Brothers in Blue: The Complete Trilogy: Brothers in Blue Boxed Set - Books 1-3

by Jeanne St. James

  She reached out a sudsy hand to accept hers and took a long sip. Then she returned her attention to her task, handing the rinsed dishes to Max to load into the dishwasher. When they were done, she washed her hands. She turned in place and Max was immediately there, handing her a towel.

  “Thanks for dinner…and for earlier.” She gave him a tentative smile and took another long sip of her wine.

  Max reached out, taking her glass from her. “Let’s get our thanks out of the way.” He lifted one of her hands and kissed the palm. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll see.” He reached out, curving his hand behind her neck under her long wavy hair, pulling her closer. He leaned down so he could stroke her lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting the tart, fruity residue. “I think that the wine tastes better on you.”

  “Let me try it,” she said, huskily. She studied his every move as he raised his glass to take a sip, leaving a trail of wine glistening over his lips. She stood on tiptoe, stretching her body against him, feeling his every male angle. Amanda covered his mouth with hers, licking and stroking. She pulled back slightly, their breath mingling. “Mmm. You’re right.”

  He refilled their glasses once again before leading her across the living room into the master bedroom. The only light was the sun setting through the windows, giving the room a rosy hue.

  He drew her to the bed, urging her to lie down. Max knelt on the mattress to slowly slip off the old T-shirt and the boxer shorts she was wearing, making sure his fingers, knuckles, and arms brushed her here…and there. When Amanda was naked, he sat back on his heels to study her.

  Amanda brought up her arms, an ineffective shield. “Don’t.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Why?”

  “You’re still dressed. That’s unfair.”

  “I can remedy that.” Max climbed off the bed and took his time baring his body for her, making sure she didn’t miss a thing. Not one hardened plane, rough angle, or smooth surface. When he was done, he stood proudly, fully aroused, a fact Amanda found hard to ignore. She bit her lip. He was finely chiseled and very, very hard to resist.

  But she already knew that.

  Max grabbed his wineglass from the nightstand and said, “Lay back. I want to enjoy some more wine.”

  He tilted the glass over her navel and filled it to the brim. He caught the overflow with his lips, stroking the tender skin of her belly with his tongue. He then dipped a finger in her navel and drew the warm liquid over her body like finger paint. Every line Max created, he erased it with his tongue.

  Amanda felt pinned in place, not wanting to move, as she watched him with narrowed eyes. She could barely stand the torture. But she resisted reaching for him, fought off demanding he fill her up. She wanted the torment to last a little longer. Just a little more…just to the edge.

  Max was having a difficult time holding back, as was evident by his nostrils flaring as he fought for air. Amanda felt him trembling slightly as he attempted to restrain himself. His fingers explored her warm, wet spots while his tongue painted pictures over her heated skin. He nuzzled her breast with his cheek and turned his face just enough to pull her nipple into his mouth. He tugged gently with his teeth until she cried out.

  Her panting and whimpers made him move quicker, more urgently until he couldn’t wait any longer. Until she couldn’t wait any longer.

  He rose over her and drove himself home.

  He gave her what she had wanted in the shower earlier. Not that she was complaining. He was skilled with his tongue, lips, and fingers. But there was nothing like the pressure of his body against her as he filled her emptiness with long strokes. She tilted her hips to take him deeper, matching his movements thrust after thrust.

  She grabbed his ass, the tight muscles flexing under her fingers with every pump. Every brush of his pelvis against her clit made her cry out, made her pussy bloom with wanting more, wanting him deeper, if that was even possible.

  She bucked harder against him.

  “You’re so open. I can feel you pulsating around my cock,” he rasped. “You’re driving me mad.”

  Me as well, she thought. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  Normally, they were oil and water; tonight they were fluid together. Meshed.

  He gently nipped the fleshy part of her breast, then soothed it with his tongue. Worked his magic over both breasts, nipping and licking, avoiding the hard nubs of her nipples. She wanted his mouth on them; she whimpered and wiggled against him, trying to get his mouth closer.

  He propped himself up on his arms and looked at her. Really looked at her. She couldn’t pull her gaze away. His eyes were dark, unreadable. A shudder ran through her.

  She couldn’t want this man any more than at this moment.

  He finally relented and sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, plucking at it with his lips.

  A jolt shot through her core, deep through her belly, and into her pussy.

  She gasped as she felt the waves start. “I’m going to come.”

  He grunted and picked up the pace even more. He gyrated against her, grinding into her swollen clit.

  She went over the edge, releasing a low wail. His head dropped next to hers, his lips next to her ear, and he groaned, “Fuck.”

  One last thrust and he stilled deep inside her, the base of his cock pulsating against her as he released.

  “Damn,” both said simultaneously, then laughed at their similar response.

  Damn was right.

  He slid to her side and gathered her in his arms.

  With the glow of the lowering sun and the afterglow of great sex, Amanda let out a long, contented sigh and stretched like a cat from fingertip to toe. She was full—from dinner and from Max. Her appetizer and her dessert.

  Tonight was so different from the barn. They were like two different people. No anger. No frustration. They were relaxed and not arguing. It was weird. They were like oil and water, and Amanda was waiting for the other hunting boot to drop.

  Max opened the bathroom door to see Amanda practically hidden in his bed. He fought the urge to climb back in bed with her and bury himself deep in her once again. He wanted to make her mew and whimper as he had done earlier. But—

  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

  He carried her now dry running clothes in his arms. He dumped them at the foot of the bed.

  “Your clothes are dry enough to put on now.”

  Amanda ignored him, snuggling deeper with a sigh.

  “Amanda.”

  A muffled “what?” came from beneath the sheets.

  “What do you mean, what? It’s getting late.”

  Amanda pulled the sheet back and shifted herself up. She looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s only eight o’clock. Why don’t you just call your parents? I’m sure they won’t mind if Greg stayed overnight.”

  “No.” There was no way he was calling his mother and telling her to keep Greg overnight. That was the last thing he needed. It was bad enough that Marc now had more fodder to torment him. That was unavoidable. But he did not need his mother knowing his personal business. And she certainly didn’t need to know that they were sleeping together. Which was what she’d assume if he asked them to keep Greg overnight.

  Then she’d be asking questions. And pestering. About settling down. About marriage. About children. Max let out a mental groan. No, thanks.

  “What do you mean no? No, you don’t want to burden your parents, or no, you don’t want me staying here overnight.”

  Max realized that this might be a touchy subject. But there was no way to steer clear of it. No matter what he said, it was going to be misconstrued. Maybe he could just say nothing.

  “We talked about this before.”

  “So?”

  “So? So my mother, that’s the so.”

  As good as Amanda looked in his bed… It looked too right, too comfortable. Like she belonged there. His chest tightene
d. Max wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for permanent. He wasn’t prepared for someone so young…no, not young, youthful. Youthful? Immature, naive, maybe. He scrubbed a hand over his short hair.

  It might have been a mistake to bring her into his domain. To let her in. To let her in his home—his privacy, his personal space. Pain shot through his temple.

  “I think you need to get dressed and we need to go pick up Greg.”

  She rolled out of bed, snagged her clothes, and got dressed quickly. She flung open his bedroom door and took long strides out of the room.

  “Seriously, you don’t want her picking out china patterns,” Max called after her, close on her heels. He came up short when he saw Marc standing in front of Amanda, his finger over his lips and a spare key swinging from his finger. Max forgot about the spare key. Damn.

  “Marc, can you take me home?”

  Marc’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. Quite possibly like the deer they had eaten earlier.

  “No,” Max answered for him as he came up behind her. “I’ll take you home.”

  “No. I don’t want to inconvenience you. Marc, will you take me home?”

  Max gave his brother a dirty look, hoping that Marc would be smart enough not to get involved in the conflict between him and Amanda.

  “Uh…”

  “No. I will do it,” Max insisted, an edge to his voice.

  Amanda glared at Max. “No, you won’t.” She turned toward Marc and gave him a pleading look. “Please?”

  Marc glanced over her head to his brother. Max gave his head a slight shake.

  “Uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  That’s his brother! He was getting the hint.

  “I don’t care what you guys think is a good idea. Marc, you are taking me home. If you don’t, I’m going to walk.”

  There was no way she was walking home. “You can’t—”

  Marc pitched in. “It’s too far—”

  “Amanda, it’s getting dark—”

  “Watch me.” With a determined step she strode out the front door.

  “Okay, okay! I’ll drive you home,” Marc called as he quickly followed behind her.

  Max threw up his hands and sighed as he watched his brother hurry after Amanda. He stood in the doorway helplessly as they both got into Marc’s truck and left.

  “Damn,” he whispered. His stubbornness had screwed things up royally. Once again.

  He slammed the front door shut and leaned back against it, cursing himself.

  Pushing himself off the door, Max began to pace back and forth. He had to make things right. He was mad that he couldn’t express himself the way he wanted to when he was with her. He didn’t know how to deal with it. He didn’t know if he could deal with it. But he didn’t want her to walk out of his life, either way.

  He had to call her.

  She had been out running earlier, so he knew she didn’t have her cell phone, plus Max wouldn’t want to have the conversation with her while she was still with Marc anyway. That would be inviting never-ending mocking from his brothers, both family and on the force.

  So he dialed her house phone; he would just leave a message for now. As expected, the machine answered, but he hung up quickly. He had to think about what to say. He had to get it right the first time.

  He dialed again. This time he let the machine get to the beep.

  “’Manda. I’m sorry. I…” He hit the End button with a curse.

  He dialed again. Beep. “Amanda, I know you’re angry.” Of course, she’s angry, you stupid ass. He cut the call off.

  Beep. “Mandy, can you call me back? I need to talk to you.” He hung up again.

  Fuck. He was such an ass.

  “We’ve got to stop at your parents’ house to pick up Greg,” Amanda said as they headed back toward town.

  The surprised look that Marc gave her was his only answer.

  They drove in uncomfortable silence to his parents. Amanda sat fuming in the truck while Marc ran in and got Greg. Amanda shifted over to the center of the bench seat to let her brother in.

  Amanda couldn’t decide if she was more angry or hurt at Max’s remarks.

  Marc made compulsory conversation with Greg on their way back to the Barber house. Once there, Greg slid out and ran to the porch, while Marc grabbed Amanda’s arm.

  “Hold on.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what happened back there, but I know you are boiling mad.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Yeah, well, I know my brother. He can be dumb sometimes. Hell, we all can. But I think he…feels something for you. I’ve never seen him act this way before. Never. I mean I’ve seen him date women and…well, you know. But he has never brought anyone back to his house. He has never invited anyone over to our parents’ before. I think he’s feeling scared…no, not scared…trapped? No!” Marc smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I didn’t mean it like that. Can you get the drift on what I am trying to say?”

  “And?”

  “Well, I just wanted you to know.”

  “So now I know. Thank you for the ride.”

  Before she could shut the door, he said one more thing.

  “Oh, and by the way, he’s right. You don’t want Ma getting wind of anything because she will be picking out china patterns. If you think Max is stubborn, you don’t know my mother.”

  Amanda watched Marc drive away before she let Greg into the house with the spare key she had hidden under the mat when she had gone running. She was sure Max wouldn’t like that idea. The officer in him would think it unsafe. Predictable. The spot an intruder would first look.

  Who cared what Max would think?

  “Can I’s have a snack?” Greg asked her eagerly.

  “Sure.”

  She followed her brother into the kitchen and poured him a glass of milk. She made him sit at the table, then dug out a container of her homemade brownies. She snapped off the lid and plopped the container in front of Greg, who within a matter of seconds sported a milk mustache.

  When she turned away, she noticed the answering machine blinking. The number four flashed at her like a beacon. Who would leave four messages? Neither Carlos nor her mother had the house number. She tapped the Caller ID button on the machine as it scrolled through the last four callers.

  Bryson, M.

  Bryson, M.

  Bryson, M.

  Bryson, M.

  Amanda located the button she was looking for.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  She turned back to Greg and sank into the chair across from him. “Can I have a brownie?” Or two?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary Ann glanced over at Amanda, who was doing her best to ignore the insistent ringing of her cell phone in the background. When her cell phone wasn’t ringing, the house phone was.

  “Sweetie, you aren’t going to answer that?”

  “No, it’ll go to voice mail.” From the living room, the beep of the machine sounded. “Or the answering machine. See?”

  With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Mary Ann pulled the cookbook closer. She laid a finger on the page. “This tells you to sift the flour first. Since you don’t have a sifter, this is what you do. Give me a cup of that flour.”

  Amanda popped the lid off the Tupperware container and dipped the plastic measuring cup into the flour, creating a puff of white dust. She choked as she involuntarily inhaled some, the force of her cough causing an even greater cloud. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to sneeze.

  She gladly handed the cup over to Mary Ann, who shook her head. Amusement twitched the older woman’s lips as she dumped the flour into a strainer. “Now I’ll just hold it over the bowl and tap it gently. You don’t want a cloud. That will shift the flour well enough—”

  Her cell phone rang again.

  Mary Ann dropped the makeshift sifter to
plant her hands on her hips. “Amanda, how do you know that it’s not important? Someone must really want to talk to you.”

  She was right. Amanda couldn’t put it off any longer. She was going to have to deal with the caller at some point. It might as well be now. She snatched up her cell from the kitchen table. “I’ll take it in the living room.”

  Amanda braced herself as she went into the other room and answered. She didn’t need the caller ID to know who it was. “What?” Right now he didn’t even deserve the courtesy of a “hello.”

  For a moment there was silence.

  “Hey. Uh, I was surprised you answered.”

  “Well, I figured I’d better before you killed my cell phone’s battery.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure you know I’ve been trying to reach you by all the messages I’ve left.”

  “Oh? I haven’t heard any of the messages.”

  “’Manda, I know you’re upset, but—”

  “But nothing.”

  “Just hear me out.”

  “I heard you, Max, and I didn’t like how you said it.”

  She heard a long sigh through the phone; then Max replied, “I can’t do this on the phone.”

  “Me, neither, so stop calling.”

  “I’m coming over.” He was clearly determined.

  Amanda thought of his mother in the other room. “Now is not a good time.” Wouldn’t he be shocked to find out how much time they’d been spending together?

  “It’s as good a time as any. I’ll be over in ten minutes.” He hung up before she could get in another word.

  She ended the call and looked toward the kitchen. Let him show up; he was only going to embarrass himself in front of his own mother.

  He didn’t want his mother finding out what was going on between them the other night. Well, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it now.

  She went back to the kitchen to finish her red velvet cake lesson.

  Nine minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Max rang the doorbell.