by Lori Foster
“No.” He squeezed her so she couldn’t jab him again. “Just saying if we practice a lot—” he punctuated that with a kiss to her shoulder “—like at least once a day and twice on weekends, you’d be even better.”
For a terrifying heartbeat she went utterly still, her body no longer soft against his...then she relaxed. “How long do you think it’d take for me to perfect my moves?”
He wanted to say, A lifetime, but he didn’t want her freezing up on him again. “You’ll know it when you get there. Until then, I expect you to apply yourself.”
A thought occurred to him. Frowning, he turned her to her back and loomed over her. “Private lessons with me, Red. Only me.”
With her skin still flushed, her freckles stood out. Those eyes—God, he’d never get used to her eyes—stared up at him as if trying to piece together a difficult puzzle. And her mouth, puffy and pink from their kisses, smiled. “I didn’t enjoy it with anyone else anyway.”
He was starting to think that was a good thing, at least for him.
She touched his jaw. “I insist that you not practice with anyone else, either.”
He parroted her words back at her, with a slight twist. “I don’t want anyone else anyway.” How could he, now that he’d had her?
After stretching, she smothered a yawn.
“Sleepy?”
“Not really, but I’m not exactly energetic, either.”
“Then let’s go grab some ice cream and watch a movie with Howler. He likes action flicks best, but you might be able to talk him into a drama.”
Mary laughed. It was a beautiful sound, especially so with her naked and in his bed. With any luck, he’d have her over often enough to hear it again and again.
* * *
MARY WOKE ALONE, shivering among the sheets cooled by a humming air conditioner. At first she didn’t understand. Unfamiliar dawn light bled in through...unfamiliar drapes.
She narrowed her eyes; even the placement of the window didn’t make sense.
Sluggishly, she sat up, her impossible hair everywhere, half of it in her face.
Naked?
Brodie.
The memory of him flooded over her like a warm tide: unbelievable sex, followed by the fun of curling in a chair together, watching a movie while he fed her ice cream, and then the comforting way he’d held her all night.
Oh, how she could get used to all that.
Used to it? She already craved it.
Of course, his side of the bed was empty, otherwise she wouldn’t have been cold. The man gave off heat like her own personal furnace.
It took her a second to locate a clock. Only 5:00 a.m. He’d said Jack and Charlotte wouldn’t be in until nine, so she had plenty of time. Good thing, since she always woke like a zombie.
Assuming he’d taken Howler out, she left the bed and gathered up her T-shirt and panties. A peek out the bedroom door showed everything dim and quiet. Literally sneaking, she carried her clothes and darted into the bathroom.
After taking care of business, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Not good. With her long hair tangled around her face and no makeup, she looked bad. Like Death had a nightmare and woke up screaming.
Coffee. That was what she needed.
She pulled on the shirt and panties, splashed the sleep from her eyes, gargled with mouthwash just in case Brodie felt amorous this morning and then crept to the kitchen.
The coffee was usually made at the office, but she had no intentions of still being around when it opened. It only required a little snooping in the cabinets to find the coffee and filters.
A little hopeful for quick morning sex before she had to leave, she made enough for two, then waited impatiently until the coffee machine finished. She’d just filled a mug when she heard voices outside.
Until then, she hadn’t realized that the door wasn’t shut completely.
Brodie had company? This early?
She strained to hear, and while she couldn’t make out what was said, she realized that one of the voices was female.
Suspicion mixed with jealousy, and a vision of Gina draped all over him again brought on a frown.
Many times in her life she’d been jealous, but never over a man. God, no, not after her mother had paraded man after man into their home. She’d grown up seeing them as interchangeable. Necessary for sex, but not for anything more.
What she’d envied was the sight of a mother and daughter shopping together, walking in the park, even chatting. She and her mother hadn’t shared many meaningful talks.
Now there was this jealousy, all new because of Brodie. He’d changed her perceptions on men big-time.
She tried to talk herself out of it, but her feet already had her halfway to the door. She told herself that she’d just peek out and see who was visiting.
Unfortunately, as she reached for the knob, the door suddenly swung open, forcing Mary to take a startled leap back. The mug slipped from her hand, spilling coffee on her shirt as it dropped, then broke on the floor, narrowly missing her foot.
Yelping, Mary frantically pulled the shirt loose, shaking it to let cooler air in near her skin as she jumped on one foot to avoid the spill.
“Brodie,” that female voice chastised, “you should have told me you had company.”
Oh no.
Inching her gaze up in trepidation, Mary found herself facing a woman with dark eyes and very lush lashes...who looked amazingly like a petite feminine version of her son.
Dear God, the mother.
“Shit.” Brodie stepped in around the woman. “Are you all right, Mary?”
Wishing she could be somewhere, anywhere, other than here, she whispered, “Yes.” Thankfully the mug hadn’t splintered, but several chunks of glass covered the floor, along with a big puddle. “I’m sorry.”
All her fault.
“Don’t just stand there, Brodie,” his mother said, stepping around the mess and rushing into the kitchen. “See if she’s burnt.” As she spoke, she ran cold water over a hand towel.
Mary turned to flee but she’d barely taken a step before Brodie whisked her up—literally!
She was so shocked she couldn’t even get out a protest.
“Your feet,” he said, plunking her down on the counter. “I don’t want you to step on glass.”
Seriously, her butt was on the counter.
In front of his mother.
“Here.” That inimitable woman handed Mary the cold towel. “Put that under your shirt on your skin.”
Well. Mary saw where Brodie got his bossiness. “Um...” The thing dripped water onto her thighs.
Without waiting for her to do it, his mother shot down the hall and into the bedroom with a purpose.
Wide-eyed, Mary stared at Brodie.
He took the towel from her and wrung it out over the sink. “Are you burnt, honey?”
No, he could not use that gentle voice on her now. “I...”
He lifted her shirt, wincing at whatever he saw.
Shock froze her. He had her shirt above her boobs. Glancing back to see if his mother was near, she slapped at his hands and tried to pull down her shirt. “Are you insane?”
“Around you? Maybe.” The cold, wet cloth landed over her chest, stealing her breath again.
The woman returned with one of her son’s button-up shirts. “Here.” She tossed it to Brodie, who obligingly caught it.
They seemed to work in tandem or something.
“Help her change while I clean this up.”
Mary did more staring. It was as if a plump but shapely, unstoppable whirlwind came through.
She’d sort of envisioned Brodie’s mother with golden hair, a diaphanous white gown and possibly a halo.
Instead, she wore old jeans and unlaced white sneakers with a black Led Zeppelin T-shir
t. Hair the same rich brown as Brodie’s was caught up in a high ponytail.
The woman he’d described so many times had seemed like a fairy-tale version of what a mother should be, but this woman, the one now grabbing things from the kitchen, was all too real.
Disconcertingly so.
Taking a broom and dustpan, more paper towels and the waste can from under the sink, she said, “I’m Rosalyn Crews, by the way. Brodie’s mom. You can call me Ros.”
Mary kept her in her sights as she continued on behind them to get to work.
Brodie nudged her.
Right. She had a voice. Now if she could just find it. “Um... I’m Mary. Daniels. A coworker.” Coworker?
That was the best she could come up with?
Brodie snickered—until she fried him with a glare.
Trying again, Mary said, “We work together.” And I obviously just came from your son’s bed. Her eyes closed in dismay. Apparently there were nuances to finding an engaging sexual relationship with a man.
He had family.
With a touch to her chin, Brodie brought her face around and mouthed, Sorry, with a smile.
He didn’t look sorry. No, he actually looked smug.
Without a word of warning, he stripped the shirt off her.
Squawking, Mary tried to slide off the counter, maybe intending—very stupidly—to hide on the other side, where his mother couldn’t see her. But that paragon wasn’t looking anyway and Brodie already had the clean shirt around her.
All she could do was concentrate on getting her arms through the sleeves as quickly as possible. In the process, the hand towel fell to her lap.
Brodie turned to run it under cold water again. She tried to get the buttons done up, but her hands were shaking.
She’d blame that reaction on lack of coffee.
“Here,” he whispered, placing the towel over her again.
“Does she need a doctor?” Ros didn’t look up as she efficiently removed the mess like a pro.
“No,” Mary said. “I’m fine.”
“Are you blistering?”
“No.”
Brodie said, “Just pink, but you’re embarrassing her, Mom,” as he worked on buttoning the shirt for her.
“Me? You’re the one who left her here alone.”
“Because you knocked on my door at the butt crack of dawn.”
Chunks of glass clinked as Ros dumped them into the waste can. “It wasn’t my idea to break into the office.”
Wait... What?
Mary twisted to see her. “Someone broke in? When?”
“Last night,” Brodie answered, still buttoning the shirt as if she were a toddler. “Don’t worry about that now.”
Ros ignored him, saying, “Jimmied the lock on the door and ransacked the place. Went through the file cabinets and desk drawers. They left a mess, but from what Jack can tell, nothing in particular is missing.” She did a final swab of the floor with fresh paper towels, then sat back on her heels. “The big consensus is that whoever hassled you on your job the other day showed up looking for something.”
“Mom,” Brodie complained.
“She’s surprised, honey, not dumb.” Ros winked at Mary. “I know you wouldn’t have a dumb woman here.”
Mary said, “Thank you?” So the attack the other day hadn’t ended after all. But why?
Wearing a smile far too familiar to her son’s, Ros returned to the kitchen, putting things away and then washing her hands. “After Brodie told me everything, it makes sense that it has to be related. You’d have come to the same conclusions quickly enough.”
Dignity began a slow return. “Yes, I would have.” But now what? She had to let Therman know, but she also had the current situation to deal with.
As if Ros had read her mind, she frowned up at her son. “You want to let her down now?”
“Right.” Brodie lifted her to her bare feet.
Flattening a hand to her chest, Mary held that damp cloth, which now made the shirt damp, too, in place.
Luckily Brodie was a big man and his shirt hung to midthigh on her, covering as much as most dresses would. Still, she tugged at it with her free hand, wishing it’d cover even more.
Like her face.
Ros brushed him aside and it was all Mary could do not to squirm when the woman held out her hand and smiled.
Unsure what else she could do, Mary accepted. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Ros laughed. “No, I imagine under the circumstances, it’s not. Honestly, it’s just bad luck that you have to meet me today, but please don’t be embarrassed. Brodie asked me to wait outside, though I didn’t know why. If he’d told me he had company—” she raised an eyebrow at her son “—I wouldn’t have barged in.”
Brodie shrugged. “It’s not like you were waiting for an explanation. Plus, I was hoping she was still in bed.”
With that statement thrown out there, Mary’s face went as hot as her burnt chest. “Brodie.”
“So that you wouldn’t be put on the spot,” he clarified. Then with a grin, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Red.”
Good Lord. He enjoyed her predicament.
Murdering him was feeling like a real possibility when the strangest thing happened.
His mother aligned with her.
“Maybe you should have told her what was happening before you left her this morning. Then she wouldn’t have been taken by surprise.”
Brodie tugged at an ear. “Maybe.”
“And then to embarrass her more on purpose?” She tsked. “Brodie Archer Crews, you should know better than to treat a woman like that.”
Mary’s jaw loosened. Archer? That was his middle name?
And his mother had just reprimanded him with it—in Mary’s defense.
She didn’t know what to say or think.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s just that Red is so easy to tease...”
“Red?”
He tugged his ear again. “It’s a nickname.”
Humor lit Ros’s dark eyes, making them look even more like her son’s. “I can see why.” She smiled at Mary. “You have amazing hair. It’s beautiful.”
Words strangled in her throat.
“I’ve told her,” Brodie said.
“Yes,” Ros murmured, “I’m sure you have.” With a squeeze, she finally released Mary’s hand, but leaned in to whisper, “I know my son. He’s always been drawn to striking women.”
Striking? Her? She resisted the urge to touch her tangled hair and instead said a calm, and hopefully dignified, “Thank you.”
She’d never had a conversation with a mother while wearing her son’s shirt, but she knew she had to pull it together.
“You’re kind.” Hitching up her chin and convincing her lips to curve, she tried her best to look confident. “I do apologize for being such a mess.” Had she had known this would happen, she would still be in the bed.
Maybe with the covers over her head.
At the very least she’d be fully dressed.
“If this is your idea of a mess,” Ros assured her, “then every woman who meets you will be envious.”
Behind his mother, Brodie grinned.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Ros asked.
“Positive.” Her skin felt tender, but she didn’t think she’d blister.
“Brodie can get you some aloe. It’ll help.”
Mary nodded, but she didn’t want aloe. She wanted away. Away from her own embarrassment, away from his perfect mother, away from her own awkwardness. “Thank you for picking up the mess. I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“We startled you. It happens.” Ros patted her shoulder. “I’m going back to the office to help Jack clean up.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “Jack is here, too?” Great.
Just freakin’ great.
They could have a party.
“Howler’s down at the office with him,” Brodie explained. “I didn’t want him to wake you.”
“Charlotte will show up shortly.” Ros gave her a direct look, and her direct looks were every bit as effective as her son’s, but more intimidating. “Join us, okay?”
His entire close-knit, loving family would know she’d breached professionalism to sleep with him.
Mary had no idea what to say. “I, ah...”
Brodie put his arm around his mother’s shoulders, steering her toward the door. “We’ll talk about it, Mom.”
“Charlotte is bringing donuts,” Ros called back in a singsong voice, as if to entice her. “And there’ll be more coffee.”
Mary heard Brodie talking low, Ros answering the same, and then the door closed.
Immediately she pulled out the wet towel and plopped it into the sink, turned and headed for the short hall. She needed real clothes, a hairbrush...and her car keys.
Brodie caught up to her. “Sorry about that.”
“You!” She whirled so fast that her hair swung out and slapped him in the chest. “You,” she repeated, her voice a feral growl.
“Me.” Overruling her feeble resistance, he brought her close, his hand in her hair, soothing, stroking. “I’m damn sorry, Red. I swear, I tried to keep her out, but then Jack called to me, and while my back was turned, she came in.”
“You could have told her...” What? She’d made him promise not to tell.
“If I’d said I had company, curiosity would have kept her hanging around the office until you left, and I knew you didn’t want that. She’s always nosy where I’m concerned. As to that, I can promise you that Jack and Charlotte will both be watching for you now, too. But I think if you wait another thirty minutes, at least the cops will be gone.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Cops?”
“Break-in, remember?” His thumb rubbed her temple. “I know Therman doesn’t want us discussing his business, but it’s getting tougher to keep him out of it.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not yet, no.”
She could hear the unspoken but in his statement, and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. Things were spiraling out of control. “This might not have anything to do with Therman’s collection.”