The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

“Sorry, angel,” Mason apologized, lifting Daisy’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

“I, uh . . . ,” Sam began to say, but his words stalled when Lia strolled back into the dining room, not betraying by a flicker of an eyelid what she’d been up to. Mason and Spencer, with that fucking old-fashioned courtesy of theirs, both stood up when Lia sat down. Sam lifted his butt an inch from his seat as a nod toward good manners before sitting down again. No way was he standing up in his current state.

“It’s something that I’ll be seeing to later,” he continued pointedly, answering Mason’s question and still not looking at Lia. She went back to her dinner like nothing was amiss.

“Anything I can help with?” Mason asked, and Sam choked on a sip of wine.

“No, thanks. I can definitely take care of it myself. Uh, Lia—” He dared a look at her and she met his eyes guilelessly, her eyebrows raised in question. “Mind passing the salt back, please? I missed the hell out of it.”

“What a weird thing to miss,” Charlie observed, and Lia coughed delicately, her face pinkening slightly as she caught his meaning.

“Not really,” he said, smiling at Charlie. “I adore salt. Can’t get enough of it. Could eat it for days.”

This time it was Lia who choked on nothing but her spit, and Sam hid a grin as Charlie wrinkled her nose.

“That’s really bad for your health,” she said, concerned. “You can get high blood pressure, high cholesterol. Think of your heart and your kidneys.”

“You’re a smart kid. Don’t worry, I understand that everything is better in moderation. No matter how tempted one is to overindulge.”

The rest of dinner continued uneventfully. Lia thankfully kept her hands to herself, barely acknowledging him, while Sam manfully fought to get his erection under control. Thankfully, he was decent again by the time the meal ended and surreptitiously watched as Lia sat chatting and joking with her sisters and Charlie—inevitably discussing Daff and Spencer’s pending nuptials—while the men cleaned up the kitchen.

She left a full half hour before the rest of the party disbanded, citing tiredness. Sam watched her leave, waited ten minutes, and finally took the opportunity to send her a message.

I want you. He knew the text lacked finesse, but he wasn’t a sweet talker by nature. He had at least refrained from using the word fuck in the text. Which, for him, was as romantic as it got.

I know. He didn’t have to wait long for that two-word response, and he glared at his phone screen, annoyed that she was being so fucking stingy with her words.

While he was glaring at the screen, another word popped up.

Soon.

The promise had him champing at the bit, and he waited impatiently while Spencer and Daff—his ride home—chatted their way through another drink. Charlie kept herself busy by taking selfies and random other pics for her Instagram account. Thankfully, she was respectful enough not to include Sam in her pictures. He didn’t want anyone to know where he was spending his convalescence.

Sam tried not to show his impatience and kept up his end of the conversation, but he was relieved when Spencer playfully prodded Daff in her side and suggested they get a move on.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lia had parked her car around back so that it wouldn’t be visible to Spence and Daff when they dropped Brand off. She had let herself in, using the spare key that Mason and Daisy kept hidden under a loose brick on the porch step, and sat waiting in the dark, cold living room.

She heard the car drive up, and her heart sped up in excitement at the thought of seeing Brand again, of being with him, of touching him and being touched. She was trembling in anticipation.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen and smiled.

Get your gorgeous butt over here, sunshine. I fucking ache for you.

The front door opened, and she stood up. He didn’t see her—his eyes were on his phone, waiting for her response.

“I ache for you, too.” His head jerked up, and the living room light flashed on. She blinked rapidly as she tried to adjust to the sudden brightness. Before she knew it, she was in his arms and he was groaning and kissing her.

Deeply, passionately, and voraciously eating her mouth.

Neither of them said a word. She wore nothing beneath her coat, and when he pushed it down, he said a worshipful prayer of thanks before kissing and suckling her naked flesh. He was so familiar with what worked for her that he immediately homed in on her erogenous zones, and her knees buckled at the intense responses he was so good at drawing from her.

Before they knew it, they were lying on the thick rug in front of the cold hearth, entangled in each other’s arms. His injured arm was still weak, but he was a more confident and masterful lover with the use of both arms and it gave her a taste of what was to come once he regained full use of the limb. For now, his right hand made up for its previous lack of participation by stroking and touching and playing with her nipples, her sensitive skin, her highly sensitized femininity. It was amazing, and he gifted her with two orgasms before he even got partially naked.