She shivered as he finally—finally—deepened that kiss, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She bit down on him, lightly, then sucked. A growl emanated from him and she shivered at the feel of his chest vibrating against her breasts.
Not even two seconds later, he was breaking the kiss, easing her back gently.
“Hmmm.” She fought the urge to pout and demand more. Instead, she focused on his mouth as he pressed his brow to hers.
* * *
“We keep that up and I might forget we’re at the airport,” Zane teased. Although he doubted it would take much. His cock pulsed against the zipper of his jeans and he had a feeling the teeth of said zipper might already be imprinted on very sensitive flesh.
It was worth it, especially when Keelie reached up and pressed her finger to his mouth.
“It’s your fault.” Then she shrugged. “I told you you’d have an easier ride if you had Zach or Abby pick you up.”
Then she broke away.
He caught her as she turned, hugging her close, his front to her back. “I’m not much interested in easy.”
She leaned back against him, her hand covering the one he’d pressed to her belly. “Seems kind of stupid, seeing as how you don’t live here, but I missed you while you were gone.” She grabbed one of his camera cases, hefting it easily.
Warily, he eyed her, but he couldn’t fault the care she used with it.
It was just . . . well, it was kind of like watching somebody hold a baby for the first time. Well, maybe not a baby. More like a camera that cost eleven thousand dollars. One that he pampered like a baby. Once it was stowed in the trunk, he looked up at her, saw the way she lifted a brow at him. Almost like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
He treated it the same way he always did. He flashed her an easy grin.
Then he grabbed two of his bags and added them to the trunk, carefully tucking his luggage around the camera equipment. Once that was done, he slid her a look. “Yeah, well, I miss you every time you’re not with me. So I think I’ve got you beat.”
Her gaze bounced away from his.
He headed to the passenger seat, not expecting any kind of response. She hadn’t taken off running—yet—that was good enough for him. He’d just keep taking it as it came and wait until she was ready to give him more.
* * *
If he had his preference, this dinner would have been at someplace quiet, with soft music, even softer lights, tablecloths, and the kind of service that was pretty much invisible.
If Zane wasn’t so determined to make everything with Keelie go exactly right, he’d have no compunction, at all, about setting the scene to seduce her.
It was harder than hell to resist that urge, because he had a feeling she wouldn’t exactly resist him if he went about seducing her.
But he didn’t just want her to fall into bed with him.
He wanted her to fall in love with him.
So instead of someplace soft and quiet, they were someplace bright and loud.
The music was a Mexican pop artist, her voice throaty and appealing, but considering she was almost drowned out by the voices of children, crying babies, and chattering adults, he couldn’t really call anything about the place romantic.
Keelie studied the drink in front of her with dubious eyes and then she looked up at him.
“It’s pink.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve been in Arizona . . . how long? It’s six years, right?” He knew she’d started working for Zach six years ago—he’d actually been there the day she came back for her follow-up interview. Zach had tried to con Zane into letting her do a “trial run” sort of tattoo. The answer had been a flat hell, no. Not just because he didn’t really want another tattoo, but even just one look at her had made him understand one thing. If she went and put her hands on him for an extended length of time, it was going to cause a noticeable reaction.
She shot him a narrow look. “I moved here about a week after Zach gave me the job. So, yeah. Six years. And what does that have to do with a pink drink? I don’t do pink.”
“It’s not the pink,” he said. “It’s prickly pear. It’s like a southwest thing. Almost like . . .” He paused, trying to come up with an adequate comparison. He grinned at her. “Kind of like Kentucky and mint juleps.”
For a moment, something flashed in her eyes.
It looked like . . .
But it was gone before he could really read it.
Then she made a face at him, miming disgust. “Out of curiosity, you ever had a mint julep? I think they’re nasty. And really, that’s a Derby thing, not a Kentucky thing. If we’re going to do regional things, choose bourbon for Kentucky.”
He studied her for a moment longer, wondering what had caused that glint, that flash of . . . memory. Pain. Fear. Then he let it go. Now wasn’t the time. “Fine, fine,” he said, pretending to grumble. “So, it’s a regional thing. What bourbon is to Kentucky, this is to here. It’s a prickly pear margarita. Try it. You just might like it. Unless you hate tequila. Do you hate tequila?”
“I don’t see how anybody can hate tequila.” She shrugged and reached out, swiping a finger through the sugar-topped rim of the glass. “I . . .” She pursed her lips and then flicked him a look. “I don’t generally drink on first date. Or second dates. Maybe not even third dates.”
Then she reached out and took the glass before he could tell her she didn’t have to—
Her eyes widened at the first drink.
“Oh.” She lowered it, eyed it. Then took another sip. A husky little sigh escaped her as she took a third. “Wow. That’s . . . dangerously good.”
He remained quiet as she lowered the glass.
When she looked back up at him, her familiar smirk firmly in place, he couldn’t find it in him to smile. “Now you get to say something like I told you so,” she said.
“Told you.” He looked down at the glass in front of him.
“What . . . don’t tell me you don’t drink them,” Keelie said.
He shot her a look.
“If it’s a pink thing, I might smack you.” She leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. “You just nudged me into trying it.”
“You got a reason for—”
“Z?”
His question was interrupted, maybe for the better, by a familiar, and somewhat incredulous voice.
Looking up, he saw Zach and Abby. Smiling, he stood up, caught Abby in a tight hug, but when he turned to Zach, there was a stiffness to him that made him pause.
Zach flicked a look between him and Keelie. “We’re interrupting.”
Keelie shifted on her chair. “Of course not,” she said, her voice losing that sharp, caustic edge of humor that almost made Zane want to bite her, or kiss her. Both.
Zane had to bite back the urge to say, Yeah, you are interrupting, especially when Keelie looked at Abby. “There’s room, if you want to join us. Zane made me drink this pink thing. I don’t do pink. But it’s good.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You’ve never had a prickly pear margarita? Keelie, what is wrong with you?”
Zane suppressed a sigh as Abby sank down into the unoccupied seat next to Keelie. Zach was a little slower to settle in the chair next to Zane’s, and his body was decidedly rigid.
“What’s up?” Zane asked, keeping his voice easy, eyes on the two women, murmuring in that way women had, already lost in conversation with each other.
“Not much.” Zach’s voice held a weird undercurrent to it.
Zane slid him a look.
Zach was staring at the table. “I didn’t know you were coming back today.”
Running his tongue along his teeth, Zane shrugged. “I finished some things up, got a mover to bring out some boxes and wanted to be here when they arrived. Also brought out some of my camera equipment.” He angled his head toward Zach. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a problem?”
“No problem.” Zach shook his head. Then he shrugged. “Might have been nic
e to know you were here, but hey . . .”
“Shit, Zach.” Zane rolled his eyes and grabbed his drink, resisting the urge to toss it back like a shot of whiskey. He could handle his liquor, but tequila was better off taken in a little slower. He knew from experience. “I planned to call you in the morning. I just got in a couple hours ago.”
“It’s not a problem.”
At that moment, the chatter across the table died down.
Keelie’s gaze slid between them. Zane could see the questions she tried to hide.
Abby didn’t bother. Her dark brown eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?” When there wasn’t an immediate response, she cocked her head and studied her husband. “Zach, you look like you got a thorn in your paw.”
“I do not.” There was a definite sulk to his voice.
Abby rolled her eyes. “Whatever, baby. Geez.” She studied him for a long, lingering moment and then shifted her attention to Zane.
When she decided not to push it, he could have kissed her. But then again, Abby knew Zach almost as well as Zane did.
Shoving her dark red hair back, she eyed Zane’s margarita. “Sometimes you like those and sometimes you don’t. Which is it today?”
“Today, I like it.” He took another drink, winked at her from the rim, watched as she stuck out her lip in a pout. Then he turned the glass over to her. “But since I’m a gentleman, you can have it.”
“You’re my very favorite brother-in-law today.” She beamed at him and accepted the glass.
“Today,” he said wryly.
“Well, yeah. Yesterday it was Trey because he let me read his book early. Of course, I’ll probably hate him by the time I’m done. He’s going to make this one another tearjerker,” Abby said, shaking her head. She took a sip of the margarita and then shot Keelie a look. “You ever read any of Trey’s stuff?”
“A couple.” She shrugged, shooting Zane a deprecating look. “He likes to make people cry. I’m not really good with the tearjerker books, but he’s a great storyteller.”
Trey, one of the twins, was a writer and yes, tears seemed to come with the territory as far as his books went. “Trey’s a great storyteller. You realize, you’re not required to like his books just because you know him. I’ve liked a few of them, the rest of them, I told him he needed to add some rainbows or lollipops or something, just to keep me from slitting my wrists with the pages before I was done.”
Zach continued to sit there, brooding, and Zane decided he’d just leave him to it.
“He’s not that bad,” Zach snapped, his voice sharp.
“Hey,” Abby said, her voice soft. “Ease up, baby. Trey knows his work isn’t for everybody. You couldn’t finish the last one. I remember you were sniffling when you passed it off to me.”
Zach set his jaw and lapsed back into silence.
Zane wondered if he’d get through this meal without throttling his brother.
* * *
Well, this sucks.
The few sips of prickly pear margarita she’d taken, combined with the few bites of food she’d forced herself to eat, were doing a weird little lurch and twist in Keelie’s gut and she had to make a practiced effort breathe slow and normal.
Nerves always made her stomach upset and if she let herself get too upset, she just might puke up what little she had inside her. And wouldn’t that just take the cake?
The real bitch was that everything had been going fine.
She wasn’t even sure just what had gone wrong—well.
That wasn’t entirely true.
She watched as Zane and Abby talked—familiar, easy conversation that bespoke of two people who had a long history with each other.
She knew what had gone wrong—this weird tension had hit when Zach and Abby showed up.
She just wasn’t sure why.
Feeling a pair of eyes cutting into her, she finally leveled a look at Zach. Under the table, she clenched one hand into a fist. That was the only outward sign she allowed of the turmoil crashing through her though, the one he couldn’t see.
As he continued to look at her, she just lifted a brow.
He jerked his gaze away and the table started to vibrate a minute later as he drummed on it with his fist.
Wonderful.
She eyed her food, everything sitting in her gut like a leaden weight, but there was no way she could try to eat more. They’d been here for over an hour. The drink in her glass had long since gone to ice. Abby had eaten most of her food, but neither Zane nor Zach had eaten much.
Somehow, even though she was the one who’d been on the date, she’d managed to make herself the third wheel.
She didn’t even know how.
When there was a lull in the conversation, she leaned over and murmured to Abby, “I’m not feeling too hot. Can you maybe give Zane a ride home?”
Abby studied her with shrewd eyes. “I have a feeling I know why. Why don’t we—”
But she didn’t wait for an answer. Digging the money out of her purse, she dropped enough cash on the table to cover the bill and the tip. Ignoring the intense way Zane’s gaze cut to her, all but searing her, she rose. “I’m not feeling great. I need some air. Zane, Abby said she can get you home when she and Zach head out. I’ll bring your stuff by in a little while.”
“I don’t think so,” Zane said, rising, his voice low.
“Please.” She stared at him, unable to explain the awful, vicious ache in her chest.
“We don’t mind running you to the loft later, Z.” Zach shot her a smile, but it was brittle around the edges. “See you in the morning, Keelie.”
She gave him a short nod and then headed for the door.
She heard a chair scrape behind her.
Then Abby’s voice.
She didn’t know if she’d get out of there without him following her or not.
* * *
“Give her a couple of minutes,” Abby suggested, catching Zane’s hand.
“We were on a date,” Zane half snarled.
“Yeah.” Abby gave him a sympathetic smile before she turned a hard glare on her husband. “Then we ruined it.”
Zach looked up at that. “Hey, we didn’t ruin it. She invited us to join them, Abs.”
“And if you hadn’t sat there pouting because your brother called the woman he likes before you, then I suspect Keelie wouldn’t have left, feeling like she had done something wrong, instead of you, you big baby,” Abby shot back.
“Nobody made her leave.” Zach sat up, his voice edged.
And loud enough that more than a few people glanced their way.
“No.” Abby shook her head. “But you sure as hell didn’t do anything to make her feel like she should stay. It was their date . . . and you successfully made her feel unwelcome. Happy . . . sugar?”
“Enough,” Zane said quietly. He eyed the money Keelie had tossed down. The server appeared in the next moment and he checked the bill. She’d calculated it pretty much to a T, including the tip. Gathering up the money, he turned it over and then stood. “If it’s all the same to you, Abby, I’ll pass on the ride. I’m just going to call for a cab.”
“That’s stupid, Z.” Zach stood up, eying him narrowly. “Cab fare from here to the loft will be insane.”
Zane just turned on his heel and strode out of the restaurant. They weren’t far behind him but at least he didn’t have to worry about offering free entertainment to the patrons if Zach didn’t get off his back. An annoying little tic pulsed in his temple and he reached up, rubbing at it as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, opening the browser to search for a cab company.
“Come on, Z . . .”
Slowly, he looked up, met Zach’s gaze. “I’m calling a cab,” he said quietly.
“Sounds good to me.” Abby leaned in and kissed his cheek and then turned to her husband. “Come on, Zach.”
“We’re twenty minutes away from the loft. We pass by it on our way home.” He stood there stubbornly, hands jammed in his pockets.<
br />
“If I get into a car with you right now, I have a feeling I’ll have my hands around your throat by the time the ride is over with.” Zane shot him a sharp-edged look. “We’d have to make Abby drive. She’ll get pissed at me if we get blood all over one of the cars.”
“What in the hell is your—”
“Enough.” Abby’s voice was sharp, cold as ice, and cut between them. Zach lapsed into silence and his gaze landed on his wife’s face. She advanced on him and Zane couldn’t deny getting some smug satisfaction from the moment as she jabbed a finger into Zach’s chest. “Tell me one thing, Zach. If you get off a plane, who is the first person you’re going to call . . . me? Or one of your brothers?”
* * *
Zach had absolutely no idea how things had gotten to this point.
Zane was moving a little too fast—actually, for Zane, he was moving at light speed and Zach was now officially a little worried. And so, yeah, maybe, a little bothered by the fact that his brother—his best friend, next to Abby, hadn’t seen the point in letting him know he was coming to town.
But now, not only was Zane mad at him, Abby was.
“Well?” she demanded, drilling her finger into his chest again.
“You know I’m going to call you,” he said irritably. He caught her wrist. And because he hated when she was mad at him, he started to stroke his thumb over the sensitive inner skin. “You’re my wife. I should call you.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “And who would you have called a year ago? Two years ago? Five?”
Setting his jaw, he just stared at her. He’d like to argue it wasn’t the same.
But then, he looked over at Zane. Behind the lenses of his glasses, Zane’s eyes were unreadable. Zane had never been the easiest one to read, but now he was less so.
“Well, fuck,” he muttered. Hooking a hand over the back of his neck, he nodded and then turned around, heading off toward the car.
“Don’t you think you could maybe say something?” Abby said as she fell into step next to him,
“Why?” he bit off. “If I say much more, he’s going to feel like hitting me. I’m mad enough that I’ll hit back. We’re in public. If we get into a fight in public, my mom will kick both our asses. I’m an idiot and he knows it. He doesn’t want me to do anything but leave him alone right now.”
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