All or Nothing: The Lonnigans, Book 2

by Dee Tenorio

  Hours later, he sat in the booth and wondered if the dare would pay off. It might not. Belinda was brilliant when it came to being stubborn. But he had a feeling this would work. She’d be late, just to prove she chose to come, and she’d be sullen, but she’d come.

  Near eight o’clock, his confidence was starting to wane. Vino was tossing him curious looks—no problem being recognized this time—and the bottom of his beer glass was starting to shine up at him.

  Then she came in.

  She wasn’t the black leather sexpot this time. Skintight jeans hugged her hips all the way down her legs ’til they flared over her chunky, ankle-high work boots. She had on a black tank top with prerequisite blinding white skull and crossbones that read, “Screw you” rather pleasantly across her breasts. Her hair had extra shellac this time, looking shiny enough to pierce metal. She dropped into the booth like a bag of dumped athletic equipment. He decided her choice to stomp on his feet and nearly remove his kneecap with a boot heel was purely accidental.

  “It’s over.” Subtle, she wasn’t.

  He grinned, which surprisingly made her pale. “Want a drink?”

  “I’m impossible to get drunk, Lucas. You won’t get back in these pants that way.”

  “I’m surprised you got into those pants.” He gestured to Vino, who nodded and had another beer sent their way.

  Belinda glared at him through deeply underlined mascara. But she sipped the beer anyway. “What’s this about?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to go out with you.”

  “This isn’t a date.”

  “Sure, it is. I asked. You came.”

  Her impatience narrowed her eyes to slits. “You didn’t ask. You demanded.”

  As if that mattered. “You still came.”

  “Because if I didn’t, you’d be at my place every day driving me crazy!”

  “No.” He smiled, already picturing her laid out on her fluffy white duvet, pale thighs spread while he licked and sucked every millimeter of her beautiful pussy until she arched against his face, panting his name in breathy syllables. “That’s my plan for after the date.”

  She went back to slumping, sliding into the seat and putting her boot on the triangle of seat between his legs. “I hate you.”

  “Everyone says that.” Not everyone tried to play darts on his balls, but she could at least be original with her insults.

  “Lucas, this is not a date. It was a dare.”

  Logic never was her friend. “Which you failed. Which means I win. Which makes this a date.”

  “There weren’t any specifications. And you didn’t win because I’m here.”

  “You were late.” He popped a pretzel in his mouth. “I win.”

  “You never could win a dare without cheating.” She blew out a frustrated breath, essentially admitting he was right.

  It wasn’t true concession, but he could be gracious. “You want a redo? Name your stakes.”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t pleasant. Sort of a bleat. “Please, I could beat you at anything blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back.”

  That could be interesting. Especially given her level of flexibility. “I’m willing to be kinky if you are.”

  Her lip rose in a feral, feminine snarl. “You wish.”

  “Every night.” He threw back the rest of his beer in salute. “But that doesn’t change the conversation. Are you up to a little double-dog daring, Belinda? Winner take all?”

  She leaned into the table, hackles up. “You’re daring me to go out with you?”

  “I’m daring you to take a challenge,” he corrected her. “First one to turn down a challenge or fail it loses.”

  It sounded simple, but she knew him well enough to look for the trap. He could see her mind working, her gaze inspecting him for duplicity. He opened his palms to show her his empty sleeves.

  “If I do this and I win,” she said finally, “you have to leave me alone, Lucas. I mean it. No kissing, no dating, no future and no sex. Ever.”

  The teasing he so rarely got to partake in disappeared. She was serious. He weighed her proposal. She was no pushover in any respect. Plus she was mean. That had to be taken into account.

  “If I win?” he asked.

  She shrugged, back to being blasé, sinking against the booth cushions. “You won’t.”

  Normally a comment like that would have him up in arms. But this was different. Her confidence was finally writing a check he couldn’t wait to cash. “Fine, if I win…we get married.”

  Her start was barely noticeable. Thankfully, he was well trained in watching her every response. “You don’t want to marry me, Lonnigan. I’m not your type.”

  “What type is that?” This should be rich.

  Her sneer was back. “The kind you take home to Mommy.”

  “I’ve taken you home plenty of times. My mother loves you.” He grabbed another handful of pretzel snacks. The more comfortable he seemed, the more agitated she got. Who would have guessed? She loved him best as a jackass.

  “Your mother loves you. That’s no account for taste.” Her derision only made him grin. “Stop smiling, you know what I mean.”

  How could he? She didn’t even know what she meant half the time. “Not really, no.”

  “I’m no happy domestic. I’m not my mother. I wouldn’t be washing your clothes and ironing them just the way you like them. I’m not the kind of girl you take to client dinners and I’m sure as hell no one’s idea of Mary Poppins.”

  “Honey, if I wanted Mary Poppins, I’d marry a kindergarten teacher.” He’d probably hang himself with his own belt to escape the boredom, too. “What I want, it seems, is a big pain in my ass. You fit the bill perfectly.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed into slits, her slightly bent nose fully out of joint now. “Fine. I win, you stay away. Forever. You win, you get me. Forever.” She extended her hand out the same way she used to when they’d make equally stupid bets in their backyards. He cast a silent hope heavenward and slid his hand into place. She smiled, an evil, greedy grin that nearly had him wondering if this was the wrong tack to take. But by then, it was too late.

  “I’m going to make you cry for your mommy, Lonnigan.”

  “And I plan to make you cry out for me. Again.” He didn’t let go of her, instead caressing the back of her palm with his fingers. She yanked her hand away.

  “Vino,” she yelled over the growing crowd. Her gaze never left Lucas’s. “Bring me the big guns.”

  Famous last words.

  The question was…who was going to live to regret them?

  Chapter Six

  Belinda woke to a ratcheting, scraping noise and a fog of white, brain-splitting light. She closed her eyes and heard the horrible noise again.

  After a moment, she realized the noise came from her lashes, brushing something on her face. She made the mistake of groaning and rolling over. Then crying out when she rolled a tender stomach onto her hand and her face onto…paper?

  Sitting up faster than was wise, she grabbed at the crumpled sheet and yanked it off her face. First came the sting of realizing it had been taped there. Then came the agony of daylight’s full impact on her moisture-deprived eyes. And finally, the blood-boiling anger caused by the two words written in thick black ink: I WIN.

  “I hate that man!” she growled, balling up the paper and hurling it across the room. It didn’t help anything. It certainly didn’t stop a familiar stinging ache on her belly.

  She didn’t want to look down. She didn’t want to admit she may have done something incredibly stupid, but she already knew she did. Peering at her belly, she could see the white gauze patch and feel the sharp sting. Groaning, she peeled the gauze away and found two dime-sized, candy-red hearts and white ribbon across them with—of course—the name “Lucas” in cute, girly letters. It was puffy, but it was there.

  The bastard had branded her.

  If she wasn’t sure her head would explode, she’d scream.

  How
had this happened? One minute they were downing shots and for some reason, Lucas was keeping up. She’d made it a point to be able to hold her liquor so she wouldn’t find herself in a situation where anyone could take advantage of her. Proving to herself she could best her father if she had to helped her achieve the goal. Her tolerance must be slipping if Lucas could outdo her.

  She’d only gotten wasted one time before, when she heard Lucas was seeing someone “important” while in Massachusetts. His mother later expressed disappointment that she’d been wrong, but by then, Belinda had a butterfly on her hoo-ha. Now, thanks to him again, she had a permanent valentine on her stomach. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what happened after he’d started laughing with her about something one of them had said while in the bar. She’d felt the yank of desire at the glint of mischief in his eyes, the deep rumble of his laughter, his damn sexy smile.

  Then it got a little hazy…

  Someone had dared something. Him. No more smoking, he’d said. She remembered because she’d been so tempted to flick the last lit cigarette at him. Then there was something about kneeling in front of him… Where the hell did they go? When did they leave Vino’s in the first place? And, God help her, what did they do when they left?

  She breathed a sigh of relief after checking that her underwear was still in place. So why did she still have a memory of lifting her shirt and flashing him?

  She groaned, letting herself melt back into her bed.

  Just when she was starting to relax and the air pressure didn’t feel as painful as before, the phone rang.

  She grabbed it off her bed stand as much to silence it as to issue death threats. “When I get my hands on you, Lucas—”

  “It’s not Lucas, Belinda. This is Kyle.”

  As if he was a better alternative. She plunked the phone back on the cradle. It rang again almost instantly. She grabbed a pillow, but it didn’t do any good. It kept ringing.

  She knew Kyle. It would keep ringing. Lucas, at least, got frustrated and quit from time to time to think up new approach strategies. Not Kyle. He only seemed to get more cheerful as he annoyed you out of your ever-lovin’ mind.

  She snapped up the phone and dragged it under her pillow with a hissed, “What?”

  “I need your help.”

  No, you need a psychiatrist. “Why would I help you?”

  “Because you love me?” She could practically hear his dimple blinking like a neon sign for masculine adorability.

  She hung up. When it rang again, she didn’t bother with hellos.

  “Because I fell in love over the weekend and I screwed it up big?”

  She waited for the feeling of being utterly crushed to hit. The disappointment and torment of his careless newsflash should be at least twice as crippling as hearing that Lucas had been seeing someone all those years ago. But all her heart came up with was a disinterested So?

  She pushed the pillow off her face. This was so not good.

  “Is that a fact or a question?” she made herself ask. It was easier than dealing with any questions she should be asking herself.

  “No, I definitely screwed it up big. Is that enough to get you to talk to me?”

  Poor Kyle. He probably thought she was mad at him because of the Lucas debacle. If she weren’t hung over, she probably would be. But the second she saw Lucas outside Vino’s door, she’d taken over responsibility for what happened if she talked to him. Still, Kyle didn’t need to know that.

  “You screwing up isn’t new. You thinking you’re in love—”

  “What is it with you and Lucas? You both act like I don’t know my own mind.”

  She almost smiled, but she knew how much it would hurt. “I’m guessing it’s because neither of us knew the two of you had been introduced.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny. I know what I feel, Belinda. But I’m not getting through to her. I need help.”

  “What do you mean not getting through? When did you see her last?”

  “Last night,” he mumbled, sounding appropriately guilty.

  “This is the hussy you threw over your best friend to go out with, right? Or did you fall in love with some other unfortunate while I was sleeping?” Oddly, she didn’t feel any bitterness.

  “Lucas said you weren’t going to be happy with me about that.”

  Lucas. Her lazy mind tried to whirr. “He knows about this? That you feel this way?” she asked, a deep, ugly suspicion starting to take root.

  “Sure. Why do you think he’s so mad at me?”

  Of course. That was why Lucas had come crawling back. The idiot. The absolute jackass. She could practically hear the litany that must be rolling around in his empty head: Kyle found someone else. I must go and comfort Belinda. Not because I want her for myself, but because it’s my job to pick up the pieces when she falls apart. Oh, she could just kick him.

  It wasn’t that she wanted him to want her, but the moron could at least want her for the right reasons.

  “I finally got her to talk to me, but she won’t take me seriously,” Kyle continued mournfully.

  “Understandable.” She never took Kyle seriously either.

  “I need help. I’m going crazy over here.”

  It was a deliberate ploy to get her pity. It failed, but it did rouse her curiosity. Kyle unable to charm a woman was sort of like a leprechaun unable to find his pot of gold. It might be worth a look. And if she played her cards right, they could go look in on Lucas as well. With any luck he had a tattoo on his forehead.

  If not, she was sure she could arrange for one.

  “Come over in an hour. I have to clean up.”

  And clean up good. She needed to make every inch of herself into a living, breathing tease. Hangover or not, when Lucas saw her again, she was going to look good enough to eat and way, way out of his league.

  How the hell do I get into these situations?

  Lucas scrubbed his eyes, standing on the sidewalk outside of his building, wishing he had an answer. Sure, he woke up with a hangover. He also woke up with a smile. He’d won. By the skin of his teeth and the death of who knew how many brain cells, but technically, he’d won the challenge. If he’d been given a few hours to recover, he probably would have done a few backflips over it.

  But he wasn’t allowed such a luxury.

  Once again, it was all Kyle’s fault. Jessica Saunders had banged his door halfway to splinters bright and early. Since she had a right to be mad at him, he’d let her take her piece of flesh. Lawyers, however, had distinctly different views of what constituted a pound and what equaled flesh.

  “I have always advised you to read contracts before you sign them, Lucas.” Jessica’s prim tone reminded him of his mother as she tossed her briefcase into her car. Actually, a lot about Jessica reminded him of his mother. She was pretty in a cool, marble kind of way. Intelligent, well read, well spoken and economical in every way. She was a typical accountant’s wet dream. “Even from me.”

  But Lucas hadn’t read the contract any more than he’d found Jessica distracting. He’d wanted her to stop talking. He’d wanted her to go away. Usually she was a reasonable person. She couldn’t entirely blame him because she made the phenomenal mistake of sleeping with Kyle. Why would she mix business with revenge?

  But she did. And the woman had no mercy.

  She’d set him up to take on a multi-business audit, a project he’d normally earn thousands from and he hadn’t so much as batted an eye before signing. Even staring at the contract now, he couldn’t believe she’d done it to him. “I can’t do all this work for twenty-five dollars!”

  “Yes, you can.” Precisely like his mother.

  As soon as he got a chance, he was going to rub the similarity into Kyle’s subconscious. See him sleep with a smile after that.

  “I have total faith in your skills. Bye, Lucas!” She waved like she was leaving some kind of birthday party instead of wrecking his financial future and disappeared into the driver’s seat of her car, lea
ving his line of sight open to the street behind her. He wouldn’t have cared, but something about the couple on the opposite sidewalk caught his eye.

  It wasn’t the familiarity of the dark-haired man smiling. No, he pinpointed the source of his interest as the woman in a plaid skirt that barely covered her ass, the scrap of fabric held down by suspenders running impossibly down between her legs. She laughed, her arm twined into the crook of the man’s next to her, licking a fresh pretzel, carefree while his head ached and his abdomen burned because of her.

  Knee-jerk jealousy kicked in.

  Kyle and Belinda.

  Belinda and Kyle.

  His brother and his…his…

  Words failed him. He couldn’t believe it. Knowing how Lucas felt, knowing the deal they’d made, Kyle was still over there, laughing with her. Probably flirting with her. Moving in on her. And she was eating it up.

  Lucas fisted his hands. He sucked in a breath, trying to rein in the urge to stomp over and rip his brother’s arms off to slap him with them. There had to be a good reason for them to be meeting practically on his doorstep where he’d be unlikely to miss them.

  And there had better be a damn good reason for her skirt.

  Jessica must have looked over her shoulder when he stopped arguing. Most likely, she came to the same jealous conclusion because she was out in a flash, her car door suddenly slamming hard enough that the glass should have shattered. Then she was stalking across the street like an avenging angel in court-appropriate gray. Lucas watched, dumbfounded, frozen in place. His mind kept rolling, trying to make decisions. Should he warn them Jessica was headed toward them? Should he stop her?

  Statistically, Jessica had more weight to put into a punch should she and Belinda get into a catfight of some kind. But the mild-mannered lawyer had nothing on a hard-assed metal worker who could probably kick his own teeth in. With a groan, he followed after her.

  Kyle and Belinda turned into the park, through the ivy-covered gates and past his ability to see. Then Jessica was inside and no matter how his belly complained at the unwelcome stretching, he began jogging to catch up.