by Evie Claire
Brody placed his wineglass on the bar top and clenched his jaw to keep it shut. Her words stung. He could let them ruin the moment, or he could let them slide. For the first time in a long while, he was too damn happy to argue a point about his dad. He picked up a rag and attacked an imaginary spot on the polished wood.
It wasn’t Lona’s fault. Until Phebe had come along, Brody hadn’t considered himself built for long-term relationships. He fucked around. He didn’t exactly date. In his defense, the kind of women that interested him didn’t frequent dive bars. But he had made his decisions in life, and living with their repercussions was part of it. Nuck’s life hadn’t sucked. He’d died single, sure, but surrounded by a million friends. Brody had been prepared for the same fate. Phebe was changing that. Another smile pulled at his lips.
“She fills your heart.” Lona traced the base of her wineglass, studying it as a similar smile tugged at her lips. His mother was the last person Brody wanted love advice from. But before he could stop himself, the words were out.
“Why did you keep loving Dad after everything he put us through?” He hated to bring back ugly memories for his mom. She was fragile now, starved of a love (however toxic it had been) that had sustained her. The smile faded, replaced by a stark clarity that surprised him.
“I’d prefer having a shitty day with your father than having the best day ever with the King of England.” Again, her hand went to her necklace, clutching the small piece of Thomas Cantrell that remained. “My heart beat differently when he was near. Ignoring that would’ve made my entire life feel like a lie. For better or worse, he was my person.”
Brody placed his hand over hers and gave it an appreciative squeeze. Lona had some barroom poet in her after all. The kind of love that lasts is the one you can’t control. Most people are scared of that. Terrified to let unpredictability consume them. He’d always thought his mother was weak. Assumed she was too demure to leave his father, when all along she was the strong one. There had been no assurances of where love would take her, but she was smart enough to realize it was the only destination worth a damn.
Chapter 18
Phebe
“Yes, we need to rehab the freight elevator as well. Make it safe, get it up to code, but keep it rustic. That’s the point here. People want to have an experience. To feel like they’re bringing bundles of cotton to the gin over a century ago.” Phebe was in jeans and a faded T-shirt, work boots on her feet, hard hat on her head, walking the site with plans in hand, going over everything with one of the final two builders she had narrowed it down to.
“You want polish, not perfection?” the guy asked, to clarify.
“Exactly!” Phebe nodded, making up her mind that he was her guy. Few builders understood what today’s consumers wanted. That’s why the suburbs of Atlanta were littered with cheaply built McMansions sitting vacant. It was about quality, authenticity, and few buildings possessed more than Brody’s. God, this project was going to be epic when it was finished. “Thank you so much for your time today.” Phebe offered a hand. “I’ve got some things to see to, but feel free to continue to walk around if you like. I’ll be in touch.”
She turned to her phone and walked over to one of the large windows facing the street. Looking down to the sidewalk, she found Brody, hose in hand, spraying the concrete in the early morning sunshine. God, he was gorgeous. Even from such an angle.
Phebe: I’m suddenly having visions of you soaking wet…
PHEBE: T-shirt dripping
PHEBE: Jeans sagging in all the *right* places
PHEBE: Me there to help you take it all off…
PHEBE: Slowly
PHEBE: With my teeth
She smiled and giggled, watching him pause his morning chores, dig in his back pocket for his phone, and then drop the hose completely when he read what she’d just sent his way.
BRODY: Be careful. I may have to come up there and fuck that dirty little mouth of yours…
BRODY: While the builder watches.
Again, Phebe giggled, leaning her back against the windowsill. Oh, she did love flirting with him.
PHEBE: Crossword clue. Three words. Popular slogan of the athletic company named for the Greek goddess of victory.
BRODY: Just do…me?
BRODY: If you insist.
Phebe looked over her shoulder. Out the window and down to the sidewalk. Seeing nothing but a hose left lying on the cement, her eyes flared.
“Thank you again for stopping by!” She rushed over to the builder and ushered him to the freight elevator. “We’re making our decision today. I’ll let you know.” She managed to slide the ancient elevator door shut and sent it to the lower floor just as Brody emerged from the stairwell on the opposite side of the loft space and started stalking her way.
From the look in his eyes, she was in trouble. The best possible kind of trouble. She shrieked and went running wildly for the window. Why she wasn’t sure, but it was the first place her mind thought of. Brody gave chase and, eluding him for only a few seconds by putting a pile of building materials between them, she managed to get around him and to the stairwell he’d just come out of.
When he caught up to her on the stairs, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into him. Her ass found the crook of his lap and something that was very excited to see her. Something very excited about the possibilities that waited on that staircase.
In one move he spun her around, landing kisses hot and heavy up her neck, on her ear, and then smothering her lips. How could they still be so hungry for each other? They’d just left each other’s arms a couple hours ago. A few naughty texts and they were right back at it. Is this what love was supposed to be? Had Phebe spent her life too busy with other things to realize how badly you could need someone else? Her eyes found the rough paint brick ceiling, and she gave herself over to him, not caring if the anyone heard them. Something ever further out of character for her.
Brody pushed her up against the railing and then turned her around. His hand slowly teasing the tension of her waistband, testing its stretch with one finger before diving to the button and zipper that practically undid themselves at his request. She whimpered, clasping her hands around the cold metal handrail as he slid her jeans and panties to the floor. Looking over her shoulder when he paused, she saw him free his cock from behind his own jeans and guide it to the curve of her ass, slowly stroking it along the curve. Up and down. Its silken tip sliding deeper with each pass.
His knee raised to the back of hers, sliding her legs farther apart. His hand left his penis, curved around her waist for support. And he leaned over her back, guiding her down and over the open staircase side.
“I’m going to fuck you on these stairs today,” Brody whispered into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you so good that you will never be able to walk onto this job site again without the memory making you wet and wanting more.” He took the side of her neck gently in his hands, turning it slowly and landing a kiss on her lips. “I can be just as distracting as you can, Love.” He nibbled her bottom lip, slid through the dampness growing between her thighs and into her.
She moaned into the vast chasm of the stairwell, her sounds echoing off the walls and reverberating back to them. With each stroke, he pushed her tone higher, until she came for him. Clinging to the handrail. One hand stretched back, groping what she could of his ass, pulling him deeper with each stroke.
He fucked her. It was never the other way around. Brody totally owned her in that aspect. And she loved it. Hell, who was she kidding. It was more than the sex she was falling in love with. It was him.
They finished, helping each other fix their clothes with the small smiles of secret victories. He buttoned her jeans back into place and landed a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m volunteering
at the Boys and Girls Clubs this afternoon. Come with me.”
“Um…” Normally, this wasn’t something she would do. She wasn’t especially good with kids. But since she’d been helping Jenn with the gala planning, she was curious to see the organization in action. “Sure. I’d love to.”
* * *
—
Hours later, Phebe was in major fight-or-flight mode. Swimming in a pool of kids that, being as short as she was, were nearly her own height. They were screaming and jumping, excited to have their favorite afternoon treat, compliments of Mr. Brody.
It was chaos, to say the least. She and Brody exchanged looks over the sea of heads. He smiled, totally at ease. Totally in his element. Phebe, however, felt anxiety slowly sour her belly. Disorder on such a scale was so not her thing.
She leaped up on a nearby chair. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled over the group, “Who wants a slushie?” Hands went flying into the air, and the mob changed their attention to her. “Okay!” she said, smiling and nodding at them. “If you want one of Mr. Brody’s super special slushie surprise flavors, sit on that bench right there!” She pointed to a nearby wooden bench that ran the length of the room.
Immediately, the mob turned into a moving mass of arms and legs, everyone kicking and clawing their way to the bench. It was instant. A much better response than she had ever gotten from any of her subordinates. Maybe she could deal with kids. She and Brody exchanged looks again, this time both of them shocked at the way she had changed a chaotic mass into a quiet, orderly line of eager faces. But there they all sat, quietly awaiting their next instructions.
“Okay…” Phebe looked back to Brody to see if he was ready for his customers. He gave her the thumbs-up. What next? She quickly thought. The kids were waiting. And apparently, she was their new leader. “If you have a birthday this month, raise your hand.”
Two hands shot up.
“Happy birthday!” Phebe shouted. “You can go get your slushie. And while you do, we’re going to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.”
It was shocking how enthusiastic the kids were. Attention and guidance were all they asked for. Phebe could do that. Hell, she was actually really good at telling people what to do. And the attention part was decidedly easier when she didn’t have a million other things clouding her brain.
One round of “Happy Birthday” down and the first kids served, Phebe turned back to the group. “Who has a birthday next month?” Again hands went up. “Okay, you.” Phebe pointed to a little boy who had jumped off the bench with the excitement of getting a slushie. “What song should the rest of us sing while you guys get a slushie?”
“Ummm…‘Happy’?” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“You mean Pharrell’s ‘Happy’?”
“Yeah!” he said, getting all excited. “Because I’m happy…” he started, dancing his way to Brody.
“Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof…” the group joined in, and Phebe started laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair.
But it was good and fun. And everything she needed. The hours passed quickly and before she knew it she was yawning and Brody was packing up to leave.
“You were awesome today,” he said, handing over a bottle of slushie syrup for her to put in a crate.
“They’re a lot of fun. I can see why you like this so much.”
“Kids are the best.” Brody nodded and then looked behind him and all around to be sure there weren’t any stragglers hiding anywhere. He took Phebe in his arms, kissing her gently. “And so are you.”
Chapter 19
Brody
God, she was gorgeous. A shimmery black gown ran down the languid length of her, hugging her hips in a way that made his balls long to see it crumpled on his bedroom floor. Blond hair swept into a low knot at the nape of her neck. Apple-red lipstick he longed to taste.
From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, Phebe Stark was the blond bombshell of his dreams. His heart and his pecker pushed against their restraints just to touch her. Yes, things were moving at a breakneck pace between them. But so far, there wasn’t a single red flag, not even a caution light to slow their roll. It was the most intense relationship he’d ever experienced. And he fucking loved it.
“Do you like it?” She gave a small spin in the kitchen, arms held out, shy grin on her face. Phebe wasn’t a woman who needed a man’s approval. But she wanted Brody’s. And that was enough reason to let his heart and pecker call the shots.
“Do we have to go?” Brody took Phebe by the waist, his rock-hard cock pressed into her lower abdomen making it clear exactly how much he liked it. She allowed herself to be wrapped, leaning into him and lacing her arms through his. Her head just came level with his shoulder. Even with the extra four inches her power stilettos afforded.
“Lipstick!” she reminded him, and lifted her face to the ceiling when he moved for her lips. Fine by him. He was satisfied digging into the delicious spot on her neck right under her ear. The spot that made her scream unmentionable things when his teeth found it at climax. Now it made her giggle and wriggle in his arms. His hold tightened against her protests.
“I think we should stay in. You. This dress.” Brody ran a hand down Phebe’s bare spine and kissed the top curve of her clavicle. Goosebumps rose like braille under his fingertips. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions. And I’m really not the proper person to teach the Boys and Girls Clubs about the birds and the bees.”
“Brody Cantrell.” Phebe looped her red nails through the button placard of his shirtfront, pulling him closer to her with a jerk. “You’re going to fuck me five ways from Friday tonight. But right now, we’re going to raise money for kids. And if”—Phebe pulled away and held up a finger she then pushed into his chest—“you’re a good boy, I’ll sneak my panties into your pocket under the table.”
“Well, that’s not going to help anything.” Brody threw his arms up, tagging along like a little puppy at her heels down the hallway to her front door. There was a car waiting for them. Of course. Phebe knew how to do things like galas. She’d tsked that his tux was off the rack, even though time had made anything else impossible. He felt like a moldy sardine in the thing, regardless of what rack it’d come off. Until he’d emerged from the Brooks Brothers dressing room. The hunger in her eyes…the stutter in her breath…it was enough to make a tux seem like reasonable everyday attire. So long as she looked at him like that.
* * *
—
In the grand hall of the Fernbank Museum, a dinosaur’s fossilized remains loomed from floor to ceiling. A genteel hum lifted off the gathered crowd, mingling amongst the prehistoric bones. Not at all the rowdy boisterousness Brody was used to yelling over at the bar. A five-piece ensemble played demurely in the corner. It was decent mood music. The Crüe was better if you really wanted to get a party started. But this wasn’t his world. It was Phebe’s. He was just visiting tonight.
Phebe scanned the crowd as they descended into the party along a curved marble staircase. Near the last step, her hand rose, waving in a politely elegant way at an approaching couple.
The woman embraced Phebe.
“You look fabulous!” she exclaimed. “And these are amazing.” She ran a hand down the stack of bracelets lining Phebe’s left arm.
Phebe repaid the kindness, admiring her bag. Brody exchanged a knowing look with the man standing on the other side of the women. They didn’t dare interrupt.
“Brody, this is Jenn.” Phebe stepped back from her friend’s embrace to retake Brody’s arm. “My best friend from undergrad and her husband, Brent Williams.” Brent. Brody had heard that name before. Recognition broke over Brent’s face when he extended his hand.
“Brody. Yes, I remember you.”
“Brent. Great to see you again.”
The two shook hands, but before th
e connection was properly acknowledged, one of Jenn’s hands flew into the air. The other grabbed her husband’s, and they spun off to greet someone else. He mouthed an apology for their quick departure but didn’t dare resist his wife.
“Wow.” Brody gave a low whistle, overwhelmed by the brevity of the intro. Slowly Phebe’s head turned, watching them leave with her mouth slightly open like she couldn’t believe her best friend had passed them over so quickly. Her smile was wide but tight when she turned back to him.
“Forgive Jenn. She’s unbelievably nervous about tonight. She and Brent are hosting, so if the napkins are folded wrong, she will be eternally judged gauche and damned to the fiery pits of societal hell.” Phebe’s face wrinkled like this was a fate worse than death in their circle.
“Well, we couldn’t have that, now, could we?” Brody’s hand rested in the small of Phebe’s back reassuringly. Growing up, he’d watched his mother agonize over the very same fate. Yet another reason why he didn’t particularly care for a life of social civil war. Phebe giggled when Brody’s eyes went wide like the thought was truly terrifying.
She relaxed into his side, her body melting into his. Lifting her face to his, she whispered, “I like it when you do that.”
“Just because I don’t live in your world doesn’t mean I don’t understand it,” he whispered back. With a flick of his wrist he spun her around so their fronts pressed heavily into each other. He traced a finger down her jaw. Placed a delicate kiss on her forehead.
“No, I meant your hand.” She gripped his tux lapels and pulled him down and into her as she spoke. Such a simple move—but one that made the air between them electric. Sparking with the promise of what their private after-party held. In his experience, limited as it was, when he and Phebe allowed the sexual tension to build all night, it had a 99.9 percent return on orgasm investment. Not that he knew what the fuck he was talking about, but it sounded pretty good. If anyone asked.