by Evie Claire
And so he held her with his gaze, his eyes silently promising all the dirty ways he would use her body. All the naughty words he would coax from those gorgeous apple-colored lips. His cock grew hard at the thought. And Phebe. Bless her. She eye-fucked him right back. Maybe it would be her doing the using and coaxing. Had his shoulder not gotten jostled by a passing couple they might have stayed just like that all night. Fine by him. Don’t think he wouldn’t fuck her in a darkened corner while the dinosaur watched.
“This old thing?” His hand slid an inch lower to cup the very top curve of her ass. Taut and tight and sitting so high you would think she was stuffing. But he’d felt the hallowed creation for real. There was nothing but grade A booty beneath her black dress.
“Mr. Cantrell! Behave yourself.”
“Or what?”
“Or you won’t know what color lace my panties are…until we get home.” She doubled down on her earlier promise to sneak her thong to him under the table. Why was that the sexiest thing he had ever heard? Why did his mouth go Sahara dry at the thought?
“Hmm…I have my own ways of getting those off you.”
“Don’t I know it.” Phebe’s peal of laughter was quick and free. A belly laugh that sounded foreign on her lips. Knowing he was capable of coaxing it from her made him want to raise his arms in a victory V. She was different the past few weeks. Not at all the tightly wound exec that had first stumbled into his bar, loaded to spit nails at everyone she met. Had he fucked it right out of her? Maybe. Hopefully. Because one thing was abundantly clear—he was the only man on earth who ruled Phebe Stark. And only in one very specific place. But it was enough.
Because in addition to letting him dominate her between the sheets, she’d also shared certain intimacies. Ones he was certain rarely—if ever—crossed her lips. Like the fact that she loved some nipple play, or that her unwavering determination was a direct result of her mother’s alcoholism. It was nice to finally know her. The real Phebe. Not some ballsy bitch her world demanded she be. She was almost girlish at times—softer, gentler, hopelessly lovable.
“Let’s find our table.” She put a hand over his so it remained in the small of her back and pushed their way into the crowd.
His muscles tightened when every male head lining their path turned to watch Phebe. That was the fate one suffered when dating a beautiful woman. But this was different. Phebe’s success in life virtually assured they admired more than a passing pretty face. She was known in these circles of powerful people. As she should be. Phebe was impressive. If she kept it up, she’d be on the cover of Forbes by the age of forty.
Brody’s stomach damn near vanished at that thought. Especially when he noticed heads didn’t just turn when she passed, but that conversations stopped. He didn’t deserve her. He knew it and everyone whose eyes eventually moved from her to him knew it, too. Insecurity wasn’t a feeling he experienced very often, and he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
Phebe, as if sensing all this, wrapped herself around his arm, allowing him to lead her through the crowd. Her clinging to him with more intensity than was necessary told him to calm down. It was all right. She was there. And that was all that mattered.
“Hey, girls.” Phebe rested a hand on the shoulder of a woman already seated at the table.
“Phebe!” she trilled, and leaped to her feet to greet her with a hug. Every eyeball at the table moved to Brody. That was basically twenty eyes searching every nook and cranny of his physique in unison. So this was the table of her college friends they would be sitting with. The table of friends who couldn’t wait to meet him, according to Phebe.
It was so obvious, Brody unbuttoned his coat, slid one hand in his pocket, and struck a GQ pose. He paused. Then moved both arms to his sides and spun around for inspection. The female delegates at the table erupted into laughter.
Phebe wrapped an arm around him and gave him a sideways hug.
“Guys, this is Brody. Brody, this is everybody.” She didn’t bother with names because, honestly, no one ever remembers ten names when they’re pelted at you like bullets. Common courtesy meant these friends would talk to Brody at some point during the night. Better to let it happen organically. He would remember the names more easily that way.
Like Marie, Phebe’s close friend since undergrad and his neighbor through the six-course dinner. She was charming and lovely, and a little bit into her wine by the time the fourth course arrived. Fine by him, he loved drunk people. Marie was proving to be no exception.
“I don’t think you met Alexa earlier,” Marie said, getting the attention of the girl seated next to her—one with a heavily pregnant belly, who had joined the group after Phebe and Brody sat down.
“Apologies. I live in the bathroom these days,” Alexa bemoaned her condition, extending a hand and smile in his direction. “You must be Brent’s friend John. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Alexa, bless her heart, she meant well, truly she did. But she’d just put her stiletto in her mouth. A fact that was made abundantly clear by the look of absolute horror that briefly passed over Marie’s face.
“No, sweetheart,” Marie quickly moved to correct Alexa. “This is Brody.” Her nod was overzealous—obviously so—the kind you give someone when your eyes are also silently pleading for them to play along. “John was….um…he…”
Brody sat silently while Marie stumbled around for an explanation. The discomfort Phebe had eased earlier flooded back on the memory of a man who’d come before him. A man better suited for Phebe’s world, no doubt. And while Marie had gone out of her way to make Brody feel welcome, this other friend—Alexa—didn’t even know his name. Which could only make him question Phebe’s level of commitment. Wasn’t this the group of girls she did brunch with? Surely his name would’ve come up at some point. Still stammering for a way to explain this John guy, Marie looked to Phebe. She’d been talking to someone else. Now her attention was squarely on them. Eyes closed, she took a cleansing breath that was quite possibly for effect, because Marie stopped stammering.
“John was a bad blind date,” she said pointedly, tucking her head at Marie and Alexa like they should know better.
“And you didn’t come here for a history lesson. Did you?” she added, turning her attention to Brody and running her fingers through his hair. She leaned farther in and whispered, “Don’t listen to Alexa. She’s got baby brain.” Ever so gently, Phebe’s teeth caught the outer edge of his ear, a tiny playful nip, and all was nearly forgotten. Because that’s what the woman did to him.
But the question lingered in the back of his mind. Phebe was fucking gorgeous. She had everything in the world going for her. Men should line up for the right to breathe the same air she did. No way was he the first to aspire to be her plus-one.
But exactly how many had come before? It was a question bred only in the fiery pits of relationship-insecurity hell. One that had never mattered before, because he’d never spent much time in her world. A place where she was openly admired for her beauty and her brains. And it kicked him in the damn gut with a spiked boot.
It didn’t help matters that when he glanced up from the table, there was a group of three men who were doing a horrible job of hiding the fact that they were talking about Phebe. They stood only a few yards away, drinks in hand, talking with one another, each taking quick glances her way as they did. No less than ten people had already congratulated Phebe on her new job. It was a topic of conversation that evening. Still, that didn’t keep the hair from bristling on Brody’s neck. Or keep the raw urge to attack his rivals from tensing the muscles along his spine. Hell, even his balls tingled at the thought—some primitive animalistic need to claim what was rightly his.
If Phebe noticed the men staring at her, she either didn’t mind or was used to it. Probably both. Under the table, she took Brody’s knee in her hand and slowly started slidin
g it up.
Okay, so his balls were easily distracted by their primitive desires. He started slightly in the chair when her fingers slid into the danger zone. Baseball…Freddie Freeman…
“Holy shit.” Phebe stopped cold, whispering her surprise under her breath through closed teeth so only Brody heard. Assuming she referenced the bulge growing against her nails, he turned to respond, only to see her gather her skirt and drag her hand from his lap. “Excuse me,” she said, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. “I’ll be right back.”
Brody followed her gaze but saw nothing but a wall of people ordering drinks and mingling.
“Brody.” Before he could respond, Brent was at his side, extending a hand. Brody rose to greet him. “My apologies for earlier. When we met at the closing, I had no idea you were Phebe’s Brody. I can’t believe she didn’t mention it.”
“No worries, Brent. It’s nice to see you again.” Brody took the hand, shaking it with a firm grip. “And Phebe doesn’t know about the closing. I made the donation in my parents’ names because, quite frankly, I hate that kind of recognition.” Brody laughed, also hating the slight flush that warmed the skin beneath his beard.
“A true servant’s heart.” Brent smiled warmly, appreciating Brody’s generosity with a subtle nod. “Either way, the Boys and Girls Clubs are truly indebted to you.”
“I’ve worked with the clubs in East Atlanta for years. Turning my property into a playground for them is the highest purpose that land could ever serve,” Brody said.
“That’s so very kind of you.” Marie patted Brody’s hand from where she still sat in her chair. Turning to acknowledge her, he noticed most of the table was eavesdropping on his conversation with Brent.
“Where is the property?” the guy sitting beside Alexa—one Brody assumed to be responsible for the baby in her belly—asked. He had thick black hair slicked back on the sides and wavy up top. He’d spent the evening on his phone, even when Alexa had tried to engage him in conversation. Brody didn’t like him very much for the simple fact that he was rude and more than a little disrespectful to a wife who obviously needed him.
“It’s off Rhodes. Right across from the new Falcons stadium,” Brent said.
The guy put his phone down for the first time all night. More like he dropped it. Along with his jaw.
“How much property?” he asked Brent, as if Brody wasn’t even there.
“A bit over two acres.”
He then turned back to Brody, with a disbelieving look that didn’t even try to hide his contempt. “Do you have any idea how much that property is worth?”
Brody swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. Now was not the time to tell some loser what he thought of him. It wasn’t his place, either. Who was he to him?
“Money doesn’t matter. The kids need a playground. What use do I have for the property?”
“I don’t know, maybe a sports bar directly across from the hottest sports venue in the city?” The guy was such a dick. Which usually meant he didn’t have one swinging between his legs. Brody nodded and cleared his throat.
“Well, that takes money I don’t have,” Brody answered unapologetically. Usually when you addressed the elephant in the room—like admitting he didn’t roll as big as these guys obviously did—it defused a situation pretty quickly. It was also a subtle way to call out the guy for being the dick he was. But Alexa’s guy didn’t stop.
“Does Phebe know what you did?” He picked up his phone and his jaw.
“It wasn’t her property. It was my father’s. The playground will be named after him.” Brody’s tone was ice cold; the look on his face, subzero. If the guy didn’t take a hint, he was pretty hopeless. Brody wished they were in his bar. Then he could grab this guy by the ears and throw him into the street, where he belonged. His fists clenched at the thought. Asshole.
“Must be nice not to give a shit about losing that kind of money,” the guy scoffed, and the conversation was over.
If he hadn’t been in a tux, Brody would’ve asked the guy to step outside. Handle their situation the old-fashioned way. The insult was that obvious. But he was in one. And more than anything he wanted to impress Phebe’s friends. These people meant something to her. That made them mean something to him. Besides, there was always an asshole in every group. But the air had grown uncomfortable, and rather than stick around breathing its toxic fumes, he decided to go find Phebe and let the cloud settle.
“Can I get you something from the bar, ladies?” Brody turned to the women who were up-downing his nemesis like they could claw his eyeballs out. Even Alexa looked like she wanted to stick her stiletto up his ass.
“No, Brody, we’re fine. Thank you, though.” Marie rested a hand on his forearm, cocking her head like she wanted to share a secret. He bent at the waist. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and leaned into him. “Rob is such a dick. Don’t mind him,” she whispered.
“I deal with dicks on the daily.” Brody gave her a conspiratorial wink, and patted her hand. “But thanks.” Marie sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and appraising him with a sly, but quickly growing, smile.
“I like you, Brody. You’re going to be good for Phebe.” Marie’s words were the bolster he needed. Not that his confidence was flagging. He was tough. He was a grown-ass man who knew his mind better than most. But he was completely out of his element, and that could shake the roots of the strongest oaks. This wasn’t his world. And, it was one he’d learned to loathe. Because ten years ago, the asshole with the slicked-back hair could’ve been his father.
But it was also Phebe’s world. And he wasn’t about to let her slip away because he didn’t know how to navigate it. He would figure it out. Always did.
Because, damn, she was worth it.
He cruised the party’s periphery until he found her. And for the second time that night, his breath stopped cold. She stood in all her gorgeousness, talking with a man who—from the looks of him—would have parlayed a piece of property like Brody’s into generational wealth. Hidden by the crowd, Brody stood silently a few feet away, admiring her…hating him. Because he was everything Phebe was supposed to be with. A guy with success and status to match her own. It made that primal roar echo in Brody’s ears again. A roar that had him feeling like a damn caveman suddenly hell-bent to protect what was his. Hitting the interloper over the head with a club wasn’t a feasible option, though that’s what he wanted to do.
Instead, he settled for the next best thing. Phebe was brilliant. She was also gorgeous in her gown…and equally stunning out of it. More importantly, she was his. And that made her the only person who mattered. One he would gladly endure the freshest form of social hell for based only on the promise of what their future held. That night, but also every night that came after.
Sidling up behind her, he lightly rested a hand atop Phebe’s perky posterior and whispered in her ear—just loud enough for the guy to hear if he wanted to.
“Don’t forget those panties, Love,” he whispered, and placed a soft kiss behind her ear. His spur-of-the-moment plan was to disappear into the crowd immediately after dropping the bomb. Let her pieces fall where they would and pick them up later. Preferably in a dark corner with that damn dinosaur watching.
Only, the way Phebe’s body jolted under his palm when his lips landed on her neck blew his plan of retreat to smithereens. Instead, he wheeled around, throwing his body between her and the stranger as if the man posed a threat to the woman he loved. Why else would she recoil so? In a manner of seconds, Brody was between them, one hand protectively pushing Phebe behind him while the other hovered over the guy’s chest, inserting himself between them and their problem.
The guy’s face blanched then pinked in a span of seconds. Not blinking. Not smiling. Barely moving. He simply stood and met Brody’s gaze in an unaffected way. It was an odd response. What was Brody missing?
Phebe took the forearm Brody extended to her, clenching it so tightly her nails sunk into his skin through layers of fabric. He turned to her when she tried to pull him away. Shock, fury, embarrassment—take your pick. They all fought for space on Phebe’s face. Regret oozed out of him in a single exhale, knowing he was responsible for putting them there.
“Brody, this is Joel Stewart. My new…boss.” The words slid from her lips with more remorse than he thought humanly possible. Not for the man being her boss, but for the introduction she was forced to make.
Boss? What the fuck? He shook his head in a small, tight way, not knowing how to smooth over the barbarity of his actions. Fuck.
“Mr. Stewart.” Brody extended the hand that had been at the man’s chest seconds before. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Mr. Stewart, this is a friend of mine. Brody Cantrell.” She didn’t use the word date. And Brody wasn’t prepared for the right hook the simple omission landed in his gut.
“Brody.” There was a single nod of hello. “Nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me.” Mr. Stewart smiled politely to Phebe and turned in to the crowd.
Slowly, already hating what he had yet to see, Brody turned to Phebe. If she were a man in his bar, she would’ve clotheslined him. Beat his ass like he deserved and left him to bleed out on the floor. But she wasn’t. She was a refined, sophisticated professional who had just been mortified in front of her new boss. Being belittled into nothing more than a chick by her loving boyfriend in front of the new boss she was desperate to impress was the freshest kind of hell Brody possibly could have cast her into. He knew it and so did she. God, bar life was so much easier.
“Brody…” His name was a broken hiss between her lips. It held zero endearment, zero tenderness. Only anger and hurt. But those were emotions she refused to let show. Even to him. She cast her eyes to the floor and shook the pain away, burying it deep inside. A second later, she pulled herself up to her full height, settling her shoulders away from her ears. Her brow set like steel, gray eyes glaring like a storm warning on high tide. The old Phebe had made a triumphant return. The walls closing around her emotions echoed like a bear trap snapping shut. “How could you be so insensitive?”