Levi blinked again.
I kept talking.
“Anyway, what I mean to say is, it was very nice but not too nice. She wanted to make a good impression, not to be in your face about how pretty she is or what a great body she has. And she’s pretty, don’t you think?”
His eyes slid to his brother and I kept going.
“Well, of course you do.”
His eyes slid back to me.
“You were with her,” I went on. “My point is she wanted to make a good impression on your family. She thought Thanksgiving was a move forward in your relationship and it was important to her. But I think it wasn’t only that. It was about being part of you, reflecting on you. She wanted your family to like her but she wanted to represent you in a good light to them too. No flashy clothes. No cleavage. Not overboard. Decent and respectable. She cares about you and what your choice of her says about you.”
Levi stared at me again.
Then he asked, “You got all that from an outfit?”
“Well…” I hesitated. “Yeah.”
Brock’s body started rocking again and I looked at him to see he was now staring at his bare feet but he was doing it smiling.
“That doesn’t say she’s in love with me, Tess,” Levi noted and my eyes went back to him.
“No,” I agreed. “It says you mean something to her. I knew she was in love with you when you tested me, your whole family got pissed at you, and she closed in on you.”
Levi’s body went visibly still.
Quietly, I continued. “It was automatic. You were pissed, facing off against the force of the Lucas Brigade, and she didn’t move away and leave you hanging and she wasn’t afraid of or turned off by your anger. And she also didn’t hesitate. She moved right in and had your back.”
“Christ,” Levi whispered, his eyes glued to me.
“She’s sweet. She’s thoughtful. She’s polite. She has great style. And she’s head over heels in love with you,” I said softly. “So, if you can’t feel that for her, it’s not my place to tell you this and I don’t mean to offend you, but I’m speaking on behalf of the sisterhood here. You need to let her go so she can find someone who feels about her the way she feels about you.”
I held his eyes before he closed his and turned his head away.
Crap.
Well, I was out there so I might as well finish it.
“Levi,” I called, waited a moment, then his eyes came back to me. “Again, speaking for the sisterhood, if you gave all that devotion and loyalty to a woman and she was a good woman, I swear, honey, you will live every day for the rest of your life until your dying breath never regretting it.”
Brock’s arm got super tight, curling me partially into his front while Levi held my gaze.
When he didn’t speak, I whispered, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place.”
“No,” Levi finally spoke. “You’re wrong. Any member of this family has a right to say what they gotta say.”
My lips parted, my belly warmed, and I melted into Brock.
“Brother,” Brock murmured and Levi looked to him.
He pulled in a breath through his nose.
Then he remarked, “It’s good you didn’t piss off your little minx, would suck, Christmas getting cancelled.”
I grinned.
“She wouldn’t do it. Longest Tess has been able to remain pissed at me is five minutes and that was when I came back after she thought I played her when I worked her for the DEA,” Brock shared.
“Bodes well for you, Slim,” Levi returned.
“Fuck yeah,” Brock muttered.
Oh for goodness sakes.
I cut in, asking Levi, “Are you staying for breakfast with the boys or what?”
He looked at me. “What are you making?”
“French toast with caramelized cinnamon apples.”
Levi did another slow blink.
“Brock loves it,” I informed him when he made no response and continued to stare at me with unconcealed disbelief.
“Uh… yeah. He would,” Levi stated, and he looked to Brock. “She cook like this all the time?”
“Man, she owns a bakery,” Brock answered.
Levi looked at me. “I’m stayin’.”
“Good,” I muttered and pulled away from Brock, ordering, “Honey, go wake the boys. I’ll start breakfast. The Christmas trees aren’t going to march in our houses by themselves and we need to get there early. There’s always a rush the weekend after Thanksgiving and we need two good trees.”
“She always bossy?” Levi asked as I turned to the coffeepot.
“No, she’s usually always sweet but Christmas does shit to people,” Brock’s departing voice replied.
I yanked out the coffeepot, turned to Levi, and rolled my eyes.
He took that in and, sounding just like his brother and nearly as beautiful as when Brock did it, he burst out laughing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
You’re with Me
Nearly two weeks later…
I PARKED BEHIND Brock’s brand-new huge dark-blue GMC, turned off the ignition, exited my car, and headed to the trunk, shivering the minute my body left my warm vehicle and hit the arctic air.
It was Denver. Tomorrow, it could be sixty degrees even in December. But that night it was freezing and the air felt like snow, not to mention the forecast said we were going to get a dump.
Good for the mountains and ski resorts. Bad for Tessa O’Hara.
I loved snow, playing in it, looking at it, making hot cocoa, and reading a book while it was falling outside.
Driving through it… not so much.
I opened the trunk and grabbed the handles of the plethora of parcels in the back, carefully arranging the bags in my grip, bags made awkward due to the copious rolls of Christmas wrap poking out.
I had a weakness for Christmas wrap. In fact, I had a weakness for any kind of wrap including bows and ribbons. I gave into this weakness often so I had an entire closet at my house dedicated to wrapping paper and all its accoutrement.
No joke.
Juggling bags while avoiding poking myself with rolls of paper, I slammed the trunk using my elbow and headed to Brock’s patio.
When my eyes went there, my brows drew together.
There was a Harley outside the gate. It wasn’t Brock’s. It was a Dyna Glide. And anyway, when not in use, Brock kept his Fat Boy on the patio under a sturdy, custom-made cover.
Hmm. It appeared Brock had company.
Still juggling bags, I maneuvered myself through the high, wood patio gate then through the storm door and front door.
Before I could call a word of greeting, I heard Brock say low, “Tess.”
I knew instantly he wasn’t greeting me. It was a warning to halt conversation.
Oh man.
“Hey!” I called, shut the door, and walked into the living room, eyes to the right.
Then I saw them. A Hispanic man and a Native American man on the stools in front of Brock’s bar, Brock standing behind the bar.
My first thought, seeing as I was female and these thoughts usually took precedence above all others, was that these guys were hot. Not hot, per se, if you were talking the average sense of the word. Hot in the Brock sense of the word, which was to say mouth-watering, off-the-scales hot.
My second thought was they not only shared hotness quotients with Brock, but both of them in different ways also had the wild man, dangerous man aura.
For some reason, Brock was communing with his brethren and the serious vibe pulsing in the room said it wasn’t over beers, war stories, and nostalgically reminiscing about the bitches they’d tagged.
This was something else.
“Hey, babe,” Brock rumbled. “This is Hector Chavez and Vance Crowe, friends of mine.”
“Hey guys,” I greeted.
To this I got a “Yo,” from Vance Crowe, the Native American man but the Hispanic man just gave me a chin lift.
Definitely Brock Bre
thren.
I hefted the bags up over the back of the couch and dumped them on the seat then turned to Brock, pulling off my knit cap, and immediately running my fingers through my hair in an effort to fix or hide any possible hat head. “You need me to find something to do in the bedroom?”
“No.” He shook his head and said softly, “Come up here, darlin’.”
Damn.
Just as I thought, that something else had to do with me and/or it was not good news.
My eyes did a sweep through the male talent in my man’s kitchen and I found myself having the curious reaction that not a lot of females would have. That was that I would rather go out, get in my car, and track down Martha and Elvira to drink cosmos than take off my coat and join the three best looking men I’d seen in my life in my man’s kitchen.
Regardless of that, I nodded, unbuttoned my coat, and took it to the hall closet that separated the downstairs to the boys’ rooms with the upstairs to the kitchen. I hung it up and headed into the kitchen.
The moment I got near, as usual, Brock claimed me with an arm around my waist, pulling my front to his side, and I noted all the boys had bottles of Bud.
“You want a beer?” Brock asked and I looked from the counter to him.
“I was thinking hot cocoa.”
He grinned but he didn’t commit to it. I knew this because it didn’t reach his eyes and it didn’t hit the room.
Damn again.
“What’s up?” I asked quietly.
“Some shit went down today, babe,” he answered.
Crap.
“What shit?” I asked.
He looked to his brethren then back down at me. “Olivia got the letter from my lawyer.”
I found this confusing or, more to the point, this reaction confusing.
Brock had contacted an attorney and, using his change of career circumstances as an excuse, he was approaching Olivia to see if they could agree a joint custody schedule. The boys with Brock one week, back with Olivia and Dade the next.
In my mind, there were two possible reactions to this from Olivia. Relief that she could continue with her spa visits and shopping and whatever else she did during her days unhindered by the responsibility of her boys being around most of the time. Or anger just because she was a bitch.
Brock, being Brock, had to have prepared for either eventuality.
“And?” I prompted.
“And she phoned me.”
“Okay,” I said when he said no more.
“And when she phoned me, she asked if we could meet, have dinner. She told me she’s close to leavin’ Dade and she’s scared. She hasn’t worked in over two years, she signed an iron-tight prenup, has no money of her own, isn’t in a position to set up again and take care of the boys, and certainly not in the position to hire an attorney to deal with me. She reiterated she wants to discuss our situation, the boys’ situation, our family situation, and the possibility of reconciliation.”
I felt my mouth get tight. Then I felt Brock’s arm give me a squeeze.
“I said no, babe,” he told me. “I told her that wasn’t a possibility. I’ve moved on, that move from her is permanent and at this juncture in our lives, we need to talk through our attorneys.”
My mouth relaxed.
“Then I got a call from Rex,” he went on and I blinked. He kept talking. “Rex was freaked, said his mom picked them up from school and she was a mess. Cryin’, carryin’ on, told them what I was doin’. Told them she was leavin’ Dade. Told them she was scared. Told them me bein’ with you meant we’d never have a family again. And told them she didn’t know what she was gonna do. He called when they got home and told me, even after they got home she was still cryin’ and carryin’ on, and she was. I could hear her in the background.”
My mouth again got tight.
Through stiff lips, I whispered, “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Damn.” I was still whispering. Then I asked, “What’d you do?”
“What could I do?” he asked back. I read it as the warning sign it was when his arm got tight, his body turned slightly into mine, his eyes locked with mine, and I braced. “I hauled my ass over there and calmed her down by promising to have dinner with her.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I pressed my lips together and looked at the counter.
“Baby.” Another arm squeeze and I looked back up at him. “This is a minefield. I gotta go slow and cautious. That’s why Hector’s here.”
I stared up at him in confusion then looked to Hector, still in confusion. My gaze went back to Brock when he started speaking again.
“Hector worked with me at the DEA. He now works for Lee Nightingale. Lee’s got an operation, bounty hunting, some security, private investigation. I got enough on my plate and Hector owes me a favor. I’m callin’ it.”
“You’re calling it?”
“Yeah. I’m havin’ dinner with Olivia and we’ll talk. But this shit, it’s the last straw. Draggin’ the boys into this, cryin’ and carryin’ on, freaking out Rex, plantin’ shit in their heads about you. And when I got there Joey was freaked too. Said she was drivin’ crazy, flipped them both out, and it didn’t get better when she continued her drama back at the house.”
Mouth tight, he shook his head and continued speaking.
“I am not down with that shit. I’m so not down with it, I’m done with it. I’m not goin’ for joint custody. I’m going for full. And to go for full, I gotta have shit to back that play. Hector’ll find it. Somethin’ on Dade, somethin’ on Olivia.” He pulled in a breath and said, “Sorry, sweetness, but in the meantime, I gotta play her game. I want my move to be a surprise, I want her scrambling, and, bottom line, I want my kids. I’m willin’ to do just about anything to see that happen and I’m gonna need to ask you to ride that out with me.”
Immediately, I nodded.
He took in my nod and smiled. This one reached his eyes.
That smile died and he said softly, “Somethin’ else happened today.”
Fuck!
“What?”
He hesitated, studying me.
“Brock, honey,” I pressed into him, “what?”
“You remember I told you that I knew in my gut Heller was poising to strike?”
Oh no.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“He’s poising to strike.”
“Oh God,” I breathed.
“Good news is, with my old job, got contacts, informants, friends, folks who owe me. Had a call from one who says Heller’s been askin’ a lot about me. Diggin’ deep. So I made a few more calls and found out he’s in my business, financials, credit history, work history.”
My brows drew together. “Why would he do that?” Then I asked, “How could he do that? Isn’t that stuff confidential?”
“You want it bad enough and you got the money then you got the means to do just about anything, find someone who can or buy someone who’ll talk.”
This made sense.
“Okay then, why would he do that?”
“That, I don’t know. That’s why Vance is here.” I looked to Vance and back at Brock when he kept going. “He works for Lee too and he doesn’t owe me. I’ll owe him but he’s gonna nose around and see what he can learn so I can prepare for whatever Heller’s planning.”
This should have pissed me off.
It didn’t.
It scared me.
And it scared me because that night Brock threatened Damian, Damian decided to take Brock down a peg. He might be facing serious jail time but that wouldn’t matter to him. Brock had not only threatened him; he’d shut the door in his face then he stood in my living room at my window and waited until Damian did what he was told, something Damian wouldn’t take kindly in a serious way. And last, but not least, he stood between Damian and what Damian wanted.
I knew from experience that Damian could play dirty, mean, and as nasty as nasty could be to get what he wanted. He might be
looking into Brock but if he didn’t find anything, which he wouldn’t, then he’d still find a way to fuck with Brock’s life. And fucking with Brock was fucking with me, fucking with Rex and Joel at a time when that situation was tenuous at best, and fucking with Brock’s family, who I’d come to care about and were in the throes of their own turmoil.
But, bottom line, first and foremost, he’d be fucking with Brock.
And I couldn’t allow that.
So I made a decision.
“I need to make a statement to him,” I announced.
“Come again?” Brock asked, and automatically my hand fisted in his flannel but I didn’t notice it.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered, “I’ll go into the station with you and I’ll press charges against Damian. Assault, battery, and rape.”
The room filled with crackling electricity that snapped vicious against my skin.
And this wasn’t coming from Brock.
It was then I remembered we had an audience and I looked to the men at his bar.
At what I read on their faces, I tensed.
Uh-oh.
“Sweet Tess,” Brock murmured, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the men at the bar and Brock kept talking, “I didn’t share. They didn’t know.”
I closed my eyes tight, turned my head to face his chest, and clenched his shirt harder.
Damn, now I was blurting that shit out willy-nilly.
I felt Brock’s big, warm hand over mine at his shirt, pushing in hard so I had no choice but to unclench and he pressed my hand flat to his chest as he whispered, “Hey.”
I pressed my lips together and continued to scrunch my eyes closed.
He gave me an arm squeeze.
“Baby, hey.”
I opened my eyes and tilted them up to him.
He looked into my eyes and a shadow passed through his.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
“I am,” I whispered.
“No, sweetness, look at me. What do you see?”
I felt my throat clog.
“Don’t go there. Stay here with me,” he urged softly. I swallowed and he pulled me closer, dipping his face lower. “I took that away, baby. You gave it to me. Don’t go there. Don’t take that weight back. Look at me, see me. Feel this,” he demanded gently, his arm tightening further, pulling me even closer, his hand pressing mine into the warm, hard wall of his chest. “Where are you?”
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