Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

“Why not?” He fought to hang onto his control.

“Just didn’t get around to it.” She walked over to the bag, opening and peeking inside.

Brock was distracted from his anger at her easy acceptance of Mark walking in whenever he liked. He watched her eyes widen, her face flush as she glimpsed his purchases. Her lips opened as though to speak. Closed. Opened again. Finally, she clamped them shut and turned her gaze to him hesitantly as she swallowed tightly. His anger over the locks dissolved. Fuck it, he could fix the locks himself.

“What’s for dinner?” He wasn’t about to give her the chance to refuse him. “What’s in the bag is for later.””

She blinked, a little shocked. A little confused. “Chicken from KFC. I don’t cook much.”

He smiled. “I’ll take a breast and thigh, hon. My favorite pieces.”

Sarah gave an unladylike snort. “Not the piece I was thinking about, but whatever.”

“I have to shower.” He patted her rear in payment for her remark then headed for the shower.

* * * * *

Brock watched Sarah stomp around the house early that evening. Her angel’s face mutinous, her curvy body stiff and tense as she washed the few dinner dishes, cleaned off the table, ignored the innocent-looking paper bag in the center of it, then swept the floor. He leaned against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his chest, his brows lowered into a frown that he knew could intimidate the strongest adversary. But Sarah only ignored him. Him and the contents of the bag.

Not that he had expected her to accept this without a fight. Hell, he may even end up on her shit list for all time, but he didn’t think he would. He had seen the flare of curiosity in her eyes, the spark of arousal before her body stiffened and she became queen bitch for the evening.

He hid his grin. She could put the stubborn on better than any woman he knew or heard tale of. But he could be just as determined; she would find that out quickly.

“You should have got the locks changed after you got home from work.”

Brock worried about this Mark thing. Her ex-husband didn’t seem too willing to let her go.

“I’ll get it done.” She washed her hands in the sink after sweeping the non-existent dust into a dustpan and tapping it into the garbage can. “I’ll call in the morning.”

“Sam will take care of it in the morning instead,” he told her. “I trust him to take care of the job right with those locks he ordered this morning.”

She frowned at that; evidently, she didn’t care much for the thought of Sam coming out again. She was nervous around him, his brother had reported, nervous and expectant, as though she expected him to jump her at any second. She was displaying those same signs now.

“You were with Marly today,” she whispered the words without heat, surprising him with the change of subject.

Brock stared at her for long moments. There was no anger, no recrimination, just a quiet fight for understanding. He didn’t know what to say to her, didn’t want to hurt her.

“I was with Marly,” he agreed sadly. God he wished he could make it easier for her. Make her understand.

“You fucked her.” He watched her take a deep, steadying breath.

She looked vulnerable, so damned uncertain of herself that he wanted to scream out in pain. His Sarah was confident, strong, knowing he had done this to her broke his heart.

“I fucked her.” He nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her, he wouldn’t apologize, no matter his pain, his regret. He was who and what he was. She had to accept him as that. She knew before she came to that damned bar what he was and what he would want. He wouldn’t make excuses now.

She was silent for long moments, as thought expecting something from him. He knew she was expecting him to mention Sam. To mention how his brother reported their confrontation, how he touched her. Brock didn’t fight his rising erection at the thought of Sam touching her, or her pleasure in it. Sam had smiled with a reckless pleasure that had been missing in him since Marly’s attack the year before.

“Brock.” She licked her lips nervously. “Sam—“ Her gaze flickered away, her face flushing in guilt.

“Sam what, Sarah?” He was more than aware of what had happened.

She bit at her lip.

“Sam touched you today, Sarah?” he asked her softly. “I know that, baby.”

He didn’t know if he imagined the little whimper, one filled with arousal that escaped her lips.

“Did you tell him—“ She was fighting fear and desire. He could see the shy hunger, the confusion that filled her.