“Aye, those three words should be on every Savage-family gravestone. Along with ‘I thrive on drama.’” He plonked a mug of tea and a sandwich in front of her. “Eat and talk. We need to know what trouble we have to get you out of now.”
Denise elbowed her. “He’s really sexy when he turns all commanding.”
Ignoring her best friend, Katya reached for her sandwich. It was corned beef, cheese, and pickle—her favorite. When she glanced up, Brodie’s dark, intense eyes were studying her as though she were some sort of science experiment. She crossed her eyes back at him.
And her heart skipped a beat when he smiled.
“Let me count the ways this could go wrong,” Darach said once Katya had filled them in on Margaret’s plan. “For a start, Kitty Baxter talks to more people than her farm manager and the baker. You know that, right?”
“I’m wondering what the chances are of a whole town keeping a secret.” Denise’s skepticism answered her own question. “Actually, forget I said that.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Katya assured them as she finished her sandwich. “It might even help. Goodness knows, Brodie and I keep stuffing up this whole pretending we’re together thing.” She patted Denise’s hand. “I’m sorry about your shoes.”
She waved Katya off. “They’re fine. Brodie brought them home. Next time, I’ll let you wear your boots.”
Brodie nursed a cup of tea. “Your handbag’s over there.” He nodded toward the counter.
“Thanks. I guess I need to talk to the restaurant owner about paying for the smashed window.” She winced. “And probably about buying some folk another dinner.”
“Smashed window?” Darach frowned at his brother. “You never told me about a smashed window.”
“It’s covered,” he said as though it were nothing. “I told Deke to bill me.”
“I’ll pay you back.” With what, Katya didn’t know, but she mentally added it to her list of debts.
“You don’t need to. It’s my fault anyway,” Brodie said evenly, his intense gaze still on her. “I’m the one who forgot about Mary. Hell, I’m the one who got involved with her in the first place.”
Katya really did not want the details of that situation. “Who you date is none of my business.”
“Aye, well, I don’t want to know who you’ve spent time with over the past ten years either, but I’m still sorry about Mary.” He sat forward, resting his mug on the table. “Last night was the first I’ve spent any time with her in years. After you left, I…we…I…”
“You had revenge sex with my nemesis,” she guessed, the words stones in her throat. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.”
“I need to know we can get past this,” Brodie said softly.
“It means nothing.” Except that Katya needed to have a shower from thinking about them together. “It doesn’t affect my ability to be your fake wife.”
“Technically, you’re still my real wife.”
“Technically,” she agreed. “Until we can figure out a way to divorce without losing the land.”
As Brodie’s eyes captured hers, she found herself falling into their blue depths. He’d always had so much emotion in his gaze, and that hadn’t changed.
“Let’s call a truce,” he said. “Start afresh. From now on, we’re a couple. We’re in love. And the past is forgiven and forgotten. Right?”
There was something in his tone—something heavy, something serious. Something that should have made her worry and run for the hills. Instead, the room contracted until only the two of them remained. The Brodie Bubble. That’s what she’d called it when she was a teen. The place where only they existed—she’d thought it popped long ago.
“Truce,” she whispered.
Someone cleared their throat, bursting the bubble. Katya blinked herself back to reality and found Denise grinning at her.
“Since there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow,” her friend said. “I’m heading to bed.”
“I want to stay up a wee while longer,” Katya said. “See if there are any clues in the stuff I’ve collected about Ben and Natasha’s marriage. Something that would get Catherine to back off.”
“Seriously? Haven’t you been over those like a thousand times?” Denise pushed away from the table and carried her cup to the sink.
“Yeah, but I still think it’s worth a look.”
“Honey,” Denise said. “If you haven’t found anything by now, there’s nothing to find. You’d be better off getting some shut eye.”
“Later. I’ll feel better if I read through what I can first.”
“I’ll help,” Brodie said lazily. “I’m not tired anyway.”
She should have told him she didn’t need help, but an extra set of eyes would come in handy. “You sure?”
“Aye. Turns out Natasha’s life was a whole lot more interesting than I thought it would be. Plus, I’d kind of like to know what went wrong between her and Ben.”
“Well, you two have fun.” Darach headed for the stairs after Denise.
“I’m sure we will,” Brodie said, his gaze on Katya.
Katya woke to find her legs stretched out under the coffee table in the living room and her cheek plastered to Brodie’s chest. For a second, she froze, assessing their situation and trying to recall how she got there.
They’d been at the table in the kitchen when Brodie had suggested they might be more comfortable in the living room. Once they’d spread everything out on the coffee table and sat on the floor, Brodie had covered their legs with a blanket to keep out the nighttime chill.
And then they’d had the strangest time going through the notes Katya had collected over the years. Instead of the sarcastic comments she’d come to expect from him, he’d asked intelligent questions and offered some interesting ideas on what had become of Ben and Natasha’s relationship. It’d been fun, sharing her theories and the tidbits she’d learned over the years, watching him react enthusiastically before coming up with his own theories. It’d felt like old times.
Around two, Brodie made them hot chocolate and offered biscuits while she read aloud the letters Natasha had written that hadn’t been translated yet. The next thing she knew, she’d woken up on top of him. With his arm wrapped around her and his hand threaded through her hair, he was snoring softly.
She’d forgotten how warm he ran; it was like cuddling up to a furnace. Cuddling. Not something she should be doing with her ex. Things were complicated enough without them becoming too familiar with each other again. Still, seeing as they were alone, and he was asleep, she took the time to study the features that’d haunted her dreams over the past ten years.
His nose was on the large side and his lips a little thin, but she’d always thought his features made him more handsome because they weren’t perfect. He had a dark shadow of stubble on his jaw, and his hair was in need of a trim. Dark eyelashes formed crescents on his cheeks, hiding the smokey blue of his eyes, and there was a scar at the corner of his eyebrow. One that hadn’t been there when she left.
A familiar aching pain made her stomach lurch. He wasn’t the boy she’d once known. He’d experienced things during their time apart that she knew nothing about. She was no longer the only woman he’d slept with, and his hands weren’t the only ones that had explored her body.
The dull throb of grief was a yoke around her neck, pressing her down, keeping her there. This fake relationship of theirs—when they weren’t screwing it up—was a dim reflection of what used to be between them. A reminder of all they’d lost, turned their backs on, left behind. They could never return to what they’d been, and Katya didn’t want to, as the pain of his rejection was still a fresh wound on her soul. But maybe they could learn to be friends again.
They’d been friends long before they’d become lovers, and then husband and wife.
Yes, she was sure they could become friends. Perhaps not as close as they once were, but they’d been children back then, and now they were adults—with all
the history and baggage that comes with age.
As he stirred beneath her, she wondered what being friends with an adult Brodie would be like. Would it involve watching him with other women? Watching him fall in love? Watching him start a family and live in the house they’d planned to build together?
Reality was a bucket of iced water. Friendship would never be part of their future.
As his eyelashes flickered, his arm tightened around her. “Hey,” he said in that husky morning voice she’d once loved.
“Hey,” she said back. “We fell asleep on the floor. I think I drooled on your shirt.”
He chuckled. “It’ll come out in the wash.”
Unlike the stains of rejection, which went much deeper.
Katya eased herself out from under his arm and tugged down her dress, which had ridden up in her sleep. “I need to tidy this stuff away.” She got to her feet and picked up the box from beside the coffee table. “And you need to get ready for your football match.”
Brodie sat away from the couch edge that’d propped them up. “You okay?”
“Absolutely.” Katya gave him a wide, wide smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She lifted the boxful of papers. “I call dibs on the shower,” she said as she hurried from the room.
Without once looking him in the eye.
23
Brodie could still play soccer. And watching him still made Katya horny as hell. Which was not a good reaction in any way.
“It’s the shorts, isn’t it?” Denise mused from beside Katya on the sidelines. “It has to be. I mean, I know nothing about this game or how it’s played, and yet I find myself engrossed. It’s got to be the shorts. Seriously, look at the way they hug the backside on number five. Do you think he’s single?”
“Are you even looking at their faces?” Katya demanded. “Number five is Bain.”
“Really?” Denise raised her line of sight, only to see Bain grinning over at both of them. “Would it be wrong if I took him to bed? Like, would it make me a traitor to the cause or something?”
Katya smacked the back of Denise’s head to knock some sense into her. “You’re not sleeping with Bain, and it has nothing to do with betraying any weird sense of loyalty you might feel; it’s because it would be yucky.”
“I’m thinking you might not be the best person to talk to about this. You see him as a brother, whereas I see him as a hot backside in thin silken shorts.”
A cheer went up, and they looked down the pitch to discover there’d been a goal.
“Which team scored?” Denise said. “Which goal is our team defending again? Is it that one? Do we cheer or boo?”
“It’s too late now. The play has started again anyway. But, for the record, the other team scored.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Are they nearly done yet?”
“No. They haven’t even finished the first half.”
Denise groaned at the sky. “Even fit men in tight shorts can’t keep my attention for too much longer. We should have brought wine.”
“To a game in the middle of the morning?” Katya was beginning to think Denise deserved Bain.
A whistle blew, and the players jogged to the sidelines. Bain headed straight for Denise.
“You were checking me out.” He smirked. “You want some of this, you only have to ask.”
Katya smacked her hand over Denise’s mouth before she could answer. “She isn’t asking.” Denise licked her hand. “Gross!” Katya yelled as she rubbed her palm on her jeans. “Now I have to go wash my hands.”
“Then maybe next time you’ll let me speak for myself,” Denise said, her eyes on Bain. “I have one question for you—do you really fart in your sleep?”
“I hate my brothers,” Bain muttered before jogging off to get a drink.
“I’ll take it that’s yes,” Denise called after him. “Pity. He definitely has the best rear on the field.”
“I think I might vomit,” Katya said.
“I hope not,” Brodie said as he came up to them, “because I was planning on a kiss for good luck.”
“What?” Katya blinked at him.
“Oh, you two!” Denise said loudly. “Get a room.” She lowered her voice and hissed, “You’re in love, remember?”
“Exactly.” Brodie’s eyes crinkled as he snuck a hand around Katya’s waist and pulled her to him. “Make it look good, Kat.”
And then he kissed her.
No, calling it a kiss was like calling Valrhona just chocolate. This wasn’t a mere touching of lips; it was full-on sex using only their mouths.
His palm pressed against the small of her back while his other hand threaded through her hair at the nape. Katya could do nothing but wrap her arms around his shoulders and hold on tight, because his kiss didn’t start slow—it hit full speed right out of the gate. Her last thought before her mind went blank was that she’d forgotten how good Brodie was at kissing. And how addictive those kisses could be.
He made love to her mouth with his tongue, lips, and teeth. Teasing and tormenting her in a confident dance that left her breathless and moaning into his mouth. It was only as he slowed the kiss, easing her back down to earth, that she became aware of the catcalling all around them.
Blinking her way out of a lust-induced daze, she glanced around, seeing spectators and players alike cheering them on.
“That’s sure to bring us luck.” Brodie pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Kat.”
And then he jogged back onto the pitch as though nothing had happened. Leaving Katya to sway in place while she watched him go.
“So,” Bain said to Brodie once he was on the field, “you’re going to play the rest of the match with a hard-on. Good move, bro.”
“Shut up.” It wasn’t his best comeback, but Brodie was suffering. The situation’s only saving grace was that he’d worn tight spandex training shorts under the looser team shorts; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been his football skills drawing attention.
“Are you supposed to, ahem, react when this thing between you two is fake?” Bain jogged in place beside Brodie. “Are you sure it is still fake?”
“Are you sure you should be over here defending me when I’m on the same team as you?” Brodie pointed up the pitch. “You’re needed up there.”
His brother waved that off. “We’re going to lose anyway. We always lose.”
“And people say we have no team spirit.”
“They say that because we spend more time fighting with each other than taking on the opposing team. That’s what happens when you have five brothers playing on the same side.”
He had a point. They really needed to spread the MacGregors out over other teams.
“Plus”—Bain looked disgusted—“our goalie sucks.”
Aye, they never should have put Josh McInnes in goal, but the singer almost killed himself running up and down the pitch, which meant the goal was the safest place for him. They would have kicked him off the team altogether, but his wife wanted him to get exercise, and no one was prepared to argue with Caroline McInnes. That woman had single-handedly organized Invertary for years, and she was fierce when it came to fairness and consequences. Brodie had long thought Caroline’s reign of terror was mainly due to the fact she treated everyone in town as though they were preschoolers who needed a firm, guiding hand.
Plus, the last time a team kicked Josh to the curb, they’d found themselves signed up for every volunteer activity Invertary ran for a whole year. None of the MacGregors had that kind of time to waste. Which meant Josh kept his goalie position, and their team lost every game.
“We shouldn’t have taught an American how to play football,” Bain said with a shake of his head. “That’s where we went wrong. Americans should stick to their sissy version of rugby.”
“Josh can’t play American football either,” Brodie pointed out. “I’ve seen him try.”
A cheer sounded as Josh let in another goal, and Bain sighed. “I’d better get over there and goalie for our goa
lie. I can’t live through the shame of another ten-nil loss.”
As Bain sped off down the field, Brodie watched Kat. Her lips were still swollen and pink from their kiss, and her hair was mussed from where he’d held her. Damn, if she didn’t look sexy as hell.
Now he’d admitted to himself he wanted Katya back for real, all he’d been able to think about was their booking at the hotel that evening. He’d finally have Kat all to himself, far away from prying eyes and interfering brothers. With her seduction all planned out, he’d already ordered strawberries and champagne for the room—much to Dougal’s delight. The pub owner had tried to give Brodie romance advice, but he’d managed to shut that down sharply.
Aye, he couldn’t wait to get her alone. He planned to wine and dine her, all the while reminding her how explosive they were together. Sex with Katya was on a whole other level than anything else he’d experienced, and they could be that for each other again. All he had to do was convince her he’d forgiven her for leaving him, and then everything could go back to the way it was supposed to be.
“Brodie!” someone shouted, dragging his attention from Katya.
The ball hit him square in the middle of his face, and he toppled like a tree. As Brodie stared up at the sky, he felt blood pouring down his cheeks and knew his nose was broken—again. Darach, who reached him first, ripped off his shirt and held it to Brodie’s nose.
Kade appeared beside his twin. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two. And I don’t appreciate the gesture.” Brodie’s lips felt swollen, and he’d suddenly developed a lisp. “I think my nose is broken,” he told them as the rest of the players arrived.
“Let me see,” Darach said, removing his shirt from Brodie’s face.
The crowd parted as someone pushed their way through, and Katya fell to her knees beside him. “What the hell, Brodie,” she said. “The game’s played with your feet, not your face.”
That was the woman he loved: she oozed sympathy—and sarcasm.
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