The Wrong Man Read online

  “Did you wear the juicy bubblegum-flavored lip gloss for him?” Brand growled dangerously, and both Lia and Daff gaped at him.

  “What? No! That’s not what I meant. I meant I knew he was going to kiss me. It was our third date, and I expected some kind of physical escalation from him.”

  “How far did this ‘physical escalation’ go, sunshine?” More dangerous growling, combined with lip curling and nostril flaring. He was fascinating, like a territorial male animal.

  “A kiss. Our first. With tongue.” She wrinkled her nose at the recollection. “He’d had garlic, though, so it wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for.”

  “And that’s all? A disgusting, garlic-flavored kiss.”

  “This is really none of your concern, Brand,” she tried again, not comfortable discussing this with him, but this time Daff chimed in.

  “Oh, he grabbed her tit and rubbed himself against her,” she elaborated, clearly wanting Brand to kill Gregory and go to prison for murder, thereby effectively killing two birds with one stone. Her sister could be pretty devious at times.

  Brand swore and was halfway out of his seat this time before Lia sighed and clamped a hand around his left wrist.

  “Sit down, Brand. You don’t get to play this role in my life.”

  “What role?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  “Hero.” The word made him pause, and his eyes narrowed before he released a furious breath and sat down heavily.

  “We’re letting the matter go now,” she said, quite proud of her level voice as she aimed a warning look at both Daff and Brand.

  “If he approaches you again . . . ,” Brand said, his voice fading as he left the rest unspoken.

  “If he approaches me again, I’ll deal with it. Me. Not you,” she said calmly and confidently. Her answer seemed to frustrate him and he looked set to argue, but Daff cleared her throat, bringing his attention to her.

  “So why are you hanging out with my sister today, Brand?” Daff asked pointedly.

  “She’s showing me around town,” he said after a beat, allowing the subject change as he picked up the laminated menu.

  “How exciting. There’s so much to see,” she said acerbically, and Lia rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve enjoyed the last couple of days,” Brand surprised them by saying. “We’ve gone dancing, seen a bit of theater, some of the local animals.”

  Daff choked on a sip of water and laughed, the sound genuinely amused. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark here and say you’ve been to the retirement home and the animal shelter. Not sure what the theater thing is.”

  “The Books Are Fun campaign,” Brand supplied with a grin. “The kids act out scenes from a book.” More laughter from Daff.

  “So did you and Spence have fun last night?” Spencer had visited him last night? Brand hadn’t mentioned that. Lia didn’t know why that news surprised her or why she felt a little betrayed that she had to hear about it secondhand.

  “Yeah.”

  “I hear you’re having another male-bonding session tonight?”

  “Well, if what he tells me is true, he’ll need it.” Daff’s lips tilted at the corners at his response.

  “I’m doing makeup tutorials with Charlie and a few of her besties tonight. She’s been so bored this holiday, she’s driving us a little crazy,” she informed Lia. “Want to join us? We’ll be doing facials and having virgin cocktails. Well, virgin for the girls, but I’m totally slipping some rum in my daiquiris.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Lia said with a grin.

  “We can have a few extra drinks because it’s a holiday tomorrow. Freedom Day, baby!”

  “I completely forgot about that,” Lia gasped, and Daff chuckled. After the excitement and ups and downs of the last week, the national holiday had completely slipped her mind.

  “Does this mean we can’t go and see Tyrion?” Brand asked, worried.

  “His name is Trevor, and because of the holiday the shelter will have an adoption fair tomorrow. I’ll be helping them with that. I just lost track of the dates.”

  “I think Tyrion is a cool name. Or maybe Drogon. Drogon is an awesome name.”

  “You’re not naming him after a Game of Thrones character.”

  “Why not? Game of Thrones is great. We have a few of the actors on our client list.”

  “Oh my . . . which ones?” Daff asked breathily. “Jon Snow? Can you introduce me? Spencer knows I’d probably throw him over for that bite-size hunk.”

  “Can’t tell you that,” Brand said with a grin. “It’s confidential.”

  “The dog has a name,” Lia said pointedly, ignoring the deliberate diversion. “It’s Trevor.”

  “You need to give the guy a fair shake in life—he’s disadvantaged with a name like Trevor. It doesn’t sound cool. It doesn’t suit his personality.”

  “We don’t know what his real personality is yet beneath all that fear and anger.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not that of a Trevor.”

  “Cripes, you’re irritating!”

  Brand paused and stared at her in fascination.

  “Did you just say cripes?” he asked, and Daff chuckled. For a moment the two shared a looked of mutual amusement at Lia’s expense. She didn’t like this sudden camaraderie between them, especially not if it meant them teaming up against her.

  “Right?” Daff asked on a laugh. “I told her I can’t take her seriously when she uses words like that.”

  “You both think you’re so special with your f-bombs and your s-bombs and your c-words and . . .”

  “Which c-words?” Daff asked curiously. “There are a few.”

  “All of them. Shut up, I’m making a point.”

  Daff gasped in exaggerated horror. “So rude, Lia.”

  “Anyway, you both think you’re so special. But you’re not, you’re just . . . just crude. It doesn’t make you edgy and cool or anything. It just means you can’t properly express yourselves in a meaningful or eloquent way.”

  “And cripes is a meaningful and eloquent word?” Brand asked, his voice low and trembling slightly. Daff laughed again and quickly stifled it behind a hand when Lia shot her a glare.

  “I’m no longer participating in this juvenile conversation,” she said with a haughty sniff and ushered Suzy over to place her order.

  “Chicken Kiev and salad for me please, Suzy,” she said and folded her hands primly, one on top of the other, as she watched Brand hastily pick the oh-so-manly rump steak and baked potato. Daff ordered a burger and fries. Last year, for about a minute, her sister had gone on some crazy diet and ordered only salads. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and was eating normally again. Spencer and his insistence on feeding her properly had contributed to Daff’s return to normalcy. Lia wasn’t quite sure what had gone on with Daff last year, but all the turmoil and drastic life changes had resulted in a much happier woman. Her sister smiled and laughed more often and just looked like a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. It pleased Lia to know her sisters were happy and settled, she just wished . . .

  She sighed softly. Wishes had proven to be futile. Her ridiculous and childish expectation of a happily ever after with the man of her dreams had long ago been extinguished and replaced by the desire to just have anyone to care for. Someone who would care for her in return. She didn’t need the grand romance that both Daisy and Daff had found. Not anymore. She would settle for something warm and cozy. Like a pair of old winter socks. Comfortable and a bit slouchy. Not quite a perfect fit, but just enough to make her feel content.

  But even that modest dream seemed destined never to come true. She would be the daughter who wound up taking care of her parents. Living with them, growing old with them . . . After all the truly terrible dates she’d been on over the last few months, she was starting to believe that there were no husband or children in the cards for her.

  The unsavory business with Gregory had just been the rotten cherry on the pile of e
xcrement that was her dating history. She was getting heartily fed up with playing relationship roulette with her love life.

  She sighed again and stared at Brand over the rim of her wineglass as he chatted with Daff. He looked relaxed, but still so masculine and predatory and absolutely sexy. Just looking at him and thinking of his words that morning made everything inside her clench in anticipation.

  If she was destined to be alone forever, then why not take what he was offering? Why not make some exciting and wild and crazy memories to cherish when she was old and curled up in her lonely spinster bed? What if Brand was her last chance at something different? Something less than ordinary?

  He looked up and caught her eye, and he smiled at her. A warm, enticing smile. The stubble over the indent in his cheek darkened as the groove deepened with the movement of his mouth.

  “You’re looking gloomy, sunshine.”

  “Then perhaps you should rethink your latest nickname?” she suggested, and his smile became a full-fledged grin.

  “Nah. Even when you’re gloomy, there are still hints of sunshine peeking through behind the clouds.”

  “Oh my God. You’re so corny. Lia, do not fall for any of this smarmy shit, okay?” Daff protested dramatically, and Brand turned that grin on her.

  “I’m using my best material here, McGregor,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Did Laura Prentiss actually fall for your lines?” she asked pointedly, and the other woman’s name shook Lia. How could she have forgotten about Laura Prentiss? He hadn’t given her definitive answers on his relationship, and Lia was not going to be anybody’s other woman. Ew, no. That would be gross.

  The food arrived and Lia tried to put the entire train of thought firmly out of her mind. But as she ate and they talked, she couldn’t help but think about it. If he and Laura Prentiss were really through, then why not go for it? He’d been her rebound guy—maybe she could return the favor and be his rebound girl.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Not much of a talker, are you?” Sam observed later that evening after he and Spencer were three beers in and about halfway through another action flick. This time Keanu Reeves was destroying the assholes who’d killed his dog. Spencer, in the process of taking a thirsty sip of beer, cocked an eyebrow and lowered the bottle to level a look at him.

  “Hmm.” For a second Sam reckoned that was the only response he’d get. The man hadn’t said more than two words to him since his arrival forty minutes ago. But Spencer’s lips quirked and he contemplated Sam for a moment before saying, his voice droll, “What gave it away?”

  Sam chuckled appreciatively.

  “I don’t know, maybe the fact that it took me about half an hour to appreciate that you’d managed to glean which drink I’d prefer, what movie I wanted to watch, and what I wanted for dinner, all without asking a single question. And yet I fucking know I had choices.” Spencer’s lips tilted into a full-on grin. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the guy hadn’t asked a single question.

  Drinks were easy—he’d held up a beer and a bottle of scotch with a tilt of his head, and Sam had reached for the beer. Same with food, both microwavable choices—pizza or lasagna. But the movie, that was when shit had gotten freaky. He’d scrolled through Mason’s selection, stopped at John Wick, looked at Sam, and grunted. Just a grunt. But the sound had been a question, Sam was sure of it—why else would he have responded with “Yeah, sure. I haven’t seen that one yet”?

  Uncanny fucker.

  “How can Mason be such a garrulous bastard when he was raised by someone like you? I can’t figure it out.” Sam shook his head in wonder.

  “You ever get a word in edgewise when Mason’s on a roll?” the other man suddenly asked, his deep voice hoarse from lack of use, and Sam snorted at the pithy response.

  “Touché,” he said, chuckling.

  “It was easier just to be quiet with Mason around. He spoke enough for both of us. Besides, you hear more, see more when you’re not always mouthing off about insignificant shit.”

  “Hear and see what?” Sam asked, and Spencer reached for the remote and paused the movie. Then he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, and watched Sam for a long, uncomfortable moment.

  “You and Lia. You disappeared from the stag party and the wedding together,” Spencer shocked him by saying.

  “Didn’t know you were so interested in my movements, big guy,” he joked weakly, and Spencer lifted a heavy brow in response to that.

  “Couldn’t give a fuck about your movements, bro. But Lia’s going to be my sister. She’s already family, and I take care of my own.”

  Sam cleared his throat.

  “She can take care of herself,” he said quietly.

  “Hmm.” The sound was nothing more than a deep rumble, and Sam had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

  Spencer leaned back, still not taking his eyes off Sam’s face, and took a long drink from his beer. Sam, who had been trained in both interrogation techniques and resistance, had never felt more uncomfortable in his life before. This guy was good. He was wasted peddling sporting goods in this tiny town. A shame he lacked that military edge—with it he would definitely have made an excellent addition to Sam’s team.

  “You’re not ambidextrous,” Spencer observed, waving his bottle at Sam’s injured arm, and Sam was thrown by the abrupt change in topic. Seriously, Spencer Carlisle was good at this.

  “I’m not,” Sam agreed, waiting to see where the man was going with this.

  “But you’re not as helpless as you want to seem. You’re comfortable enough with the use of your left arm, even if it’s not your dominant arm, to manage small tasks. So why do you need Lia’s help?” Sam cleared his throat, and this time he took a long, thirsty drink from his beer. It was such a transparent delaying technique he was embarrassed by it. He preferred Spencer when he was silently observing and not delivering an opinion. That guy was manageable; this one was . . . Well, he was a fucking big brother. An overprotective, intimidating big brother.

  “That’s between Lia and me,” Sam finally responded, and Spencer narrowed his eyes, not happy with the answer—that much was clear.

  “I don’t like to waste words,” Spencer said heavily, and Sam snorted at that obvious statement. “So consider everything said.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The warnings and the threats. Consider them said.”

  Ah.

  Well, that was much more effective than any of the words Spencer might have used, because with Sam’s much too extensive knowledge of torture techniques—anything his own mind came up with to fill in the gap was probably a lot worse than whatever Spencer could devise. Although Sam had seen the lengths even the mildest of men would go to in order to protect their family.

  Right then.

  “Noted.”

  “Hmm.” The sound was filled with satisfaction, and Spencer reached for the remote and unpaused the movie. He went back to his previous relaxed demeanor as if the exchange hadn’t happened, and Sam watched him for a moment before sighing and refocusing on John Wick’s implausible ass-kickery.

  The rest of the evening passed amicably; they didn’t speak much, and after his previous unsettling conversation with Spencer Carlisle, Sam was okay with that. Instead they exchanged manly grunts and growls, and that was that. It was all quite satisfying, actually.

  They watched another movie after John Wick, and Spencer got up to leave before the credits started rolling.

  “Do you think the coast is clear?” Sam asked when he saw Spencer check his watch.

  “No idea. How long does this kind of shit last generally?”

  “How the fuck would I know, mate? I don’t exactly go for regular mani-pedis and bikini waxes.” Spencer paled comically at that, and Sam fought back a grin. The badass he’d encountered earlier was nowhere to be found.

  “You don’t think they’re waxing their . . . down theres, do you? They’re kids.”

  Sam laughe
d at that—the guy looked positively squeamish at the thought. He took pity on Spencer and shook his head. “From what I gathered, it would be facials and makeup and pretend cocktails. Unfathomable girlie shit.”

  “Great. I should be getting back.”

  “Thanks for the company,” Sam said sincerely, and Spencer waved his thanks aside.

  “I’ll pop around tomorrow to see if there’s anything you need . . .”

  “Actually, Spencer, there is something,” Sam said on a wince as he ran his hands over his unruly stubble. The other man stopped, stared at him, and then grinned as understanding dawned.

  “Guess we’ll be doing our own manly makeover,” he said unexpectedly, and Sam was startled for a moment before he started chuckling.

  “Guess so.”

  The teenage gigglefest came to an end when Spencer returned home. Well, it didn’t so much end as change locations. The girls, all five of Charlie’s closest friends, and Toffee filed upstairs and into Charlie’s room. The door slammed, the music went on, and the volume went up. Spencer groaned, heaved a huge sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Lia and Daff laughed at his reaction. Daff enfolded him in a hug.

  “Oh, poor baby, it’s not that bad. Soon you’ll be so used to the noise you won’t even notice they’re there.” A high-pitched squeal made an instant liar out of her, and she grimaced. It was Charlie’s first sleepover, and Spencer didn’t look too comfortable having a bunch of high-pitched teens in his home.

  “Why did we agree to this again?”

  “Because we love her and it’s healthy for her to have close female friends. They can enjoy themselves here in a safe environment.”

  “Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “What did you and your man crush get up to?”

  “Movies, makeovers . . . or would you call that a male over?” Lia’s eyes widened as she tried to make sense of his statement.

  “Wait, what?” Daff gawked, and Spencer grinned proudly. Looking smug that he had some information that could surprise her.

  “We drank, watched a movie, and I did his manscaping.” Lia choked on her spit, and Daff snorted.