by Sey, Susan
“Oh, for the love of—” James sighed, snagged her wrist and yanked her in for a—yikes. Will blinked. For a kiss that didn’t exactly leave anything to the imagination.
“Excuse me?” Will cleared his throat. “Still here. Still listening. Still—good lord—watching.”
James lifted his head just far enough to speak. He threaded his fingers into her hair, rumpling the shiny spill of it down her back. “You love that house, and I love you, so—” He let a shrug fill in the gap. Bel stared at him, a wary joy easing that horrible, stricken smile.
“So this isn’t your way of asking for space?”
“Space?” James rolled his eyes. “Did that kiss feel like a request for space to you?”
Bel shook her head mutely.
“It didn’t look like it, either,” Will offered. “In case you were wondering.”
They ignored him handily.
“For God’s sake, Bel.” James rubbed a gentle thumb over her cheekbone and Will had to look away from the tenderness in that little gesture. He started to ignore the jagged surge of bitterness that came with it, too, but forced himself to look right at it. To name it properly: jealousy. Pathetic as it was, he was jealous of his brother, of this easy, open sweetness. Of its being received without surprise or suspicion.
Good boy, Bob said.
Shut it, Bob.
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said to you since Thanksgiving?” James asked Bel. “I don’t want space. I hate space. I want you. Every day. Always. In my house, in my bed, in my heart.”
“I’m, um, still here,” Will said. Was that desperation in his voice? Very likely. “Where I can hear you.”
“In fact,” James went on as if Will hadn’t spoken, “I was going to try to wait for this until Christmas but hell, I already gave you a house. Why hold off on the ring?”
“Oh my God,” Will said, alarm snuffing out jealousy in a sudden rush. James was happy, and Will was happy for him. Truly. But there was a limit to what Fate could ask of a guy. Wasn’t there? “You’re going to do this now?”
Bel said, “Ring?”
James shoved a hand into his pocket, came up with a pretty velvet box and held it out to her. “Ring.” He looked a little sick, Will noted faintly. That made him feel better. Marginally. “For you.”
She reached for the box and set it on the flat of her hand, unopened. “What kind of ring?” she asked. She looked a little faint herself.
“The kind you put on your finger,” James said. “Open it.”
“No, I mean, what does it mean?”
“Mean?”
Bel swallowed audibly. “Is it a friendship ring? A promise ring? An I-really-like-you-a lot-so-merry-Christmas ring?”
He snatched the box off her palm and wrenched it open. “It’s a goddamn diamond solitaire,” he snapped. “The I-love-you-for-the-rest-of-my-life, I-might-barf-if-you-don’t-put-it-on-soon kind, okay? The marry me kind. Is that clear enough for you?”
Bel launched herself into his arms while he was still scowling. “Crystal,” she said, and kissed him with an open-mouthed invitation that had Will spinning hastily away from them.
“Well! Congrats, you two. I’m just going to—” They didn’t hear him. He didn’t care. He located the exit and punched through it with a sigh of relief.
And mowed down Audrey Bing in the hallway.
He stood there like a complete fool and watched her go down in a glorious swirl of moonlight hair and movie-star curves. She landed on her world-class rump in the hall, and stared up at him, her violet eyes wide and startled. Then they narrowed with dislike. Her beauty was, as usual, a short-armed punch to the solar plexus and Will’s mouth went desert-dry.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go silent.
“Hey, Audrey.” He heard his own voice with a sort of horrified surprise. “Fancy running into you here.”
There was a knowing smirk in his voice, he noted with a sinking dismay. As if he were subtly accusing her of lurking in hallways in the hopes that she might accidentally-on-purpose plaster herself up against him.
It was an automatic thing at this point, he knew. Some kind of knee-jerk defense mechanism his desperate nervous system had dreamed up to neutralize that disabling blast of sexual awareness Audrey Bing always wrenched from him. To an extent, it worked. She hated him, deeply and truly. Only a self-destructive ass would make a move—a doomed move—on a woman who’d rather see his head on a spike than his hand on her knee.
Good thing you’re not a self-destructive ass...oh, wait.
Shut it, Bob.
He sucked in a whistling breath, aware even now of his pulse thundering, of the way the very air between their bodies seemed super-charged and thick with danger. Or something. He pulled a slow hand down his face and forced the breath out of his lungs.
“Jesus, Audrey, I’m sorry.” He held out a hand to the woman still glaring at him from the floor. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She ignored his hand and came to her feet with a fluid grace that made his pulse beat in his ears. Was he blushing? Oh, God, he thought he might be. He swallowed, conscious of his stupid, knobby throat working. She brushed off her jeans and glared at him.
“Listen,” he said with strained calm. No time like the present. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk—”
She brushed past him and disappeared into the kitchen set, presumably to find Bel or James or whoever she’d come here to find. Certainly not him.
She couldn’t avoid him forever, he thought grimly. Just like he couldn’t avoid her. Wouldn’t avoid her. Wouldn’t allow himself the luxury. No, he’d damaged Audrey Bing. And he was by God going to fix her. Whether she wanted him to or not.
TALENT FOR TROUBLE, coming soon!
About the Author
Susan Sey lives and writes in St. Paul, Minnesota, with her wonderful husband, their two charming children and a whole lot of snow. In addition to producing smart, sexy contemporary romances on an annual basis, Susan is also the proud owner of a filthy house, a broken oven and a cranky van whose off-and-on relationship with the check engine light is driving her crackers.
She loves ice cream, her family and happy endings, though not necessarily in that order. She does not enjoy laundry, failure or mowing the lawn, but rises to the occasion as necessary.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider spreading the word by giving it a positive review or rating. She would be eternally grateful, and might even celebrate by doing an honest-to-goodness load of laundry. But probably not.
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www.susansey.com