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Sliding down, Zara tried to hide her presence. Art’s actions indicated that Brodie was about to arrive and she doubted he would receive her with glee. Peeking over the back of the couch, she watched Art start to screw on the scotch lid and sure enough, a few seconds later, the kitchen door bounced open, and Brodie came in.
“You owe me two hundred bucks, Chief,” Brodie said to his uncle and tossed something metallic into the air, then caught it in his palm. Displaying the item between his thumb and forefinger, Zara was amazed to see him holding the biggest bullet she’d ever laid eyes on. “You sent me out with one round and I came back with one round. Figure that one out.”
“How did you kill him?” Art asked, tightening the bottle lid.
For some reason, that was the moment Brodie’s attention snapped around. By her reckoning, Art hadn’t betrayed her presence. But Brodie had become aware of her all the same, and the minute he did, he lost all traces of triviality from his mellow expression.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Brodie asked. Flicking the round into his hand, he used it to point at her while scowling at Art who was coming around the island with the two crystal tumblers.
“Not to mess with tradition,” Art said, holding a glass toward Brodie who took it. The men clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one. Apparently, it was a tradition to get liquored up after Brodie took someone down.
“Now answer me,” Brodie said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Art took both empty glasses over to discard them in the sink. “She showed up at the gate, what did you want me to do?”
“Ignore her,” Brodie said, as if she wasn’t here. “Just like we do with every other trespasser. She would never have gotten past the fucking gate and even if she did—”
“What?” Art asked, grabbing the third coffee mug, he took it over to Brodie. “Security would’ve taken her down. Is that what you wanted? ‘Cause apparently you’ve got a spare round if you want to erase her yourself.”
“Very funny,” Brodie said, taking the proffered coffee.
Art came over and sat on the couch with her again. “Brodie had an out of town job today,” Art said.
“Oh,” she said, twisting away from Art to see Brodie was still just inside the kitchen door, where he had been since he came in. “Do you work out of town much? Art says you spend two thirds of the year overseas. That must be tough.”
“Did he now?” Brodie said, flashing a glare at his uncle before he discarded his mug on the lower part of the kitchen island to move closer to the couch.
“Wait a minute,” she said, losing her timidity when clarity struck her. “An out of town job? Did you go to Quebec? Did you—“
“No,” Brodie said and glanced at Art. “We’re doing the job tomorrow, after Tuck gets here. We’ll be leaving at first light.”
She wasn’t convinced, but his certain gaze didn’t lose any of its anger. “Brodie, if—“
“I said I didn’t,” he snapped. “You calling me a liar?”
Her accusations were only pissing him off, and she’d guess he wouldn’t get so defensive if he was lying to her. “No,” she said, shaking her head.
He’d asked for trust and he’d never lied to her before. If he would openly admit his identity when confronted with it, she had no reason to believe he would deny destroying Winter Chill. Admitting his identity to her was a bigger risk than confessing complicity in the Quebec job. Also, if it was done, she couldn’t sabotage them. So by her reckoning, he had no reason to lie.
Brodie wasn’t appeased by her denial. “What else did Art tell you?”
Switching her gaze between the men, she reclined against the arm of the couch to look up at Brodie over the back of it, hoping he wouldn’t start a fight with his uncle just because he’d been hospitable. “I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.”
It turned out that Art wasn’t the cause of his annoyance. “Why did you come here?” Brodie sneered. “Because I remember telling you not to.”
Reminded of the man in Purdy’s and his warning, she forgot all other grievances. “I had to see you,” she said, clambering onto her knees to rest her torso on the couch, but when she stretched her arms to reach for him, he didn’t come near enough to reciprocate. So she gave up on trying to pre-emptively console him and let her limbs flop onto the back of the couch. “I came to warn you.”
His eyes flared and his head bobbed forward as though he’d been struck by surprise. “Warn me?”
“Yes.”
Widening his stance, Brodie folded his arms and she assumed the bullet was enclosed in his fist. “This ought to be good, because if you think that you or your CEO boyfriend can take me down then—”
Why he kept bringing up her association with Grant, she didn’t know. He’d known about her employer before he approached her, it was why he approached her. But she didn’t like to be accused of a crime she hadn’t committed and she had never considered Grant a boyfriend, she had never even thought of him in a romantic way.
“Listen, bucko,” she said, infused with irritation. Shoving her hands to the couch, she pounced off it backwards and rounded it to bring them face to face. Without her shoes on or the height of the couch, she wasn’t nearly as scary as she wanted to be. Still, she carried on because she deserved the right to defend herself. “We’ve covered this. Grant is not my boyfriend. We’ve attended a million corporate functions together and he has never once grabbed me and kissed me or pinned me to my own bed and told me to fight him off—”
“I didn’t tell you to fight me off.”
Scowling, she was met by his nonchalance. “We were both there, you know what you did.”
“What we did, baby,” he said, reducing the space between them. “And you wouldn’t have stood a chance at stopping me from taking what I wanted from you no matter how hard you fought.”
Their sniping provoked more than their tempers. Hormones began to simmer until she could see her arousal reflected back in his leer. “I know how to get you to stop,” she said, letting her lip curl at one corner as her brow arched.
Pouncing forward, he grabbed her face under her jaw and crowded her against the back of the couch betraying his own arousal in his enlivened gaze. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Bandini,” he murmured with a snarl in his voice that made her center pound in unison with her heartbeat and the thump in her throat.
She couldn’t change the man, she had to respect who he was, and who he was fascinated her. “I don’t remember closing the door on you, McCormack,” she said and with her panting permission, he swooped down and planted his mouth on hers.
Grateful when he lifted her up to sit on the back of the couch to bring them closer, Zara hooked her legs over his hips and clung onto him. Brodie came forward, urging her into a backwards slant that kept her off-balance and in need of his anchoring body. With one arm around the bottom of her rib cage, he kept his hold of her face to dictate their devouring kiss.
His tongue sank into her mouth and that defiant force battled hers. They were both as stubborn and as arrogant as the other. He could try to intimidate her, but she couldn’t deny her carnal reaction to him. This man was her button. With a look or a word, he could race her in a way every other man failed to.
If she believed for a second that he had used her body against her to extort information then that doubt was erased when he thrust her face away and glared down at her with a vicious devotion bleeding from his drowsy eyes.
The heat of his gaze provoked her into trying for another kiss, but he held her back and the victory in his smile made her stab her nails into the sides of his neck. Dragging them down to the neck of his tee shirt, she snagged it downward and then with an open mouth, she lunged up and closed her kiss over his throat.
The rumble of his satisfied growl vibrated her lips, but she lapped her tongue up and sucked her mouth away only to spread kisses across the front and side of his neck.
“Bet you’re glad I let her in now,” Art said.
His smiling voice came from behind her, so she guessed he was still seated on the couch. Giving in to her desire for Brodie freed her in a way that erased all burdens from her life. Sitting on the back of this couch, wrapped around the man she was tasting, felt so right. This was what safety felt like. What security and stability felt like.
This may have started as an enigmatic attraction, but it had grown into something more. With every fact she learned about him, her appetite was whetted to learn another and another. One more word. One more kiss. She wasn’t sure it would ever be enough. Until she had stood here facing his spitting fury, she hadn’t known the depth of her own obsession, now it was undeniable.
“Are you staying over?” Brodie asked, sinking his lips into her hair and she stopped her kissing to tip her head back.
She hadn’t come here with the intention of being intimate with Brodie again. But the intensity around his darkness grew and Zara comprehended the truth behind his question. If she stayed now, she was staying for good. He’d told her that once she was in there was no getting out. It seemed that time had come.
More sure of her desire and infatuation with this man than she’d been of anything before in her life, she didn’t hesitate to reply. “Yes,” she whispered and as her lips settled together, she let her smile breed his.
“Starting a new tradition?” Art asked.
Using Brodie’s body to keep herself secure on her perch, Zara twisted enough to catch sight of Art’s knowing expression. Brodie’s arm slid away from her back, forcing her to cling tighter to him. But he pulled one of her arms away from its embrace and skimmed his hand downward until it touched her palm. His thick digits splayed and insinuated themselves between hers. She hadn’t expected to feel lumps and callouses adorning his skin, but he worked with his hands so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
“You’re gonna get lost in this house a dozen times before you learn the route from here to the bedroom,” Brodie said and he snagged the back of her neck to pry her body away from his so he could look her in the eye. “Don’t ever get scared in this house.” She nodded, but was daunted by the prospect of this labyrinth of a building. “We have every eventuality covered. Every exterior door and window is alarmed or booby trapped.”
“Booby trapped?” she repeated and thought about her fear at the gate. It turned out there was a chance she could have been decapitated by a flying axe after all.
His expression remained static. “You have nothing to fear if you trust me.”
Playing with him, she asked, “The booby traps will know if my confidence in you wavers?”
“No,” he said, glowering at her as he squeezed her neck to chastise her for her tease. “The traps are in peripheral parts of the building we rarely use. You won’t have clearance to enter sensitive areas, which might be rigged. But I’m telling you not to go snooping.”
She had never been so grateful for a lack of security clearance in her life. “Ok.”
“Come on,” he said. Releasing her hand, he crouched to wrap an arm around her ribcage. But before he could lift her up, she pushed his chest and loosened her legs.
Going to his bedroom would lead to intimacy and when Brodie was touching her, rational thought became impossible. She had to tell them about the guy in Purdy’s before leaving this space or she probably never would. “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to tell you something.”
He huffed. “You can’t talk while I walk?”
“You can’t go to Canada.”
“Oh, shit,” he said and let her go to walk away.
Holding on to the couch, Zara hooked her heels up on the edge of the wide back. “You can’t.”
“I thought you came here for...” Flipping around, he opened his arms in a shrug. “Why don’t you want me to go, baby, huh? You think I can’t take out three nerds?”
“One of those guys is a black belt,” she said. “But it’s not your abilities I’m concerned about.”
“Then what is it,” Art asked, giving her a chance to tell her story.
“I was at Purdy’s tonight,” she said and knew that needed no more explanation because they knew her schedule as well as the guy who had accosted her did. “And I was approached by a guy who told me to give you a message.”
When Brodie’s body heat radiated to her, she turned back in his direction. “What message?” Brodie asked.
His curiosity was an improvement over his previous irritation. “The last thing he said was that Canada’s nice this time of year,” she said. “That has to mean... he has to know about your mission.”
Almost on top of her, his sudden anger began to tinge his features as though he was preempting the answer to his next question and assuming the worst. “Did you talk to anyone?” Brodie asked through narrow lips. “Did you tell anyone about—”
“About what?” she asked, practicing her own glare. “No, I didn’t tell anyone about what happened last night in my apartment. Why would I? I would have to admit how you got that information, wouldn’t I?”
Art chimed in with a statement cryptic enough to make Brodie proud. Now Zara understood who had taught her lover to be so vague. “It’s got to be—”
“No,” Brodie said, pinning a scowl on his uncle. But by cutting him off, Brodie actually gave credence to Art’s unspoken suspicion of the perpetrator’s identity by responding to the prospect without it having to be uttered. “He wouldn’t have approached Zara.”
“Sure he would,” Art said, leaning over the back of the couch beside where she sat. “What else did he say, girlie?”
Trying to remember the conversation, she turned her lips into her mouth to buy herself some time. “He said... payback’s a bitch and he has his eyes on your prize,” she said and when Brodie backed off this time, she saw the deliberate look he dropped to his uncle.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Brodie said.
“There’s one thing,” Art said.
Zara was lost because again they were carrying on their conversation as though they were alone. “Have you got time to track him?” Brodie asked.
Art exhaled in defeat. “No. He’s a fucker.”
“What else is new,” Brodie muttered.
“I don’t understand,” Zara said, seeking an answer on their faces. “Who is he? He said he didn’t care about the device or who it killed.”
“He’s a guy set on revenge,” Art said. Brodie was walking away from her again, so she turned and slid a leg over the couch so that she was sitting astride the backrest.
“How do you know who he is?” she frowned and tilted closer.
“Slick looking motherfucker with a scar right here,” Art said, lifting his chin to indicate the line of the scar on his neck and she nodded. “His name is Griffin Caine. He’s something of a groupie. He followed Brodie’s work for years. But he was just too erratic to be brought inside.”
“He threatened Brodie’s life,” she said. “But he... called him Raven.”
“Brodie’s been Raven for years,” Art said. “Sometimes even he forgets who he really is.”
“Being back here, so close to home and dealing with CI... it must be bringing back memories,” she said, glancing at Brodie, but he was retrieving the bottle of scotch and not listening to them. Bringing her legs up, she crossed them and balanced in her seated position atop the couch.
“It hasn’t been easy for him,” Art said, watching his nephew pour out a large measure. “When we first heard what Grant was doing... We were in Egypt and... it’s funny how your demons can find you no matter where you are, isn’t it?”
“I can talk to Grant,” she said, lowering her volume and hunching a little closer to Art. “I’m not convinced he’s a lost cause. If we can figure out why he’s doing this—”
“He’s doing it to punish our father,” Brodie said. She had thought he wasn’t paying attention but it turned out she was wrong. He tossed the liquor down his throat and poured out another measure. “He’s doing it for spite. Our father died for this damned piece of metal and plastic and Grant wants to show him that it was for nothing. That our father’s sacrifice meant nothing.”
Absorbing this declaration, she considered how well the brothers knew each other. “How do you know that?” she asked. “You said last night that—”
“Because he’s right,” Brodie said, rotating the glass full of scotch back and forth in his hand. “Grant is right.”
Art jumped up from the couch to head in his nephew’s direction. “Did you hit your head tonight? Breathe some crazy-making fumes? You don’t support this. People will die! Innocent people!”
Snapping around, his fury burned from his eyes. “Yeah,” Brodie retorted. “But if Caine knows about it...” he glanced past Art to focus on her. “He thinks she’s fair game.”
“You invited this,” Art said with impatience, yanking the bottle of scotch away and sending the bullet Brodie had discarded on the counter, clattering onto the floor.
“You’re saying this is my fault?” Brodie said, slamming his glass on the counter.
“You knew it was a possibility. You knew that as soon as you found a woman to care about—”
Depressurizing his anger, Brodie exhaled his resolve. “This is what he’s been waiting for,” Brodie said, retrieving his glass and turning his mouth down into it. He didn’t deny Art’s declaration that he cared for her. “This is why he’s been dogging me for years. Killing me wasn’t enough.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Art said, speaking in solidarity. “But you’re not going to fall apart now. Caine is the least of our problems. We’ve avoided him this long. We’ll just keep avoiding him. You know that half his fun comes from the chase. He’s not going to put a bullet in Zara until you’re there to watch it.”
Her observational role suddenly became interactive. “In me?” she asked, scrambling off the back of the couch to dart toward the men. “Why does he want to kill me?”
“It’s a long story,” Art said. “Needless to say, their feud is rooted in a situation involving a woman.”
“Feud?” Zara asked, resting a hand on the countertop to support herself in case this story got any worse, although she couldn’t imagine how it could.
“Caine was in love with her and she didn’t want him,” Art said. “The story is irrelevant to the fact that he hounds Brodie at times like these because he enjoys watching people suffer. It would be the highlight of his life if Brodie made a mistake.”
Narrowing her eyes, she sought an explanation. “Why would—”
“Because he has anger management issues and narcissistic tendencies,” Brodie said while examining the contents of his glass.
That sounded like someone else she knew. “It’s a wonder you two were friends,” she muttered.
He didn’t entertain her sarcasm. “We were not friends,” Brodie grumbled and drank more of his alcohol.
“We focus on this mission and deal with Caine later.”
“This mission is fucked from the start,” Brodie said. “We still can’t figure out where the fuck Grant is stashing the device in the city. The fucker is smart. He knows better than to digitize anything. Frank taught him the virtue of doing things old-school.”
Brodie elevated the glass toward his lips. Zara put a hand on Art’s chest to urge him aside. Then she slipped into the narrow space between Brodie and the counter to seize his glass before it could reach his mouth.
“Well, it’s not in the bottom of that bottle,” she said, handing the glass off to Art who hurried it away before Brodie could snatch it back. “That’s one place down.”
“What are you doing?” Brodie asked her and his body swayed forward, pinning her to the solid granite at the small of her back. “Worried if I drink too much that the equipment won’t work when we get upstairs?”
“I’m looking forward to finding out,” she said, scratching her nails up the fabric of his tee shirt and around his neck where she linked her fingers and used his strength as leverage to pull herself higher. Pouting, she fixated on his mouth and exhaled a murmur of want.
Seeing him stressed made her want to calm him. She wanted him to relax, to erase his worries and remind him of her warm body because she wanted to be a sanctuary for him. Brodie was an outlaw, the kind of man who wouldn’t shy from any fight and she was in awe of his abilities.
To be a part of his life, to be a place of safety and comfort for him, would be a privilege. From what she’d gleaned from him and from Art, Brodie hadn’t exactly had an easy life, but she wanted a chance to offer him security and relief.
His hum of pleasure encouraged her. “Come on,” she whispered. Hoping he’d trust her enough to let her in, she tried her best to be unthreatening in her seduction. The last thing she wanted to do was set him more on edge. “Relax for me, beau.”
The force of his arm clamping around her stole the air from her lungs and he hauled her up to join their mouths just as she wanted him to. The bitter liquor still flavored his tongue but she reveled in that taste and the broad masculinity of the man who lifted her from her feet and onto the kitchen counter. Quickly putting himself in charge, he parted her knees and dragged his teeth on the inside of her lower lip as he broke their kiss.
Art appeared in her peripheral vision, but even as Brodie turned to look at him with business written all over his face, she couldn’t stop staring up at this man who was beginning to take her over.
“We still have time,” Art said. “Tuck and I will take care of business. We’ll find out where it is.”
“Who is Tuck?” she asked, exhaling her hormonal mist to pay attention to the conversation again. “Where is he?”
“Tuck uses the alias Swift,” Art said. “He is our computer whizz, the guy who got into your computer at CI.”
“Oh,” she nodded, stroking Brodie. “Is he here?”
“No, he went back to his own lady tonight,” Art said. “He hasn’t been with her for a while and he promised her a visit.”
Perking up, she glanced at each of the men. “He has a lady?” she asked, reassured that if he had a girlfriend he had to have some redeeming qualities.
“Kadie,” Art said.
“What’s she like?”
“We’ve never met her,” Brodie said, sliding a hand up her back to grasp her neck again. “Tuck likes to keep a nice thick, clear line between Kadie and anything that could get her hurt... which is basically everything in his life that isn’t her.”
Squinting, she moistened her lips. “And she’s happy with that?” Zara asked. It took a strong woman to watch her man go off into battle regularly without any idea of where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with.
“Who knows?” Art said with a shrug. “Swift is a private guy, so I wouldn’t ask him too many questions when you meet him.”
This was a night full of surprises; at least this one wasn’t unpleasant. “When am I going to meet him?” she asked Art, but looked at Brodie.
“He’ll get back into town tomorrow,” Brodie said.
Art’s concern was increasing. “Everything depends on us finding this piece of kit.”
Her role in this situation had been to get information, so she felt compelled to do what she could to get more. “I’ll find it,” Zara said and lay across the counter to snag her purse, which was still on the opposite edge of it. Brodie took her hand to help her right herself and she began to dig in her purse.
“How are you going to do that?” Art asked her.
Pulling out her cell phone, she held it up. “I’m going to call Grant and ask him where it is.”
She started to speed dial, but Brodie plucked the phone out of her hand before she could connect the line. “Two pieces of advice,” he said, giving the phone to Art, who took it away toward the couch. “First... and this is more of a house rule... don’t ever call anyone outside the Kindred Circle from this house, you hear me? No one.”
Not used to such orders, she saw one immediate problem. “How do I know who is in the Kindred Circle?” she asked, leaning back on her hands.
“Here’s a clue,” Brodie said, gesturing between himself and Art, who was returning to them. “You’re looking at the only two members you know.”
That didn’t help because she couldn’t contact these men even if she did want to. “I don’t have either of your phone numbers.”
He didn’t exactly light up, but he swept her hair over her shoulder with the back of his hand and scrutinized her neck. “Excellent, so there will be no confusion,” Brodie said.
Ready to push boundaries, she teased to see how far he would let her get. “What if I want a pizza?”
Brodie wasn’t for playing. In fact, he did deadpan better than anyone she’d ever met. “Then you go down to the basement, get in a car, and drive to the pizza place.”
If she did spend any more time here, she would have to get used to there being a no takeout rule, which wasn’t great because she was a terrible cook. “What’s the second thing?” she asked.
Planting his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, he loomed over her. “Don’t go running to Grant every time you need to fix a problem.”
That seemed to be more subjective than the previous rule. But it was an old habit. Grant and she had worked together for five years and when she was uncertain of something or needed help, Grant was the man she called because all of her issues were CI related—her life had been dedicated to that company for half a decade.
“Ok,” she nodded. “You’re right, I... I need to start thinking of him as the enemy, don’t I?”
“He’s sure not as great as you fucking think,” Brodie grumbled.
It wouldn’t be easy for her to switch her thinking because Grant had been her boss for so long. They had spent late nights together, sat in long meetings together, brainstormed, problem-solved. Now that part of her life was over and she had to realize that Grant wasn’t the unthreatening, easy-going CEO she believed him to be.
Except she was only here because she was connected to him, because she had access. If she couldn’t use that access then Brodie would have no further use for her.
“But Grant knows where the device is and we want to know,” she said. “I don’t want to get hurt, but I have to be able to help you.”
“Damn,” Brodie mumbled then righted himself to look at Art. “Maybe we should just lock her in one of the guest rooms. It’s a shame we don’t have Zave’s custom built suite.”
Horrified to hear that they knew a person who had a custom suite obviously designed to imprison people, she wasn’t going to let her aversion to the suggestion of being locked up go unregistered. “You’re not locking me in anywhere,” she said, sitting up straight. “Why does your friend Zave have a custom built suite?”
“To lock up women,” Brodie said as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
Drawing her eyes from him, Zara chose not to ask anymore questions when she wasn’t sure she could handle further revelations. “My suggestion makes sense,” she said. “I’m not going to tell Grant that we want to know. I can be... discreet. I know about this product and I know that Sutcliffe wants to meet him at midnight tomorrow, right? So I’ll just ask leading questions. I’m here, with you, in a safe place, no one can hurt me here.”
Brodie didn’t seem to be moved by the confidence she had in her powers of manipulation. “The last time you asked Grant about the device, he threatened you.”
Grant’s threat had shocked her at the time too. Despite the revelations about her boss’ character, she still couldn’t envision him actually putting his hands on her in anger. “He would never hurt me. I have worked with him for five years and he’s always been kind to me,” she said, sliding her hands onto Brodie’s sides. “He has a soft spot for me.”
Still not swayed, his brows stirred a fraction lower. “It’s not his soft spot that concerns me. It’s any hard ones he might be packing.”
He probably meant guns, but that wasn’t what Art heard. “Hard ones or hard ons?” Art asked, wearing a half smile. He folded his arms as his hip hit the counter. She’d wager that the manor’s few guests had been male, the “boys club” atmosphere was thick and Art’s jeering was probably just typical teasing. “You’ve seen the way Grant looks at her.”
Brodie’s lack of patience for his uncle’s teasing was very telling. Clenching his jaw, he wouldn’t even look at Art when he answered him. “Yes, I have and I told you not to talk about that again.”
“You’re both crazy, he’s my boss,” she said, coiling her legs around Brodie’s.
“I know you’re a small town girl, Zara, but you’re not that naive,” Art said. “You were hired at an executive level without previous experience in the company. You flew through the ranks quicker than anyone else has. Grant has given you almost unrestricted access to the systems. It’s called grooming.”
Forcing herself not to gape, Zara searched their features for a sign they were teasing her because she couldn’t believe Art’s claim to be true. “He’s not grooming me,” she said, but Brodie didn’t jump to her defense. “He doesn’t want to sleep with me.”
Though his expression didn’t betray much, Brodie seemed to peer deeper into her and Art almost appeared to feel sorry for her, except he hid it behind a veil of amusement. “I think his admiration for your morals might have turned his attraction to you into something deeper.”
“Which is why we’re never gonna talk about that again,” Brodie said to his uncle with a tone of finality, like a parent putting a full stop at the end of an argument with an insolent child.
Grant was nice to her, sweet sometimes, but he had never been forward. He had never harassed her or made her feel uncomfortable in any way. Staring at Brodie’s chest, she tried to remember any time she’d got an inclination that Grant might feel something more than professional toward her. But she couldn’t, then again, she hadn’t thought him the type to consort with terrorists either. It turned out that she didn’t know Grant as well as she thought.
Languishing in her ponderings, Zara almost forgot that she was in company. “I wonder what he’ll do when he finds out I’ve had sex with his brother,” she murmured without making a conscious decision to speak.
“He won’t be cracking out the champagne, put it that way,” Art said, not attempting to hide his laughter. “Take the girl to your room, kid,” Art said, hitting his nephew’s arm before he sauntered toward the door. “I’ll buzz you when Tuck gets in.”
Art left the room just as another thought struck Zara, one that made her perk up and make eye contact with her lover. “That wasn’t what this was, was it?” she asked, nudging Brodie’s chest. “Some kind of one-upmanship? Like a sibling rivalry?”
Now he lost his patience with her though he seemed to check himself before opening his mouth. “You keep trying to find deeper meaning in us having sex,” he said. Grabbing her neck, he tipped her head back and brought his nose down to meet hers. “Here it is: you’re hot as fucking hell and I’m gonna keep riding you until you tell me to stop. Because fucking you is the only thing I’ve ever done in my life that doesn’t feel amoral.”
Coming from him that was high praise, her heart bounced against her ribs in jubilation. She could tell that wasn’t something he confessed lightly. “What if I don’t tell you to stop?” she asked, tipping her chin to catch his mouth in a quick kiss.
“Then I guess you’ll be moving in, baby,” he said and stole his own kiss, which as always didn’t end in a hurry.
