The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

Hurt by that unfair statement, Lia retreated into silence.

“Get off me, will you?” he muttered, and she tried to tug her hands free. He tightened his grip, probably just to show her how much control he had over the situation, before releasing her abruptly. She clumsily hauled herself out of his lap, unintentionally pushing at his hurt arm again, and he swore viciously at the contact.

“I’m sorry,” she offered in a small voice once she was standing in front of him again. Her dignity in absolute shreds.

“Forget about it,” he dismissed, despite the fact that he was trembling and beyond pale. He used his good hand on the arm of the chair and levered himself up with difficulty. She hovered, her hands instinctively coming out to steady him, but he shot her a warning glare. It took a great deal of effort, but he eventually stood hunched over in front of her.

“You can leave now,” he said, his voice sounding shockingly weak. While she was tempted to flee and never return, Lia stood her ground.

“I’ll wait until you’re settled in bed.”

“Looking to join me, are you?”

“Mr.—uh—Sam.” She grimaced—that sounded too personal. “I prefer Brand.” The words emerged from beneath her breath, and he bared his teeth in what she supposed could be taken as a smile.

“Go for it, as long as you drop the ridiculous mister.”

“Anyway, Brand, we agreed in November that what was between us was just S-E-X.” She spelled the word out self-consciously, feeling herself flushing as she did so. His gaze was riveted on her face, and it made her feel like a bug under a microscope. “And it was supposed to be just that one time—well, two times—and that was it. I never expected to see you again. Especially not so soon. I mean, I imagined you’d show up at Mason and Daisy’s baby’s christening. It’s likely you’d be a godfather, but probably only to their second child, little Dianella. I think it’s fair to assume Spencer would be godfather to their oldest, Delphinium. Godmother would be a toss-up between Daff and me. But because Daff is the oldest sister and she and Spencer are together, it would likely be the two of them. You and I would probably share guardianship of—” She stopped when his mouth dropped open and realized that she had gone off on a bizarre tangent. “What I meant to say was that I didn’t expect to see you again. Not so soon. I thought by the time we met again, I’d be married with children of my own.”

“Uh.” The grunt emerged after a few moments when he seemed to realize that she was done speaking and some kind of response was required from him. “Daisy’s pregnant?”

“Uhm. No.” She flushed, embarrassed when he tilted his head and stared at her like she was a bizarre new species of insect. He shook his head incredulously before clearing his throat.

“You’re engaged?” he asked, thankfully letting her weird little fiction about Daisy and Mason’s possible future children slide.

“Well, not yet. But soon.”

“Yeah?” His face was like granite and revealed not a single emotion. Not even pain. That was some feat, considering how protectively he was hunched over his arm. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I haven’t really met him yet,” she said, feeling increasingly self-conscious. “At least I don’t think so. I’ve been on a few dates with someone. And recently it got more serious.” She bit back the surge of nausea at the thought of Gregory’s cold, clammy hand on her nipple. Had that really happened just a few hours ago? It felt like years had passed since then. “The point is, I’m looking for someone serious. Someone to marry. I don’t want you to think that we’ll be picking up where we left off or anything. I mean, you probably wouldn’t want to anyway, you’ve been dating Laura Prentiss, but just in case.”

“Got it. You’re husband hunting,” he said matter-of-factly, still not revealing a single emotion. And did he have to use that term? Her father had as well. And it sounded incredibly predatory. “Look, princess, I’m knackered. Fascinating as this all is, I really can’t deal with it right now. I need to get to bed, take some painkillers, and sleep for approximately fifty-seven hours.”

“Oh. Of course! I’m so sorry. I’ll leave very soon—I just want to be sure you manage the stairs okay. They’re pretty steep.”

He huffed impatiently and shrugged before limping his way to the staircase. She followed close behind, watching him anxiously. The limp reminded her of his extensive injuries. It went beyond the obvious cast on his arm. He’d been stabbed in several places. Gosh, the thought was sickening. He paused at the foot of the stairs and bent his head for a long moment before exhaling and taking the first step.