by J. Lynn
Brock stared at me for a heartbeat and then said, “The guy you said on Friday had been too busy to take you out and you didn’t care?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh hell yes, yes you did. I was sober. I remember what you said.” Those midnight eyes met mine. “I remember everything you said and did.”
Heat exploded across my cheeks. “Well, congratulations.”
“Where is he taking you?”
“I guess to the steakhouse,” I said dismissively. “He wanted to go somewhere nice.”
Brock’s full lips pursed. “You’re really going out with him on Saturday?”
“Yes.” I glanced at my computer. “So, is there anything else you need?”
His gaze hardened and a look of almost disbelief settled into his face. “You’re really going to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Is this how it’s going to be?”
I held his stare. “I don’t understand what you mean by that question or the one before it.”
Pushing off my desk, he straightened to his full height. “Oh, I think you do.” And then with that, he pivoted around and stalked out of my office.
And I would barely see him over the rest of the week.
* * *
Saturday evening, I stood in front of the mirror attached to the inside of my closet door. I hadn’t ended up buying a new dress. Instead, I dug one out that I’d bought when I’d been with Ben. It was this simple, but pretty black dress I’d planned on wearing to our anniversary dinner.
A dinner he hadn’t showed up for.
He’d claimed that he’d stayed behind at work and lost track of time, but looking back, there’d probably been a good chance he was just having drinks with some other chick.
I’d tried not to linger on that relationship other than using it as a wakeup call—a rather painful and oftentimes embarrassing one. I didn’t think about Ben a lot, but wearing the dress that had been meant for our anniversary, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to now.
And then realized I honestly didn’t care.
The dress was a little tighter than I remembered around my breasts, which were showcased in the heart-shaped neckline. The sleeves were quarter-length, and I liked that, because I’d never been a fan of my upper arms. Ever. The dress followed the curve of my hips and ended just above the thighs.
It had been a long time since I’d worn a dress.
It had been an even longer time since I wore a tight dress.
But I was doing it tonight and I thought I looked pretty amazing. Maybe even hot. Like h-a-w-t hot. My hair was down, parted to my left, and fell in cascading waves. My eyeliner was on point and the matte red lipstick promised to stay on for the next hundred years.
I felt good. Great, even.
Stepping away from the mirror, I walked into my bedroom. The only problem with tonight was that when I thought about my date . . . I didn’t feel anything. No nervousness. No anxiety. Definitely not even a drop of anticipation. It was like I was getting ready to go to the grocery store while looking like the bomb diggity.
And that was just lame, really lame of me.
But if I thought about those early, dark moments with Brock, my stomach fluttered like a nest of birds taking flight, and that was wrong, really wrong.
Like so wrong I needed to bang my head on the wall.
I wasn’t giving Grady a chance. I knew this as I slipped a plain gold bracelet on. I’d even thought that he hadn’t been interested and was just coming with excuses, but he obviously had been. Tonight would be different, because I would be a hundred percent focused on him, and if he tried to kiss me, I would let him.
And it wouldn’t be a drunken kiss in the middle of the night either.
Snatching my black purse off my bed, I walked past the small low-back chair by the door, dragging my hand over Brock’s jacket like . . . geez, like a total freak. I hadn’t given it back. I’d totally forgotten about it when he was over last Friday, and he hadn’t asked for it back, so I’d kept it.
Not my proudest moment.
Grabbing the military-style jacket out of the hall closet, I swooped down and scratched Rhage on the top of the head. “I’ll be back soon.” I pulled away before he made mincemeat out of my hand. “Or maybe I won’t be back at all tonight.”
Rhage’s ears flattened.
After making sure there was a bowl of kitty food in the kitchen, I left my apartment. Grady was waiting for me just inside the very same steakhouse Brock and I had been at with the potential investors. There weren’t many options for sort of upscale restaurants in the county.
A wide smile broke out across his face as he opened his arms. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a quick hug and then stepped back. “So do you.”
He glanced down at the loose khakis with a shrug; they were the kind of pants I couldn’t imagine Brock wearing.
Whoa. Why in the hell was I thinking about that?
Grady took my hand as the hostess appeared, guiding us down the narrow aisle toward our booth near a roaring, crackling fireplace. The table was long enough to seat four people, but still somehow dainty with its white linen tablecloth, flickering tea candles, and delicate wine glasses. When I’d been here with Brock, we’d been seated in the dining area beyond the fireplace, where there were tables and no booths and less foot traffic.
I sat across from Grady, and when he ordered a bottle of wine, I thought that might be a good idea. During the drive here, I’d become oddly tense.
“I’m glad we finally made it,” he said. “I was so disappointed to have to push this back. I really wanted to see you.”
“I am so sorry about when I had to reschedule,” I said automatically. “The work dinner was a last-minute thing.”
“Tell me about it,” he requested with genuine interest.
So I did as the wine arrived and we placed our orders. When our food arrived, a chicken breast for him and a filet, of course, for me, I’d managed to shake the weird tension and found I was enjoying myself without having to down half a bottle of wine.
Grady was beyond nice. And he was smart. And kind.
I totally should kiss him tonight, I decided as I took a sip of my wine.
Candlelight flickered off Grady’s face as he picked up his glass of wine. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”
“I’m heading home to visit my family on Wednesday. Our offices close Tuesday evening and don’t reopen until the following Monday,” I explained, kind of shocked that Thanksgiving was next week. Holy crap, where had the time gone?
“That’s nice. You staying up there the whole time?”
I nodded as I chewed on a piece of tender steak. “I don’t visit my family as often as I should, so I’m going to spend the time off with them.” Which meant capturing Rhage and shoving him in the kitty carrier, which was as pleasant as plucking hair off my lady parts with rusty pliers.
“You doing any Black Friday shopping?”
I laughed. “No. My mom is the kind of woman who doesn’t even go to sleep Thursday night. She gets herself hocked up on caffeine and then goes and buys, well, mostly stuff for herself. I mean, she gets everyone gifts too, but I know half of those bags she’ll be bringing home are for herself.” I started to smile at the memory of Mom yelling at Dad to get the bags out of the car while I stood on the porch, trying to see if there were any Barnes and Noble bags.
Turning my cheek to hide the smile, I immediately thought of what Brock had said that night in his car. He hadn’t wanted me to hide my smile, but he really didn’t understand. Maybe Grady would, but six years of habit were hard to break. I bit back a sigh. My gaze flickered back to Grady, but stopped on the hostess desk.
There was a man standing there, his back to where we sat. He was tall and broad shouldered, and there was something about the way he stood that caused my stomach to dip like I was on a rollercoaster, about to drop down a steep hill.
My eyes n
arrowed as Grady talked about raising sheep or milking cows or something. The man at the desk . . . There was something so familiar—
No. No way in hell.
I felt my heart stop as the hostess approached the waiting area, her eyes all big and doe-eyed, and the man turned sideways. I saw the profile, and about fell out of my chair.
It was Brock.
It was really Brock.
“Oh my fucking God,” I whispered.
Grady’s chin jerked up, but I barely saw him. “Excuse me?”
I didn’t normally take the Lord’s name in vain, but I had a feeling Jesus and Moses and Mary and everyone at this point totally understood my response.
What was he doing here? Had I mentioned where I was having dinner with Grady? Possibly? I mean, I could’ve in random conversation. I had to have, because I couldn’t picture Brock being that much of a stalker, because that was like leveling up in the stalker arena.
“Jillian?”
Blinking, I focused on Grady as my heart felt like it was trying to crawl its way out of my throat. “I’m sorry?”
He frowned as he leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
Clearing my throat, I nodded as I hoped and prayed Brock didn’t see us. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I just, um, remembered something I needed to do for work.”
A small smile played over his lips. “Sounds like it was important.”
I glanced over his shoulders, spying Brock talking to the hostess. “Yeah. It’s really important.”
“Hopefully it’s not another work dinner you’ve forgotten about.”
Had I? Because that was most definitely Brock and he was by himself—oh my God, was he turning this way? I almost wanted to dive under the table, but that would be weird, so I hastily looked down at my plate, upping my prayers that he wasn’t coming to the table. That there was no way Brock would be—
I peeked up through my lashes and saw his dark head over the high walls separating the tables, getting closer and closer, and I knew deep in my very core that Brock was coming to this table.
Chapter 19
Like a toddler, I was of the mindset that if I wasn’t looking at Brock, he couldn’t see us. Like he wasn’t truly there, so I fixed my gaze on my nearly empty plate, and prayed I was having hallucinations.
“Well, hello,” came the smooth, deep voice that never failed to slip over my skin like heated silk. “What a surprise.”
God. Damn. It.
I lifted my gaze at the same time Grady did, and I saw surprise flicker across his handsome face as he caught sight of Brock towering over our table.
“Hi?” I forced out.
Brock’s full lips slipped into a half-smile as he looked down at Grady. “We meet again.”
“Yeah. We do.” Grady was nodding as he glanced between us. “This is a surprise.”
“I know.” Brock’s dark eyes glimmered. “Such a coincidence.”
My eyes narrowed as I picked up my wine glass. A coincidence, my rosy red ass. “So, what . . . what are you doing here, Brock?”
“Oh, I was just in the area and thought I’d swing by and grab something to eat.”
“By yourself?” I asked, because this wasn’t the type of restaurant you wandered into by yourself. So what in the world was he up to?
“I do a lot of things by myself, Jillian.” His amused gaze centered on me.
I widened my eyes at that and took a healthy gulp of my wine, because my mind really took that to a place that was really inappropriate since I was on a date with another man. I suddenly heard his heated words in my ear. I got you. And that made me think of his hand slipping between my legs . . .
Grady cleared his throat. “So, do you come here often?”
“Actually, I was here not too long ago.” He was still staring at me, his lips curved into a rather delighted smirk. “Remember? Our dinner date?”
“Dinner date?” Grady parroted, sounding confused as his pale eyes settled on me.
I sputtered, nearly choking on my wine. I placed the glass back down before I threw it. “The business dinner,” I reminded Grady. “The reason I had to reschedule our date. Brock, my boss, and I brought the potential investors here.”
“Your boss,” Grady murmured, sitting back in his chair. The air of confusion faded as his lips thinned. “And childhood friend, right?”
“We did grow up together.” Brock chuckled as he planted a hand on the back of my booth. “Saying ‘childhood friend’ seems to belittle what we were to each other.”
What in the holy hell?
“That sounds perfectly correct.” I glared at Brock, but now he was busy eyeing Grady with that unnerving stare of his.
Brock ignored my comment. “Did she ever get around to telling you about the first time we met?”
“He doesn’t want to hear about that,” I cut in, forcing a dismissive laugh that came out a bit crazy-sounding.
“Actually,” Grady replied coolly. “I would love to hear about that.”
My mouth dropped open.
Before I knew it, Brock was settling into the booth beside me. Sitting so close that the entire length of his right side was pressed against my left. “So I was fourteen, I think, and you were eight.” He gently elbowed my side. “Right?”
“Right,” I murmured, eyeing the wine glass and thinking that my whole never getting drunk again thing sounded like a dumb idea right now.
“I’d been hanging around her father’s Academy for a while. Every kid growing up in that neighborhood knew who the Limas were. We’d all loiter outside just to catch a glimpse of her father or one of his brothers.”
“So your family is a bit famous?” Grady speculated, obviously forgetting Cam’s reaction to Brock and all of that.
“Something like that.” Fully aware of Brock’s body against mine, I eyed my wine glass with fervor.
“She’s just being modest. That’s how Jillian is,” Brock said in an infinitely familiar way, and I swallowed a groan. “Anyway, let’s just say I was a bit of a punk back then.”
“Was?” I muttered under my breath.
Brock grinned, obviously hearing me, and I hated that grin. It wasn’t cute or sexy or charming at all. Nope. “I tried to rob Andrew, her father, one night.”
“What?” Interest filled Grady’s gaze as his hand halted, the wine glass several inches from his mouth.
“Yep. I’d left home. Was starving and it was cold. Needed money, and I was a fucking idiot,” he explained, and Grady flinched at the curse word. “Tried to rob a man who could end my life in about six hundred different ways.” Laughing softly, Brock shook his head. “But Andrew didn’t kill me or beat the crap out of me like he easily could. Didn’t call the police. He’d noticed me hanging around the Academy, knew that I was fighting in some of the underground circuits—”
“At fourteen?” Grady sounded stunned. The poor country boy had no idea.
“You’d be surprised by what goes on in the cities that no one ever knows about,” Brock replied, leaning back in the booth.
I stiffened.
He draped his arm along the back, right behind me, and I tilted my head to the side, somewhere stuck between wanting to laugh at the outrageousness of him right now and wanting to throat punch him. “Andrew brought me to his house that night, offered me a hot meal and a place to stay.”
“Wow.” Grady’s smile was faint when he looked at me. “Your father is a saint.”
“My father saw raw talent and that’s what he went for,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t exactly the only reason. My dad had grown up on the streets of Natal, Brazil. Brock had a hard childhood, but it paled in comparison to my father and uncles. My dad saw a kindred soul in Brock . . . and a son he never had.
“It was pretty late when her dad brought me to the house and he left me in the living room very briefly. I’d never . . . never been in a house like that before.” A distant look glazed over his eyes. “It was just outside the city, huge and yet still somehow warm. No cockro
aches crawling on walls or rats scurrying in the dark corners. It was the kind of house I’d never dreamed of entering.”
Grady was riveted as he slowly lowered his glass to the table, and I swallowed hard, thinking of the deep well of dark memories Brock had of his life before my father opened up our home to him.
“I was about to follow him into the kitchen when I looked over at the stairwell. You see, they have this half-enclosed stairway that empties into the front room and atrium. It was dark, but there was a little shadow plastered to the wall, peeking around it.” A slow grin appeared on Brock’s face. “All I saw was this hair—dark brown hair—and big eyes.”
Scooting forward, I placed my elbow on the table and rested my cheek in my hand.
“It was little Jillybean.” Brock laughed while I rolled my eyes. “She was eavesdropping on us and her father had no idea she was up. We made eye contact and I half-suspected her to run up the stairs, because I had just . . . well, I’d just gotten into a fight before running into her father. I was looking pretty rough.”
I sat there and wondered in a daze what in the hell had happened. Brock had successfully commandeered what was left of my date, beguiling Grady with tales of our childhood.
I was going to seriously kill him.
“You didn’t run?” Grady asked me.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I leaned back once more, dropping my hands into my lap as I sucked in a sharp breath. I felt Brock’s fingers suddenly tangling in the mass of my hair.
What was he doing?
“No, she smiled at me and then gave me this little wave.” Brock slid me a sidelong glance. Our eyes met, and the air around us felt heavy as his fingers sifted through my hair without Grady seeing. “It was . . . adorable.”
Oh my.
“After getting food, he set me up in this guest bedroom and went to bed. Was like the man saw right through me and decided I was trustworthy enough to have in his house like that. I still find it unbelievable.” Brock’s fingers made their way through my hair and now were tracing little circles against the center of my back, obliterating my ability to focus. “Still blows my mind.”
“I can’t believe it,” Grady murmured, and it was then when I really hoped Brock would just stop, that he wouldn’t continue telling this story.