To Love & Protect (Bryant Brothers Book 2)

by Tami Lund

  ***

  They spent the evening watching movies. It was a deliberate move to ensure they didn’t converse too much. If they kept talking, kept sharing, he might relax even more, let her more deeply into his life, and he wasn’t sure he could quite do that. He wasn’t sure he knew how anymore.

  Not to mention, the woman didn’t trust him. He was pretty sure she still believed he’d kidnapped her. And accusing her of working with Frank certainly hadn’t won him any brownie points.

  What was really funny was that he didn’t believe it anymore, despite having no proof whatsoever of her innocence. Hell, he hadn’t believed it seconds after Richard said it. He could read people, too, and if Maecie was one of the bad guys, he’d eat his damn boot.

  Just to be clear, this was not a reason to get to know her better. To think things like, What would she want to do for a first date?

  She fell asleep toward the end of Caddyshack, which he didn’t hold against her because when they first dialed it up, she’d said she’d seen it a dozen times before. Plus, it was pretty late.

  He flipped off the television and scooped her into his arms. She woke enough to snuggle against his shoulder, and for a minute there he considered climbing into the bed with her. Just to hold her for a bit longer. He’d no doubt wake with a painful erection, but it would be worth it to have her in his arms all night long.

  He resisted the urge because, face it, that was bordering on creepy. He should get her consent before he shared her bed. His bed. Whatever.

  Of course, the next issue was whether to strip her out of her clothes so she’d be comfortable while she slept. Another thing he’d really, really like to do. Except that was even creepier than crawling into bed with her. He knew damn well the only reason he wanted to do it was to check out her body.

  So he left her as she was, dressed in a sweatshirt and leggings, and he pulled the sheet and comforter up and tucked it in around her prone body. She smiled a little in her sleep; clearly, she appreciated the decisions he’d ultimately made.

  After grabbing his toothbrush out of the upstairs bathroom and a pair of pajama pants out of the dresser, he added a pillow and blankets from the closet, then headed downstairs. Where, instead of making a bed out of the couch, he unearthed his laptop and set to work doing research.

  He didn’t have any sort of government clearance, of course, but he did have contacts on the wrong side of the law, and those types of people had the ability to dig up information that sometimes even the government didn’t have access to.

  Such as whether Frank Charles actually was a criminal.

  Which, he discovered through a chat room where the conversations disappeared almost as soon as they were typed out on the screen, was not true. Frank was a fine, upstanding citizen, just as he appeared to be. Philip’s contact in the chat room even went so far as to say he’d approached Frank, had tried to convince him to go to the dark side, so to speak, but Frank had refused.

  If Frank wasn’t a bad guy, then likely neither was Maecie, although Philip checked her out too, to cover all his bases. No one knew anything about her, although one of his contacts mentioned being in the market for a new stylist. Philip quickly typed out that she wasn’t taking new clients and then ended the conversation and shut down the computer.

  Leaning back against the couch cushions, he laced his fingers behind his head and propped his stocking feet on the coffee table. Unfortunately, this new information made this whole situation even more murky.

  Why had someone tracked Frank to his hairstylist’s salon and then gunned him down? Why was there an explosive in Frank’s coat pocket? The only thing that made sense—sort of—was Richard’s belief that Frank was working with terrorists.

  Except after those chatroom visits, even that didn’t compute. Philip had checked with some of the biggest players in the various illegal markets, including arms and explosives dealers. If those guys said Frank wasn’t working on the wrong side of the law, he wasn’t.

  Of course, Richard wouldn’t necessarily know that. He didn’t have contacts like Philip did. That was probably why he’d asked Philip to help with this case. So all he needed to do was tell Richard he’d confirmed that Frank had been on the up and up. Which meant Richard needed to adjust his investigation to figuring out who wanted Frank dead, and why.

  Philip also need to tell his buddy about Maecie, that she wasn’t involved in whatever happened to Frank. That also meant he’d have to confess that he’d been at the salon when the raid went down. And Richard would want to know why he hadn’t mentioned that little tidbit sooner.

  There was also the fact that, if he mentioned Maecie, Richard would demand he turn her over to the government for questioning, even if she was innocent. And if that happened, Philip would lose his ability to protect her.

  He wasn’t ready to do that.

  He would, however, like to talk to his friend again, see if there were any new developments. Except it was late and if Richard wasn’t working the case, chances were good he was at one of the casinos or maybe online gambling. Philip would bet his own ample retirement fund that Richard had none. He lived paycheck to paycheck, making sure his bills were paid and he had food in his cupboard, and whatever was left fed his gambling habit.

  He’d wait until tomorrow to call his friend. He also needed to call Tommy, let him know to count on him for Thanksgiving.

  Oh, and a plus one.

  Chapter Eight

  Maecie woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. Probably because she was wrapped like a burrito in a thick down comforter and was dressed in synthetic leggings and a heavy sweatshirt.

  She shoved the covers away and stripped off the sweatshirt. It wasn’t enough—she tugged off the leggings too.

  The house was dark save for a nightlight in the bathroom and another halfway down the stairs. She climbed out of bed and wandered over to the railing that overlooked the main level below.

  There was Philip, asleep on the couch, his head resting on a pillow, his body covered by a fuzzy blanket. She wanted to get closer, to see what his face looked like in slumber. Did he look peaceful? Relaxed? Because when he was awake, the man looked as though he never fully chilled out.

  She wished he would. She wished he’d do a lot of things. Like open up to her. And maybe kiss her. And then move the kiss from her lips, down the column of her throat, to her breasts, to…

  She fanned herself with her hand. Damn, she needed a shower. A cold one. She’d known the man for less than twenty-four hours and, frankly, had no reason whatsoever to trust him, and she was imagining getting down and dirty with him?

  That wasn’t like her. Maecie was very careful about who she dated, how far they went, whether she was willing to hand the guy her heart for safekeeping. Because that was the problem: she needed someone who would keep it safe. Who wouldn’t take advantage of it or take it for granted.

  And, yes, she was fully aware that this type of caution meant she wasn’t exactly highly experienced. Philip looked like the sort of man who had plenty of experience with the opposite sex, so she should probably hang up the little fantasy forming in her head.

  Besides her appalling lack of experience, she also needed someone who would trust her, and Philip had made his trust issues clear.

  Get a grip, Maecie. This isn’t Speed. You aren’t Sandra Bullock and he isn’t Keanu Reeves. Although, if she were being honest with herself, she’d choose Philip over Keanu.

  With a sigh, she turned away from the view and made her way over to her bag, where she extracted her toiletry kit and headed into the bathroom. Might as well take that shower now. Except she’d make it steamy so that it would hopefully make her sleepy again.

  When she was done, she lathered up with lotion, brushed her teeth, and wrapped the towel around her wet hair. She opened the door and stepped out onto the loft so that she could dig a nightshirt out of her bag.

  Philip sat on the edge of the bed, facing the bathroom.

  “Shit!” he
shouted and then lifted his hand to cover his eyes.

  Maecie gave a little shriek before unraveling the towel from her hair so she could wrap it around her body. “What are you doing?” she demanded, standing in the doorway clutching the terrycloth to her breast.

  Without taking his hand away from his eyes, he said, “I woke up when you turned on the shower. I came up here to see if everything was okay. I-I don’t know why I didn’t go back downstairs. Shit. I’m sorry.”

  She edged over to her bag and, without taking her gaze off of him, bent at the knees and felt around for her nightshirt. And then she grabbed a pair of sweatpants too. She probably should have snagged a bra and panties as well, but she was already in the bathroom with the door firmly closed when she had that thought, and she wasn’t about to leave again until she was dressed. Even if her nipples poked at the front of the thin shirt, it was better than being completely naked in front of the guy.

  Oh Lord, he’d seen her naked. She would never, ever live that down.

  She waited until her heart had slowed to a semi-normal pace and then opened the door, hoping that he’d rushed downstairs.

  No such luck.

  He was still sitting on the bed, although he’d taken his hand away from his eyes. She was also now sane enough to realize that he was wearing a pair of pajama pants and no shirt and oh wow, did he ever have a ripped chest.

  She stepped into the room, wearing gray sweatpants and a sleepshirt that read “Don’t Talk To Me Until My Third Cup.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “So noted.”

  She glanced down. “It’s just a silly saying. Although there may be a hint of truth there.” She felt her own lips waver, like they were trying to smile. Which was crazy, because this was most certainly not a smiling situation.

  “I’m the same way. We can drink our first two cups in silence together in the morning.”

  She giggled. Honestly, three minutes ago, she would have thought she’d lost the capacity to do so. “That sounds like a plan.”

  “So do you always take showers in the middle of the night?”

  Well hell, for a moment there, she thought they were simply going to avoid the giant elephant in the room. “I was hot.”

  His eyes flared.

  “Not like that,” she admonished, even though, well, that too was true. And may be again, the longer she stood in the same room with his bare, sharply defined, and oh so beautiful chest. But he didn’t need to know that. “I assume you put me to bed. And I was wearing a sweatshirt and leggings and you tucked that big, thick blanket around me and heat rises and…” She shrugged.

  He nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was appropriate to undress you while you were sleeping.”

  “It’s okay. I appreciate it.” She finger-combed her damp hair. “I should probably dry it before I go back to bed.”

  He glanced at the wall of windows overlooking the deck and the woods beyond. They weren’t pitch black anymore. Shapes were beginning to take form as the sun’s rays crept above the horizon. “This is going to sound crazy, but there’s an amazing view of the sunrise just about a mile away. I’ll put on coffee while you dry your hair. We don’t even need to get dressed. There won’t be anyone else around at this time of year. I’ll put the coffee in thermoses and drive us over there. If you’re interested.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t have said no even if she wanted to because that suggestion sounded so damn sincere. He wanted to share something with her that she was pretty sure he hadn’t shared with anyone else, and hell yes, she was all in.

  “Cream? Sugar?” he asked. “I have vanilla-flavored creamer, if that works.”

  “That works. Just enough to take the bite out of the coffee.”

  “You got it. Come down when you’re ready. Although don’t take too long or we’ll miss it.”

  Oh, she wouldn’t. In fact, she considered skipping drying her hair altogether, except it was wintertime and it probably wasn’t smart to go hang out outside with wet hair.

  She did such a cursory dry, however, that it was still damp when she was done. Which turned out to be okay because when she met Philip downstairs in the kitchen, he offered her not only a thermos filled with coffee but a knit hat and thick gloves too.

  And his truck was already warming up in the garage.

  This was damn near romantic.

  They climbed into his vehicle, and he headed down the winding drive, away from the cabin. Maecie took a sip of perfectly doctored coffee. “What about the blindfold?” she asked.

  “I’ve decided to believe you aren’t working with Frank.”

  “But have I decided you aren’t a kidnapper?”

  He gave her the side-eye. “I don’t know. Have you?”

  “If I say yes, are you going to do something terrible?”

  “Such as show you the most spectacular sunrise ever?”

  Maecie glanced up at the windshield as he guided the truck off the road and into what turned out to be a marina. He drove almost to the water’s edge and then shifted into park. They were facing east, with an unobstructed view of the sun’s rays as they stretched out over the dark, mirror-like water. Not a leaf nor creature stirred as the pink and orange fingers grew, spreading closer and closer to them.

  “Oh my.” She practically breathed the words as she clutched the thermos to her chest and stared at the vision laid out before her.

  “We can stay in here where it’s warm, although it’s even better if we go stand out there.” He pointed at the boat launch. The dock had been pulled up onto shore and was covered with a thin layer of snow. The water was still open, although there was a crust of ice running along the shoreline.

  “Let’s definitely go out there,” Maecie said, reaching for the door handle and hopping out before he even had a chance to chuckle at her enthusiasm.

  She walked right up to the edge of the lake and stood there, soaking in this glorious experience while her breath came out in icy puffs of white.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she whispered as Philip stepped up next to her.

  “It really is.”

  She glanced at him; he was staring at her. She could feel her cheeks heat as she shifted her attention back to the rising sun. Surely, he wasn’t referring to her. Not right now. She wasn’t wearing makeup, she hadn’t done a thing with her hair, which was now tucked under a knit cap and would probably look like a rat’s nest when she took the hat off. And don’t forget she was wearing a baggy nightshirt with no bra and a pair of comfortable but not flattering sweatpants.

  “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  “Thank you for appreciating it.”

  They fell silent, sipping coffee and watching as the sky brightened and turned from pink to, well, gray. It was November in Michigan, after all. The sun didn’t stand much of a chance.

  “My brother lives right over there,” he said, pointing to his left.

  “I don’t suppose you’d tell me where we are, would you?”

  He hesitated for a few heartbeats and then said, “West side of the state. Not too far off I-94. Near Rogers Speedway.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense. A lot of those pictures I looked at involved dirt bike racing.”

  There was another hesitation and then he said, “My brother Tommy races. Well, he used to. Now he owns the track.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow. That’s pretty cool.”

  “Actually, two of my brothers used to race, but Kyle liked tinkering with the bikes more than trying to win. He’s now a mechanic.”

  “Doing what makes him happy.”

  “Definitely. He loves to fix stuff.”

  She glanced up at the man by her side. “Are you doing what makes you happy?”

  “Are you about to psychoanalyze me?”

  She chuckled. “No. But I’ll share something about myself, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested.”

  She liked the way he said it. With
conviction. Leaving no room for doubt.

  “I’ve loved doing hair since my grandmother gave me my first plastic styling head when I was four years old. My mom…”

  She considered skimming over Mom’s addiction, but he’d shared so much with her, and she could tell that doing so helped him. He was so much more relaxed now than he had been when they first met. The least she could do was reciprocate.

  “My mom has a gambling addiction.” The words tumbled from her lips in a rush. The only other person she’d ever discussed this with was her grandmother. But now that she’d opened the dam, she wanted him to know everything.

  “That’s actually how I came along.” She shook her head. “Her favorite casino wouldn’t increase her line of credit. One night, she ran into one of the pit bosses—that’s how often she was there; she knew practically all the employees on the floor—at a bar. I don’t know exactly what happened, of course, but Mom said he offered to fix the books so that it would look like she had paid off her debt to the casino, on one condition. He wanted to have sex with her. So she did it. Without protection. And nine months later…” She spread her arms wide.

  “I’d say that was one of the best mistakes she ever made,” Philip deadpanned.

  Was swooning an acceptable response to a complement these days?

  “Although I’m going to take a not very wild guess and say he did not live up to his end of the bargain.”

  “You guessed right. Not only did he not make her debt disappear, he never spoke to her again. I’ve never met him.”

  He touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. Based on the way it went down, I’d say he’s not necessarily a good guy, so it’s probably best that I didn’t have that influence in my life.”

  “Especially when it sounds like you’ve spent your entire life parenting your mother.”

  Nodding, she sipped at her coffee. “Another winner. Do you gamble, Philip? You seem to have good luck.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. No interest in it. I have a buddy who is also an addict. I’ve watched his marriage implode, listened to him come up with excuse after excuse for why he has no money, all while he’s jealous of his friends who do. But he doesn’t want to hear it when you tell him the disparity is what he’s dropping at the casino.”