Driven to Distraction

by Lori Foster

Damn it, he should have gotten the contract signed yesterday. If he hadn’t been so busy pricking her temper and enjoying her reactions, he might’ve thought ahead to do it.

  Jack, who hadn’t been nearly as fascinated with her, should have seen to it. But no, that dick just let him wallow in his bad manners with only the occasional glare.

  Why the hell hadn’t Charlotte made it a priority? She had enough experience, along with a real head for business, to know it should’ve been done. Why had they let a financial catch like Mary Daniels slip out with no more than a verbal commitment?

  Suddenly Howler perked up one ear. That was followed by one eye opening. That single eye searched the area directly in front of him—because Howler wasn’t getting up just out of curiosity. As headlights flashed over the track, the big dog managed to lift his head enough to issue a single “Woof.”

  That done, he stretched out again.

  “What a good dog,” Brodie said in the voice reserved only for Howler. He knelt and stroked the animal’s neck. “You’re the best guard dog ever. Yes, you are.” Howler’s tail thumped at the praise. “Contract first,” Brodie told him, though he suspected Howler was back asleep. “Then we’ll go.”

  At that particular word, the dog bounded up in a clumsy rush and circled his car, looking for a way to get in.

  “Not yet, boy. Patience.” Waiting for Red to reach him—which, given her snail’s pace, could take a while—Brodie leaned against the fender and crossed his arms. Anticipation prickled along his spine.

  Why, he didn’t know, but there you had it.

  Per her request, aka demand, he was clearheaded this morning, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. The thick morning air settled dew on everything, including him. On the ground beside him, a packed cooler waited with a thermos of coffee leaning against it, lidded travel mugs on top.

  Her car, a pristine silver Ford, rolled up behind his. Through the dim light of the security lamps, he watched her put the car in Park. She opened her door and out came one small foot, adorned in a white sandal with a fluttery floral skirt drifting around it. Her toenails were painted a shiny color that closely matched her skin.

  Not looking at him, she stepped out and brought her seat forward so she could retrieve a few things from the back seat.

  Her briefcase and...an overnight bag? Interesting.

  Down, he told his baser instincts. We’re not spending the night with her.

  Noticing that she didn’t have a cooler, Brodie suppressed a smile. He could behave and still have some fun. Perfect.

  After locking her doors, she finally glanced up at him, her assessing gaze going over him as if looking for signs of dissolution.

  Brodie spread his arms wide. “Do I pass muster? Got enough covered up to spare your delicate sensibilities? I don’t need a hat, do I?” He ran his fingers through his messy hair, then down over his throat. “A muffler? It’s damn hot for a muffler but if throats shock you—”

  “You’ll do,” she cut in, her tone calm and controlled.

  Too controlled, damn it.

  Sapphire eyes clashed with his, then she sniffed and looked away. “A shave wouldn’t have killed you.”

  “How do you know?” He scratched over his scruffy jaw, hearing the rasp of a two-day shadow. “I shave every other week. That’s enough torture for any man.”

  Her widened gaze came back to his. “Every other?”

  “Week,” he filled in for her since she seemed too appalled to manage the last word. Every muscle in his body flexed with interest. Insane. She wasn’t wearing anything sexy—the opposite, in fact. She didn’t make any overt gesture toward him. And her poor hair—she’d drawn it up so tightly it made his temples sympathize.

  “And in the meantime?”

  He’d been so busy thinking about liberating her hair, it took him a second to catch her meaning. “In between shaves, I have whiskers. Not a big deal, you know. Men are hairy. People—” he silently mouthed, You “—should learn to deal with it.”

  Hostility tightened her jaw. “So you won’t have to bother grooming yourself?”

  “Hey, I’m groomed. Mostly anyway. I showered, brushed my teeth, sort of combed my hair—”

  “Sort of?”

  He wiggled his fingers. “Works as well as a comb.” Before he forgot that he was supposed to be polite and nice and all that other sugary shit, he swiped a forearm over the narrow trunk space and the low spoiler at the back of his Mustang to remove the dew. “Contract?”

  “Oh.” As if coming out of a daze, she withdrew papers and looked toward the office.

  “Still locked up. Charlotte won’t get here till nine, Jack is gone for the day, and we should have headed out five minutes ago.” A subtle jab while withholding a last bathroom break. That’s what you get, Red, for your constant criticisms.

  She frowned. “I’m only a few minutes late, and only because I wasn’t familiar with the road that came up here. Yesterday I climbed those grueling rock stairs and I didn’t want to have to do that again.”

  “I run those bitches like Rocky, but yeah.” He dropped his gaze to her hips, then to her ankles and those shiny little toes. “Guess I’m a little more muscular than you.”

  “A little,” she said, her tone prim.

  What an understatement. At about five-two, she was at least a foot shorter than him and no doubt a hundred pounds lighter, with most of her weight being tits and ass. But whatever. She might’ve lacked brute strength, but she made up for it with attitude and confidence.

  At a loss as to how to reply to that, she just looked at him.

  He gestured at her briefcase. “Contract?” he said again, but what he really meant was: Check?

  “Of course.” She approached the car and, with reluctance, laid her briefcase against the trunk with the contract on top. She handed him a fancy pen that probably cost more than a tankful of gas.

  After quickly reading it over, he saw that it was a standard agreement except for the amount paid and the stipulation that he had a very short time frame to deliver. Interesting that Mary Daniels was listed as an agent to contact for any issues and all communication related to the delivery service.

  It meant he still didn’t know who he worked for, only that Red was employed to see the job done.

  He twirled the pen. “So who are we delivering to?”

  “It’s not a secret, so don’t look so suspicious.”

  “Time’s tickin’ away here, Red.”

  “Mary,” she corrected, going rigid as the rebar used to reinforce concrete. “I’m employed by Therman Ritter.” Her stiff smile was more like a baring of teeth. “If you sign the contract, you will be employed by him as well.”

  Brodie sighed. “Fine.” He scribbled his name at the appropriate place.

  She handed him a check, careful not to touch him. “Half now, half once we deliver.” She folded her hands together. “There’s one more thing.”

  Before she could say something that might make him rethink the deal, he tucked the check away in his wallet.

  Easiest money ever made—so far. With that done, he looked down at her.

  Even in the dim dawn, her hair shone like a beacon, picking up each and every beam of available light. God, how he’d love to see it down.

  Not like that’d happen anytime soon, though.

  She really was a little thing. And those expressive eyes, those plush lips... He drew a breath. “What’s the other thing?”

  “If this exchange goes well, Therman is interested in putting Mustang Transport on retainer.”

  “No shit?”

  “Er...”

  “Like he’d use us exclusively?” How many high-end deals did this guy make a year? A month?

  She nodded but then corrected, “More specifically, he wants to put you on retainer.”

  “Huh.”
Should he be flattered or wary? Unsure, Brodie squinted across the landscape at the rising sun. “How about we discuss that on the road?” He needed to ensure the success of this transport before planning the future.

  “Certainly.” She glanced around. “Where’s your car?”

  Keeping his smile inside, he opened the driver’s door, pulled the seat forward and whistled. Howler, who’d been sitting not too patiently, came alive in that clumsy, rushing way unique to him and his too-long limbs. In one big leap, he shot through the slim space into the back seat. Sitting much like an old man with his head and shoulders stooped forward, knobby knees up, and expectation on his long face, he took up every available inch of room on the seats.

  Brodie closed the door, circled to the passenger side and with an absurd flourish, opened her door.

  At first she didn’t move. She appeared to be taking in the obvious with disbelief bordering on horror.

  Finally she closed her mouth and found her voice. “This is the car you’re taking?”

  “Yup.” He stroked along the roof. “She’s the girl that never lets me down.”

  Red struck a militant pose, her arms stiff down at her sides, hands fisted, jaw tight. “Does this car even run?”

  He put on a face of affront. “Of course she runs.”

  “She’s rusted.”

  “No, she’s touched up with primer because soon she’ll be—” he looked at Mary’s hair “—red. I would think you’d know the difference between falling apart and a trip to the salon.”

  Blue eyes flared, then narrowed severely. In a dangerous purr, she asked, “You think I deliberately made my hair this color?”

  Hmm. He would have teased her more, but he detected a hint of hurt in her tone, as if she didn’t like her hair. Hard to imagine since he thought it was sexy personified, but he’d tackle that in a bit—after the steam stopped coming out of her ears. “I think it’s hot as hell out here and my dog will roast if you don’t get a move on.”

  She fumed a few seconds more, then seemed to catch herself. Her lashes lowered as she took a deep breath that swelled her chest, and when she opened them again, he saw the banked ire as well as that iron control.

  Admirable. There were a lot of facets to the lady’s personality. He’d never been that fond of puzzles, but damned if he didn’t want to figure her out.

  “You were working on her—” she shook her head “—it, yesterday.”

  Nose in the air, he stated, “Her name is Matilda.” At that bit of nonsense, Red looked ready to stomp.

  In fact, she did stomp—on her way to the car. She shoved the overnight case onto the back seat. As she slid in, she muttered under her breath, “Matilda.”

  Brodie let himself grin as he said, “Buckle up.” Then he circled around to the other side of the car and did the same with Howler. “That’s a good boy,” he crooned to the dog. “Good dog. Yes, you are.”

  As if in slow motion, Red swiveled around to ogle him.

  He kissed the dog on his wrinkled forehead, which earned him a big sloppy tongue kiss, right up his chin to his left eye.

  Using his shoulder to wipe away slobber, he grimaced. “You’re the only dude I’ll let do that, bud.”

  Red was still giving him that look of incredulity as he moved her case to the floor, away from Howler. He even helped block it with the hard-sided cooler, then poured himself a coffee.

  One look at her face and he huffed. “Howler is in a perpetual state of teething. If I hadn’t moved your case, he’d have gnawed on it the whole trip.”

  “That dog is not a baby.”

  “Try telling him that.” Brodie shrugged. “Next to sleeping and eating, his favorite activity is chewing.” Pretty much everything—except for the chew toys he had in abundance.

  “Thank you, but that’s not what I meant.” Her right eyebrow rose. “You baby-talk your dog.”

  “So?”

  “So you and that particular tone are a very odd mix.”

  “Howler likes it.” And that was what mattered. Before she could ask him how he knew that, he offered, “Coffee?”

  Catching her bottom lip in her teeth, she hesitated.

  Mmm. He wouldn’t mind biting that lip himself. It was plump and soft, rosy and wet, and he’d bet his left nut she tasted really good.

  “You have another cup?”

  His gaze jumped up to hers. Was she afraid to share with him? Thought he might give her cooties? Somehow every damn thing she said managed to offend him.

  Or turn him on.

  Mostly turn him on. “I don’t give my morning coffee to just anyone, so yes, I have another cup.”

  “Then thank you.”

  “I have cream and sugar packets if you—”

  “Black is good.” She took it from him, sipped and murmured, “Oh, that’s so good,” in a husky whisper that tiptoed down his spine. Lashes at half-mast, she held the travel mug close to her stubborn little nose and breathed in the aroma.

  Brodie stood there, a little dumbfounded that she could make drinking coffee look and sound so sexual. “Anyway.” He poured another cup, snapped on the lid and put it in the console holder between the seats, then got behind the wheel. “You don’t mind Howler going along?” Here he’d been all prepped for her arguments and she’d surprised him by not giving any.

  “Not if he’s used to going along. Since he has his own car restraints, I assume he is.”

  “Yeah, he hates to be left behind. Breaks my black heart to hear him whining, so he goes where I go. I had to make the restraint, by the way, because they don’t make them big enough to fit his—” he glanced at Howler as if worried he might offend “—bone structure. But it’s definitely necessary.” With the turn of a key, the engine rumbled to life, purring like a kitten.

  Maybe a pissed-off kitten, but still a kitten.

  “Howler loves to ride, but if anything spooks him, and just about everything does, he crawls into the front seat and tries to get on my lap. Brought me close to wrecking a few times, so now I buckle him in.”

  “It’s clever.” As he pulled away, she shifted to see the restraint again.

  Brodie had to admit it wasn’t as pretty as something store-bought, but it got the job done. He’d designed it to attach to the seat belt buckle and to the harness that Howler only wore while riding. For extra stability, he’d expanded the usual single strap to two so it latched on both sides.

  Howler had a tendency to topple on turns.

  “You love him a lot.”

  That particular soft voice from her could be lethal to his libido...if she said anything else. Why the hell would she use that word? Did the woman not date? Did she not know that men like him and that particular word didn’t mix? Any mention of love, even in relation to his dog, set off warning bells. Too many women had tried to go down that road, but unlike his dad, he’d wait to settle down until he was damn good and ready.

  He wasn’t ready yet.

  “He’s mine and I take care of what’s mine.”

  “He wasn’t yours when you rescued him.”

  Pushy, that was what she was.

  He felt her watching him, but he concentrated on the road.

  “You’ve had him ever since?”

  Not a story he’d go into with her. Though it was a full year ago, thinking about it still put him in a dangerous rage. Talking about it left him exposed. So he switched topics. “What about you? Any pets?”

  “No.” Turning to stare out the windshield, she held her coffee in both hands and sipped. “I’d love a dog or a cat, but I’m not home enough and it wouldn’t be fair.”

  Something in her voice drew him. “Did you have pets as a kid?”

  Her humorless laugh broke off quickly and she sipped again. “No, no pets.”

  Hmm. That edgy laugh put him on alert. “Ever?”

>   “Let’s talk about future employment and what it’d mean to be under a retainer.”

  No one would ever mistake him for a gentleman. In fact, other than family, those who knew him would call him the exact opposite—and worse. But he knew how to read women, and this woman’s desperate grasp for a new subject meant something about her past, maybe her upbringing, had left her emotionally bleeding.

  Jerk or not, he would never deliberately hurt a woman, any woman. But for some bizarre reason that basic, bone-deep urge to protect suddenly burned extra hot.

  If Red knew he was feeling territorial, that he wanted to shield her, she’d probably give him hell. She could take care of herself, he didn’t doubt it, but that didn’t matter to his baser instincts. He never fought the inevitable.

  Nodding his agreement, he took the ramp onto I-71 South. “Lay it on me.”

  * * *

  FOR ABOUT AN HOUR, Brodie was somewhat pleasant, causing Mary to change her initial assessment of him. He’d shared his coffee with her until they’d finished off the entire thermos. As they did so, they’d spoken amicably about a retainer agreement, with him accepting the requirements without complaint. Overall he’d acted like a relaxed, competent, albeit rough-edged man.

  So she decided to give him a second chance.

  After all, having a hangover could have thrown off anyone. Plus she’d obviously caught him by surprise with her visit.

  And granted, with the heat of the day and the embarrassing way she’d reacted to him, part of their adversarial byplay yesterday was her fault.

  They passed another exit, and Mary squirmed. She glanced at Brodie’s profile, wondering if she should ask him to stop.

  Smug satisfaction curved his mouth into a smile.

  Oh, it was small. Barely there, even. But she saw that little curl to his sensuous lips, the crinkle at the corners of his lushly lashed eyes.

  That was when she started to wonder just how wicked he might be.

  She’d made the early trip to his office—which had been closed. Then after sharing his coffee—the whole blasted thermos, most of which she’d drunk—he’d asked her to get them each a bottle of water from the cooler. Unsuspecting at the time, she’d politely accepted, and though he’d only taken a few drinks of his, she’d finished off her bottle.