, so...sweetly. It had shaken her more than a carnal encounter would have. It was sensual, definitely, because Brodie was walking, talking sensuality.

  Everything about the man seemed designed to make a woman melt into a puddle of need.

  But he’d kept all that hotness leashed while moving his mouth so carefully over hers.

  She’d felt his warm breath, the rasp of whiskers against her sensitive skin, the tempered strength in his hands on her shoulders.

  Shivering anew, she clenched her hands and tried not to think what it would be like to open herself up to him.

  Dangerous. To her plans, her feelings. To her very soul.

  Brodie didn’t bring up the kiss, and for that she was thankful since she had no idea yet what she wanted, but he kept pawing the steering wheel as if he could barely restrain himself.

  From that simple kiss?

  She’d like to think so, but she knew she was far more affected by it than he’d been. After all, she hadn’t been touched by a man in a very long time, and the last time she had...

  Ugh. Disaster. Her own fault, of course, because she knew better, but... No. She definitely didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not ever. Lesson learned...or so she’d thought.

  Before Brodie Crews.

  It took her a few minutes more to think of a benign question, and then she asked, “Where do you live? Does it take you long to get to the office each day?”

  His dark eyes glanced her way, then over her—almost as if he could see through her clothes. Or like he was trying to.

  Her nipples tightened, her lungs constricted and a sweet ache settled low in her body. If she could, she’d walk away, but the job required that she be closed up in the car with him and, God, today it was excruciating.

  The memory of that near-chaste kiss combined with the hungry look he’d just given her sparked her every nerve ending with sensation.