Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1)

by Kristina Weaver

  “I don’t know yet, Nana. It depends on what he has to say tonight. Now, I want you to listen to Chrissie while I’m out, all right? She’s in charge.”

  “I’m not a child, dearest.”

  “Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen you hide bread rolls in your underwear, lady.”

  I leave before another argument can ensue and rip the dress I’d bought at the thrift store off the hanger. I like it, with its pale pink, knee-length skirt and sweetheart neckline, but I’d spent money I can’t afford to spend now that I have a helper-please Jesus let me find a new one soon-to pay.

  Forty minutes later I am showered, dressed, and made up enough that the dark circles under my eyes aren’t on show, and I look presentable enough to feel better than I should.

  As I pace my room and wait for the doorbell to ring, I allow a small measure of guilt free of the tight leash I have it on. I’m lying to everyone I care about — Nana, my best friend — because I feel awful about admitting I’m about to engage in an affair with a taken man.

  God, that test had better be negative, because if it’s not, I am in such deep trouble.

  I hear Chrissie’s voice and a deep laugh of amusement and rush out to see Gregory standing in the doorway, smiling broadly at Nana.

  “You seem nice enough, I suppose,” she’s saying, and I watch something flicker deep in his sherry eyes as she gives him a thorough inspection and nods decidedly. “At least you’re clean. Now remember what I said, young man. Be good to her, or I’ll find you. I’ve absolutely nothing to lose at my age, and that makes me more dangerous than you know.”

  It’s ridiculous, but I want to laugh right now. And apparently so does he, if the twitch of his dimples is any indication.

  “I would never hurt your granddaughter, Mrs Newman,” he says, looking up at me intently. “Hannah.”

  I could stand here and drag things out. I mean, Nana is by no means easy to deal with, but I grab my things and walk to join him instead, striving for a calm I don’t feel.

  “You be good now, you hear? Chris, if she gets testy there’s a tranquiliser gun in the closet,” I joke, waving and pulling the door closed behind us.

  It’s only as we’re stepping out of the building that he speaks, and I gnash my teeth to keep from cursing immediately.

  “I didn’t realize your grandmother lives with you. That must be…difficult,” he observes, handing me into my seat.

  Difficult? No, difficult is becoming this liar I now am. My nana is child’s play compared to this.

  “She’s seventy-three years old, and she’s gotten herself kicked out of almost every home she’s been in…there’s no other choice,” I say, leaving out the startling truth that I enjoy having the old bird around.

  I know, I’m just as surprised. Turns out Nana is a great conversationalist, when she’s not going bonkers, and after everything that’s happened I relish the distraction.

  “She’s…”

  “Don’t,” I warn darkly.

  “Eccentric,” he growls, throwing me a dirty look as he changes lanes and speeds up. “I was going to say eccentric. I like her. She doesn’t suffer fools and she says it straight. That’s a rare quality that I’ve found only in you.”

  I ignore the compliment and look out the window, tensing when I notice where we’re headed.

  “I don’t want to go to your house.”

  He grunts and speeds up, telling me without words how much he cares what I want.

  “We need to talk somewhere private, and—”

  “So go to your place in the city,” I insist.

  I’d sworn to myself I would never travel this route again, and now that I am I know being in that house…I’m only human. I have too many feelings swirling inside me right now to stand in that house and be the cold, detached Hannah I need to be.

  “Sorry, darlin’, this isn’t up for discussion.”

  What a surprise, I think, huffing back in my seat and folding my arms as I glare out the window. By the time we reach his home I’m well past hungry and irritable enough that I have high hopes for the course of the evening. Although, admittedly, it has not been easy to work myself up into a dander with him sitting so close, his smell wrapping around me, intoxicating me with memories of our one night together.

  “Here we go. Wait for me to come around,” he orders, forcing my hand away from the door to wait and scowl as he opens it and takes my hand, pulling me out and into his heat. “It’s just you and me tonight.”

  I mutter under my breath and force myself to follow as he unlocks the door and leads me in, the heat of his hand enveloping mine sending tremors into places I don’t need tremoring right now.

  “Take a seat on the sofa. I’ll get us drinks and a plate.”

  I haven’t really had much opportunity to explore his place, and I’m pleasantly surprised when I see a comfortable living room with off white sofas and a sturdy coffee table.

  I sit on just the edge — come on, who buys white furniture knowing I’m coming over — and wait nervously.

  “Here you go. Rose’s famous beef stir-fry,” he says, setting a plate in front of me on the table with a glass of milk.

  Milk?

  “The test won’t be positive, so you can shove the milk.”

  Okay, that was just unnecessary, Hannah.

  Instead of getting upset, he just smiles and quietly begins eating, glancing up to check that I am doing the same.

  “I’ve arranged an appointment for you with a leading obstetrician. I’ll be accompanying you, of course.”

  “But…I’ve already made an appointment with my doctor. And I can go by myself.”

  If he comes with and that test comes back positive, there’ll be no escape for me. I’m not planning to terminate or anything like that…it would just be nice to have the option of not being completely taken over from the get go.

  “This isn’t up for discussion, Hannah. I’ll take you, and we can go from there. Now then, as far as we are concerned—”

  “There is no ‘we,’ Gregory. You’re engaged to another woman, and as far as I’m concerned, well, I don’t even like you,” I say steadily.

  This goes way beyond him being overbearing and into the realm of dominant, and as you can tell, I’m not really one to let a man take control. I like managing myself, thank you very much, and the fact that he thinks he can just barge in and wrest my precious control from me pisses me off.

  “There most definitely is a ‘we,’” he insists, his voice calm and clear, letting me know he’s more than serious.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you.”

  “That simple? You want me, and despite your poor treatment I just have to accept it?” I ask.

  It’s strange. I’m not that enamoured of him right now, but it’s getting easier to speak to him rationally now that I’ve accepted his refusal to back down.

  “That simple. I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into your office and almost dropped your coffee cup. I always get what I want, Hannah. Always,” he warns, and a shiver runs through me at the knowledge that he’s warning me not to even contemplate anything else.

  “You don’t feel guilty sleeping with me while your fiancée plans your wedding?”

  “Selena is not up for discussion. You play your part, and I’ll worry about Selena,” he says darkly, his voice a soft threat. “You keep what we have to yourself when she calls or comes in, and we won’t have any problems.”

  Well, that puts me in my place.

  “You’ll leave Amber and her bakery alone?”

  He nods.

  “And if the test is negative you’ll let me go.”

  It’s not a question. Maybe I’m hoping a statement will swing some power back my way. I should know by now that any semblance of power is not mine to take.

  His smile mocks me, and I feel unaccountably thrilled when he pushes closer and cups my face in his hands, bringing my eyes to his.

  “You’re mine until I sa
y otherwise.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Stop fidgeting.”

  It’s Monday morning, and we’re in the car on the way to Gregory’s doctor. Okay, well, not his doctor, my new doctor. I’m so nervous it’s taking all of my powers of control not to throw myself from the moving car and run screaming into traffic.

  Here’s the low down on what happened after Mr Neanderthal informed me I belong to him — until he’s tired of me, of course, I snort, feeling irritated beyond belief that I’m a little okay with it. A little. Don’t judge me.

  We’d finished dinner and I’d ‘relaxed’ back on the sofa, waiting for him to make his move. Gregory’s not exactly the shy type, so the minute he’d returned from putting the dishes in the kitchen he’d been on me.

  Apparently sex can still feel great even when you don’t like someone and you’re having trouble liking yourself, because I'd come each and every time he’d taken me.

  And that had been four times.

  I’d insisted on going home later, not caring that he had to drag his ass out of bed and drive me there at three in the morning. I have Nana to think about, and if he thinks I’m letting my responsibilities suffer just to please him…that’s not happening.

  Saturday he’d insisted on taking both Nana and me to lunch, and then we’d gone back to his place and watched Nana walk in the gardens. He’d been so nice and just…

  How the heck am I supposed to hate the man when my nana is totally smitten?

  “Jesus. You’re not doing the goddamned death march, Hannah! Would having my baby be such a bad thing?” he demands suddenly, and I cringe away from the anger I see there.

  Is he delusional? In what universe is it okay if I’m pregnant? He’s marrying another woman! How can he be okay with this?

  “Of course it is! Have you forgotten the fact that you’re engaged? And she’s so nice! How do you think—”

  “I told you not to bring Selena into this.”

  His tone shuts me up immediately and I look away, not wanting an argument but knowing that I will start one if he keeps yelling at me. Especially now, with how fragile I’m feeling. God, I could be pregnant right now.

  “Here we are.”

  I wait where I am and allow him to come around and open my door, not because I give a rat’s ass about what he wants but because I’m so shaky I need the support of his arm around me.

  “Oh God.”

  “Steady, darlin’, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you covered,” he murmurs, throwing an arm over my shoulder to keep me walking.

  That’s the problem, Gregory, I think, as we’re greeted by the receptionist and led straight into a consultation room.

  Doctor Fox is a middle-aged man who reminds me of Santa in his leaner days, and I feel somewhat at ease as he examines me, takes blood, and accepts my urine sample with a smile.

  Twenty minutes later I’m walking out with a scowling Gregory, and I have to say, I feel weirdly elated and disappointed at the same time. You guessed it, I am fetus-free and most definitely not pregnant, though I am now in possession of a prescription for birth control.

  “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” I breathe, grabbing the seatbelt with renewed vigor.

  Gregory just grunts and starts the car, shooting out of the parking lot with enough speed that I’m glad my seatbelt’s on. What the heck crawled up his ass?

  “At least I don’t have to worry about this anymore.”

  “Yeah.”

  He’s being more dick-ish than usual, and to be honest, now that I’m used to him being so accommodating, it’s kind of disconcerting.

  “Sooo…where exactly are we going? Because the office is that way,” I say, pointing behind us.

  “I have a last minute meeting with Yates and I need you to go help Lena.”

  What!

  “Whoa…uh, no! Help her with what? Are you nuts? I just got out of a doctor’s appointment to confirm I’m not pregnant with your illegitimate love child! I am not spending the day with your fiancée!” I rage, getting more anxious by the minute.

  Is he nuts, crazy, totally without feeling?

  “Han, I need you to just help me out, okay? She’s at the dress place, and she wants an opinion or something, and I can’t be there.” He asks softly, throwing me a pleading look.

  “Are you seriously asking me to go help your fiancée choose her wedding dress?” I ask in a small voice, feeling something inside my chest tighten.

  It hurts, as strange as it sounds, to have the guy I’m sleeping with, and right now I’m woman enough to admit I’m enjoying it, ask me to help his fiancée choose the dress he’s marrying her in.

  Can I be any more pathetic?

  “Gregory, please, don’t do this to me.”

  “Hannah.”

  “Please. I…can’t do this.”

  That’s when I realize: I don’t hate Gregory Lucas. I never hated him. I hate the situation we’re in and that he’s forcing me to become a woman I don’t like very much, but what I feel for him is something akin to hope. A hope I can’t afford to have with a man like him.

  “Hannah, just do what I tell you to and stop nagging, all right! I need you to choose the goddamned bridesmaid dresses and tell Lena which dress to go with. It’s not fucking rocket science!”

  I am spared from the screeching answer hovering on my lips when he pulls over and puts the car in neutral, staring straight out the windshield. I look over and spot Selena waiting in front of a very trendy-looking boutique, and I realize I’m trapped.

  If I refuse she’s going to want to know why, and I am so not telling her the truth.

  “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met. There is a very special place in hell for men like you, and I hope you know how appalled I am right now.”

  “I’ll swing by in an hour and a half to get you. Do not leave before I get here,” he says stonily, dismissing me as if what I’ve said means nothing.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” I growl, opening the door and closing it with a satisfying thwap.

  “Hannah! Hi! I’m so glad you made it. Greg said I could count on you. Come on, let’s go choose a wedding dress.”

  Shoot me, somebody just shoot me now, I think silently as she links our arms and tows me inside. I shoot a fulminating glare at the street, only to see that he’s gone without so much as a hello for his fiancée.

  “Good morning, welcome to Blushing Brides. How may I serve you today?”

  I look up to see a greedy-eyed saleswoman coming our way, and I thank God when her approach allows me to step back, breaking the arm link.

  “Hi! We’re here for a dress. Oh, and bridesmaids dresses. Hannah is in charge of the color scheme, so she’s choosing most of it.”

  What?

  “Er, no, I, um, this is your wedding. Wouldn’t it be best if you choose your own color schemes? And…I really don’t think—”

  Jesus, this is so goddamned awkward. I can’t believe he’s done this.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Hannah. Your input is vital!”

  By the time I’ve selected an off-the-shoulder, lavender, cocktail-style dress for the bridesmaids, I’m ready to pull a runner.

  “Now the wedding dress. Oh, Lord, I am so excited. Can you just see Greg’s face when this dress comes walking toward him?” she asks, holding up something my nana wouldn’t wear to her own funeral.

  “Hmmm.”

  Be tactful, Han. Remember that not everyone has taste.

  “No?” she asks, giving the dress a more thorough inspection.

  “It’s a little…” I pause and grimace. “Too traditional?”

  More like ugly, with enough lace to cover a Victorian lady’s bed, and the off-white — oh sorry, champagne — is not the color I’d go for either. It reminds me of something the YaYa Sisterhood would wear.

  “No?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Well, then what? Why is this so hard?” she cries, flopping down on the sofa by the dressing room, her shoul
ders drooping dejectedly. “Greg will be so disappointed if I can’t do this.”

  When she says that scumsucker’s name, something inside me snaps, and I start ripping dresses from the rack to hurl them at her.

  “We have the same build, and I can tell you now, burying yourself beneath a boatload of lace won’t work. My nana made me a dress for my sweet sixteen that will haunt me forever, so I’m telling you, lace is totally out. Here, try the off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline. Yo, lady,” I yell, whistling the saleswoman over.

  “Ma’am?” she asks fearfully, and I almost grin at her trepidation.

  “Get this woman a glass of champagne, will ya? And I want everything without lace in a size six,” I order, pulling Selena to her feet. “Try that one on and let me see.”

  It takes less than an hour for us both to agree on a strapless snow-white sheath that hugs her from breast to knee and flares out subtly to fall in a soft whoosh to her feet.

  “You’ll need to get that fitted across the bust.”

  She looks down at her boobs and then looks at mine.

  “You’re so lucky you have boobs.”

  I snort and consider my just C’s. I wouldn’t call them great, but they’re a sight larger than her A’s —something I feel spitefully great, yet guilty, about.

  “All right then,” I sigh. “Anything else before I skedaddle back to the salt mines?”

  She stops and considers me, her head tilted at an angle.

  “Flowers?”

  Is this chick not a socialite? I thought they were born and bred to do this shit.

  “Roses. Weddings and roses go together like Forest and Jenny. Definitely roses. Maybe white?”

  She nods, and I find myself outside on the sidewalk a few minutes later, waving at her retreating back as I wait for Gregory to roll around.

  This is most definitely one for the history books. Mistress helps bride choose wedding dress.

  Have I lost what little is left of my mind?

  When he stops beside me, I get in and buckle up, studiously ignoring his questioning glances.

  “I’ve arranged a helper to come by this afternoon.”

  I ignore him and purse my lips.

  “For Nana,” he clarifies.