by Brandi Evans
Restrained Fantasies.
Making an appearance at the club he co-owned with his buddy Stephen—or “The sub Maker” to those who really knew him—was just what the doctor ordered. Sustenance and sex. Yes, the duo might be enough to banish thoughts of Viv for an hour or two.
But he wasn’t holding his breath.
He made a beeline for his trusty Harley. On the way through his mud room, he grabbed his leather riding jacket from a coat hook. Leather wasn’t a fashion statement saved for the club. For him, it was practically a second skin—well, third if he added his tats to the equation.
His Hog sat nose first toward the garage door, right alongside the ridiculously expensive Ferrari he’d purchased in Italy eight months ago then thoroughly tested on the German autobahns. Yet another move on his part to nurse a broken heart, but sports cars and absurd speeds were poor replacements for the woman he loved.
“Damn it.” He yanked on his jacket. He had to stop thinking about her. He and Viv weren’t meant to be. End of fucking story. It was past time he accepted that fact and found a permanent way to purge her from his memory.
Once and for all.
He straddled his ride, squeezed the clutch with his left hand and hit the start button with his right. With that familiar growl that always made him feel alive, his baby rumbled to life. A quick cycling of the bike’s high beams sent the garage door lurching up. Best damn garage door opener ever. He grabbed his helmet from—
Holy motherfucking shit.
Vivian?
His heart lurched and stuttered. His eyelids slammed down. No fucking way. Vivian Michaels was not standing in his driveway. His mind was playing tricks on him. Was visually conjuring her the next logical progression in his insanity?
He opened his eyes again but she was still there, standing next to a Cadillac SUV, which didn’t look a tenth as sleek as its owner. A dark-blue dress clung to her toned, lithe body like a second skin. Her treatments had taken their toll on all her luscious curves but she was well on her way to getting them all back. Her dress had no sleeves, not much of a skirt either, just a swatch of material covering all the good parts.
What a damn shame.
A dark-red satchel hung from her shoulder. Ultra-short black hair framed a slender face with high cheekbones, plump lips and the most arresting violet eyes he’d ever seen. He loved the bizarre color, so unique, just like Viv.
In other words, she was as wet-dream sexy as ever.
His groin tightened faster than a bullet exploding from the barrel of a gun. She was every one of his fantasies wrapped up in one perfect little package.
A package who belongs to your brother, asshole.
And speaking of assholes, apprehension tingled Brock’s spine. Was Eugene the reason for Viv’s visit? Had his brother sent his irresistibly sexy wife to spy on the competition? Brock wouldn’t put the below-the-belt act past the bastard. But not Viv. She might be a lot of things—larger than life, able to sway men’s minds with a single smile—but she wasn’t underhanded.
He cut the Harley’s engine, dismounted and walked to her without hesitation. Well, maybe with a tad bit of hesitation. After all, when he reached her, he might not be able to control the urges scratching at his chest for freedom.
With each step closer to her, the soft scent of something spicy and floral bounced around the spring breeze, teased the pistons of his already misfiring psyche. He breathed in the heady aroma and held it in his lungs.
A nervous smile split her lips. “Hello, Brock.”
“Hello, Vivi—” The rest of her name caught in the mass of emotions clogging the back of his throat. Had her voice always sounded as if her vocal cords were wrapped in velvet? “Hello, Vivian. It’s been awhile.”
“Yes, it most certainly has been.” A tiny diamond nose ring sparkled in the sun. That was new. He liked it, the delicate stud complemented her new hairstyle.
“At your remission party,” he said. “I remember.” And all too well.
A grin played with the corners of her lips. “The beach was so hot that night.”
And so were you.
Even bald, cheeks sunken in from chemotherapy, lingering abdominal scars from surgery, Vivian in a bikini was enough to drive a eunuch into a lust-filled rage. She’d certainly driven him to the outer edge of Lustville. But as much as he’d wanted to throw her on one of the nearby beach tables and pound into her until she screamed his name, Eugene was his brother.
He forced his mind to more mundane topics. “I, um, like your hair. It’s edgy.”
“Thanks.” She feathered fingers through the spiky locks. “As it started growing back in, I discovered I liked it short. I thought it made me look—”
“Sassy.”
Her smile shined a few shades brighter. “I was going to say younger but I like sassy better.”
And just like that, he was lost. In her smile, in her incredible eyes.
In her.
God he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath, wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her for a year, to carry her to his bed, to chain her to the metal bed frame and make love to her until the pain of the last year evaporated in the heat of their fucking.
“May I come inside?” she finally asked, breaking his trance.
“Oh hell. Yeah. Sorry.” He stepped aside and motioned her through the garage. “Mi casa es su casa and all that.”
“Thanks.” She flashed one last sexy smile then sauntered toward the door.
Her pointy heels clicked against the painted concrete, her round ass swaying with each step, and he was helpless to stop his gaze from drinking in each amazing move. Each step mesmerized him. She had the kind of hips that made him conjure images of him bending her over any available surface and taking her from behind, cramming his cock into her until reality and fantasy merged.
Vivian stopped at the hood of his Ferrari and ran her palm over the black paint. “Since when do you drive things on four wheels?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Oh that…” He shrugged. She must have sensed she’d get no further info out of him and kept going. When she reached the foyer, she spun in a slow circle. Once, twice before stopping to face him.
“I like what you’ve done with the place, Brock. It’s a perfect blend of masculine strength and natural beauty.” She leveled her gaze on his. “Who was your decorator?”
Amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “What makes you think I hired one?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t insult my decorating intelligence.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “What gave me away?”
“Plenty.” She moved to the living room. “Take this space for example. You’ve got beautiful earth tones working in here. The soft colors are accompanied by sleek, neutral woodwork. Now, knowing your panache for design and architecture, I can buy you’d picked all that out, but the throw pillows on your couch are green with pink accents.” She winked at him. “And pink’s not exactly a color men pick out on their own—at least straight men.”
Busted. He fought to keep his lips from turning up in a smile but failed miserably. “I hired Jenny Bishop over at Home & Hearth Interiors.”
As quick and deadly as a streak of lightning cutting across a dark, stormy sky, anger illuminated Vivian’s eyes. The violet hue turned almost black.
He put a few steps of distance between them so he could better examine her reaction.
Just what’s this all about, sweetheart?
Did a massive business rivalry exist between the two women? He doubted it. Jenny was good, but she wasn’t Vivian Michaels good. Never would be. They weren’t even in the same league. He wouldn’t have chosen her over Viv had he not been trying to avoid the latter.
But why did Viv so obviously despise the woman?
Judging by the hatred carving harsh lines on Vivian’s face, it was personal. Really personal, something greater than stealing a client or two. But what?
He tried to lighten the mood. “
Jenny’s work isn’t as good as yours, not by a long shot.”
Regret overtook the anger swarming in her eyes. “Then why didn’t you come to me?”
Well shit. Walked right into that one, dumbass.
He shrugged, praying his emotions didn’t show through too much. “To be honest, I figured you wouldn’t talk to me after your remission party, let alone step foot inside my house.”
“And why would I do that?”
“I kissed you.” And god help him, he’d wanted to do so much more, which was why he’d run. Loving a married woman was bad enough, but when said woman was married to his brother…
She took a step toward him. “And if I remember correctly, I kissed you right back. Then we stopped.”
“Regardless, I thought it’d be better to distance myself.”
“But for an entire year?” She moved even closer, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I’ve missed you too. But the words got stuck in his throat.
A wistfulness seized her features. “I haven’t had anyone to watch reruns of Stargate with since you left.”
He laughed through his guilt. He’d introduced her to that show while she’d been undergoing chemo. They’d watched all ten seasons and three movies over the course of her treatment. They’d even started watching Stargate Atlantis but hadn’t made it past season two before she’d gone into remission.
Joy and pain lodged in his chest like the blunt blade of a butter knife. The memory of that time, of Vivian’s uterus riddled with cancer brought back dark memories.
Oh god no. The cancer! Was that why she was here?
He grabbed her by the arms. “Is it the cancer? Is it back? Has it spread?” He’d shake the damn truth out of her if he had to.
“No, Brock,” she whispered, her voice so soft, her smile reassuring. “I’m not here because the cancer’s back.”
“No cancer?” He just had to make sure.
“None whatsoever.”
“Oh thank god.” Relief practically leveled him and he crushed her against him, clung to her, partly to feel close to her, but mostly to keep from falling flat on his ass. Holding her felt as damn natural as breathing. Her petite body fit perfectly against his. He never wanted to let her go.
As if he needed another sign he was screwed.
He tightened his arms around her, bent close and buried his nose in the crevice of her neck. Her spicy, floral scent combined with the sensation of having her in his arms again. The dual stimuli rocked his resolve, threatened to overwhelm his better judgment.
“Brock,” she whispered. “Brock.” Deep. Husky. Wanton. Seductive. Each word described the timbre of her voice. Each word doused gasoline on the fire raging below his belt.
Christ.
He pulled back, pushed her to arm’s length. Time to move their reunion along before he did something he’d regret.
Like her.
“So okay, if it’s not the, the…ya know, then what brings you by?”
Crimson tinged her cheeks. Embarrassment maybe? Confusion? Desire? Before he could discern the subtlety, her response to his question set every nerve ending in his body on red alert.
“Unfortunately, I’m here because of your brother.”
So Eugene was the reason she was here. That bastard. Shit. Just shit. “What exactly does that mean?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned on her heel and sauntered to the kitchen.
His gaze followed her every movement. Sunlight shown through the bay window in the breakfast nook, illuminating her petite form. The pixie-short hair, the creamy skin, the soft glow from the sun all worked together to give her an ethereal look. Normally, the sight would be as arousing as hell but not after her last statement.
“Damn it, Vivian. Please tell me what’s going on.”
She waved him off. “We’ve been through this before. Call me Viv. My name’s bad enough without having to draw it out to three syllables.”
Anxiety twisted his intestines into pretzels. She was being evasive. That was never a good sign.
“Okay, Viv, what’s going on?”
Finally, she squared her shoulders and turned to face him. “I have a business proposition for you, Brock.”
“A business proposition?”
“Yes.” She laid her satchel on the breakfast table and dug inside. Eventually, she pulled out a burgundy presentation binder and held it out to him. The top page sported the words Richard D. McDonald Executive Suites: Interior Design and Landscaping. “You’re interviewing for this project, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” If he could get his Muse to stop being a bitch, anyway.
“Good.” She stepped closer, thrust her portfolio into his hands. “If you’re interested, I have some beautiful ideas I’d like to show you, and if any speak to you, maybe we could incorporate them into something new, our own unique design.”
Our own unique design…
“Wait, wait, wait.” He scrubbed a palm over his head. “Are you saying you want to partner with me for this project?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He shook his head. No way in hell the biggest gun in his brother’s arsenal would walk up and offer to partner with him. This had to be a trick. He hated thinking of Viv as being deceptive but…
“Your landscaping company’s part of Eugene’s company. Michaels Architectural Design and Landscaping—”
“Actually…” She held up a manicured hand to silence him. “Eugene’s company is Michaels Architectural Design. Mine’s Michaels Interior Decorating & Landscaping. We’re lumped together so often people mistake us for a joint firm, but I assure you, we’re not. We don’t even share an office anymore. And we haven’t for the past year. I only sign my designs over to him when we accept a contract.”
Shit, even he didn’t know that, but the distinction didn’t answer the big question. “And why aren’t you partnering with your dear husband’s company for this venture?”
Her lips tightened into thin lines and she crossed her arms beneath her luscious tits. “You want the unadulterated truth, emphasis on unadulterated.”
Unadulterated.
Adultery.
Shit.
He looked heavenward. Eugene, you fucking, fucking moron.
“Damn, Viv, I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged as if Eugene’s betrayal didn’t burn. “It’s not your fault your brother’s a dirtbag.”
True. Brock tightened his grip on Viv’s portfolio to keep from throwing it. “Let me guess. He was having an affair with Jenny Bishop.”
“Among others.” Her gaze slid to the floor. “Let’s just suffice it to say I’ve caught your brother with one too many blonde bimbos, and I’ve had enough.”
Anger and understanding simmered in Brock’s gut. “So you’ve come to me because you want to use me and my architectural design firm to get back at him.”
She flashed him a smile. “If you’re willing. I mean…”
She took two steps closer, and for a second, Brock wondered if she’d take hold of his hand. At the last second, however, she pulled back.
“I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just thought maybe we could help each other out.”
“Help each other out?”
She nodded. “In about ten minutes, Eugene should be receiving my petition for divorce…”
Petition for divorce?
Holy shit.
At long last, the woman he loved was available. If he wanted, he could take her into his arms, kiss her for the next decade, all without the slightest twinge of regret.
Well, with very little regret anyway.
He wanted to scream to the heavens, but somehow he managed to rein in his excitement. So much still needed to happen before he could even think of having a relationship with Viv, let alone act on it.
“And with the end of our marriage,” she continued, “comes the end of our business deal
ings, which means all my ideas for the new executive suite are just that. Mine.”
“A court might not see it that way,” he said, playing devil’s advocate. “Implied contract and all that.”
“True. But even if he did take me to court and win, the design meeting would long be over. Besides, everyone knows Eugene’s weakest skills are his presentation abilities. Even if I left him all my designs, without me to sell the idea, he’s screwed. So as you can see, no matter what, I win. And Eugene loses out on a contract that could take his business to the next level.”
Brock fought to keep the corners of his lips from turning up in naughty delight. Note to self. Never cheat on Viv.
“Not that your offer isn’t tempting because it is, but why me? There are any number of companies who can bring more to the table than I can.” Especially nowadays. He spent way more time running Restrained Fantasies and its companion restaurant, Ravenous, than he did on architecture.
“Because you’re Eugene’s brother and he hates you.”
Her matter-of-fact delivery turned his blood cold. Nice to finally know what his big brother thought about him. “I see.”
“I’m sorry, Brock.” She reached for him. “I shouldn’t have put it so—”
“I’m not a sixteen-year-old boy looking for my big brother’s approval anymore. I’ll be fine.”
Her eyebrows scrunched closer together. “Anymore?”
“Don’t go there, Viv.” He put a little more distance between them, rage suddenly simmering in his gut. He didn’t give a damn what his bastard brother thought about him. And as soon as he accepted the reality the better off he’d be.
“Okay.” She crossed her arms in a way that really made her voluptuous breasts pop. “Partner with me, Brock. It’s a win-win situation for both of us. You want to be the biggest name in architectural design—I want to ruin Eugene. Our partnership’s a match made in heaven.”
“More like the seventh layer of hell.”
She shrugged. “Why quibble on semantics?”
He couldn’t stop the grin tugging at the corner of his lips any more than he could stop his gaze from getting caught in the gravitational pull of her breasts. No doubt just as she’d planned.