by Lori Foster
Ignoring Lorna, Dean smiled crookedly. “Now, Jacki, you really are too young to have any idea of my thoughts, perverted or otherwise.”
“The desserts are here,” Cam announced. Perfect timing, too, she thought. While Lorna looked ready to storm out, Dean and Jacki seemed to be bonding more outrageously by the moment. They shared a similar wit and irreverence that Cam envied.
On the one hand, Cam didn’t want to deliberately irritate her aunt. Lorna hadn’t been perfect, God knew, but she had altered her life to raise two girls that weren’t her own. She’d made sacrifices, and Cam honestly believed that she’d done the best she knew how to do.
She couldn’t help it that she wasn’t maternal.
On the other hand, it was nice to see Jacki relating so easily to Dean. Once, not that long ago, she and Jacki had been very close. But lately Jacki had changed so much, growing dreary and sarcastic. Her cheerful, smiling baby sister was long gone, and Cam didn’t know what to do to help her find her way back.
“So,” Jacki said. “How long have you had a tattoo?”
Accepting the change of subject, Dean shrugged. “I think I was around fourteen when I got it.”
“Fourteen?” Cam couldn’t believe that. “They let children do that?”
“They do in Thailand.”
Her mouth fell open, and when Dean noticed, he paused from eating his dessert. “I told you that Grover and I worked all over the world.”
“But…how?” She knew so little about him. “Thailand of all places. It’s so exotic.”
“Not when you’re in construction, it’s not. Grover’s boss took government jobs. Grover was foreman.”
Lorna sipped her coffee. “And he dragged you around with him? Lovely. But, then, I would have expected no less from him.”
“Don’t.”
That single word, issued in a near whisper, cut through the air with razor sharpness. Dean stared at Lorna, furious and not about to hide it.
Back snapping straight, Lorna set down her cup with a clatter. “I beg your pardon?”
“Make slurs at me if you want, Lorna. Act snooty. Show your disdain. I don’t give a shit and I figure you can’t help yourself. You’re just being you.” His voice lowered even more. “But Grover is off-limits. If you speak of him, it’ll be with respect.”
At either side of her saucer, Lorna’s hands curled into fists. “How dare you dictate to me! He was my brother, and I’ll speak of him any way—”
Startling everyone, Dean launched out of his chair. His palms smacked flat on the tabletop, and he loomed over Lorna with burning aggression. “You disowned him just as you did me, and if you’re smart, you’ll let it go.”
Doing her best to hide her intimidation, Lorna asked, “Or you’ll do what?”
Dean’s smile made many promises, all of them ugly. “I’ll tell them things you don’t want them to know. Sooner rather than later.”
Them? Cam wondered. Them who?
“Meaning you intend to tell them anyway?”
“They have a right to know.”
Cam said, “Who are you talking about?”
When Lorna clamped her lips together and flicked a guilty peek at her and Jacki, Cam knew exactly whom he meant.
What could Dean possibly have to say to her that would stifle Aunt Lorna?
Uncharacteristically tactful, Jacki spoke into the silence. “So you got a tattoo in Thailand? Cool. It looked like vines to me.”
The seconds ticked by with the precision of a time bomb. Cam held her breath, her gaze bouncing from her brother to her aunt and back again.
With icy control, Dean pulled away and finally seated himself again. “It is. Just vines, that’s all.” He dug in to his tiramisu.
“Pull your sleeve up,” Jacki ordered. “I want to see it better.”
He hesitated, so Cam joined in. “Me, too, please.”
After a heated glance at Lorna, Dean reached for his right sleeve and tugged it above a bulging, rock-hard shoulder. Three vines, two of them delicate with rosebuds, one thicker and with thorns, wrapped around his bulging biceps.
Propping his elbow on the table made his muscles more pronounced still. Cam had already acknowledged his size and strength, but it startled her to realize that her brother was an extreme male specimen. She couldn’t recall ever seeing arms like his.
Roger, whom she’d always considered physically intimidating, seemed average in comparison.
After a glance at the tattoo, Dean shook his head. “I was young and dumb when I got it.”
“I agree with the young part.” Cam looked closer. “The colors are still so vibrant.”
“Thai tattoo artists are usually monks. Instead of the machines they use here in the states, they go old-school.”
“How’s that?” Jacki asked.
“They have this special tool they use, sort of like a long brass tube with a pointy rod that runs down the inside. The way the rod pierces your skin, the colors are more deeply imbedded, so they last longer.”
“Dear God.” Cam put a hand to her throat. “It sounds worse than what Jacki did.”
“Yeah,” Jacki said. “And I thought mine was bad. Heck, I broke down and cried while getting mine.”
Dean relaxed enough to indulge a half smile. “It hurt like hell, sort of like a slow grinding sewing machine, and it took forever. You can’t rush a monk.” He shook his head and dropped the shirtsleeve. “If Grover and half the crew hadn’t been there cheering me on, I probably would’ve been in tears, too.”
Hearing him say that made Cam want to bawl. She envisioned a motley crew of sweaty workers egging on a young boy to prove his manhood. “They encouraged you?”
“One thing you should know about men, they’re always trying to talk one another into doing something totally dumb ass.”
“You weren’t a man. You were a child.”
“I was male, that’s all that mattered.” He grinned at some memory, then said, “Grover once told me that one male has a brain, two males have half a brain, and three males have no brain at all.”
Thankfully Jacki’s laugh overshadowed Lorna’s snide agreement.
“I’m not sure females are any different. I’ve been talked into some pretty dumb things.” Still studying his tattoo, Jacki added, “It looks different from what I usually see.”
“That’s because it’s created with lines of dots rather than a solid line. And each tattoo is unique. You tell the monk what you want, and he designs it right on the spot. There aren’t any duplicates.”
“I like it.” Cam tilted her head. “Does it have any significance?”
For a moment there, Dean blanched. Then his expression went carefully neutral. “Yeah. It reminds me how gullible I was at fourteen.” He nodded at Jacki. “So what do you have on your hip?”
To the accompaniment of Lorna’s groans, Jacki came out of her seat and rounded the table to stand by Dean. Hip jutting out, she showed him her tattoo.
“It’s a rose overlaying a tribal design,” Jacki gushed unnecessarily. “Cool, isn’t it?”
“Pretty.” Dean looked up at her. “Okay, let’s hear it. I can see you’re dying to tell me the significance.”
Laughing, Jacki sauntered back to her seat. “Well, I used to think it represented the loss of my innocence. And Aunt Lorna, before you start freaking out, I’m not talking about my virginity.”
That pushed Lorna right over the edge. She shoved back her chair and announced, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I hope when I return, you’ll have finished with this absurd conversation.”
“Better take your time then,” Jacki told her.
Lorna marched away.
“Jacki.” Cam wanted to admonish her sister, but she ended up smiling instead. To be honest, she was grateful for the moment of peace. “You’re not helping.”
“Sure I am. Look at Dean’s grin.”
With both sisters looking at him, Dean tried to wipe it away, but he ended up chuckling. “You’re a real b
rat, Jacki.”
Seeing that look of amusement on his face, hearing his honest humor, filled Cam’s heart. Leaning closer to Dean, she confided, “She always has been. And some days are worse than others.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Jacki teased. “With Lorna gone, you’ll take aim at me. Well, dish it out, guys. I can take it.”
Indulgent, Dean folded his arms on the table. “You were talking about lost innocence?”
“Yeah.” A little sheepish now, Jacki pushed away her empty dessert plate. “You know how it is when you suddenly realize life isn’t the way you thought it should be.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t. How do you think it should be?”
“I don’t know.” Oddly serious, Jacki considered the question. “More fun maybe. More secure.” Her thin shoulders lifted. “Fewer surprises.”
Her sister’s words sent a pang through Cam. She’d tried so hard to protect Jacki, to make her life easier, but she’d obviously failed.
Though Dean’s expression didn’t change, Cam felt him retreating again. He didn’t want to hear of their recent financial woes, the way their lives had turned upside down. He might be their brother, and while she’d felt fully connected to him as soon as she’d laid eyes on him, he made it clear that he didn’t share the sentiment. Not that she blamed him. They barely knew each other. Too many years had passed, and too many wounds existed.
Hoping to lighten the mood, Cam lifted her coffee cup in a salute. “Here’s to surprises. How boring would life be without them?”
After a tense moment, Dean lifted his cup, too. “To pleasant surprises.”
“Like long-lost brothers.” Jacki touched her cup to theirs.
From behind them, Lorna snapped, “It appears we’re done here.” She drew her scarf out of her purse. “It’s a good thing, too, because I’m ready to go.”
Cam didn’t want the evening to end, but already Dean had risen from his seat. Panic began to set in. When would she see him again? How long would he be in town?
Dean pulled back her chair for her. “I’m going to be busy for a couple of days. But I have your number, so I’ll be in touch.”
He didn’t offer his own number in turn, and she didn’t have the nerve to ask for it. “Thank you.” Almost like a question, she said, “I’d like to spend more time getting to know you.”
To her surprise, he lifted his hand and, for a fleeting moment, his fingertips touched her chin in a gesture of encouragement. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s a good thing, too,” Jacki said. “Because I’ve got dibs on taking your new car for a drive.” She winked at Dean. “After all, discovering a hidden brother should come with some perks, right?”
Watching Lorna, Dean said, “Perks…and maybe some problems. We’ll have to see how it goes.”
ANTICIPATION rising, Dean dashed through the pouring rain from the car to the front door of Eve’s small but well-kept home. It wasn’t a new house, but it had lots of charm and a cozy porch that protected him from the storm.
Shortly after returning his sisters and aunt to their home, the skies had opened up. Lightning, thunder, and lots of wind accompanied the rain. He loved weather like this—filled with fury, so turbulent that he could feel it deep inside himself.
Slicking rain from his face, Dean knocked on the door and then looked around. Twin dormers, gables, and bay windows flanked the columned porch. In one corner, Eve had tucked a single white rocking chair. A cheery welcome mat lay at the base of the door. Potted flowers sat everywhere, filling the air with a sweet scent, amplified by the humidity.
On a cul-de-sac, her half-acre lot backed into a wooded area that provided privacy.
Surprising that a single woman Eve’s age would own a house. But, then, from the moment he’d met her, Dean figured Eve to be driven, determined, and stubborn. If she wanted something, she’d get it.
Tonight she wanted him. He could hardly wait.
Mind-numbing sex was just what he needed to obliterate the conflicting emotional remnants of dinner with a family who didn’t know him.
Thinking that, the second Eve opened the door Dean stepped in, hauled her up close, and stole her greeting by sealing his mouth over hers.
Sweet.
Hot.
A combination sure to make him combust.
He knew his wet shirt would get her damp, too, and he didn’t care. Behind him, through the open door, thunder rumbled loudly enough to shake the ground.
Eve jumped, but Dean only tightened his hold and turned his head so he could deepen the kiss.
He’d have a hard time patiently working his way through foreplay when all he really wanted to do was strip her naked and take her down to the floor. And actually, since he didn’t know the layout of her house, the floor wasn’t a bad idea. Finding a bedroom would take too damn long. He dropped a hand to her ass to urge her closer—and she freed her mouth on a gasp.
“Dean—”
Realizing that she pressed her fists against his chest, Dean allowed a miniscule amount of space between them, but he cupped the back of her head, keeping her mouth within reach. “Let’s talk later.”
A male voice said, “But later I won’t be here, and I’m too anxious to meet you to wait.”
Shock stilled Dean’s every motion, even his heartbeat.
Eve groaned and hid her face against his chest.
He didn’t want to, but Dean looked up—and found himself facing a man at least twenty years his senior. Even worse, he had the look of Eve…as if he might be her father.
Well, hell.
Next to the man stood a woman and, beside her, a younger guy…maybe Eve’s brother. They all smiled at him.
Not releasing Eve, Dean whispered near her ear, “Your family?”
In obvious misery, she nodded.
“I’m early?”
She shook her head, then suddenly pushed away and turned to confront them all with her hands on her hips. “They wouldn’t leave, as I asked them to.”
“She did ask,” said the younger man.
“Repeatedly,” added the woman.
“But they’re stubborn,” Eve said unnecessarily. And then to Dean, “I’m sorry. Really.”
She sounded very disgruntled and not all that embarrassed, so Dean moved her to the side of him and stepped forward, hand extended. “Dean Conor.”
“Better known as Havoc.” The older man grabbed his hand and pumped it with enthusiasm. “I’m a fan, as is my son. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”
A pleasure? Really? Even though he’d been about to molest his daughter? Dean didn’t know what to make of that. But then, he didn’t meet many fathers. The women he saw usually sought him out, and they sure as hell didn’t drag Daddy along.
He glanced at Eve, but she kept her mulish expression frozen on her family. Even with her father standing there, beaming at him anxiously, Dean noticed the way Eve’s dark hair gleamed, curling around her shoulders.
She’d changed clothes, replacing the crisp business attire with a cool and casual sundress. Spaghetti straps kept the snug bodice in place. The skirt ended just above her knees. No shoes, no bra. Where he’d held her to his chest, damp spots made the material cling to her breasts….
Don’t think about it, Dean.
With haste, he turned back to her father. “Thank you.” And he lied, “Nice to meet you, too.”
He didn’t have much practice in dealing with a woman’s family, but surely there had to be a way to rid himself of them quickly.
A woman as petite as Eve held out her hand. “Since my daughter is busy casting evil spells on the lot of us, and my husband is too twittered to do introductions, I’ll take care of it.”
Dean accepted her hand.
“I’m Eve’s mother, Crystal. You can call my husband Ted, and this is our son, Mark.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Dean wondered if indeed Eve was casting spells. If so, he hoped they worked. And fast.
“I know we’
re intruding,” Crystal continued, “but the men are rabid fans of the SBC and the second Eve let it slip that you were coming over—mostly because no one was leaving fast enough to suit her—”
“Mom.”
“—they refused to budge without meeting you first. I just hope you like Eve enough to forgive them, because it’ll be at least a half an hour before I can drag them away.”
So no one intended to mention his faux pas in groping Eve? Her family didn’t care that he’d been all over her, that he’d come calling with certain obvious expectations?
Apparently not.
He wanted to groan, but Dean kept his smile in place. After the family drama during dinner, he’d wanted nothing more than casual, uncommitted sex.
Instead he was stuck with more family.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he knew anything about families. But living with Uncle Grover, and sometimes a crew of workers, hadn’t prepared him.
“Not a problem.” If chatting with them would get them on their way, he’d tell them whatever they wanted to know.
Mark, who looked to be close to Jacki’s age, started the interrogation. “Who do you fight next?”
“Whoever they put in front of me.” Eve’s foyer opened into a great room with a ten-foot ceiling, and by silent agreement, everyone gravitated forward, taking seats. Dean sank into the corner cushion of a sectional couch. He watched Eve as she and her mother disappeared into the dining room, which he assumed led to the kitchen.
“Who do you want to fight?” asked Mark. “I know Marsh has been talking a lot of smack. He says you’re too undisciplined, that you lack technical skills—”
“He’s just showboating,” Dean explained, “hoping to build up interest. If enough controversy gets going on the fight, the organization will pair us. That’s what he wants, so he’s doing what he can to make it happen.”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t care what he says?”
“No.” Worrying about the opinions of others had never been his thing.
Affronted on his behalf, Mark scowled. “He’s insulting you.”
Dean just shrugged. “He’s not the first and he won’t be the last.”
“Amazing.” Ted shook his head in awe. “You could demolish most men, yet you aren’t the least bit obnoxious about it.”