“Stop staring. You’re gonna make her uncomfortable, and you know she already has trouble forming whole words around you, asshole,” Lila mutters, pinching my arm. “No. Oh, no way. No freaking way, Dev. Leave her alone. She’s been through a hard time at work lately, and she almost shat a brick when I called her to pick you up. Just leave her alone.”
“What? Why is she having a hard time?” I ask, rubbing at my arm distractedly as that luscious arse twitches out of view and into the kitchen.
God, the things a man can do with that kind of arse.
“There’s a douchebag at work, can’t remember his name, but he’s been harassing her and now her boss is on her ass about it too.”
“Does Grey know?”
“You kidding me? If any one of these Slade boys knew their little princess was being pawed they’d snap the man’s dick off. She asked me not to tell any of them, and I promised I wouldn’t. Just…don’t make things harder for her than they already are. Her confidence is real low right now.”
“Fine. But—”
“No buts. Have an early dinner with us, and keep things light. Becks isn’t one of those airheads you pop and drop, Dev. She’s got deep feelings, and if you hurt her I’ll rip your nads off.”
I nod once, not meeting her eyes, and follow her to the kitchen, where Mill and Brand Slade are greeting imp with hugs and effusive kisses before pulling me into the fold.
We eat an early dinner, conversation flowing freely around the table as the five of us get caught up and listen to the hundred things that still need doing before the wedding next Saturday.
“You sitting for the bar soon?”
I see imp flinch before turning to Brand and shrugging, a sure sign that she’s uncomfortable with the line of conversation.
“Not yet. I’ve been busy working for the Dark Lord. She’s keeping me on my toes and enjoying every drop of blood she can get.”
The answer does little to satisfy her father, and I see him take a deep breath, his lungs no doubt ready to blast her to kingdom come for the non-answer.
“Mum asked me to get you to ring her some time during the week. She loved those jerseys you sent her last autumn and wanted to talk to you about the stitch or pattern or something,” I interject, looking as serious as I can without laughing at Brand’s frown.
I adore the man as much as my own father but he’s too much sometimes, something Grey and I both agree on, and way too hard on imp. If she goes left he shoves her right and vice versa.
According to Brand Slade, anything that imp gets into her head is the exact opposite of what’s safe or right for her.
“Oh! Uh,yeah, sure. She called me two months ago and we spoke about those quilts she was making, but I—”
She’s saved from the outright lie on her lips when a commotion in the hall heralds the arrival of the prodigal son, and everyone but she and me leaves the table.
“Phew! That was close one. Thanks.”
It’s stuttered and barely audible, but I hear what she’s saying and smile, dipping my head in acknowledgement.
“That’s all right, imp, no harm. The old man still riding your arse about being the next best thing in law?”
“Eternally.”
“And that’s not what you want from life.”
It’s no question but a statement of fact. Imp is not cut out to be a lawyer. While she’s insanely intelligent and focused, the woman enjoys crocheting doilies, bleeding hell.
I can picture her in a courtroom about as well as I see myself wearing pink fishnets beneath a dress. Not at all. Ever.
“Tell him, imp.”
“And then what? He’ll have a fit and start the freeze out like he did with poor Logan. No, I’m just—”
“Putting off the inevitable.”
Chapter Four
Becky
Yeah, I know this shit is inevitable, I think, staring down at my half-eaten chicken and the potato I’d been about to go Terminator on, suddenly not even a little hungry anymore.
I always feel this way when I think about Dad and his unreasonable expectations. Too bad I’m not always capable of staying without an appetite, hence my big butt.
“Look, Devon, give me a goddamned break, okay? My dad’s like a Nazi when it comes to what he expects. You know what happened when Logan went into the Marines instead of taking that football scholarship and going pro-ball. They haven’t spoken in years. The only reason we’re seeing him next week is because Lila threatened to cancel the wedding if he didn’t keep his yap shut.”
Logan is by far my favorite brother. He’s three years my senior, but he’s always been there for me, even in girly situations like that time I got my period and needed him to bring me tampons.
We used to be inseparable, but due to the ‘banishment’ I haven’t spoken to him in about eight months, when he was deployed. Dad’s a great guy, but he has these goals for each of his kids and if we don’t conform he gets stone cold about that shit: what I am currently trying to avoid.
“You’re talking to me,” he says, and I frown, before it hits me.
I haven’t stammered or stuttered or blushed once, not once, because I’m angry and irritated by his nosy interference. Well, ain’t that fabulous? The only way for me to string a decent sentence together is when I’m giving him heat.
Dammit.
“So? I have lips, a tongue, and a freaking mind. Of course I can talk,” I mutter, attacking my potato for something to do while he just sits there and stares at me. “I just don’t do it all that well around you.”
Oh God, why did I have to go and say that? It’s like a red light, a beacon, a siren’s song for guys like Devon. They thrive on knowing that some poor pathetic chick is too dazzled by their beauty to form coherent words, and now I’ve gone and hinted that I’m still a complete dork when it comes to him.
Cripes.
I’d give anything if he’d just let that kernel go unasked and change the subject.
“I know. I also know you haven’t been with anyone. Why?”
I change my mind, I change my mind! Ask about the other thing instead! I yell inside, feeling my face heat so suddenly my hair should be standing straight up.
“This…something…potato?”
Aaand we’re back to the ‘soup for brains’ part of my schoolgirl crush. I’m so mortified I want to let myself turn to Jell-O and melt right off of my seat and into the floorboards, but he just smiles and keeps looking, his expression letting me know he has the patience of Job and expects an answer.
“Um, uh, I…”
If I string the words together really slowly, there’s a chance I might get a decent, albeit lacking, sentence together, something that’s better than my show of genius a second ago.
“No…attraction?”
There, not the most engaging thing I’ve ever said, but as my anger is totally dead, crushed beneath mortification and humiliation, I feel it’s better than stringing together something that will undoubtedly contained the words ‘broccoli’, ‘cabbage’, or ‘Brussels sprout’.
It’s a thing: when I get nervous I start recapping the name of every vegetable I know of. It was an exercise in therapy to correct my lisp, and I’ve had the brain fart ever since.
His eyes seem to sparkle at the statement, and I shake my head, oh brother, and stand to my feet, pointing toward the noisy bunch out in the hall and marching toward them.
“What about that arse at the airport?”
I choose not to answer, because telling the dick that I’m so stunted I can’t even get a wettie for a guy as hot as Dillon is so low on my list of things to do I can’t even…
“Mind your….business,” I snap, pasting a fake smile on my face and scuttling around to stand beside Mama, not wanting to get between Dad and his golden boy.
I love the bastard, but one of these days I’m going to tell him how brown that ring around his nose is.
“There you are, scamp. Come give your favorite brother a kiss!” he yells, brin
ging me in for a hug as if I haven’t seen him in years instead of the three months it’s been since he came to check my apartment and give me another lecture about safety, pepper spray,and kicking balls—ask questions later, after the dick wad’s dropped.
I know, a real teddy bear this one.
“Hey right back. So you ready to make that poor woman a bad deal on Saturday?”
That statement gets a round of chuckles and a mock scowl from brother dearest before he gives me a wedgie—I shit you not—and shoves me into the wall to sweep Lila up in his arms.
“Come here, you sexy minx.”
And then we all have to leave and go back to the dining room when he starts kissing her like he’s getting ready for a whole lot more than just a little lip action.
“Oh, get a room, Greyson,” Mama mutters, rolling her eyes at no one in particular. “No porn in my house, young man. The only sex here is for Brand and me.”
“Oh Jesus, Mama, I just lost the ability to give you grandbabies.”
“And my freaking will to live,” I mutter, swallowing as a twitch of disgust rattles my bones.
“Oh now, you got in my belly only one way, little lambs, and I hate to break it to ya, but it wasn’t a stork who put you there. Tell them, Brand.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Me too.”
“Pardon me kindly.” (Devon)
“Gross, Mama!”
We hear the old coots laughing as we all break for the stairs, and I feel a chuckle escape when I beat Devon to the top in time to miss whatever she hollers up the stairs.
His wince makes me grateful I’d shoved him to get here first, and I’m laughing by the time I get to my room. The last time Mama got a bee in her bonnet I got an A to Z recap of childbirth; I think this is why the thought of having a kid makes me physically ill.
“Bloody cheat,” I hear from down the hall, and turn to see Devon shaking a fist at me with a scowl.
“And don’t you forget it. Losers finish last!”
Chapter Five
Dev
I want her.
How, why, when, the answer doesn’t matter. All I know is that with that one look as she’d sashayed up the stairs, after bloody rugby-tackling me out of her way, she’s caught my interest, and now I just…want.
How I’m even supposed to justify that to myself after Grey’s little talk four years ago is beyond me, but I’ll find a way. I always do when it comes to getting what I want.
I’m a self-made billionaire, one of the hottest bachelors of the year—and still more to come if I have my way. I know how to handle women and give them what they need while taking what I want.
The only problem that needs resolving now is how to get it and keep Grey a friend, because that is one man I really never want as an enemy. He’s a self-made man himself, just like me, and I’m smart enough to know that those men are never to be tangled with.
I know because I’ve had my share of obstacles and gotten over them one way. Sheer grit and a bloody bulldozer of a personality.
I’ve lain awake half the night. Thinking, plotting, trying to figure a way to get imp without seeming as if I’d purposefully set out to get her, and the only thing I can come up with is that she has to seek me out.
Hard to imagine what with the way she scuttles around and away every time I enter a room, but I think I can accomplish it and stay in the clear.
I just have to seduce her into seducing me. Seems simple enough, but with a woman like imp it’s likely that I’ll have my fair share of problems. She’s green, as these Yanks like to say, and likely doesn’t know flirtation from a bleeding set-down, so I’ll need to do this in a way that will be as subtle as it is obvious.
If I can even get anywhere near her without her big bad brothers swooping up and taking her away. That’s a major problem. How to get time alone with her before they see anything.
“You gonna eat that bacon, or just keep glaring at the poor defenseless pig all morning?”
I snap out of my musings and flip Grey the bird, chomping on the bacon as he leans forward and ducks his head. We’re alone in the kitchen since the only people up at five in the morning are the two of us and the housekeeper.
“So, you spent two hours in the car with Becks yesterday. Did she talk to you about work or anything?” he whispers, glancing at the door to ensure we’re still alone. “She’s been really down lately, and no matter how hard I try she won’t talk to me. Lila knows, but she’s not talking, and—”
“Sorry, mate, the imp drove like a bat out of hell the whole way and rebuffed every attempt at conversation. I should have taken the hint because she played the Spice Girls all the way here just to shut me up.”
I’ll get her back for that. Somehow.
“Dammit! I hate not knowing what’s going on with her. She’s so…”
“Vulnerable?”
“Yeah. And I can’t stand knowing she’s unhappy and alone with it. I got Matt to call her last week, and she told him to fuck off and find a friend if he wanted to share his feelings.”
That makes me laugh, harder than it should, because imp has always been one of those rare, kind souls, the girl who gives her last ten bucks to a homeless person because she can’t not do it.
If she’s cursing her brothers out that can only mean they’re smothering her, something I shouldn’t be surprised at since they’d refused to take her training wheels off till she was eight and took a hammer to the things.
She’s sweet and kind and always there for anyone who needs her, but that woman has a pair of bollocks bigger than her brothers’. Any day of the week.
“Maybe you should give her some space, Grey. The woman is twenty-two years old, not five. If she needs help with something she’ll let you know.”
I say it, but I still have every intention of finding the wanker who’s harassing her and shoving my fist down his throat. Grey doesn’t need to know this, so I keep it to myself and concentrate on my coffee while he broods.
“Maybe…maybe you could get her to talk to you? She’s still got that schoolgirl crush, and…I dunno, maybe if you paid her some attention she’d open up a little,” he mutters, meeting my eyes with a pleading look.
“Whoa. Are you asking me to play on her emotions to ferret out information about her life?”
I already know what he wants to know, but I want to see how far he’s willing to go with this. Plus, I want him to suffer a little for that lecture four years ago. That shite had offended me, even if he’d been spot on about the way I’d looked at imp.
“No. Yes. Look, she already likes you. All I’m saying is spend some time with her and see what happens,” he pleads, giving me a mock pout. “For me?”
Bingo.
“Fine, but I’m not leading her on to get anything out of her. The last thing I want is for imp to get hurt just so you can have what you want,” I warn, hiding a smile beneath my usual scowl.
“Deal. So you ready to spend the next week ‘enjoying’ the wedding games?”
“Jesus. Who decided to take an entire week and turn it into a torture session before you say your vows?” I ask, letting him know exactly how thrilled I am at being subjected to this shit.
I’ve seen the itinerary for the festivities, and I highly doubt I’m going to enjoy treasure hunts and team sports.
“Diane, Lila’s mom. She’s been planning this shindig since my girl got planted in her belly, so it’s not an option. Lila wanted to run off to Vegas but the woman almost had a stroke, so now we’ve just resigned ourselves and let the harridan have at it.”
We talk about the wedding and the convoy it will take to get everyone to the hotel Grey has booked for the two hundred plus guests for the week, and then move on to general things until we hear movement upstairs and the grumble of voices.
Imp is the first one through the door, her arse jiggling seductively behind a pair of Sponge Bob cotton sleep pants. I try not to look too closely at her breasts, because she’s not wearing a bra and
I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of her big brother and father and get myself beaten to death.
“Hey, scamp, you still a bear in the morning?”
“Shut up, asshole. Let me drink my coffee. I can’t believe you ate breakfast without us, you animals.”
She proceeds to decimate a full breakfast and a chocolate muffin, not even half ashamed that she’s eaten the same amount as a fully grown man.
I like that. A lot.
When she licks a crumb from the cupid’s bow above her lip, her tongue slicking the pink crease, I smile and start putting my plans in place. Two days I give her, and then, ready or not, I’m taking what I want.
Chapter Six
Becky
I don’t know what the heck is going on right now, but something is, and it’s making me feel more than a little uncomfortable. Well, okay, not uncomfortable but very much confused…and suspicious.
Devon’s been glued to my side since I caught him checking out old Sponge Bob and the goofy smile across my ass yesterday morning, not to mention the way he’d almost choked when he’d seen my boobs.
And now he’s elected to be my partner for the games, something I was so totally hoping to avoid, since I’m the clumsiest nut this side of the Mississippi.
“Remember, the aim of the game is to hit the shoe as to—”
“Will you quit it! I’m not dumb, just not coordinated,” I yell, shoving him away.
Half of my problem is that he’s plastered to my back and wreaking havoc on my concentration, and, yeah, the other half is that I’m pretty darned useless at anything that even remotely requires hand-eye coordination.
So sue me.
And why the heck is he getting so competitive about this stuff all of a sudden? Yesterday it was like pulling teeth to get the guy even halfway enthusiastic about it.
“Why do you want to win this so badly?” I ask suspiciously, glad I’m still retaining enough annoyance to speak to him.
I know that once it’s gone I’ll be back to carrots and freaking yams. Story of my freaking life.
Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1) Page 72