“Um, Hayden? Did you get bitten by a zombie last night and forget to tell me?” Story waved a hand in front of her face. “If so, we need to have that awkward conversation where I promise to kill you when the change happens.”
“No.” She shook her head and stepped out of the car. “No killing necessary. And I need to talk to Daniel about the movies he’s letting you watch.”
…
Brent watched Hayden wander around his living room, perusing family photos and trading small talk with his sister-in-law, who’d stopped by to pick up his nieces and do a few chores around the house as repayment for his babysitting duty. He would have expected her to look out of place in his kid-friendly living room—with crayons and Barbie clothes strewn about on every available surface, they were a far cry from her chic Manhattan town house—but today she hadn’t gone for her usual tight, buttoned-up look. She wore one of those dresses. The ones with no straps that hug a girl’s breasts, then flow down her body, teasing you with hints of the curves underneath. Her red toenails peeked out just under the hem every time she took a step. All he could think about was those toes digging into his ass while she tightened up around him. Wishful thinking on his part, since she currently wouldn’t even look at him. They’d usually exchanged preliminary insults by now. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him something was up, but he couldn’t put a name to it.
Life had been so much easier when he didn’t know what Hayden tasted like. How she sounded moaning for him to go harder. The way she softened after sex, all liquid-limbed and sleepy-eyed.
Jesus. This was going to be a long weekend.
Frustration clawed at him. Frustration wrought by one sexy stocking enthusiast who, when last he’d seen her, had been in the process of unbuckling his belt. So ready for what he had to offer, she’d been all but panting. Not an easy thing to recover from when you knew where the encounter would have led, having experienced it once before. Rough, no-holds-barred fucking. The angry kind that included biting and clawing. Ripping of clothes. Since walking away from her—for the second damn time—he’d been in a state of constant arousal. Nothing helped. Short of finding another woman to work out his lust with, a thought that for some obnoxious reason made him nauseous, he’d tried everything. Lord, he’d taken so many cold showers, he dreaded what his water bill would look like this month.
He suspected this undiluted need for her specifically sprang from his protective nature. This urge to soothe her, when instead he’d been forced to walk away, still lingered days later. It was one thing to trade barbs, but another completely to leave her looking forlorn and humiliated. Because of him. He didn’t like it. The memory sat in his gut like lead. Between the constant fantasizing while only wanting the real thing and the uncomfortable feeling that had taken up residence in his chest, he’d been in a perpetually shit-tastic mood.
He really couldn’t afford to take off a weekend at the garage. He needed a weekend in Atlantic City like he needed a new pair of pink roller skates.
Laurie’s girls took hold of Story’s and Daniel’s hands and dragged them to the backyard to show off the new tree house he’d built two weekends ago. Brent watched Hayden tense up as she realized they were alone in the room, but he couldn’t summon the ability to put her at ease. He needed a moment to collect his own thoughts. Seeing her in his home, so close to his bedroom, made him feel…impatient. He wanted that dress draping down over his thighs as she rode his lap. More than that, he wanted her in his bed. Call him a caveman, but he wanted to make her come among his sheets. He wanted to climb into them the following night, remembering the way he’d satisfied his woman there.
His woman? Jesus. She wasn’t even speaking to him. On their best day, they were cordial to each other. If she knew he’d laid claim to her in his mind, she would roundhouse him in the nuts. Yet he definitely had. Which was the only reason he’d agreed to this weekend. The thought of her alone in a notorious party-town made him a little crazy. Daniel and Story would inevitably go off on their own, and he meant to be there to make damn certain she went home with him, or no one at all.
Hayden picked up a picture frame and scrutinized it. “This must be your sister.”
Her voice hit him below the belt. “How can you tell?”
She set the picture of Lucy in her high school graduation gown back down. “She looks like she can’t wait to make somebody’s life hell.”
A booming laugh escaped him. “That’s pretty accurate. She’s coming back to New York this summer she finishes grad-school, so you’ll find out for yourself.”
“Will I?” Something close to longing crossed Hayden’s face and he frowned. Again, the feeling that he’d missed a vital piece of the puzzle assailed him. Of course she would have the chance to meet Lucy. No matter what happened between them, they would always have contact with each other. Right? Their group of friends was close. They clicked. Even the constant bickering between them had fast turned into a comfort. Hell, something he looked forward to.
“Yeah.” His voice was firm. “You will.”
Mouth tight, Hayden nodded. “Great. I look forward to it.”
He felt compelled to cross the living room, stand next to her at his fireplace mantel. A wave of her hair shielded her face, frustrating him. What would it take to get a decent look at her face? “Listen, Hayden. The other night…I’m sorry about how it ended. I don’t want you to think—”
“Two apologies in one week.” Her gaze strayed to his, then drifted away much too quickly. “Are you going soft on me, Flo?”
Oh, screw it. Why did she have to smell so damn good? He moved in close, let his hand drift over her hip. Squeeze a little harder than he should allow himself. “I’m never soft around you, duchess.”
She reacted like she’d been burned, but quickly recovered. “If you’re waiting for an apology, keep waiting. That’s your department, not mine.”
“You’d rather go back to fighting? To the constant insults?”
“Yes.” Her eyes squeezed shut. When they reopened, he couldn’t find Hayden anywhere in the brown depths. The absence of her fire, her fight, kicked him square in the stomach. “That’s us, Brent. That’s what we do.”
Brent shook his head emphatically and started to respond when the kids scampered back into the living room. He watched Hayden’s surprised reaction when the girls grabbed her hands
and dragged her toward the backyard. She looked as though she wanted to inform them they were making a mistake. That perhaps they’d grabbed on to the wrong adult, but ultimately she had no choice but to follow.
“Come on! Story and Daniel are turning into zombies and we have to fight them.”
Hayden paused. “Ooh. I didn’t exactly wear my zombie fighting shoes today.” The girls stared down at her feet in disappointment. “Um. So I guess I’ll have to take them off?”
“Yay!”
As she was dragged through the back of his house, he heard her say, “You know, zombies don’t even eat children. You’re way too bony. Terrible for their fragile digestive tract.”
Giggles. “You’re funny.”
“Oh, yeah? Huh.”
Trying and failing to ignore the odd pang in his stomach, Brent followed them. He stopped just inside the screen door to watch Story and Daniel chase the girls around his yard, Hayden warding them off with a broom handle. He couldn’t afford to have this Hayden thrown into the mix as well. One who humored his nieces. It only served to confuse him more.
Better to keep his mind focused on the thing between them that not even she could deny, because he and Hayden weren’t finished. Not by a long shot.
The sooner she realized he wasn’t fading silently into the night, the better.
Chapter Eleven
Hayden flung her leather travel case onto the hotel room bed and went to stand in front of the air conditioner. Her skin felt flushed, feverish. The two-hour ride from New York to Atlantic City had been absolute hell. Brent had crowded her in the backseat of Daniel’s car with his gigantic body, pressing his arm or thigh against her at every opportunity. She’d made a valiant attempt to ignore his interested perusal by staring out the window. Then the whispering had started. After that, her temperature had steadily risen until she felt like a whistling teakettle.
Sure, it had started innocent enough. For Brent. You look sexy as hell in that dress. You smell fucking amazing. But when she’d continued to patently ignore him, the rough whispers near her ear went from PG to NC-17 before she could blink. Duchess, tug the top of that dress down just a little. Just enough that I can sit here and imagine sucking your nipples. Then there was the one accompanied by his hand squeezing the front of his jeans. Sit on my lap, baby. I just need your weight right here. Or the one that had nearly melted her into the seat. If I slipped my hand under your dress right now, no one would know but us. Think you could stay quiet long enough to come?