by Lori Foster
“It matters.” Elwood turned a stony glare on Libby. “Do you love him?”
Talk about being put in the spotlight. Libby’s cheeks warmed and her heart swelled. She hated spilling her guts in front of her uncle, but Axel looked very vulnerable as he waited to hear what she’d say, and she didn’t have it in her to keep him in suspense. “Almost from that first moment I saw him.”
A grin burst over Axel’s face. “Damn, I’m glad to hear that.”
Elwood went so far as to smile. “Then I suppose I’ll need to come up with a wedding gift, as well.” He handed her the envelope. “But this is for your graduation, for making me so very proud of you.”
Libby took the envelope hesitantly. “What is it?”
“Every dime you’ve ever given me. The room and board, the college loans, everything. I’ve saved it all, from that very first summer job you got, and I’ve added a few thousand in.”
“Oh no.” Libby tried to hand it back to him. “I don’t want this.”
“Please.” He folded his hands around hers, closing the envelope in her grasp. “For once, let me do what’s right. I always intended to give the money back to you, you know. I took it in the first place as a way to teach you a lesson. I thought I’d be returning it with regrets. I thought I’d have a lecture to share on the weight of the world and the trials you’d face.” He shook his head, saddened. “Now I realize that I’ve been your biggest trial. But you’re strong enough, capable enough, to handle anything life brings you. You certainly don’t need the money, but this is my way of trying to help you make a good start with your new career.”
Numb, Libby kept the envelope and stared at her uncle.
“So,” Axel said, “you won’t object to us marrying? Not that I care, you understand, but I won’t have you hurting Libby.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
Together, Axel and Elwood said, “Don’t I know it.”
With the exact words between them, they looked at each other in startled surprise, then laughed out loud.
When his chuckles had died down, Elwood wiped his eyes and said, “No objections at all. Just see that you treat her right.” And he added, “Treat her better than I did.”
“You can count on it.”
After Elwood left, Axel pulled her close and kissed her. “Now, that went better than I thought.”
Libby shook her head. “I suppose my uncle does respect you, because he didn’t faint.” She laid her palm on his chest and said, “Thank heavens I’ve graduated. That means I can put my mind to wedding plans.”
With a devilish twinkle in his eyes, Axel said, “I thought Elwood’s gardens might make the perfect place for the ceremony.”
Libby choked. “The gardens!”
Axel pulled her close, kissed her nose, and whispered, “They have special meaning to me. And when I get you there this time, believe me, I’ll say all the right things.”
“Like?”
He cupped her face, all teasing gone. “Through sickness and in health, till death do us part.”
“Oh.” Grinning, Libby put her arms around him. “In that case, I agree, the gardens will be perfect.”
If you enjoyed this collection about the Dean Brothers and their friend Cary, you won’t want to miss The Watson Brothers, coming this May!
Please turn the page for an excerpt.
He knew that damned aggravating little giggle anywhere. It was throaty and pure and never failed to set him on edge. He’d listened to it every Sunday for two long months when Pete, his baby brother, had been infatuated with her. That giddy laugh was often directed at him, instead of Pete, as it should have been.
With a heavy dose of dread and a visible grimace, Sam Watson slewed his head away from his whiskey and toward that annoying twitter. Shit. Sure enough, there sat Ariel Mathers. At the bar no less. And there were two men chatting her up.
What the hell was she doing in this dive? He glanced around but didn’t see his brother anywhere. As to that, no one particular man appeared to be with her. Huh. The little twit was slumming.
So many times since first meeting her, Sam had wanted to put her over his knee. For leading his brother on at a time when he’d been vulnerable. For flirting with him, Sam, a man much too old for her. And especially for being so damned adorable, he almost couldn’t stand it.
And now this.
His palm itched at the thought of it and his mind conjured the image of her over his knees, her tush bared. He started to sweat, knowing that if he had her in such a position, punishment would be the very last thing on his mind. She was so petite that her bottom would be small. And pale. And no doubt silky soft …
Shit, shit, shit.
His eyes burned as he stared at her slim back. She had her hair up with a few baby-fine blond curls kissing her nape. Little gold hoops in her earlobes glittered with the bar lights. The heart-shaped tush he’d so often fantasized over, now perched on a bar stool, was easily outlined beneath the clinging silk skirt of her dress.
At twenty-four she was twelve years too young for him. His mind understood that. His dick didn’t care.
She paused in whatever nonsense she’d been uttering to the hapless fool beside her. As she started to look around, Sam twisted in his seat to face the window. Do not let her see me, he prayed. He waited, pretending to be drunk when he was more alert than he’d ever been in his life. He’d nursed one whiskey since coming into the bar, but he’d pretended drunkenness on his way in. Anyone who noticed him would assume he was there to top off an already inebriated night.
Fifteen seconds ticked by, then thirty, a minute—no one approached him. Sam relaxed, but kept his face averted, just in case. No way could he carry off his assignment tonight if Ariel got in the way.
He should have known better than to stare at her. People felt that sort of thing, just as he’d felt the big bruiser at the far booth watching him. He would have liked to order another drink, to call further attention to his feigned drunkenness. But with Ariel sitting there, it would be too risky.
Better to get this over with now, before he did something stupid. Like staring at her again.
Opening his wallet to show the bloated contents—two hundred dollars’ worth—he pulled out a ten-dollar tip. He laid it on the table, stumbled to his feet and staggered out the door.
Once outside, he deliberately started across the street toward the abandoned, shadowed building where he would supposedly retrace his path home—and where his backup could clearly see him. Sam took his time, singing a crude bawdy tune about a woman from Nantucket, who according to the men, liked to suck it. It was a favorite limerick from his youth and he knew it by heart, but this time he missed some words, slurred a few others.
He pitched into the brick wall, laughed too loud, and started off again, only to trip over a garbage can, causing an awful racket. He gave a rank curse, stepped in something disgusting that he didn’t want to identify, and dropped up against the side of a broken, collapsible fire escape.
Sam was fumbling for a more upright position when a meaty paw grabbed his upper arm, filling him with satisfaction. The perp had taken the bait.
“Give me your wallet.”
Jolting around, Sam acted surprised, then spat in the big chap’s face, “Fug off.”
A ham-sized fist hit him in the side of the head and he saw stars for real. Jesus, he hadn’t expected the fellow to get nasty so quick. Most of the thefts in the area—and there’d been plenty of late—had been done without any real personal damage.
Across a six-block area that covered three bars in Duluth, Indiana, more than twelve muggings had taken place in less than a month. It wasn’t the best part of the city, so muggings weren’t uncommon. But twelve? And all against men carrying substantial amounts of money. That smacked of premeditated, organized activity, and grabbed the attention of the police.
Sam twisted away, but was brought back around for another punch, this one in the gut. He bent double and
almost puked.
Because he knew the guys would never let him live it down, he managed to keep his supper in his belly where it belonged. Just barely.
Where the hell were they anyway? Taking their own sweet time?
Before Sam could decide to take another punch or sneak in one of his own, a female banshee cry split the air, making his ears ring and his hair stand on end. Two seconds later his perp got hit from behind by a small tornado and the momentum drove him straight into Sam, against the side of the metal stairs. It felt like his damn ribs cracked.
Everyone started struggling at once and they went down in a heap, Sam on the bottom so that his head and back hit the hard, gravel-covered ground with a jarring impact. The wind left his lungs in a whoosh.
While supine and wheezing, Sam got a good look at the familiar blond clinging tenaciously to his perp’s hair with one hand while trying to use her purse like a club with the other. Sam couldn’t quite tell if she was attempting to bludgeon him to death, or scream him into submission.
Wincing, the would-be robber reached back, caught her shoulder, and flipped her over his head. The next thing Sam knew, Ariel’s behind was atop his face, her thighs pressed to his ears. Her dress had fluttered open and there was nothing more than a thin layer of silk keeping his nose from glory.
Damn it, why did things like this happen to him at all the wrong times?
Look for more Lori Foster in her holiday collection Yule Be Mine, on sale now!
With the sluggish winter sun hanging low in the gray sky, Detective Parker Ross dragged himself out of his salt-and-slush-covered car. Howling wind shoved against him, jerking the car door from his hand to slam it shut. His dress shoes slipped on the icy blacktop and he almost lost his footing. The frozen parking lot echoed his muttered curse.
Cautiously, he started forward, taking in the depressing sight of his apartment building. The landlord’s attempts at decorating had left bedraggled strands of colored lights haphazardly tossed over the barren, neglected bushes that served as landscaping. Some of the bulbs had blown, while others blinked in a drunken hiccup.
On the ground near the walkway, a dented plastic snowman lay on its side, half-covered in brownish slush, cigarette butts, and scraps of garbage.
Damn, but he’d be glad when the holidays passed and life returned to normal.
Slinging his soiled suit coat over his shoulder, his head down in exhaustion, Parker trudged along the treacherous, icy walkway. He didn’t have an overcoat with him because the last perp he’d tangled with had destroyed it. Weariness and disgust kept him from noting the frozen snowflakes that gathered on the back of his neck; after such a bitch of a day, even the frigid December weather couldn’t revive him.
A hot shower, some nuked food, and sleep—that’s all he needed, in that exact order. Once he hit the sheets, he intended to stay there for a good ten hours. He had the next week off, and he didn’t want to do anything more involved than camping on his couch and watching football.
God knew he deserved a rest. The past month of holiday-evoked lunacy and criminal desperation had left him little time for relaxation.
Parker saw Christmas as lavish, loud, and downright depressing. With his planned time off, he intended to hide out and avoid the nonsense.
Now, if he could just slip into his apartment without Lily Donaldson catching him …
Thinking of Lily sent a flood of warmth through his system, rejuvenating him in a way the frozen weather couldn’t. He was old enough to know better, but no matter how he tried, Lily tempted him. She also infuriated him.
She aroused his curiosity, and his tenderness.
She made him think, and she made him hot.
She had trouble written all over her. He wanted to be all over her.
In the ten months he’d known her, Lily had influenced his life far too often. Smart, kind, gentle. She had carried food to Mrs. Harbinger when the old lady fell ill. She argued sound politics with fanatical Mr. Pitnosky. Both intelligent and astute, Lily smiled at everyone, never gossiped, and had a generous heart.
She loved Christmas, which rubbed him raw.
And she had a terrible case of hero worship. That was the hardest thing to deal with. Parker knew he didn’t possess a single ounce of heroism. If he did, then resisting her wouldn’t be so damn difficult.
In a hundred different ways, Lily made it clear she wanted to be more than friends. But her age made him wary, her enthusiasm scared him to death, and her love of a holiday he scorned showed they had little in common.
On top of all that, he had serious doubts about her occupation.
Yep, a conundrum for sure. Parker hated to think about it, yet he thought about it far too often. Not once had he ever noticed any work routine for Lily. Sure, she left her apartment, but not dressed for anything other than a real good time. Always made up. Always decked out, dressed for seduction.
Sometimes she left early, sometimes late.
Sometimes she stayed gone for days, and some days she never left the apartment at all. But that didn’t stop a steady stream of admirers from calling on her. The only reason Parker could tolerate that situation was because the guys seldom lasted more than a few hours, never more than a day.
Whatever Lily did to support herself, she sure as hell didn’t punch a time clock.
He’d tried asking her about her job a couple of times, but she always turned evasive and changed the subject, leaving Parker with few conclusions to draw.
He was a selfish bastard who refused to share, so even if the other roadblocks didn’t exist, no way could he let their friendship grow into intimacy.
That didn’t mean he could keep his mind off her. Throughout the awful day—hell, the awful month—thoughts of Lily made the hours more bearable. He imagined her sweet smile, the special one she saved for him. He imagined that deep admiration in her eyes whenever she looked at him.
He imagined her lush bod, minus the sexy clothes she wore.
Seeing her now would shove him right over the edge. Avoiding her was the smart thing to do.
He planned to duck inside as fast as his drained body would allow. If she knocked, and he knew she would, he’d pretend he wasn’t home.
After rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he opened the entrance door to the apartment building and stepped inside. Whistling wind followed in his wake—and still he heard her husky voice, raised in ire.
Shit. With no way to reach his front door, Parker paused by the mailboxes and listened. Lily’s usually sweet voice held a sharp edge of annoyance. She probably had another smitten swain who didn’t want to take no for an answer.
Peering out the glass entrance doors, Parker considered a strategic retreat. Maybe he could drop by a bar and get a beer. Or visit his mother—no, scratch that. His mom would start trying to rope him in for a big family get-together, caroling, or God-knew-what-other holiday function.
Maybe he could …
Lily’s voice grew more insistent, and Parker’s protective instincts kicked in. Damn it, even if it fed her goofy misconceptions about him being heroic, he couldn’t let some bozo hassle her. Giving up on the idea of escape, Parker trod the steps to the second floor. Halfway up he saw her, and he forgot to breathe.
A soft white sweater hugged her breasts. Dangling, beaded earrings in a snowflake design brushed her shoulders. Soft jeans accentuated a deliciously rounded ass.
Previously spent body parts perked up in attention. Nothing new there. No matter what Parker’s brain tried to insist, his dick refused to pay attention.
Lily’s pale blond hair, pinned up but with long tendrils teasing her nape and cheeks, gave the illusion that a lover had just finished with her. Heavily lashed brown eyes defied any innocence.
And her bare feet somehow made her look half-naked.
His heart picked up speed, sending needed blood flow into his lethargic muscles. Predictably enough, he went from exhausted to horny in a nanosecond.
Vibrating with annoyance, Lily stood just out
side her apartment. A fresh, decorated wreath hung from her door, serving as a festive backdrop.
Lily loved the holiday. And he loathed it.
But for now, he couldn’t let that matter. Lily had a problem. She had a dispute.
She had … a guy on his knees?
Parker blinked in surprise at that. Lily’s confrontations always involved men. More specifically, they involved Lily rejecting men. But a begging guy?
That was a first.
Glued to his spot on the stairs, Parker stared, and listened.
“It was not a date, Clive. Not ever. No way. I made that clear.”
“But we had lunch,” Clive insisted, reaching out to grasp her knee. “Just the two of us.”
While stepping back, out of reach, Lily exclaimed, “I picked up the bill!”
Clive crawled after her. “But I would have.”
She slapped his hands away. “I didn’t let you—because it was not a date.”
“Lily,” he moaned. “I thought we had something special.”
“Tuna fish on rye is not special, Clive. Now get up.”
At her surly reply, Parker bit back a smile. Lily excelled in brokenhearted boyfriends, and this guy looked very brokenhearted. Poor schmuck.
As Clive obediently climbed to his feet, Parker looked at Lily—and met her gaze. The surprise in her brown eyes softened to pleasure; she gave him a silly, relieved smile—expecting him to heroically save the day.
And Parker supposed he would.
He’d taken one step toward her when good old Clive threw his arms around her. “I love you!”
“Oh, puh-lease.” Lily shoved against him, but Clive wouldn’t let go.
“I do,” he insisted. “Let me show you how much.”
Glancing toward Parker, Lily said, “Don’t be stupid, Clive. I know why you’re here.”
Parker knew why, too. Lily was sexy and sweet, and Clive wanted in her pants.
“You’re after my money,” Lily stated, causing Parker to do a double take.
“Lily, no!” Clive cried.
“You’re broke, Clive. I know all about your business going under, the losses you’ve sustained.”