by Peggy Jaeger
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Peggy Jaeger
A Pride of Brothers: Rick
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Come on, Abigail. You can’t leave me hanging.”
“Right there.” She aimed her fork at him as if it were a spear. “Perfect example. You know I hate being called Abigail. I’ve lost count of the hundreds of times I’ve told you and you still do it, knowing it pisses me off. And”—she cut him off before he could speak—“your usual response is to lift your hands and say ‘and still’ when you’re called on it. Who does that? What kind of person persistently and purposefully annoys people?”
“So you’re saying I’m intentionally annoying?”
“Persistently, so. Yes. Makes the lawyer in me wonder why.”
Just the lawyer? “Any answers come to mind?”
“Plenty.”
“Care to share?”
She placed her fork down next to her plate and regarded him across the table. “You really want to hear this? Because if you know anything about me, you know I’m truthful. I don’t hold back.”
Oh, he was sure she didn’t. And wouldn’t. Her tenacity was one of the things he’d first been drawn to. That and her fabulous ass.
“I’m a big boy,” he said with a grin. “I can take it.
She took a sip of water first, her eyes trained on him the entire time. “Okay. If you really want to hear this.”
He waved his hand for her to continue.
“I think you use your cocky, aren’t-I-simply-too-witty attitude to keep people at a distance.”
Praise for Peggy Jaeger
“DEARLY BELOVED will take readers on a journey of a fairytale wedding, or rather a true wedding filled with family drama start to finish! Ms. Jaeger captures a beautiful sibling relationship that flourishes when the parents are not emotionally or physically available. Overall, the push and pull of the budding romance is delightfully written, and readers will enjoy this quick read that ties up with a red-bow ending!”
~InD’Tale Magazine
~*~
“A delightful start to what promises to be a winning series…with a myriad of moving parts…characters and their individual stories…that the author has seamlessly woven together into a story with emotions that will surely resonate with readers.”
~Netgalley
A Pride of Brothers:
Rick
by
Peggy Jaeger
A Pride of Brothers, Book 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
A Pride of Brothers
Rick
COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Margaret-Mary Jaeger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2019
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2936-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2937-6
A Pride of Brothers, Book 1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Kari—my sistah from another mistah!
You taught me the meaning
of Romantic Suspense LITE
and gifted me the word “alpha-hole.”
For that, and your endearing friendship,
I am eternally grateful.
Chapter One
Four years ago…
“Maybe you want to slow down the champagne chugging, Abs,” Gemma Laine said, her tone more suggestive of a parent than a sibling, as she lowered her camera and regarded her older sister. “Have an hors d’oeuvre. Maybe three or four. The reception hasn’t even started yet, and already your eyes are getting glassy.”
Abby Laine tipped the champagne flute to get every last drop of the delicious bubbly down, her long neck stretching back for easy access. When she was done, she licked her lips and, through narrowed eyes, stared back at her younger sister.
Did Gemma usually have two heads?
She blinked, and thankfully, only one Gemma stood in front of her. But her sister was a little fuzzy around the edges.
Okay. Maybe she’d had a little more to drink than she should have. But dammit, it wasn’t every day one of her sisters got married. And it wasn’t her fault the wedding planner had left two opened bottles of Cristal in the church dressing room for pre-ceremony toasting. Or that her mother had made it her personal responsibility to refill every glass after each of her six remaining daughters delivered a heartfelt speech to the bride. Plus, Abby’d been working full-time and nonstop for the past two years while attending law school at night. Without a break. She deserved to get a little loose, kick back, and celebrate. Especially on such a special day.
The empty flute tipped over when she placed it down on the table a tad harder than she’d planned. Gemma’s reflexes were certainly sharper than her own. Her sister caught the crystal glass before it toppled over the side and shattered on the floor.
Once the flute was righted, Gemma dragged in a deep breath and nailed her sister with a hard, I-mean-business glare.
“That’s it.” She slung her camera strap over her shoulder, grabbed a small dish from the buffet stand, and filled it with a few crackers and cheese wedges. “You’re having something to eat. No more champagne until you do.” She thrust the dish into her sister’s hands. “Here.”
“Who died and made you the booze police?”
“Eat.”
With a pout, Abby shoved a cracker into her mouth and crunched. The savory herbs and salty crispiness made her taste buds jump to attention with the realization she hadn’t eaten anything before heading into wedding hair and makeup at Kandy’s condo.
“These are good,” she declared, popping another in.
“Of course they are,” Gemma said. She lifted her camera and glanced down at the viewfinder. “Kandy gave the caterer Grandma’s recipe.”
Abby swallowed. “God, I’m starving,” she said, piling her dish with more.
“Hey, save some for the rest of us,” Eleanor, the youngest Laine sister said. Red and white rose bouquet in her hands, she sidled up to them and grinned. “I’m hungry, too.”
“Have at it.” Abby stepped to the side a little too fast. Her knees so
ftened, and she stumbled backward.
Damn, these stupid bridesmaid heels. And damn Gemma because she was right. She had had too much to drink already.
As she reached out to clutch the table for support, a pair of firm hands seized her upper arms from behind.
“Easy there, Abigail.”
Abby’s entire body stilled. In a heartbeat, she went from tipsy to stone-cold sober as the smooth, deep timbre of that voice washed over her.
“Reception hasn’t started yet. Wouldn’t do for one of Kandy’s minions to go down before the band even warms up.”
When her arms were freed a moment later, Abby whirled around to find a pair of chocolate-drop-colored eyes trained on her from a face hand carved by the gods of gorgeous. Hair as dark as unprocessed coal was cut military short. Dark, thick lashes framed his almond-shaped eyes, and his mouth was pulled into a totally charming smirk that she wanted to kiss off his chiseled face.
Why did simply looking at him make her stomach act like a roller coaster spiraling downward and back to the station?
“Minions? Really, Bannerman?”
He had the nerve to grin. “Well, you are required to blindly follow and do everything Kandy tells you to without argument, aren’t you? Sounds pretty accurate to me.”
“You’re wearing a tuxedo. Does that make you one of Josh’s minions?” She raked a finger up and down his ridiculously well-cut black lapel.
A free and easy laugh kicked her square in her already shaking stomach. “Not in this lifetime.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “He’s got two brothers who can more than fill the bill. I’m merely a humble wedding guest.”
Humble was hardly the word she’d use to describe him. At six two and a solid, muscular two hundred pounds, Rick Bannerman was cocky, sinfully sexy, and a total player. Exactly the kind of man she knew she shouldn’t be drawn to, but God help her, was.
“Hey.” Eleanor pointed toward the ballroom doorway. “The wedding planner is signaling it’s time to line up. Come on, you two.”
Abby glanced over to see the emaciated woman’s hands flapping to beckon them over. “Anyone else think she looks like a bird ready to take flight?”
Gemma snorted and snapped a picture of the woman the sisters referred to as the Cricket due to her irritating habit of clicking her tongue every few seconds. Abby couldn’t decide if it was a nervous tic or simply the woman’s way of showing annoyance—which seemed to be her perpetual state.
“Meow,” Rick whispered close to her ear. His soft, sensual chuckle and the heat from his warm breath as it floated against her skin sent a shiver of arousal bolting up her spine. Before she could say something in her own defense, Gemma grabbed her.
“Let’s go before she starts clicking at us.”
Abby plopped her dish onto the table and let her sister drag her from the room. She couldn’t resist the tiny glance over her shoulder, though, for one last glimpse of Bannerman. He’d dropped his hands into his tuxedo pockets and was rocking back on his heels, totally at ease and comfortable, his sleepy, sexy stare tracking her the entire way from the room, that panty-wetting half grin still on his lips.
Jesus.
She needed a drink.
****
A few hours and several glasses of wedding celebration bubbly later, she spotted the object of her lust-filled fantasies slip through the ballroom doors and out onto the terrace.
It never occurred to her not to follow him.
Spring had surfaced two weeks prior, and the fading light between dusk and nightfall was grasping for a few more minutes to shine. Abby found him at the far corner of the balcony, overlooking Central Park. Elbows leaning on the railing, he was staring off into the distance. For a brief moment, she was afforded the opportunity to study him unawares.
The person who invented tuxedos should be sainted. Or at least knighted. There was nothing else that made a gorgeous man even more attractive. If Rick weren’t a private investigator, he could easily pose for a men’s eveningwear line. His physique was model-proportioned perfectly according to Gemma, the professional photographer in the group, and his classic, carved-from-marble features were captivating.
All in all, a hunky, sexy guy. And one she wanted to get closer to—in the purely biblical sense. There was no doubt in Abby’s mind Rick Bannerman was a man who knew what to do with a woman, and please God she wanted to be that woman. Even for one night.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you it was rude to stare?”
The quiet pitch in his voice bounced off the tree canopy and vibrated through her body from head to heels. She’d been hidden in the shadows and he hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet he’d known she was standing there, gawking.
Abby walked toward him, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Mom was too busy working three jobs,” she said, “and Dad bolted before he could teach us anything.”
Rick turned his head a fraction, his body staying in the same relaxed position, but the second his gaze landed on her, she felt like a deer paralyzed in an oncoming truck’s glaring headlights on a lonely road at two a.m.
Maybe she should have had another glass of fortification before coming out here.
“And I’m pretty confident you’re used to people staring at you.”
He stayed silent.
Abby’d give anything to know what he was thinking as his gaze trailed from her eyes down to her mouth where it lingered for a moment and then back up again. She couldn’t stop the shiver that jumped through her.
When she ran her hands up her chilled, naked arms, Rick shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket in one fluid motion and flung it around her shoulders. He was close enough for her to stretch up and run her lips along his jaw and finally taste him.
In the time it took her to gather her courage to do it, he moved back and shot his hands into his pants pockets.
“You shouldn’t be out here in that slip of a dress,” he chided. “It’s still cool at night, and you’re not dressed for the weather.”
Abby pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders, sighing when she caught a whiff of Rick’s cologne clinging to it. Whether from the heady, spicy scent she’d now and forever equate with him or from the dipping temperature, her nipples shot to bruising points under her soft, strapless, push-up bra.
“You should go back inside where it’s warmer, Abigail. I’m sure you’ve got minion duties to perform.”
Her back went ramrod straight. “I hate being called Abigail. Something I’ve told you more than a few times.”
Rick grinned. “And still…”
“Calling a person something you know they don’t like is just plain mean.”
“It is your name, kiddo. Abigail June Victoria.”
Okay, how did he know her full name? She didn’t recall ever telling him because she did everything in her power to forget it. It was so…old lady-ish and made her feel like she lived with seventeen cats and read sweet romances all day and night. Alone.
“You’re such a pain.” She shook her head and pouted.
“Am I?”
“You know you are. And you’re making me forget the reason I followed you out here in the first place.” She almost stomped her foot but thought better of it at the last second.
Something shifted in his eyes. Even in the rapidly fading light, she caught it.
“You…followed me…out here?”
Good Lord, she didn’t need the jacket at all. One glance at the hotter-than-a-poker glaze in his eyes heated her entire body.
“Y-yes.”
“Why?” He leaned a hip against the metal railing, his hands secured inside his pockets again, comfortable, relaxed, and so damn heart-stopping she wanted to scream for him to take her in his arms and make her his for the night.
She wasn’t going to let him sabotage her seduction plan. No. She’d worked out everything she wanted to say, the perfect way to goad him into noticing her. If she could get him to dance with her, get his arms around her, she’d be able
to make him see how good it could be between them.
But first she had to get him on the dance floor and from everything she’d observed tonight, he was happy to let his dance card stay empty.
“You’re shirking your wedding guest duties,” she said with a slight head bob.
“There’s no such thing.”
“Yes, there is. As a guest, a male guest”—she lowered her chin, pinning him with her own intense glare now—“it’s your responsibility to dance with the female guests. There are quite a few unattached women at this wedding, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed you’ve danced with no one except for Josh’s mother. That’s bad form. And…rude.”
Her eyes narrowed when his laugh, loud and filled with humor, bounced through the trees. “Unnoticed by who? The wedding police? Kandy?”
“Among…others.”
With his head cocked, he stood upright and moved into her space. Even in her heels, she had to tip her head back to keep them eye to eye.
“Others?” he asked, his voice low, so low she had to pitch forward to hear him. “Or just you, Abigail?”
When he was close enough for her to know her breasts would bounce off his chest if she inhaled, he leaned down, fingered the lapel on his jacket, his knuckle grazing the column of her throat.
Her brain shut down the moment his fingers made contact with her skin. Despite the nippy bite in the air, she was hit with a fireball radiating downward from his touch. It was a wonder she didn’t start sweating.
Abby swallowed.
Then did it again.
His eyes were focused on hers, those half-closed lids doing nothing to shield the heat smoldering under them. “If you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do”—his gaze dipped down to her lips again—“was ask.”
Dance? Lord, she wanted to do a whole helluva lot more than simply dance with this man.
“I—”
She licked her suddenly parched lips, her eyes never wavering from his sharp gaze.
In a move as natural as breathing, she stepped into the minute amount of space separating them and lifted up on her toes until their lips slammed together.
Holy Mother.
The heat from his fingers had been hot enough to singe, but they were an ice cube compared to the incendiary inferno of his mouth fused with hers. It crossed her mind that it was a miracle she didn’t burst into flames on the spot.