Fire In You: Volume Six (Wait for You Series)

by J. Lynn

  But I wasn’t lucky.

  Nope.

  God hated me.

  “About an hour had gone by, and I couldn’t sleep. My head was all over the place. The house was too damn quiet. I wasn’t used to that. Wasn’t used to people actually sleeping at night, and not yelling or car horns blaring,” he continued, and I started to lean forward once more, to avoid those damn fingers, but he snagged a thick section of my hair, holding me in place. My eyes widened slightly. “I remember sitting in this room, the nicest room I’d ever been in at the time, thinking I needed to leave. You know, that I didn’t belong in this house,” he continued as if he wasn’t using my hair as a damn leash at the moment. “And then there was this quiet little knock on the door. I had no idea who it could be.”

  “It was you,” Grady said, brows raised as he glanced over at me.

  I closed my eyes as Brock’s finger slipped back through my hair, making patterns against the thin material of the dress. My entire being was focused on the burn of his fingertips.

  “She brought me her teddy bear,” Brock announced, and I opened my eyes, letting out a sigh. “What did you say when I opened the door and you shoved the furry old thing in my hands?”

  I couldn’t believe he was bringing this up. I also couldn’t believe he actually remembered it. “I said you looked like you needed a friend.”

  Brock wasn’t smiling as he met my stare. “She then ran off, going back to bed, I guess.” A faint smile appeared. “I knew Andrew had a daughter. Even seen her a few times from a distance, but . . . never expected she’d give me, a complete stranger, a damn teddy bear.” Dragging his gaze from me, he looked over at Grady. “From that point on, we were close.”

  I really, really needed him to stop touching my back.

  “I can tell,” Grady commented wryly.

  “I’ve been her shadow ever since.”

  My gaze swung to his sharply. That was not how people related the story. I was his shadow. Never the other way around.

  “Even took her to her senior prom,” he finished, and that was it.

  Lowering my hands under the table, I reached over and grabbed his thigh through his jeans, pinching until his arm jerked back.

  His mouth twitched as he stared at me.

  Satisfied now that his hands were in his own space, I let go. “He took me to prom because the boys who were my age were too scared of my father.”

  “Huh.” Grady toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “Should I be afraid of your father?”

  “No,” I affirmed.

  “Yes,” Brock answered. “Hell, I’m still afraid of him.”

  I exhaled heavily, noisily.

  Grady nodded like he understood, but it was clear he didn’t, and then a seriously awkward silence stretched out between the three of us. I was seconds away from pitching myself under the table when Grady excused himself to use the restroom.

  Part of me feared that as he rose and walked off that he may not come back, and then I felt a measure of relief, because maybe, at this point, that would be better.

  But Brock and I were alone, so I whipped toward him. “What are you up to?” I hissed.

  He fixed me with an innocent look. “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Why are you here?”

  “Hmm.” He popped his chin in his fist, and my gaze dropped to the thin silver chain around his neck. “I just happened to be in the mood for a juicy steak and thought I’d pick one up.”

  “Yeah. And I just happened to be in the mood for a piping hot crack pipe,” I snapped back. “Why are you doing this?”

  Brock arched a brow.

  “You’re trying to ruin my date,” I accused.

  “I don’t think I have to try,” he drawled, grinning.

  I glanced at where Grady had disappeared as anger flushed my skin. “What does that mean?”

  He smirked. “You two have as much chemistry as tap water does.”

  “That’s not true.” I leaned away from him as my breath caught. My first thought was that he was right. My second thought was he didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Really?”

  “Yes!” I nearly shouted and then took a deep breath. “Grady is attractive—”

  “So cute.” He waggled his brows.

  I seethed. “And he’s funny and smart. And he’s nice.”

  “Nice?” Brock laughed. “Exactly. Proves my point.”

  “What is your point?” My hands curled into fists. “That nice people are bad people?”

  Brock inched closer and tapped his finger off the bridge of my nose. I smacked his hand away as he said, “You list his attributes like you’re talking about someone who is interviewing for a job to watch over a kindergarten class.”

  “I did not.” Taking a deep breath, I struggled to rein in my patience. “What are you doing, Brock? This—this doesn’t make sense.”

  “It doesn’t?” His brows rose. “Are you seriously going to pretend like you don’t know why I would be here?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know why.”

  He studied me for too long and then said, “He’s not what you want.”

  Oh my God, I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. I met his heavy-hooded gaze with a glare. “You need to leave. Now.”

  One side of his lips kicked up. “If I know anything, I know what you want and you’ll realize that by the time this night is over.”

  There were no words.

  “But I actually do have another reason to see you. I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving. Since we’re both going to your parents’ house, we should drive up together.”

  Oh, holy shit balls on Sunday, what? “I need a second to process this.”

  His lips curved up. “Take your time.”

  “First off, this couldn’t have waited to, oh, I don’t know, any other time? And secondly, why are you having Thanksgiving at my parents’ house? You haven’t done that in years.”

  “To answer your first point, it was on my mind right now to discuss,” he replied smoothly. “And why am I having dinner at your parents’ house this year? This year is different, but we’ll talk more about this later.”

  I opened my mouth.

  “I’ll let you get back to your oh-so exciting nice date.” He slipped out of the booth; his gaze drifted over me. “I really wish I could see the rest of you in this dress, because what I see so far is fucking amazing. You look beautiful.”

  My mouth continued to hang open.

  “Have a nice evening.”

  Winking, Brock sauntered down the aisle, passing Grady on the way out. They stopped, exchanged a few words I probably didn’t want to know about, and then Grady was walking toward the table.

  He sat down with an odd little laugh. “Well, all that was . . . unexpected.”

  All I could do was shake my head helplessly. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what he was doing.”

  “I think . . . he was checking up on you.” Grady rubbed a hand over his chest. “He was checking up on us.”

  I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have anything to say, because Brock had never done anything like that before. Ever. Not even on the rare times I had dates when we were young and I’d tell him about them, obviously hoping he’d get jealous and realize he wanted me before someone else had me. Then he didn’t even bat an eyelash.

  “How did he know we were here?” he asked.

  “Coincidence?” I repeated dumbly.

  “You sure about that? Because he just left without picking up any food.”

  Oh my God, he hadn’t. “I might’ve mentioned we were going here, but he’s just—I mean, he’s really . . .” I swallowed hard, struggling to explain what had just happened that didn’t involve me spewing curses everywhere. “He’s overprotective.”

  Grady nodded slowly. “Can I ask you something?”

  Please, no. “Sure.”

  “Have you two ever been involved with one another?”


  “What?” I forced out a laugh. “No. We haven’t.” And was that really a lie, because I wasn’t counting what happened last Friday, and me being in love with him for like ten years or so didn’t count.

  He looked over his shoulder and then back to me. “Maybe he’s into you.”

  I laughed again, but this time it wasn’t forced, because that was just unprecedented ridiculousness.

  But was it?

  I thought about him wanting to come in that night for a drink. Then all those lattes and the lunches, and he told me I was beautiful, and he wanted to drive me home for Thanksgiving, and I . . .

  And then there was what happened between us that Friday night. I didn’t want to think about it, had managed to stop myself all week whenever my thoughts drifted there, but it had happened. Brock hadn’t wanted to pretend like it hadn’t happened. He’d said he hadn’t regret those brief heated and dark moments. Could he—?

  My heart started pounding fast, too fast, and I felt dizzy at the mere idea that someone else thought he could be interested. I was so used to everyone telling me he wasn’t.

  Grady finished off his wine.

  The conversation kind of, well, sucked from that point. It was idle and mindless, and when the check came, he paid for it with a quickness a ninja would be proud of.

  Grady walked me to my car, which was parked around the corner, behind a bank. He didn’t hold my hand, but he hugged me goodnight. Not a full body, chest to chest hug that made me feel shivery and wanting. Definitely nowhere near a kiss.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, stepping back.

  I nodded. “I . . . I had a good time.”

  “Me too.” He lingered for a moment, his gaze searching mine and then he turned. “Have a good night, Jillian.”

  I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, and I knew he wasn’t going to call me again.

  And I wasn’t going to call him.

  Avery was going to be so disappointed.

  Chapter 20

  Not exactly comfortable lingering in dark areas at night for obvious reasons, I immediately locked my car doors and turned on the engine. Then I sent Brock the quickest text message possible.

  Meet me at my place. Now.

  Yes, it was a demanding text, one I probably would’ve never seen myself ever sending Brock, but I was pissed. I had no idea what Brock had been up to when he stopped by the restaurant. Wanting to talk about Thanksgiving? Utter bullshit.

  My hands clenched the steering wheel as I eased out of the small parking lot and turned onto the street, immediately hitting a red light. I didn’t hear my phone ding and I also didn’t check if he had responded, fearing that if he had and gave some excuse to why he couldn’t talk now, I’d drive my car into something.

  I fumed the entire drive home. The little part of me that had been left breathless earlier over the fact someone else thought Brock was interested in me had quickly been burned away in fiery irritation.

  What he’d done tonight was not cool.

  Arriving at my apartment, I climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Scanning the parking lot, I didn’t see his car and as I hurried through the chilly air, under the starry night sky, I yanked my phone out of my purse.

  Of course, no response.

  “Asshole,” I muttered, stomping up the stairwell.

  Yeah, there really hadn’t been much of a spark between Grady and me, but that was none of Brock’s business. Not even remotely. And maybe tonight could’ve been the night that that something developed between Grady and me, but that hadn’t happened. Brock showed up, took us all down a quick trip along memory lane, giving Grady the impression that what we had going wasn’t worth investigating further. Reaching my door, I unlocked it and yanked it open, wanting to tear it from the hinges.

  Stripping off my jacket, I tossed it over the back of my couch and grabbed the chilled bottle of wine from the fridge. Working the cork out, I took a nice long gulp, forgoing a glass.

  Forget the whole not drinking thing for right now.

  A small part of me knew that even if Brock hadn’t busted all up into my date like the Kool-Aid dude, a spark wouldn’t have magically appeared between Grady and me. After reading a crap ton of romance books—after knowing what I had for Brock at one point in my life—I was a firm believer in if that special it wasn’t there on the first real date, it most likely was never going to appear.

  And that wasn’t even taking into consideration that the nights when I couldn’t sleep and I slipped my hand between my own thighs, it hadn’t been Grady’s face that appeared in my mind.

  But still.

  I was pissed.

  Raising the bottle of wine to my lips again, I jumped and dribbled a little on my chin as I heard a knock on my door.

  My heart felt like it was on a trampoline at the same moment my eyes narrowed. Wiping my hand along my chin, I placed the bottle on the island and stalked toward the door, pulling it open.

  Brock stood outside, lashes lowered, shielding his gaze.

  “That was quick,” I snapped.

  His full lips twitched. “Let’s just say I figured you’d be wanting to see me tonight, so I hung around this end of town.”

  “Is that so? You’re psychic now?”

  Brock lifted his gaze and his lips parted. “Damn,” he exhaled. A strange look crossed his chiseled features, like he was seeing something hidden for the first time. Something he knew always existed but was out of reach. “You and that dress . . .” He stepped into my apartment, forcing me to back up as he closed the door behind him. “I knew you would look beautiful.”

  Beautiful?

  There was that word again, a word I was sure he knew what it meant.

  Skin flushed as I glared at him. “I don’t want to hear you say that. I don’t even want to know that you think that.”

  Brock appeared to ignore that statement, because he asked, “When did you get those curves, Jilly?”

  Emboldened by my anger, I held my ground. “Oh, I don’t know. When I was nineteen. But you didn’t notice them then, did you?”

  “No.” He shook his head, almost in wonder. “I didn’t want to notice.”

  My brows flew up. “You didn’t want to? That makes no sense.”

  “It doesn’t?” Those dark eyes pierced mine. “You were Andrew Lima’s little girl.”

  “I’m still his daughter, the last time I checked.”

  “True,” he murmured, and then his gaze swept over me once more, starting at the tip of my head down to the pointy tips of my heels, then swept up again, lingering on my chest. “But not so little anymore.”

  Despite my anger, I felt my nipples harden. I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. “Are you drunk?”

  Brock blinked and his gaze shot to mine. “I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since that night.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Not one fucking time since that night.”

  “Well, okay.” Feeling a little chagrined, I dropped a bit of the attitude. “Look, I didn’t text you to come over and talk about my—my dress or how you’ve suddenly noticed I’m not a child anymore. What the hell was up with tonight?”

  Not answering, he glanced around my apartment. Spying Rhage sitting on the arm of the couch, he brushed past me, shoving the sleeves of his V-neck sweater up his forearms, revealing the brightly colored tattoos on his left arm.

  “Well, just help yourself to my cat. That’s not—” I stopped as Rhage rose, stretching his kitty head toward Brock’s large hand, rubbing against him. Disgusted, I shook my head. That cat was also an asshole. “That’s bullshit.”

  Scratching Rhage behind the ear, he looked over his shoulder at me. “Your language is burning my innocent ears.”

  “Oh, shut up. You cuss worse than a drunken sailor tossed overboard into a swarm of tiger sharks.” Unfolding my arms, I walked over to the wine.

  He raised an eyebrow as I took a drink from the bottle and then murmured, “You’re going down th
at route again? If so, I am so glad I’m here.”

  Eyes narrowed, I clutched the bottle to my chest. “Okay. It’s time to get real. What was the purpose of tonight, and don’t tell me it’s because of Thanksgiving. You had ample opportunity to talk to me about that. There was no reason for you to hunt me down on a date, interrupt it, and ruin it.”

  “I ruined your date?” He laughed as he straightened, facing me. “That guy didn’t have a chance in hell with you.”

  “How would you know?” I fired back.

  He took a step toward me, and I stepped to the side, keeping a safe distance between us. He kept coming in a slow, measured approached, causing a dizzying flutter in my chest. “I just do.”

  “That’s laughable.” I kept inching away from him as he slowly followed my movements. “You even admitted that you didn’t know me anymore.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said, Jillian.” His eyes glimmered as he lowered his chin. “You tell me one thing about little Grady that excites you.”

  Excites me? My pulse was all over the place at the moment, and it had nothing to do with Grady or the wine I’d just guzzled. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  “Why?” One more step and he was about a foot from me.

  My apartment wasn’t that large, so I found myself with my back almost against the wall. “Because it’s—it’s inappropriate!”

  “Inappropriate?” His laugh was deep and rough. Sexy. A fine series of shivers danced down my arms. “Why in the hell is this inappropriate?”

  “Because—because you’re my boss.”

  “I am not just your boss. Have you forgotten that I literally had to carry you upstairs and put you to bed after you got into your dad’s liquor cabinet and drank for the first time?” he asked. “Or the fact that you’ve been there for me, for some of the darkest moments of my life? Helping me change into clean clothes because I was too fucked up on pain meds and alcohol to even know what year I was in?”

  I drew in a stuttered breath. Oh my God, we never talked about that time—about those months after his chest wall injury.

  “Or let’s talk about how not that long ago you were riding my fingers until you came? Just a boss? Come on, Jilly, you can do better than that.”