by Lori Foster
“I want to meet her!”
Stack didn’t reply. For a woman who only moments before had been incapacitated with a headache, his mother still knew how to issue orders. Urgency made his stride long and hurried as he went down the hall, past friendly nurses and a few worried visitors, all the way to the waiting room.
Vanity had her nose in a magazine.
And Phil, fucking Phil, was seated too close beside her, talking nonstop, fake laughing, schmoozing, doing his utmost to get her attention.
Vanity ignored him—just as she sometimes ignored Stack.
But this time, as she felt his stare and looked up, she immediately put the magazine aside. Smiling, she came to him, walking right into his arms. “Hey.” She squeezed him with comforting concern. “How’s your mom?”
In that moment, Stack felt a lot of things. Too many things, damn it. At either side of her head he threaded his fingers into her long hair, anchoring her for his kiss.
Out of deference for the hospital atmosphere, he kept it brief. “She’s okay. How are you holding up?”
“Me?” She laughed, looking not just gorgeous, but precious, too. Her hand rubbed his biceps. “I’m not the one who was hurt.”
That earned her another kiss before he lifted her arm and feathered his fingertips over the soft skin above the bandage. “It’s been one hell of a day. You haven’t had any sleep.”
“Neither have you.” That sweet, teasing smile twitched into place. In the barest of whispers, she said, “But at least I had two orgasms, so all in all, for me, it’s been a pretty good twenty-four hours.”
Urges rushed through Stack. The urge to hold her. To laugh with her. To use her to chase away the endless frustration he worked so hard to hide. To maybe confide in her about how badly he wanted to demolish Phil—and why.
To somehow claim her...for more than a quick taste.
In that moment it all became clear to him. Vanity tried to control things. But he needed that control, and once he had it he’d sway her to his way of thinking.
Namely, that one day together would never be enough to get his fill. Hell, a week together might not do it.
She constantly took him by surprise, so maybe it was time for him to start surprising her. He’d start right now.
Because they lingered, Phil cautiously edged toward them. Stack stopped him with a dead stare meant to convey his utter disdain. Must’ve worked, too.
Raising his hands, Phil slunk away.
“Tsk. That wasn’t very nice,” Vanity chided. “You should save that wolf’s glare for the cage.”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with him. Ever.” Assuming she’d take heed of his warning, Stack drifted his hand down her arm until his fingers twined with hers. “Come on.” He brought her along as he retraced his steps back to his mother’s bed.
Bemused, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I need to talk to my mom. And then to my sister.” And maybe to fucking Phil. “But I want you with me.”
“Aww.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s sweet.”
Stack popped his neck again. “It’s not sweet, and it doesn’t mean anything.” Even though he’d never before willingly introduced a woman to his family.
And if it wasn’t for Phil...yeah, he’d probably still feel compelled to keep her close. He’d blame that on blue balls. She might have gotten hers, twice as she’d pointed out, but his was still very much on the “to do” list.
“Right. It means nothing.” She came along, her attitude buoyant, happy. “I won’t make anything of it. I mean, if I hadn’t forced my way along in the first place, I wouldn’t even be here now, able to accompany you—”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Tilting her head, Vanity asked, “Stack?”
How could she be happy after the day they’d had? After performing as Yvette’s maid of honor, partying for hours, then dealing with a wreck...and stalled sex. She had to be functioning on lost reserves.
But she didn’t show it.
The only other person he knew with that much energy was Armie. God willing, that’d be the only thing Vanity had in common with him, because Armie was the most outrageous person he knew.
Forcing the words out, Stack explained, “It’s just that I don’t want you out there with Phil.” He started walking again.
“Got it.” They’d almost reached his mother before she added, “But you should know he’s harmless, at least to me.”
“Harmless, huh?” Not a description he’d apply to the scumbag user his sister adored.
“Next to you,” Vanity said, “he’s almost invisible. And how can an invisible man be a problem?”
This time his feet kept moving, but damned if everything else didn’t stop. His heart. His thoughts.
Even his tempered anger receded.
Pausing outside the curtained-off room, Stack struggled to sort his thoughts.
Tucking closer to him, Vanity whispered, “She’s really okay?”
Just as low, he replied, “Sick, injured, but she has a backbone of steel.”
Through the curtain they heard, “A boot of steel, too, if you don’t get in here, young man.”
Despite the coming arguments, Stack had to grin. “Brace yourself,” he told Vanity, and then he swept aside the curtain.
* * *
WITH THE EXCEPTION of f’ing Phil, Vanity really liked Stack’s family. Both his mom and his sister were unique, and she appreciated that. Unique was good. It beat run-of-the-mill any day.
She socialized easily with just about everyone. But she’d always gravitated to people who stood out, who didn’t just follow the pack. The ladies in Stack’s life were as far from the pack as they could get.
Tabitha was indeed a drama queen, but in a very likable way. She overly emoted about everything. Her mother’s illness and fall, the weather, her brother...
And Vanity.
She didn’t just say, “Nice to meet you.” No, she took the simple greeting to new heights, saying to her mother, “Isn’t she gorgeous? And look at that hair! Ohmigod, her hair. Vanity, your hair! Ugh, it’s amazing. And if you weren’t so damned nice, I’d hate you for that body. Mom, can’t you just hate her for that? I mean, look at her. Vanity, look at you.”
Feeling a little self-conscious, Vanity had laughed and given the requisite, “Thank you.”
Stack wore the smallest, most indulgent smile, and amusement had brightened his eyes.
The senior Hannigan, Lynn, just rolled with the punches, saying “Yes, Tabby, she’s just plain lovely.” Then she’d narrowed her eyes at Stack and added, “You brought me a woman.”
“No.” Stack had stiffened, his mood switching from humor to defensive alarm. “I didn’t bring her to you, Mom. She’s not a gift.”
Tabitha had elbowed him. “Because you damn sure plan to take her with you when you leave, huh?”
“You have the sharpest damned elbow!”
“Maybe I should compete, like you do.”
“You’d defeat more guys with your big mouth than—”
And Lynn had ordered, “Both of you, desist. Tabby, keep your elbows to yourself. Stack, stop insulting your sister. Chairs. Sit. Quiet.”
And they had.
That had left Vanity standing—until Stack had snagged her waist and drew her onto his lap.
Both Lynn and Tabitha had grinned over that.
Now, fifteen minutes after she’d arrived in the room, Vanity wasn’t sure how to proceed. They were waiting for the doctor to sign Lynn out of the hospital and give them the discharge instructions. In that time, she’d run out of inane conversation, yet Tabitha and Lynn continued to watch her, almost as they would an oddity. Did they expect her to do tricks?
Into the sil
ence, Tabitha sat forward and blurted, “How is it that Stack’s in a tux and you’re in jeans?”
Stack zeroed in on her, maybe thinking she’d spill the beans about their special arrangement. Not likely. She could only imagine how his mother and sister would react to that.
Though he tried to look relaxed, the thighs beneath her bottom were taut, and as she repeatedly traced his shoulder blades and pronounced muscles of his back, she felt the tension coiling.
“He drove me home,” Vanity explained, sticking to partial truths. “I changed out of my dress to help unload all the wedding gifts from his trunk, but then we got the call that your mother was hurt.”
“Hmm.” His mother, a truly attractive woman despite the physical evidence of her recent mishap, took her shrewd gaze from Stack to Vanity and back again. “So you’d gone to the wedding together?”
“Yes.” Vanity lightly patted his back, letting him know to trust her. “I had to beg and plead because, well, you do realize that Stack is date-phobic.”
“Date-phobic?” Tabitha asked.
“You didn’t know?”
His tone a clear warning, Stack said, “Vanity.”
She ignored him but leaned in to share, sotto voce, “He doesn’t want any woman getting ideas. So while he doesn’t lack female company, he mostly just hooks up at Rowdy’s bar or sometimes with the different women who frequent the rec center.”
Both ladies were wide-eyed as she divulged those illicit details.
“Vanity,” Stack said, “is best friends with Cannon’s wife. They knew each other in California, and since Yvette moved here, Vanity recently did, too.” He gave her a wicked smile. “Now she’s one of those women who frequent the rec center.”
“True enough,” Vanity said with a shrug. Just to keep him on his toes, she tweaked him with some observations. “There is, of course, serious man-candy inhabiting the rec center. Hot fighters with hotter bodies.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “But still, Stack stands out.”
Stack gave a long-suffering sigh.
Fascinated, Lynn asked, “You like the looks of Stack, is that it?”
“Well, I’m not dead. Of course I appreciate how sexy he is.”
Tabitha snickered.
“But,” Lynn continued, “you think all the other men at the gym are also attractive?”
“Well, sure.” Vanity tipped her head. “Have you met his fighter friends?”
“Many of them, yes.”
“Then you know what I mean.” Clearly Lynn hoped to get a lead on her feelings for Stack, but until Vanity made it clear to Stack herself, she figured it’d be best to keep her secrets.
Changing the subject, Tabitha leaned toward her brother. “Did she really beg and plead with you?”
Stack turned those smoky blue eyes on Vanity, and she gulped, barely able to keep her carefree smile in place. The corners of his sexy mouth lifted just enough to suggest she might regret taunting him.
Because, yes, she’d begged—but not for a date.
Only while they were in bed, when Stack had her on the cusp of release, had she pleaded with him.
“No,” Vanity said suddenly, tearing her gaze from Stack’s. “No, I didn’t really plead. I wouldn’t.” Her laugh sounded ridiculous and far too phony. “But Stack is reasonable, so when I asked him to accompany me, as friends so I wouldn’t have to go alone, he agreed.”
From behind her, a male voice said, “No way would you have to go anywhere alone.”
Stack went rigid, then deliberately remote.
Interesting. So he didn’t want to upset his mother by giving his dislike of Phil free rein?
Seeming oblivious—or maybe secure in the fact that Stack wouldn’t cause a scene in the hospital—f’ing Phil strode toward his wife.
Leaving Stack’s lap, Vanity took a strategic stance between the two men.
Phil smiled at her, and the idiot’s gaze dipped over her body.
Silently seething, Stack rose to his feet, all six feet of bad attitude and honed ability.
Would he cause a scene here? God, she hoped not.
Luckily, a nurse stepped through the curtain. “Mrs. Hannigan, are you ready to go home?”
“Yes,” Tabitha said with feeling, as if she’d been the one stitched and bandaged.
Lynn only smiled. “If you’re ready to sign me out, I just need to get dressed.”
The nurse looked at Tabitha. “Would you like to help her while I take care of the remaining paperwork and go over her instructions?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Stack maneuvered himself behind f’ing Phil, nudging him forward. “The ladies can stay here, and we guys can wait in the hall.”
Startled, Phil looked to his wife for assistance, but she’d already moved to the folded pile of her mother’s clothes.
Was Vanity the only one to see the concern on Lynn’s face? She didn’t know how she could help—but she knew how to hinder.
Hugging Stack’s arm, she smiled at him. “Since I’m not a relative, I’ll go with you guys.”
Undeterred, Stack shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he proceeded to prod Phil forward, and since Vanity had latched on to Stack’s arm, she had to take part in that.
They’d barely cleared the room before Stack gently shook her off, then locked a hand around the back of Phil’s neck. Without a word, he propelled his brother-in-law forward. Where they were going, Vanity didn’t know, but she hustled to keep up.
A few people gave them funny looks, maybe because Phil resisted—to no avail—or maybe because of the killing look on Stack’s face.
Trying to soften the impression, Vanity smiled at everyone.
At Stack’s silent instruction they entered an empty waiting room littered with half-empty foam cups of coffee. After shouldering the door shut, Stack released Phil.
He staggered forward but quickly turned as if he didn’t trust Stack at his back. One hand rubbing his neck, he frowned. “What the hell, man?”
Stack pointed. “I told you I didn’t want to see you.”
“I have a right to visit my wife.”
“And I have the right to beat the shit out of you.”
“Uh...” Looking left and right, Phil sought escape.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Stack told him.
“Jesus!” As if he couldn’t take it anymore, f’ing Phil shoved his fingers through his hair. “It’s been three months, man.”
“Shut up.”
“Three fucking months. And you didn’t even care about her! If you had, you would have—”
Before Vanity could get her mind around the fact that a woman had started the animosity, Stack grabbed Phil and slammed him into a wall.
“Whoa.” She slipped up to Stack’s side. “Okay, I get the idea that he probably deserves to be demolished.”
Phil looked at her like a lifeline. He opened his mouth, and Vanity said, “Seriously, you need to shut it before he kills you.”
Phil clamped his lips together.
Vanity watched him a moment more, decided he’d be quiet, and switched her attention to Stack.
He was smiling. At her.
Well...that was good. Unsettling, but good. “You’re okay now?”
“I was never not okay.” His gaze cut back to Phil. “But, no, I’m not done if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh.” Seeing that Stack did, indeed, have control of his temper, she stepped aside. “Carry on, then.”
Keeping Phil pinned to the wall, Stack dropped his head and laughed.
“Uh...” Phil tried to wiggle free but didn’t make any headway, especially when Stack tightened his hold.
Lifting his head again, Stack said to Vanity, “I don’t need your permission, darlin’.”
�
�Naturally not, since we’re only friends.”
His eyes narrowed but not with anger. Maybe with...heated insistence? “Friends with benefits,” he reminded her.
She put her hands on her hips. “Now did f’ing Phil need to know that?”
“F’ing Phil?” he asked.
Examining a nail, she explained, “Unlike you, I try not to curse unnecessarily.”
“When is it ever necessary?”
Jaw locking, she growled, “There are times.” Like right now, maybe. She tipped her head at Phil. “How long is this going to take?”
“Don’t suppose you’d step out and let me handle this privately?”
Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I’d rather not.”
He sighed. “Got yourself all curious now, don’t you?”
About a woman who’d meant enough to Stack that he now hated his brother-in-law? She winced. “Yes?”
As if that somehow pleased him, Stack gave her a lingering look filled with heat—then turned his attention to Phil.
“C’mon, man.” Phil turned his face to the side, trying to dodge the brunt of Stack’s deadly glare. “You know she didn’t matter to you.”
“Not much, you’re right about that. But how I felt about her doesn’t excuse what you did. And the fact you’re married to my sister does matter because I care about her, a lot.”
“Tabby loves me.”
“Tabby is delusional, but she’s also an adult, so her decisions are her own. Fact remains, if you ever hurt her, I’ll take you apart and enjoy doing it.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“You’re a liar, a pothead and a cheat. You hurt her just by existing.”
Ouch, Vanity thought. That was brutal.
“I haven’t cheated,” Phil said, not bothering to deny the rest. “And everyone smokes—”
Bouncing his skull against the wall effectively cut off Phil’s confession. Stack crowded in. “I don’t believe a damn thing you say, so save it. If you’re smart, if you want me to keep ignoring you, I suggest you find a job, give up the dope that you fucking well can’t afford, and start giving my sister a little help. And that,” he emphasized, “is the last warning I’m giving you.”
“I’ve tried! Jobs are scarce, man. I’m not a hotshot fighter like you. I—”