She’d almost made a mistake. A simple one, but it would have been quite noticeable. Instead of saying your bride, she’d almost said, “The future Mrs. Brock Ford,” only with his middle name—which she didn’t know. Whirlwind romance or not, a future spouse would know her mate’s middle name. And so she intended to solve that problem later.
Meanwhile, time seemed to speed up again as sounds rushed in. She noticed first Mrs. Ford who had a sweet smile on her face, her hands clasped at her chin as if praying. Erica then felt too uncomfortable to look at anyone else at the table, so she glanced once more at Brock.
Again, so awkward. But would it feel awkward if they were really madly in love?
He got up off his knee and slid back into his seat, but it was seconds later that he kissed Erica on the cheek. She’d had to control herself so that she didn’t gasp or let her eyes grow wide, even though his lips on her skin had shocked her at first.
But the lingering scent of his masculine cologne tickled her nostrils, making her mind go places where it really shouldn’t.
The kiss made her a little pissed, because he was taking liberties she hadn’t given him permission to. It was one thing to pretend to be engaged but quite another to physically act upon it. She’d have to set the record straight later. In the meantime, she had to act like everything was normal.
And maybe that was the only reason why he’d done it—for believability’s sake.
She needed to assess if anyone had caught that she was none too happy with Brock, but—as she glanced around the table—she saw that everyone was still taking in the news. The elder Mr. Ford seemed shocked. Was it because Erica wasn’t from money or an influential family in this area of Colorado? But when his mouth spread into a warm grin, she realized it had merely taken him by surprise—just like everyone else at the table.
Which had been what Brock had wanted, so mission accomplished.
Erica allowed herself to look at everyone at the table now and saw that, in spite of everyone seeming a little off their footing (thanks to Brock suddenly ending his perpetual bachelor phase, so far as they knew), they were all accepting of her as his fiancée.
Brock’s mother, hands still clasped, asked, “Do you have a date in mind?”
“Nothing set in stone, mom. We’re thinking sometime in the spring.”
“Oh, dear. You haven’t given us much time to plan anything.”
Well, if only she knew… Erica said, “We just don’t want to wait. And we’re wanting to do something really simple.”
“Come on, mom. It’s up to the bride’s parents to cover the wedding anyway.” Brock put his arm around Erica and pulled her close. “We’re not too worried about all that. It’ll all work out.”
Erica forced a smile but wondered how long she’d have to put up with how handsy he was being. If he thought he could play around like that and get away with it, he had another think coming. The kiss on the cheek and snuggling—that hadn’t been part of the bargain. She was going to have to set him straight ASAP.
* * *
She survived. Brady Ford gave a long speech about his illustrious career and the family he loved, adding how proud he was that his sons had all chosen to follow in his footsteps. Then a friend chose to say something about Mr. Ford and how happy he was that he’d be enjoying life after law. And then it was a lovefest. The mike was passed from one person to another and another and another…and then Erica thought she might get sick. Yes, Brock’s father seemed like a decent guy, but surely even he was growing tired of the ass kissing.
Whispering to Brock that she had to get a little fresh air, she tried to be discreet about leaving their table. Even though all the action was focused on the other end, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t obvious and definitely didn’t want to offend anyone just because she was getting up for a few moments. But it looked like she could get away with it with no harm done.
She had finally made her way out of the dining room to the reception area and felt like she could breathe a little. Did she want to go to the ladies’ restroom or get her coat and step outside? There was no chance to decide, because Brock showed up, placing a hand on her upper arm.
“Everything okay?”
“Peachy. I just needed a few minutes.” No better time than the present, though. “But we need to chat for a second. Why don’t you follow me?”
Brock’s lovely dark brows furrowed over his eyes, making him look roguishly handsome—part of the reason she needed to talk with him.
“Is anything wrong?”
“Actually, yes.” They walked toward the restroom area and sat on a nearby bench. Erica made sure to keep her voice low so they wouldn’t blow their cover. “I get that we need to convince your family, but I think we already have.”
“What do you mean?”
“The kiss on the cheek. The arm around my shoulders. Was all that necessary?”
Brock cocked a lovely eyebrow, making it hard for her to stand firm. “That’s what loving premarital couples do. They express affection. If we act like third graders at a dance, no one will buy it.”
“I realize that—but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re getting a little too cozy. Your hand around my waist walking in was fine. Kissing me on the cheek was pushing it.” No way in hell was she going to tell him that, in spite of everything repulsive about him, she also found him incredibly sexy and almost irresistible. If he didn’t keep his hands to himself, she was going to want him to touch her—and that would be bad all the way around.
“Look, I did it for believability.”
“Bullshit,” she said, a little more firmly than she’d meant to. She inhaled slowly and then added, more calmly, “Hands off.”
He raised his eyebrows—and then his hands—before saying, “Fine.” As he relaxed his back, he added, “You will be a great trial lawyer.”
“Thanks…I think.” She glanced around, making sure they were still alone. “By the way, if we’re engaged to be married, I should probably know your middle name, don’t you think? Mine’s Renee.”
“Andrew.” He lowered his voice more and then said, “And I might as well tell you—when this is over, you can keep the ring.”
“What?”
“Yes. Consider it my thanks.”
“Are you crazy? This had to have cost thousands of dollars.”
A smirk covered Brock’s smug face. “You have no idea. But it’s the least I can do. Just keep it and don’t argue with me.”
Erica wasn’t sure if she liked or hated his bossy side. Whatever the case, her sexual side hadn’t gotten the memo that no decision had been made yet, because it was warming up to the man quite nicely, bossy or not.
“And what about when your parents ask if you got it back?”
“They won’t.” After a moment, he added, “Bret’s more likely to do that than they are.”
She held her left hand out, splaying the fingers to admire the ring. “It really is beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it? It fits okay?”
“Perfectly. How did you know?” A sly grin was the only answer she was going to get for that question, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that. “How did you pick it out?”
His smile muted, feeling a little less playful, a little more genuine. “I look for something unique—and, when I find it, I usually have to own it.”
Erica might have refrained from rolling her eyes, but after hearing comments like that, she was definitely glad she wasn’t going to be marrying this boor. “We should probably get back now, don’t you think?”
“I suppose…but don’t think for a second that I’ll be enjoying it any more than you will.”
She did doubt it, but her lips were sealed.
* * *
Dessert wasn’t half bad, but crème brûlée had always been a little too rich for him. After all the other food, the ending note was a bit much…and it only made him want to have an after-dinner drink.
But Bret and Brandon both asked if Brock
could come with them for a few minutes. The women at the table all turned toward Erica, so he hoped she’d do okay on her own without him there as backup, but when he spied Helen Shockley, a rich bitch who pushed money toward things she wanted to influence, he knew that she’d distract the shit out of his mother and possible Elle, too—meaning Erica would likely do just fine.
The three brothers wound up in another area of the expansive restaurant where there was a bar. Bret ordered them all shots and, while they waited, Brandon took a box out of his jacket pocket. “We got this for dad. You can pay us your share later.”
“What is it?”
Brandon’s grin was infectious. “A gold watch. What else?”
Brock looked over the watch face, recognizing the name Audemars Piguet on the face, realizing that damn watch likely cost more than some people made in a lifetime. It was certainly worth more than his first three cars combined. “That set you back a pretty penny.”
“Us. But dad’s worth it.”
The watch wasn’t exactly gold but a rosy gold tone, something unique their father would appreciate, even if he never wore it. The bartender delivered their shots and Bret gave the man his credit card. Brock didn’t waste any time slamming the drink, trying to figure out how much his portion would be for the watch.
But why the hell was he worried? He was getting ready to inherit a third of his father’s firm. He’d be bringing home even more money now—possibly half a mil a year or more. This watch was a mere token of the kind of cash he’d showered with.
Brock didn’t see it, but Bret ordered a second round and then both his brothers asked him to have a seat. The bar wasn’t crowded, because it served the restaurant that was also running the party they’d ditched. There were two couples nursing drinks, probably waiting for their table to clear, and the bartender was taking care of them but mostly wiping the bar with a pristine white piece of terrycloth.
The three brothers huddled at a table in the corner, away from everyone else, and Brandon said, “There’s something else we need to talk with you about, but I’m not sure—”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Bret said, interrupting their middle sibling. Staring Brock down, he said, “I don’t know what the hell is up your sleeve, Brock, but we’re calling bullshit.”
“What do you mean?” Brock knew his face looked completely innocent, guileless, guilt-free, and maybe even a little confused that his brothers would even deign to accuse him of something…whatever it was, even if he was fairly certain he knew what they were talking about. But they would never know it from his face. It was a look perfected for the courtroom: a visage of complete innocence that said, I know nothing.
Bret’s lids lowered but his voice did not. His tone hadn’t been loud to begin with, and there would be no chance that the people around them would have overheard unless they’d been straining with the intention of eavesdropping. “You know damn good and well what I mean. You’re all of a sudden engaged to Erica Larson…my direct employee. Why is this the first time we’ve heard you’re even dating her?”
Brock pasted on the perfect smirk. “Come on, Bret. Do you really think you know everything that goes on at the firm? You leave the office no later than six o’clock every evening—and earlier when Elle has something planned for the two of you.” He turned his attention to Brandon. “And that goes double for you. You’re out of there by five-thirty at the latest, and that’s provided there’s nothing going on with Lisa or the baby. Did you know there are some nights that Erica’s been there past nine, and the cleaning crew has her leave when they do so they can arm the building?”
Ah, it was working. They were deer in headlights. He’d been calling their bluff. Honestly, he had no idea if they knew Erica’s work habits, so he’d been testing the water—and discovered they didn’t pay close enough attention.
So he turned back to Bret. “And you’re her boss. You know nothing about her.”
Unfortunately for Brock, even though Bret was no litigator, he was still sharp as a tack and clever as hell. The sour look on his face communicated ongoing disbelief. “I’d venture that you don’t know much about her, either.”
Brock raised his eyebrows. “I know a hell of a lot more than you do.” His eyes moved between his brothers before returning to Bret. “Here’s something you should know, considering you hired her. What’s her middle name?”
“Like I would remember that.”
“It’s part of her employment agreement, Bret. And I thought you had an eye for detail.”
Brandon was shaking his head. “That’s not fair, Brock. She was part of that big hiring stint we did when you were involved in the Rocky Mountain Data Solutions trial. We hired at least a dozen people. How could we remember one person’s name?”
“It’s Renee.” He owed the girl a kiss for that one—not that she’d take it. “And make all the excuses you want.” Now that he’d turned the table, he planned to be relentless. “It’s information you would know if you paid attention.”
Bret was frowning and opened his mouth to talk.
But Brock beat him to it—if he didn’t maintain surprise, he could drop the ball. “Here’s the bottom line, guys. You’re just jealous because I’m dating a beautiful young woman who can take care of herself. You’re already trapped in loveless, boring marriages with tired old women who are sick of your shit.” He didn’t believe any of it. He knew his brothers adored their wives and those women were not tired or old. But he was on the defense, and nothing and no one was sacred when it came to protecting his client. Tonight, he was the guilty guy he was defending.
“That’s not fair,” Bret said. “We—”
A guy from the firm’s billing unit appeared out of nowhere, slapping Bret on the back. “Your dad was looking for all of you.”
The look on his oldest brother’s face was priceless. And Brock felt his muscles relax as he realized the suspicion was deflected. Well…maybe not the suspicion but being accused to his face. And he’d passed the first test with flying colors.
Just to be safe, though, maybe he needed ask Erica when her birthday was…
Chapter Five
BROCK KNEW HIS brothers were far from convinced that he and Erica had been dating. They saw right through him and they knew why. It had been an unspoken thing, but it had been as loud as a tornado siren: only married brothers would get to run the firm. Bret and Brandon had been convinced they’d be shutting out their little brother—the rebel, the troublemaker, the one who always fought their perfect plans—and now they were getting ready to lose the power they hadn’t inherited in the first place.
The three brothers would continue to be equals…and he knew that pissed them off.
He was fairly certain from the reactions earlier that his parents had bought it, but if his brothers had doubts, his mother and father might have some sense of disbelief as well. He needed to quash those reservations now before his brothers nurtured the seed they were tending in their own gardens.
There was one quick and easy way to do it.
The trio of brothers approached the long table where they’d eaten dinner, and it was obvious by the way their father was looking at the three men that he had wanted to talk with them. Brock noticed that a small musical ensemble had set up on the dance floor area and were getting ready to play. Yes, heaven forbid they let the night end early and send everyone to bed with full bellies.
He had court tomorrow.
Nothing a little caffeine wouldn’t take care of, he supposed, and, in all fairness, this party was unusual. The attorneys he knew weren’t accustomed to celebrating this way anyway. When he won a trial, he’d have some drinks, find a good lay (one who would shut her mouth by midnight or, better yet, wouldn’t be butt hurt if he went home), and be back at it the next day.
This…this, though, was his mother’s doing and his father was only too happy to oblige. He’d handed her the checkbook and told her to go to town.
And here they were.
If it hadn’t been
for all this, Brock probably wouldn’t have met Erica and most definitely wouldn’t have known her middle name. Not that it mattered. It was Shakespeare who’d said a rose would smell as sweet, no matter what the name. A woman like Erica would be just as beautiful—and just as feisty—no matter the name her parents bestowed upon her. Pretending to be in love with her was easy.
With that thought weighing heavily on his mind, he strode over to the table and touched Erica’s arm—on the inside just above the elbow—and it got her attention, just as he’d hoped. She turned slightly and he knew he couldn’t hesitate. He pulled her close to him and consumed her mouth. It wasn’t going to be the first kiss girls dreamed of—sweet, soft, and gentle. Instead, it was going to be possessive and lusty-looking…but it was all for show. Yes, he knew she’d be angry, but she’d get over it.
He knew what was at stake here.
As his mouth touched hers, though, their lips ignited. Holy fuck. This was something he hadn’t expected—a huge spark between them. He touched her tongue with his then—completely unnecessary per his plan—but now that he was committed, he couldn’t stop himself, any more than he could stop the snow from falling come winter. She tasted sweet, like nectar from the most delicate pink flower, but all he could think of was sin. Now that he was suckling her lips, he could feel a burning desire to consume all of her.
He didn’t know how he could convince her of that, though, because she wasn’t like one of his usual conquests.
She didn’t want him.
He felt her fingernails digging into the flesh at the base of his neck. That was her way of telling him to stop right now without his family knowing, and she might have thought it would deter him. Unfortunately, the way she was cutting his flesh was fucking hot and having the exact opposite effect on him than she’d wanted.
He only stopped kissing her when he was damn good and ready.
Pulling his lips off hers, he opened his eyes. Her hand was still clenched around his neck, but she seemed almost short of breath…and she took her sweet time opening her eyes.
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