Mr. Dangerous (The Dangerous Delaney Brothers Book 1)

by July Dawson

  "That was subtle," Naomi said.

  "It's a burden of mine." I started to fold the pink note before I realized Naomi was watching. How could Naomi not look in the mirror and see the same beautiful, distinctive features that made me feel slightly crazy? I crumpled the note and shrugged, dropping it alongside our straw wrappers. "I'm not really into blonds."

  Her lips quirked up slightly. She pulled a face as if she wasn't willing to let me see that I had made her happy. But still. I felt a surge of lightness.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do with myself here in Newport," I said. "Seeing family seemed like a good use of my time out of commission, but my brothers can't just drop everything. Neither will my cousins."

  "Well, there's your father and your grandmother, at least."

  "Yeah," I said, not that I was eager to see anyone but my brothers. Some of the stereotypes about rich families being crazy are true. "Mitch, anyway. My grandmother's settled in Long Island."

  "I'm not sure how settled." Naomi’s expression changed, and then she said slowly, "You know she's coming out here for a visit, right?"

  "Say again?"

  "I had an email from your father to prepare the junior suite for her."

  "Oh, fantastic," I said. "We can catch up."

  Naomi looked at me quizzically, but I wasn't about to chat with her about the troubled dynamic in my family. There had been enough about that in the news, once upon a time. I pushed the French fries toward her.

  She took a golden wedge and popped it into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes in delight as she chewed. "That's so good. I guess I was starving too."

  "They make the best fries here."

  "I bet they double-fry them. Frying them, freezing and then frying again makes for the crispiest fries."

  "That sounds labor-intensive."

  "It's worth it if you really love the potato."

  Once the conversational topic of French fries was exhausted, I cast around for something to say. The silence between us felt awkward. It was so different from the comfortable silence when we used to ride the swim team bus together to meets and back. After swimming, she fell asleep against my shoulder every time. Her hair would smell like chlorine and soak a wet spot onto my t-shirt. I would sit perfectly still so I wouldn't wake her, my long legs growing stiff because I couldn’t shift without her stirring.

  "Do you still swim?" I asked.

  She swiped another French fry. "No. No time. I guess it's part of the job for you?"

  I nodded. "I was hoping to spend some time in the surf out here. Get a waterproof cover for the cast."

  "When I broke my leg, I had to wrap it in a plastic bag and balance in the tub with my leg outside the shower curtain. It must be nice."

  "If you're worried about me showering," I said, "You're welcome to come help."

  She leaned back in her chair, those hazel eyes light and mocking. "Even you can't afford that kind of help. Not when it comes to me."

  "Mm." When she smirked at me like that, I wanted to kiss that look off her face. God, even when she was being obnoxious, she was gorgeous.

  I wasn't going to let that comment pass without retaliation. I glanced across the bright tablecloth for the crumpled sticky note and swept it into my pocket, keenly aware of her watching.

  But I knew I would never call Amy. There was only one girl in Newport I wanted.

  3

  Naomi

  Later that day, I found myself standing next to a dumpster, with three things: 1) an extremely pregnant feral cat to rescue from behind an upscale grocery store, 2) a complete lack of interest in discussing Robert Delaney, and 3) a seriously unhelpful sister/best friend/cat rescue partner.

  “Why’s he back? Vacation?” Alice asked me.

  I zipped open the duffel bag of cat-rescue supplies, shuffling through for a can of sardines. “He has a broken wrist.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Of course, I wanted to know, but I was keeping A Professional Distance. I couldn’t ask him personal questions.

  “Something heroic, I’m sure.” Alice’s tone was warm and teasing. “What with him being a SEAL and all. And a hometown hero.”

  I crinkled my nose in disgust as I peeled back the metal top on the sardine tin. The crinkling was for the hometown hero bit, not the fishy smell.

  In the car, I’d told Alice about our trip to get clam cakes. I had thought that I would make a funny story of the way Rob had stared blankly at Amy while she tossed Post-It notes at him. But then I’d heard this awful, sharp barb of jealousy in my own voice, and I’d stopped.

  Alice, though, had teased out my day with Rob, with one unrelenting question after another. She’d pointed out when I was blushing and caught me if I tried to leave out a detail. Alice was going to be one hell of a lawyer one day.

  Alice smiled, her dark curls swaying into her face and away as she knelt above the cat trap. "Does he still look like a younger, dark-haired Matthew McConoaughay?"

  "I don't know about that."

  "Ohh. I think you know." Alice gave the trap a pat and stood, tucking her leather work gloves under her arm.

  We sat on the cracking curb between the dumpsters and the building to wait. I stretched my denim-clad legs and gray sneakers out, feeling comfortably sore from the day's work. We didn't want to stress a feral mama cat, but she'd obviously been injured. We wanted to make sure she and the kittens were okay.

  Another vet bill.

  “I have so much work to do to pull this fundraiser off,” I said. “How many more sick kitties do you think we’ll have this season?”

  Alice shook her head. She always liked to look on the bright side of animal rescue.

  “Well, we don’t have enough budget. At all.” I said. As if on cue, if began to rain, a light mist beading on my arms. The droplets raised goosebumps, despite the warmth of the night, and I hugged myself. The sky above was cloud-crowded and gray. Night was falling fast.

  Alice pulled a hot pink umbrella out of her purse. Of course. Alice was always prepared. She scooted over next to me until our hips touched. I smelled the plastic-y scent of her umbrella covering us both, the low, musky notes of her perfume that were all that was left after a long day in the office.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to do it all,” I said. “The business, cleaning the Delaney house, chauffeuring him, taking care of the kittens, the fundraiser. I’m a mess right now.”

  Alice tweaked my nose. “An adorable mess. Do you think Rob thinks so?”

  I blinked at her hand in my face – she needed to redo her purple gel manicure – and let it pass. I’d shared a room with Alice for eighteen years. I’d learned to let a lot pass. “No. I wouldn’t want him to. I’m not looking for a relationship. Definitely not with some spoiled rich boy—”

  "Oh god, no," Alice said. "Rich? Gorgeous? Navy SEAL? He's the worst. Who could date that?"

  "Alice!” I didn’t need to hear a list of Rob’s positives. I already had to deal with my heart pitter-pattering out of control every time he flashed that sexy grin. Or, just as deadly, when he looked serious, with those deep blue eyes and set jaw.

  Basically, I lost my mind whenever Robert Delaney made eye contact with me.

  Alice gave me a teasing look in response. Alice was two years younger than me. Our birthdays were the same week. Dad sometimes made a joke about that time of the year that I tried to block out. Despite looking alike, with our thick dark hair, olive skin and hazel-brown eyes, we couldn’t have been more different. Alice had a lightness, a bubbly sensibility that drew people to her. I assumed it was the gift of being the youngest child.

  Though Alice claimed that the only gift of being the youngest child was the gift of eating the dog’s Kibble as a toddler because your parents are too tired to care, and anyway, it’s vitamin enriched.

  I no longer shared my thoughts on birth order with my sister.

  "What really happened between you two in high school, anyway?"

&nb
sp; "Absolutely nothing really happened," I said, careful to keep my tone neutral. "We were on the swim team together. We hung out at meets and practices when he wasn't busy charming someone else."

  "That's always been your official story..."

  "It's the true story."

  "All that one-on-one time with Rob..." Alice trailed off suggestively.

  "And forty-odd teammates, yes."

  "And he never once even tried to kiss you? I heard he kissed a lot of girls."

  "Yep." I said. "That's why I wasn't interested. Still aren't."

  "You can't be serious." Alice rummaged through her purse and pulled out a Snickers bar. Then a second. “Dinner?”

  “Thanks. You’re always prepared. You’d probably even be able to handle a guy like Rob who just throws me off-balance.”

  Clearly, I needed a rush of sugar because I hadn’t meant to let that slip to my sister. That was brutally honest. I took a deep, cleansing breath, except that the air back here smelled like a mix of the ocean, decaying greens, and wet cardboard.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Alice shook her head. “You should stop trying so hard. Just let Rob happen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You two have always liked each other. Relax, have some fun, he’s only here for a month.”

  “I can’t have fun with Robert Delaney.”

  Her lips quirked up. “I think you could have a lot of fun with Robert Delaney.”

  I would have protested, but Alice changed the subject abruptly. "Is Rob going to donate to the fundraiser?"

  "I doubt it. He doesn't know anything about it."

  "You told him all about how you're a crazy cat lady–I wouldn't have led with that, by the way–-and didn't bother to tell the millionaire that a lousy thousand dollars would make a huge difference to you right now?"

  "A lousy thousand dollars," I repeated. "Anyway, it would make a difference to the kittens." Not me.

  "Right. Which is why should ask him. Everyone likes kittens."

  "I don't want to be that kind of person. The kind of person who uses an in with someone who's well-off. It might be the-scrubbing-their-floors kind of in, but still."

  "You mean you don't want to ask rich people for donations?" Alice asked. "I think you might have a short run as a charity organizer. That's kind of the job."

  "I'm making extra chauffeuring Rob," I said. "It should be a huge help with the fundraiser costs. He wants me to do this overnight trip with him to Boston."

  "Uh huh," Alice said knowingly.

  "He can't drive, Alice. He's going to visit his dad."

  "Sure, he can't drive. Whatever. I think that Navy SEAL wants you to himself."

  "Sure, me and his dad. That sounds like a romantic trip. Anyway, as long as I make what I expect the next two weeks, I won't need Rob's charity." I began to tick fundraiser costs off on my fingers, sinking back into the mental math I’d been working out all day.

  Alice shook her head. "I think that no matter what, you need to face your fears."

  "Of asking for money?"

  "No," Alice said. "Of Robert Delaney."

  4

  Rob

  The next morning, I woke up in the same bedroom where I’d slept as a teenager, with the exact same damn problem I’d had all the time as a teenager: I dreamed of Naomi, and I woke up hard.

  I checked the clock to make sure she wouldn’t possibly walk in on me, pushing a vacuum cleaner, and then fell back down in the white sheets, trying to remember all the wispy, beautiful details. My palms caressing Naomi’s breasts, the warmth of her skin against my rough touch, the pertness of her nipples between my fingers…

  Naomi and I had never done anything more than kiss when we were teenagers. Barely that. I knew quite a bit more about how to please a woman now than I had then. I wanted to show her.

  For now, I had to settle for relieving my stress one way and then another, heading out for a long run that followed the twists and turns of the shoreline. Whenever the road split, I chose the fork that led back towards the ocean. I ran under the new green vibrancy of summer trees; the air here smelled fresher, cleaner than anywhere else in the world. And I’d seen a lot of the world.

  But I’d been reluctant to come back to Rhode Island. After we moved away, my father Mitch moved permanently into Boston. The big gabled house on the waterfront had been abandoned. It was supposed to have a second life as the family vacation home, but my brothers didn’t seem to feel any more nostalgic than I did. Mitch never left Boston.

  Mitch. Mitch would expect a visit.

  If I went to Boston, the only person I really wanted to see was Joe, Mitch’s old bodyguard and the hero of my childhood. But at least Boston was an excuse to steal a night away with Naomi.

  My feet slapped the pavement in quick rhythm as I turned back down the long country road that led to the family home. The sprawling house that I glimpsed between the trees stood between the country and a rocky white beach; the long green lawns around it were brightened by half-wild pink roses. There was an enormous tiered deck for entertaining, complete with a hot tub and pool, and a sand volleyball court and smooth tennis court where I’d misspent much of my youth. Suddenly I missed rolling a tennis ball between my fingers, bouncing it against the springy, rough court, the jolt of the racket meeting ball. I hadn’t played in years.

  Too bad I couldn’t serve with a broken wrist. Too bad I had no one to play with.

  I stopped at the circle in front of the house. As I stood gripping the sneaker of one foot in one hand, feeling a warm stretch through my hamstrings, I saw an old blue Jeep park in front of one of the empty garage stalls.

  Naomi swung down out of the car–god, she was tiny–with her long hair swinging around her shoulders. The early morning sun caught her subtle auburn highlights. She waved at me as she crossed the driveway, calling out a cheerful hello.

  I decided not to point out that she was so petite that getting out of the car was an event. “Hey. I’m glad you’re here. I’m starving.”

  She quirked her eyebrow at me as we met on the porch. “I’ll bet you could pour cereal with one hand.”

  I unlocked the front door of the house and swung it open for her, keying in the code to the alarm panel. She passed by me, close enough for me to catch the citrus-and-sugar scent of her freshly showered body. Her sneakers squeaked on the inlaid wooden floor as she crossed the entryway.

  She glanced at the twin wrought-iron-and-wood staircases that twisted up towards the second floor. “Which room are you in?”

  “Mine,” I said. The question made me wonder if she wanted to join me one night; I wouldn’t mind her slipping beneath my covers. I would love to see her smirk part into one of those rare, true smiles, right before I kissed her. “Same one I had as a kid.”

  Her lips turned up slightly. “I wondered which one would need new sheets.”

  “I don’t need new sheets every day,” I said. “But you are welcome to make me breakfast.”

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  In the kitchen, she chopped mushrooms, spinach and ham for an omelet. I found a glass container of fresh cherries in the fridge and set them on the island before sliding onto a stool to watch her.

  "I hadn't realized I'd be bored here." I offered her a cherry. She shook her head, her braid swinging over her shoulder. "I convinced one of my brothers to fly in for a weekend, at least. You remember any of them?"

  "Are you asking me if you're the only one who made an impression?" she asked, brushing chopped spinach off the blade of her knife.

  Naomi made my heart beat too fast, and apparently, I just made Naomi feel snarky. But I had a funny feeling that she wouldn’t be so prickly if she didn’t want me too.

  "I remember them a little bit. Josh was right behind us in school. Liam. And then the little one?" Naomi expertly cracked the eggs.

  I pulled the trash can out beneath the island, and one by one she tossed the shells into the trash. "Nicky. He's the biggest of us all now."

&
nbsp; "Your brothers are even bigger than you?" She glanced up at me, her hazel eyes alight under those long dark lashes. For a long second, our eyes met, and then she dropped her gaze back to the glass bowl.

  "Yeah.” And didn’t they just love that? “We Delaneys have to be big. We can't all be as fearsome as you, all that roar in a tiny package."

  Naomi smiled at that, stepped to the stove and poured olive oil in a cast iron skillet, clicking on the gas burner. "Fearsome. Sure. How are you bored after one night, anyway?"

  "Short attention span, I guess."

  “I guess I knew that.”

  Well. That sounded barbed.

  I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the cool granite. “What exactly does that mean, Naomi Anne?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  God, I wanted to pull her over my lap right here and smack that perfect ass of hers until she told me the truth.

  Instead, I said, "You know, I was thinking about going to see Joe. You remember Joe?"

  "Yes, I remember Joe. Speaking of. How's your Dad?"

  "Fine," I said. Maybe it didn't come across as smoothly as I meant it too, because she turned, her dark eyebrows arching up curiously. Before she could ask me a question I wouldn’t answer, I told her, "You have very expressive eyebrows."

  "I don't know what to say to that," she said. "Thanks? Your eyebrows also have a lot of feelings?"

  I popped another cherry into my mouth. "Thanks for making me breakfast."

  "No problem. It's in the job description." She flipped the omelet expertly. "I remember as a kid, pouring myself a bowl of Cheerios before school, knowing my mom was already at your house making you all eggs and pancakes."

  "And bacon," I said. "Always bacon. Is that why you hate me? Because you had to eat Cheerios?"

  "I don't hate you."

  "It really seems like you hate me."

  She returned to the island for the spinach and cheese. "I promise, if I hated you, you'd know it."

  She looked up. Her hazel eyes were intent, and with the morning sunshine filtering into the kitchen they looked unearthly, amber and gold. For long seconds, the tension between us seemed to shimmer. Part of me was tempted to lean over and kiss her.