Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  A little voice he usually kept silenced whispered that rules were made to be broken. Yet Mac didn’t fit his plans. She didn’t further his goals, not like a Hollywood starlet or a rock diva would. Mac would never get him face time with the press. Hell, she’d avoid it. But Bruiser needed that face time. Brice, his bold, daredevil twin, would’ve expected nothing less from his one-time quieter twin. After all, Bruiser was living for both of them now.

  Even worse, he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms. Bruiser didn’t cuddle. He got the deed done, once or several times, depending if his dick was up to it, then he got the hell out of there.

  He rarely took women home or stayed over at their place—too personal. Plus, it gave them a foot in the door to demand more than he could give.

  He tried to extricate himself, but Mac held on tighter, muttering something in her sleep that sounded like, “No, don’t go.”

  Well, crap. He was torn between his normal MO and a desire for more. Plus, his dick wanted a vote in this election, and it wanted Mac.

  Bruiser rolled onto his back, and Mac cuddled in the crook of his arm. Morning sun peeked through the blinds and cast a golden light across the bed, like sleeping with an angel. He didn’t deserve an angel.

  Spooked, he managed to pull away and crawl out from under the sheets without waking her as his brain did a quick recap of last night’s activities. He’d banged her how many times? Good thing he’d grabbed a six-pack of condoms.

  Mac hadn’t disappointed him. That passion and fire she put into everything she did she also put into sex—no holding back.

  Usually Bruiser chose women who were like him, women who used him for their own agendas. He had no fucking clue what to do with a woman who didn’t fit his usual mold.

  Bruiser walked down the short hallway, past the cat sunning himself in a pool of sunlight that ran across the couch. He found his jeans, pulled them on, and continued to the neat and tidy kitchen. He paused and looked around, taking some time to assess Mac’s home.

  Besides being neat and tidy, the house was decorated in natural tones with glossy hardwood floors, comfortable, overstuffed leather furniture, and antiques. Various exotic-looking houseplants thrived in different parts of the room while a garden window in the kitchen held flowering plants displaying vibrant splashes of color.

  Mac was quite a decorator. Another thing about her he’d have never imagined.

  The kitchen had been remodeled with cherry cabinets and granite countertops. It was a kitchen Bruiser would like to cook in, if he cooked. He easily found the coffee and made a pot, impressed with how organized the kitchen cabinets were. Somehow this tidiness didn’t fit his picture of Mac with her hair flying every which way, dirt smudged on her cheeks, and mud on her work boots. Except that was the old Mac, the one he thought he knew. This new Mac dressed neatly, had highlights in her hair, and dirt didn’t seem to stick to her like it once did.

  He found the girlie Mac sexy and the natural Mac hotter than hell. She had something none of those other women had. They couldn’t come close to duplicating her inner beauty.

  Bruiser poured a cup of coffee and stared into the backyard at the array of colors and plants artfully arranged around a deep green lawn. Hell, he didn’t even have a lawn. He had a condo. He walked outside with his steaming coffee cup and sprawled in a lawn chair. It was a bit nippy, but the sun warmed him right up, promising a nice day in the making.

  The French door opened, and Mac stepped outside, coffee mug in hand, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. She looked every bit the old Mac except for a few subtle differences.

  He ached inside, wishing that of all the things in his world that changed on a regular basis, Mac didn’t have to be one of them.

  “Beautiful morning,” she said.

  “Sure is. I was admiring your yard and your house.”

  For a moment she looked away as a cloud passed over her fresh-scrubbed features. “It didn’t always look like this.”

  “Really? How did it look?”

  “I moved in four years ago after Grandma died. She’d pretty much kept everything original.”

  “You didn’t do all this work yourself, did you?” Not that it would surprise him. More than once she’d fixed some piece of equipment at the HQ when no one else could.

  He flinched when he saw her sad smile.

  “I did a lot of it, but Will did most of the carpentry work and plumbing. He could do anything with his hands. Very talented.”

  “I don’t have a handyman bone in my body.” Bruiser snorted as he recalled his recent attempt at fixing a leak that ended up costing him about fifteen hundred dollars after he flooded the apartment below.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He heard the unspoken words, or thought he did: pretty is as pretty does. Man candy with no talents other than running hard with a football in his hands and screwing women.

  Or maybe those were his family’s words ringing in his ears, always nagging him, underneath it all accusing him of being the one who lived while the favored son died. He endured the digs from his mother at various family events, the guilt heaped on him because his brother couldn’t be there to celebrate with them. His father just plain avoided him because he was a constant reminder of Brice.

  “Are you okay?”

  Bruiser jerked back to reality. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “About us?”

  Unexpected pain sliced through him. There was no us. And there couldn’t be for a dozen fucked-up reasons, including the biggest one—him.

  “Not that we have anything going or that I expect anything. I enjoyed last night, that’s all. I mean, it was great fun. Really great fun, nothing more.” She finished her statement in flood of nervous words.

  “Uh, yeah, right.” He felt even more guilt at the strained look on Mac’s face.

  “I’d make you breakfast but my dad should be here in the next twenty minutes.”

  In other words, get the hell out of here. So much for a little morning delight. Bruiser downed the rest of his coffee and nodded at Mac. “I enjoyed myself.”

  “So did I. Maybe we could—” She hesitated.

  “Do it again sometime? Yeah, I’d like that. Sometime soon. Maybe tonight?” The words came out in a rush he couldn’t seem to stop.

  Her eyes lit up, and he knew he’d made another big mistake. Women didn’t do recreational sex well, no matter how much they claimed to the contrary.

  She grinned at him. “We’ll be back around nine or so. Is that too late?”

  “It’s never too late.” Bruiser nodded, even as he was mentally kicking himself in the shins. “I’ll be here with pizza.”

  He bent down to kiss her, aiming for her cheek, but she turned her head. Instantly, his peck on the cheek exploded into a passionate kiss with tongue, lips, exchanging of saliva, and mutual groaning.

  He pulled away and straightened, running a hand through his mussed hair. “See ya.”

  “See ya.”

  The hope in her voice made him feel like the biggest ass in the world. He wanted this to be just fucking good sex. But to her? Hell, he suspected it was more.

  He didn’t have the strength to stay away in spite of all the reasons he should.

  Chapter 12—Staying in Bounds

  As soon as Mac mentioned her father dropping by, Bruiser displayed his running abilities by getting the hell out of there. Not that Mac blamed him. Her father drove everyone away.

  Meanwhile, Mac’s life flipped upside down and turned inside out. She suspected spending time with Bruiser did that to a woman, but for her it was more than that, which was both good and bad.

  She wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee. She didn’t know what she wanted from her life anymore. Last night had redefined sex for her. She’d never imagined the physical act could touch her so deeply, make her so out-of-her-head insane, and raise the bar to what was probably an impossible height.

  And Bruiser, how had it affected hi
m? Just another night in the bedroom? He’d move on while she stayed in the same place, crushing on a guy who would never return her affection. And what exactly was the extent of said affection?

  Wearily, Mac sipped her Tully’s and savored the warm, sunny morning. Colors seemed more vivid, the birds’ songs sounded more melodic, and her roses’ sweet scent more fragrant. She sat back and tried to relax, to push her troubled thoughts away and just let herself enjoy the peaceful atmosphere.

  A few minutes later, her peace was interrupted. Her father came through the back door, a folder of papers under his arm. So much for peace and relaxation. The man looked worse than her cat after a fight with the tomcat next door. He grunted a hello then ignored her, spreading the papers all over her patio table. Craig sat down and rifled through them, even though by now every detail should be committed to memory.

  Mac fixed breakfast and placed the plate in front of him. “Eat, Dad.”

  “I will. Later.” He scribbled notes on a yellow notepad, not even bothering to look up.

  “Why don’t we take a break and do something fun? How about a Mariners game? They’re playing at home today. We used to go all the time.” Mac held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  Her father glanced up, dark circles under his eyes, sadness etched into every line of his face. “Will loved the Mariners. Damn good baseball player, that brother of yours. I still think he could’ve played in the majors.”

  Mac fought a surge of jealousy then felt like a bitch for it. It was always about Will. Never anyone else. God, she missed the father Craig used to be. “So let’s go to the game. We can get tickets at the stadium box office. Let’s honor Will’s memory by doing something Will loved to do.”

  For a moment her tactic almost worked, but Craig’s shoulders returned to their perpetual slump. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Too much to do,” he mumbled.

  Frustration built inside her to the breaking point. “How much longer are you going to live like this, Dad?”

  He stared at her, his expression oddly blank. Then he shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “What if we never find the answers, never find his body? Will wouldn’t want to see you wasting away like this.”

  “You’re building a case to desert me, aren’t you? Just like Clint did.”

  “Clint has a family, Dad.”

  “Yeah, well, he could give his dear old dad and his brother some of his time, at least once a month, but that’s too much for him. And now you’re going to abandon me. Abandon Will.”

  “No, I’d never do that, Dad. I want the answers as much as you, but maybe we need balance.” Guilt engulfed her, pulled her under with its cold, vengeful hand, magnified by the growing fear that her father teetered on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

  “Maybe we need to try harder to find Will. The answers are here, somewhere. I can feel it. If only Bruiser could get close to Trudy.”

  Mac frowned, not liking that option at all. The tightening of her gut couldn’t be anything but jealousy, and she had no right to be possessive of Bruiser. They didn’t have an exclusive relationship, or even really a relationship at all. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Bruiser might be the break we need.”

  “I’m not asking Bruiser to do that for us.”

  “I’ll talk to him. I can convince him.”

  “I don’t want you to bug him.” Mac sighed. Her father hadn’t picked up on the subtle signals from a few nights ago or today that his daughter might have more than a passing interest in Bruiser.

  And why was she surprised?

  Mac studied the once robust, athletic man. He’d lost at least fifty pounds, become a skeleton of his former self, and aged twenty years in the last three. It broke her heart, but she couldn’t do a damn thing to save him no matter how hard she tried.

  Maybe you need to save yourself first.

  Craig’s chair scraped across the concrete patio. He stood and walked into the house. Suspicious, Mac followed him. Her father walked to the window that faced Will’s old house. He grabbed the binoculars she kept for bird watching. Standing off to one side, he pushed the binoculars through the slats in the blinds.

  “What’s she doing out there?” Her father’s voice shook with the fierce determination Mac only heard when he talked about Will or Sonja.

  Mac peeked through the blinds. “She’s toying with you. It’s not the first time she’s done that. Ignore her. She loves to tweak you. She knows you’re watching.”

  “She might slip up.”

  “She hasn’t yet. She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

  “She’s lucky, not smart. Sooner or later her luck has to run out.”

  Mac sighed and flopped down on the couch, flipping to the Mariners pre-game show. “The M’s have won their last seven in a row. They’re only two games out of first place in their division.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Mac watched the game alone. Her father never touched his food. Eventually, he left, carrying his folder of evidence with him, leaving Mac to her thoughts, which bounced among Bruiser, her father, the scholarship, and her current job.

  Some people got all the luck, and currently Mac and her father weren’t on that exclusive list.

  * * * * *

  Bruiser lived by a few simple rules, one of which was not to get involved in other people’s business. Tell that to the part of him that pulled into an empty spot next to the diner’s back door. Seemed like his rules were shot to shit lately.

  It’d been a few days since he’d shown up at Mac’s house with pizza and had another epic night of sex. Somehow, he’d stayed away, making excuses and forcing himself to put some distance between himself and one night of mind-blowing sex with a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  This supposedly casual fling with Mac was turning into anything but, and his distance remedy didn’t heal his sickness. If anything, his desire for Mac bordered on epidemic.

  He prayed Trudy wasn’t working tonight. He could ask where she was, have one beer, and leave.

  Opening the door, he entered the dark bar, pausing for his eyes to adjust. Trudy stood behind the counter mixing drinks. When she saw him, a slow, calculating smile crossed her face, reminding him of Mac’s cat when it sized him up from its perch on the top of her headboard.

  He didn’t trust either Trudy or the cat, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. Yet earning Trudy’s trust should be an easy feat for a man gifted with his persuasive abilities and charm. Most likely, he’d get the info if he was willing to take it to the limit—only he wasn’t sure he could. Not after being buried inside Mac.

  Bruiser slid onto the barstool closest to Trudy and ignored the curious stares of the other patrons. He pulled his baseball cap farther over his forehead. Perhaps between that and the two-day beard, he’d be unrecognizable.

  She slid her gaze appreciatively over the muscles in his arms. “So, you’re slummin’ with the common folk. Must be a slow day.”

  Bruiser offered her a slow half smile, the one ladies told him dripped with sex appeal. “Yeah, I’m a little bored.” He caught her quick glance behind him, obviously checking to see if he was alone. Without asking what he wanted, she popped the top on a microbrew and slid it across the counter. Bruiser took a long pull then met her gaze.

  “You remembered.”

  “I always remember what my customers drink, especially ones that look like you.”

  Bruiser held his beer bottle up in a salute.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and Mac?” Trudy’s shrewd gaze didn’t seem to miss a thing, a definite challenge to his powers of persuasion.

  “No deal. Just know each other through work. Never met her dad until the other night.” At least that much was true. He leaned forward, faked interest he didn’t feel, forced his gaze to roam over the curves revealed by her tight, low-cut shirt. Her nipples stood out against the fabric. Normally, that would’ve turned him on; instead, it repulsed him.

  “He
’s a crazy-assed old man.”

  “You think?” Bruiser fought the urge to rip her a new one, even though what she said was probably true. “No shit.”

  “He stalked Sonja like she’s some common criminal and he’s a fucking FBI agent.”

  “Is she a common criminal?” The minute the words escaped, he regretted them.

  Trudy’s eyes narrowed to little slits. “You sure they didn’t put you up to this?”

  Bruiser scrambled to do damage control. “Why the hell would I do something for them? I barely know either of them.”

  She scowled and suspicion played across her features.

  “Aw, come on. Surely, you’ve heard enough about me to know I’m in it for myself. What do they have to offer me?”

  Trudy nodded slowly, as if the truth finally dawned on her. “Yeah, I can believe that. Fucking Mac would be like being with your brother.”

  Bruiser bit the side of his cheek until he tasted blood. Hell, Mac had more sex appeal in her genuine smile than Trudy had in her entire fake body and made-up face. But now was not the time to defend Mac’s honor. “Yeah, she’s like one of the guys.”

  “But I’m not.” Trudy moved closer to him, toyed with the collar of his shirt. Bruiser held his breath, trying not to cringe. One of the patrons yelled across the room for another beer.

  “Hey, hold on to your shorts. I’ll be right there.” Trudy shot the man a murderous look, then ran a red-tipped fingernail across Bruiser’s chin and gave him a come-fuck-me look as she poured her patron a drink.

  Bruiser let out his breath as soon as Trudy and her perfume moved out of his space. Fuck. Damn. Hell. He’d pretty much have to fuck the woman to get any information out of her. Possibly more than once.

  He didn’t know if he could do that. Not that she was bad looking, and she had a nice body even if a little overdone, but hell, what would Mac say?

  And why did he care what Mac said? He was doing this for her after all. She should say thank you. Yeah, right, like any decent woman alive would thank him for stooping that low.