Bar Bites: A Man of the Month Cookbook (Man of the Month 13)

"Please," she begged when he broke the kiss, needing air. "Take me to bed."

He released her from his legs, then slid down her body, until his back was to the counter and he was looking at her. Hell, yes, his voice screamed in his head. He needed her under him, those sweet noises surrounding him. He needed to bury himself inside her.

But what he said was, "Baby, we can't."

Can't?

Tiffany stared at him. "What do you mean, we can't?"

She watched as Eric dragged a hand through his hair, looking as miserable as she felt. Which was no consolation since she didn't really care about misery loving company. She just wanted him in her bed.

"Eric," she demanded. "What's going on?"

But, of course, she knew the answer even before he said it.

Ben.

"I can't do this--we can't do this--until I've explained everything to my brother."

"What are you talking about? What difference does it make? If he were still in Connecticut we'd be in my bed right now, and I'd be enjoying my fifth orgasm of the evening."

His lips curved up. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Shut up. Explain to me why you're not banging me senseless. And do it in small words and short sentences, because most of my blood is still rushing south." Although she was getting riled up enough now that she'd soon be hyper-coherent.

"Dammit, Tiffany. Don't pretend like you don't understand. He's still in love with you."

"He's in love with the idea of me," she countered, but it didn't matter; he barreled on.

"You know how close we are. Do you really think I can feel good about myself if he's a wreck because of this? If he's not okay with it?"

The words were like a splash of ice water, and she stepped backward until she was opposite him, her back against the kitchen island while his was against the counter. "Wait. Slow down. You're saying this isn't just about telling him what's going on. This is about asking permission? About making sure he's okay with it?" She clenched her fists, then unclenched them, trying to regain some control. "In case it escaped your notice, this is not a menage relationship. Ben doesn't get a vote."

"He's my brother. And he loves you. This will hurt him."

"Him? It's hurting me."

"Tiffany." He took a step toward her, but she twisted away. "So, what if he says he can't deal? Does that mean you just walk away from me?" She was crying now, and she hated that. The taste of salt. The scent of rejection. The confusion that was all churned up inside of her.

"He won't--"

"You don't know that. And what does that say about how you think of me? I'm not his property. He doesn't have the right to claim me and keep me away from you."

"That's not what I'm--"

"Just go."

"Tiffany, please."

But she just shook her head. Too mad and confused and hurt to do anything but push him away. "Please," she said. "Go before I say something I really will regret."

He went, and damn her to hell, she wasn't sure if she was glad he'd obeyed, or pissed off that he hadn't stayed and fought for her.

Chapter Seven

Since Ben was staying at their parents', Eric had called and arranged to have breakfast with them. Which turned out to be one of the most uncomfortable decisions of his life. His parents didn't seem to notice, but there was no way that Ben missed Eric's awkward silence.

He'd never been good at small talk, and sitting through breakfast and not saying what was on his mind to Ben was pure torture.