“You damned well can,” she snapped. “You do! You care about Chance, Josh, Linda, and…”
She stopped speaking and glared at him mutely. This was something he needed to figure out on his own. But it was so hard to stand by while he fooled himself into thinking he was this remote island, without any kind of emotional connection to the rest of humanity.
“I don’t want to spend the time we have left having futile arguments,” she said.
He lifted his hands to palm her face and drag his thumbs over her cheekbones before he tugged her head down for a kiss.
“Agreed,” he murmured, after he brought the drugging kiss to an end. “I can think of so many other pleasant things we could be doing.”
She giggled at his word choice. “Pleasant? Like a nice cup of tea or an afternoon stroll, you mean?”
“I’ve been hanging out with you Englishers for too long,” he retorted. “Fine, I can think of so many other dirty, fun things we could be doing.”
“Better,” she whispered against his lips. “Things like what?”
“Let’s get this dress off, and I’ll show you.”
“Out of curiosity, and because I want a heads up in case I need to duck for cover when Miles finds out, but are you shagging your bodyguard?” The question was nonchalantly lobbed at Vicki, one Friday morning three weeks later, during one of the rare breakfasts she and Hugh shared together. Vicki choked on her toast and stared at her brother in mute horror, not sure what to make of his dispassionate expression.
He rolled his eyes and reached for the butter. “Close your mouth, you look like a dying carp.”
“Why would you ask me that?” Her voice sounded breathless, high-pitched, and guilty as hell. Hugh slanted her an amused look as he took a bite of his marmalade-smeared toast.
“Because I want to know the answer,” he said around a crunchy mouthful. “Even though your face right now—” He shook his head with a chuckle. He lifted his phone to take a quick snapshot of her face, before turning the device to show her the unflattering picture. She looked comically horrified—her cheeks were bright red, her mouth slack and gaping, while her eyes practically popped out of her skull. “Dead giveaway.”
“Ty and I have…grown closer,” she prevaricated diplomatically.
Hugh snorted. “Is it serious?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just…” She shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t the greatest breakfast—or any time, really—conversation to have with your older brother.
He winced when he correctly interpreted her awkward slide into silence.
“Right. I understand. But if he hurts you, I’m going to sic Miles on him and then happily help him kick the shit out of the guy.”
“Ty would pulverize the both of you,” Vicki laughed, scathingly dismissive. Hugh and Miles were both in great shape—she would back them in a scrap any day of the week—but neither of them stood a chance against Ty.
“Never underestimate the power of a couple of pissed off big brothers.” Hugh took another bite of toast after that sanguine piece of advice.
Vicki watched him thoughtfully while he chewed. “This thing between Ty and me won’t last. When it ends, I can’t say I’ll be very happy about it…but that won’t be Ty’s fault.”
“Bollocks, he’s supposed to be protecting you. How the fuck is breaking your heart keeping you from harm?”
“Who says he’ll be breaking my heart?”
“Well, you’re beaming, aren’t you? Every bloody day for the last few weeks. You look like someone turned on a light inside of you. You’ve got it bad, Vic. You smile all the time, and hum like a sodding Disney princess when you think no one is around. I’m amazed you don’t have birds and squirrels flitting in and out of the place, helping you with your chores. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this radiant and happy. You’ve either got a massive crush on the bloke, or you’re more than halfway in love with him. Just…be careful, okay?”
Vicki didn’t realize that she’d been so transparent. Yes, she had been happy these last few weeks. Aside from the phenomenal sex between them—the heat level of which had been off the charts now that she had free rein over his body—they spent every waking moment together. She visited his apartment for dinner every night, slept over, and had even once—and once only—joined Ty and Chance on their morning run.
They were both masochists. About ten minutes into the punishing run—no leisurely jogging for them—Vicki had pulled up short with a stitch in her side and glared at the two huge men who had stopped and flanked her, while jogging on the spot.
Ty had talked her through a couple of stretches, while Vicki had spent the entire time swearing at him, and glaring at a convulsively laughing Chance. They’d walked her home. Ty had seen her to the penthouse—gave her a steamy kiss—before telling her he needed to finish his run and dashing out.