But Brian never had any ambition to do anything. He’s held odd jobs here and there. For the last three years, he’s lived in my parents’ basement completely unemployed.
At least, legitimate employment.
He makes money somehow. I don’t want to know the details, because it would just cause more disappointment within me.
Brian follows me into the kitchen, then goes to my cupboard where he knows I keep the glasses. He takes one out, nabs the carton from my hand before I can put it back in the fridge, and pours a glass, holding it out to me first. “You want one?”
I shake my head. “Coffee first. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprising and unannounced visit?”
My pointed reminder that it was rude to walk in without me expecting him makes me wonder what would have happened had Brian come just half an hour before. He would have found Cage and me in bed.
I snicker again.
“What’s so funny?” he inquires… again.
Shaking my head, I move to my Keurig and start a cup brewing. Turning to face Brian, I lean against my counter and cross my arms over my chest. “So, what’s up?”
Brian mimics my action, leaning against the opposite counter in my small, u-shaped kitchen. “You know Mom and Dad’s thirty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in January, right? I was thinking us kids should plan something special for them. I had some ideas and wanted to run them by you. I know how busy you and Laney are, so I could run point on handling everything.”
No stopping it. My heart melts, and it reminds me that despite my brother’s many faults, he is truly one of the most caring and considerate people I know. He would, of course, be the sibling who would think forward to doing something special. He might not have a pot to piss in, but what he can’t offer in the way of money, he would make up for with effort.
While I like to scold him inside my head for still living with my parents and eating their food, he admittedly helps them take good care of the house. He’s a handy guy and does repairs. Takes the garbage to the curb and cleans up the kitchen each night after Mom makes dinner. He helps clean the house and runs errands. Pretty much anything my parents ask of him, he does, and so I have to learn to have more grace where he’s concerned. I need to love him for his strengths and forgive his weaknesses.
“I think that’s a great idea, Bri,” I say, the affection evident in my tone. “How about me, you, and Laney get together and talk about it? I’m running late for work, so now isn’t the greatest time.”
“Sure,” he replies easily, tipping the glass of orange juice back and draining it. I turn toward the Keurig to grab my cup of coffee, but I freeze halfway to the fridge when Brian says in a tentative voice. “Just one more thing.”
I shift to face him, my entire body tensing with what I know is coming.
“Can I borrow some money?” he asks, shame-faced.
“What for?” I ask through gritted teeth. This isn’t the first time he’s requested money from me, and I doubt it will be the last.
“I’ve got some money coming in for a job I did, but I owe another guy some and I’m short. I’ll be able to pay you back by the end of next week.”
“How much?” I ask, hating myself for asking. I should just say no.
“Two hundred,” he murmurs, casting his eyes down.
My anger gets the better of me, even as I put my coffee down and move toward my purse on the counter. I grab my checkbook out. As I write him out a check, I demand, “When are you going to grow up, Brian?”
“Excuse me for not being perfect like you and Laney,” he mutters.
“We’re not perfect. We just work hard.”
“I work hard,” he whines, and I want to smack him.
“Not at stuff that will make you independent,” I retort, ripping the check out and thrusting it toward him. “Your side hustles aren’t a legitimate way to make a living, and you can’t seriously enjoy living in Mom and Dad’s basement.”
Brian shoots me what I’m sure is meant to be a charming grin. He’s got the same red hair and blue eyes as I do, and he often comes across as handsomely charming. Right now, I still want to smack his face. “Come on, Jaime. I don’t pay rent, get free meals, and Mom does my laundry. Why would I want to move out?”
I curse under my breath, knowing I will never get through to him. But I make a mental note to talk to my parents about the situation. They’re enabling him. If he’s going to live there, he should at least get a job and help contribute to the finances.
I should sit Brian down to find out exactly what his side hustles are. Why does he have money coming in soon for a job he’s already completed, but owe someone else money? I should give him guidance, despite him being five years older than me. Help to put him on a path that will lead him to independence and perhaps some type of success. He may not have gone to college, but he’s not without skills. Hell, I’m sure Dad could even get him on at the steel plant if Brian wanted.
But I decide against it. I’ve tried these conversations over the years, and it results in nothing. Brian will nod, agree, and promise to step up to the plate. I’ll get hopeful and aspire for something good for my brother.
Then he’ll do nothing, and I’ll be disappointed.
It’s better to keep my expectations low when it comes to Brian’s future.
Brian has his check in hand, so I finish doctoring up my coffee. As I head back toward my room, I say, “Lock up on your way out.”
“Okay,” he says quietly, then adds. “Thanks so much, Jaime. I owe you.”
I don’t reply because there’s no point. I’m not even sure I’ll see that two hundred dollars again.
After I close my bedroom door, I head into the bathroom, taking some deep breaths along the way. I have to let go of the frustration Brian causes within me—not because he doesn’t do as I expect, but because I love him and only want what’s best.
I choose to let it go for the day. I have a busy caseload to deal with, women and children’s safety to help achieve, and a date with a hot, intriguing man tonight.
CHAPTER 4
Cage
Christ, I’m nervous and sweaty. I’ve been in situations so dangerous and vile most people would be forever traumatized. But getting ready for one date with Jaime has my hands shaking.
When was the last time I’ve actually been on a date?
Ten years ago, in high school?
I left home in rural North Carolina when I graduated high school. College wasn’t of interest, but the Navy was. My grandfather had been in the Navy, and I saw it as a ticket out of small-town life. A chance to have adventure and excitement while seeing the world.
I quickly figured out the best way to do that was to become a Navy SEAL. Eight weeks of naval recruit training, another eight weeks of Navy special warfare prep school. Then the hellish nightmare of BUDS, the six-month course for basic underwater demolition and SEAL training where we lose over eighty percent of the recruits through attrition. Spent a fun five weeks doing parachute jump school and finally a twenty-six-week course for my qualification training, where I was awarded the U.S. Navy SEAL Trident.
I was officially a Navy SEAL.
My training was nowhere near complete, though. I was assigned to SEAL Team 4 in Virginia Beach, where I underwent another eighteen months of pre-deployment training. Only after I completed that was I able to go on missions.
It was a good time in my life. I loved the Navy and the structured order. I loved working to protect my country, and I most certainly got adventure—along with danger—and I saw the world.
At the end of my enlistment, I had a few options. I could have reenlisted and stayed in the Navy. I’d been approached and offered a job with the CIA in their Special Operations Group. And Kynan McGrath reached out to me—upon recommendation of my best friend, Bodie Wright, who had been working with him for a few months. Bodie and I had been on the same SEAL team, and he was the closest thing I had to a brother. Kynan offered me a job working for the
private company, Jameson Force Security. I’d be doing the same stuff but with fewer constraints and a hell of a lot more money.
It’d been a no-brainer for me, and I accepted the job with Jameson, not just because of the money, but mainly since I’d be working with Bodie again. It had been a down time in my life when he left the Navy before I did.
At any rate, through all of my training and deployments and missions with Jameson, which were just as dangerous—Bodie and I had been captured once, and I’d gotten shot in the leg—I never had time for dating.
Strike that.
I never wanted to make an effort to date. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. My life didn’t feel lacking in any respect by not having a significant female partner. I was lucky I didn’t have any problem with scoring hookups. For the short amount of time I lived in Vegas working for Jameson, I took advantage of a really great sex club there called The Wicked Horse.
So this thing with Jaime is completely out of the ordinary. I let my mind wander several times today, wondering why I went out on that limb and asked for her phone number. When I asked for it, I knew I was going to call and ask her out. I’m decisive that way.
But what the fuck was it about her that prompted me to do such a thing?
It can’t be the fact that she’s a great lay. I mean, last night was some of the best sex of my life. Maybe the absolute best. It’s like we came together in the most perfect of ways, and it’s something I never knew was even possible. Every kiss was perfect, every touch was spine-tingling, and the orgasms… mind-blowing.
But that’s not why I asked her out on a date. The sex with her was great. I might not find better, but I can find damn good.
No, I asked Jaime out because we had a connection of the mind. Our personalities are similar in that we’re both easygoing, easy to laugh, and easy to call bullshit when we see it. I think the biggest thing that stuck out in my mind when I took in the night—as a whole—was that I had one of the greatest times I can remember in recent history. From the moment I spied her in the bar until I left her apartment, it was… magical? Fated?
I can’t fucking figure it out, but all I know is I want to see her again, I want to learn more about her, and I certainly want to fuck her again.
I want to take her on a date. Even though I may be nervous, I know it’s something she would enjoy, so on top of being highly attracted to her and curious to know more, I’m apparently already invested in her happiness.
What the fuck is happening?
I had sent a text to Jaime this afternoon to let her know we were going to a fancy restaurant and to dress accordingly. It meant I had to pull out my one and only suit, wipe the dust off the shoulders, and thank the gods I still fit in it. I decided to go without a tie, though, because I hate those fucking things.
Wiping my palms one more time on the legs of my dress pants, I knock on Jaime’s apartment door and suck in a big breath of anticipation.
I hear heels clicking on her laminate flooring, which was made to look like hardwood. When she opens the door and I get my first look at her, my pent-up breath comes rushing out a little too loudly.
“You look stunning,” I murmur as I rake my eyes up and down her form.
Sexy? Yes, that’s a given.
But also elegant, and that’s attractive as well. She’s wearing a simple black dress where the sleeves sit right at the edge of her shoulders and show a great expanse of chest, but not in a sleazy way. There’s not a hint of cleavage showing—just a hint of the top swells of her breasts. It’s form-fitting through the waist, hips, and thighs, making it look like she was poured into it, but it drops demurely to a few inches past her knees. There’s a peek of her calves, delicate ankles, and then black spiked heels in patent leather.
“You look great yourself,” she replies, and my eyes snap up. That was a genuine compliment, not just a polite reply in return. I see appreciation in her smile and attraction in her gaze. “Do you want to come in for a drink or something?”
I shake my head. “We have reservations, so we should get going.”
She nods, reaches behind the door, then pulls out a coat and a small black purse. Being raised in the south, it’s ingrained in me to help women with certain things, opening doors being the mainstay of male Southern manners. But helping a lady into her coat is another, and it’s an intimate maneuver. Jaime has all those red waves pinned up with a few tendrils hanging down. Most of her neck is exposed. As I step behind her to help her slip the coat on, I have to resist the urge to put my lips to the skin there.
I have a car at Jameson, but I chose to Uber instead so we don’t have to worry about parking. On top of that, I’m not quite sure I could explain my car to Jaime. It’s a Maserati GranTurismo, a purchase I made when I moved into Jameson headquarters in Pittsburgh. Without any debt and no mortgage or rent payment—living in the Jameson building is a perk—as well as making a shit-ton of money for the dangerous work I do, it was a luxury item I’ve not had a single regret about buying.
But Jaime believes I’m a used-car salesman. While I vaguely implied I make a decent living at my work, I also told her I lived in an apartment with three other guys as car sales is an up and down sort of business. My lie about living in an apartment with other guys was to keep her from wanting to visit my home, which, again, would blow my fake cover.
I consider coming clean with her tonight—telling her I lied about my job and explaining the truth about my career. But I decide against it for two reasons. First, I’m not sure this is going to go anywhere. It’s highly likely that while yes, I’m curious about Jaime, I could be ready to slink out of her place in the morning, making it my first two-night stand. But, more importantly, I don’t think I can bear to see the disappointment the admission of my lie would cause. I’ve learned enough about her to know she has integrity.
So, without knowing if this is going anywhere, I choose to keep my true profession a secret. I reason to myself that chances are this is going to fizzle sometime soon anyway.
But it’s definitely not going to fizzle tonight. Not with the way she’s looking.
The drive to the restaurant only takes fifteen minutes, and our table is ready when we arrive. I’d chosen a small French restaurant Kynan recommended for the romantic atmosphere. While I’m not a big fan of French food, I did confirm they have steak on the menu, which is good enough for me.
When we’re seated, the maitre d’ hands me the wine menu before inconspicuously melting away so I can inspect it.
Before I can even peruse the listing, Jaime gives a nervous cough, causing me to look up at her with a mildly curious expression. She looks around the restaurant, then to the wine list. “Um… when you said we were going fancy, I didn’t think you meant this fancy.”
She’s cute, worrying about what this is going to cost me. It endears her to me further, because she couldn’t care less that I sell cars for a living, but she doesn’t want me to break myself trying to impress her with the finer things. Again, I’m tempted to tell her the truth, but I tamp it down just as quickly.
“I wanted to bring you somewhere really nice for our first date.” I tilt the wine list down so she can see me fully. “I can afford this. Probably not for subsequent dates, but for tonight, please don’t worry about what anything costs. I have it budgeted, okay?”
Jaime looks unsure, but she gives me a timid smile with a nod. Which again, endears her to me, because she let me be in control. She let her worries go, deciding to trust I know what I am doing.
After I order a bottle of wine, we discuss the menu. I act interested in all the choices, but I’m set on the steak. Once we order, we get to know each other over an appetizer and the delicious red wine. While we had plenty of conversation at the bar last night, it never got very deep.
“You said you were from North Carolina,” Jaime says, lowering her glass to the table after a delicate sip. “You have a lot of family back there?”
I nod with a grin. “A lot. Both my parents are
native and come from big families, so I have aunts, uncles, and cousins galore.”
“But no siblings,” she says. It isn’t a question. She’s confirming what I told her last night.
Shaking my head, I reach for a piece of bread. “No, but remember those cousins I told you about? I’ve got a few I’m really close to. They could be considered siblings for practical purposes. We sure did get into a lot of trouble as well as fought a lot.”
Jaime laughs and nods as if she knows a little something about that.
“You said you have a brother and a sister, right?” I ask, slathering rich butter on the bread. Jaime doesn’t touch it, though.
“Brian is older by five years. He lives with my parents. Laney is going on twenty-one and in her last year at Pitt.”
I don’t comment about her brother living with their parents still. Jaime told me she was twenty-six, which makes her brother about thirty-one. Odd, but I don’t want her to know I think so.
“Are you tight with them?” I ask instead.
“Yeah,” she replies fondly. By her tone, I can tell it’s in different ways. “We fight as any siblings do, but on the whole, I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”
Something else we have in common—our love of family. It seems it should be a given, but I know it’s not. I’ve met plenty of people in my life who have proven that blood ties don’t mean much.
The waiter comes with our dinners—steak for me and scallops for Jaime. She offers me a bite, and I take it.
I offer her one in return, but she declines. “I don’t eat meat. Principle only.”
Interesting, but not off-putting.
“I’d like to eat you,” I reply, my voice low and rough. “Tonight.”
She blinks at me in surprise, but instead of looking offended, she gives me a sly smile. “I wouldn’t be averse to that.”
The tone of our conversation definitely took a sharp veering into the sexual, and I really hadn’t intended that. But she looked so damn beautiful there, eating tiny bites of her scallops while declaring her distaste for meat.
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