Page 25 of Sexy as Sin
If Brett’s hackles went up, that was because he was a man, and this had “territorial” written all over it. “Well, that’s a surprise,” he said, keeping it cool. “But then, she’s also beautiful, a fantastic cook, and one hell of a brave woman, so I already know most of what I need to. Also, my Popsicle’s melting.”
“YourPopsicle?”
“It’s red,” Brett informed him. “My favorite. Got to go.” He hung up and asked Willow, “Why is your cousin ‘You Sexy Thing?’”
“Joke,” she muttered. “Doesn’t matter.” She was forking up bites of couscous salad in an aggressive manner that promised nothing good.
“Matters to me.”
She sighed. Loudly. “Do you both have to be so... blokey?”
“Well, yeah. We probably do. So there’s no...”
He made a circling gesture, and she eyed him and said, “I don’t want to know what that means. Of course not. He’s married. He’s mycousin.And for all intents and purposes, my brother.”
“Right.” He felt a whole lot more cheerful. Also hungry. “Here I am, with a gorgeous, sexy woman who happens to be wearing a dress with a slit up the side and has hair I wish I could take down, and she’s brought me chicken and dumplings she made for me at the end of her hard day. If she’d come sit up here on the bed beside me for this movie date, my life would be just about perfect. So why am I talking about some Hollywood star who’s thousands of miles away?”
“He’ll be ringing you again tomorrow,” she said gloomily. “Rafe looks like some kind of...” She made a gesture of her own. “Sexy pirate. Whatever. He’s not. He’s a family-first Aussie bloke with a gooey caramel center.”
“Who thinks,” Brett said, since for some reason, they werestilldiscussing Rafe Blackstone, “that I’m too old and too rich and too ruthless for you. At a guess. Also, if Rafe Blackstone’s your cousin, so is Jace.”
“Who knows thirty-seven different ways to kill you quietly and bury the body,” Willow agreed, looking more cheerful, “so you probably don’t want to stuff up. And, yes, that’s the gist of the objection. Good thing we’re not entangled.”
The exact place he did not want to go. He had standards. He had scruples. Except that there was no ring on her finger, and whoever the other guy was, he wasn’t here fighting for her, was he? Brett’s specialty was winning hearts and minds, and there weren’t any of those he wanted to win more than hers. Why hadn’t he looked at it that way in the first place? Possibly because he hadn’t been on pain meds, and possibly for another reason that he didn’t need to examine right now. “Mm,” he said. “Good thing.” She started to say something and stopped, and he asked, “Yes?”
“You don’t really want me to sit with you,” she said. “It would jostle you.”
That was a weak objection if he’d ever heard one. “Except that there’s nothing I’d like more. And I picked out a date movie perfect for my fake girlfriend and temporary companion.The Proposal.Come up here and watch it with me? It sure would make me feel better.”
She hesitated a minute, but she did it. Did it hurt to scoot over? Sure it did, but who cared? He was wearing a black T-shirt instead of a hospital gown and had all his faculties intact again, and that was good enough for now. She’d kicked off her sandals, and now, she crossed her pretty ankles and let the dress fall away from her slim, muscular calves. When he put his arm around her, she rested her head against his shoulder like that was where it belonged, and he got a rush that had absolutely nothing to do with opiates.
He didn’t make any other moves. She was tired, she was too vulnerable under the breeziness and the toughness, and she still smelled like cake. Her fine hair was silky-soft against his neck, and the creamy skin of her shoulder was smooth under his hand. He held her there, warm and close, dimmed the lights, let the silly, sweet, absolutely implausible movie scroll on by, and appreciated the hell out of the whole damn thing.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
Brett jerked awake, then wished he hadn’t as a word he hadn’t meant to say ripped out of his chest. He thought,Willow,even as she sat up fast, flailed around, and caught his nose with her elbow.
“Sorry,” she said as he clapped a hand over his nose, struggled to see out of watery eyes, tried to sit up, and got a stab of pain like a lance up his leg and into his hip. “What? Who?”
A light turned on with a blaze bright as noon. Both of them jumped that time. Willow’s hair had come down some, and the bodice of her white dress was askew. Strap down her arm again, probably. She wasn’t moving fast, possibly because she’d fallen asleep thirty minutes into the movie. She’d been meant tostayasleep, too. Until morning, if he’d had anything to say about it. Which he didn’t. He gave the dress a tug for her, eyed the tousle-haired, ice-blond, tanned guy who was standing there like some kind of ad for surfboards, dressed in lime-green board shorts and a Vegemite T-shirt, and asked, “Would you be the entanglement?”
“Oh,bugger,”Willow said, scrambling off the bed and flashing plenty of thigh. “What are you doing here, Gordy?”
The surfer had his arms folded and, Brett judged, a fair amount of alcohol under his nonexistent belt. “What am I doing here?” he asked. “What amIbloody doing here? What areyoudoing here, more like? Why did I come through your window like always, and nobody’s there? Why aren’t you anywhere in the whole flat, because you—mygirlfriend—areout,at one o’clock in the morning? Why did Azra look at me like something the cat dragged in and tell me to leave, like I was some wanker who’d wandered in off the street?”
“Because,” Willow said, “it’s her flat? Because you’re pissed? Because I wasn’t there?”
The surfer stabbed with a forefinger.“Exactly. Exactly.Because you weren’t there. Because here I was, big night at work,bignight, the girls falling all over me, and I’m saying, no, I’ve got a girlfriend.” He nodded owlishly, then seemed to forget he was doing it, until he looked like a bobblehead doll. “And when I come around, she’s not there, and her flatmate says she’s gone to hospital to be with some bloke.Mybloodygirlfriend.”More with the stabbing finger. “With somebodyelse.”
Willow was standing on the other side of the bed now, looking agitated herself. Brett had never wanted to stand up more. He said, “Hang on,” but before he could get started, Willow was talking.
“Yeah, mate,” she said. “Some date. Some boyfriend. Coming through my window at one in the morning isn’t a date. It’s a booty call. And I worked a wee bit myself this week. Maybe I wanted to be pampered, did you think of that? Maybe I wanted to be treated. Maybe I wanted to bespecial.”
“How’s that not bloody special?” The guy—Gordy—was advancing around the end of the bed, and that wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all. “I cameover.I turned down a three-way for you, and you weren’t even there! Instead of that, instead ofwaitingfor me, you’re here dressed like you’re looking to hook up, in bed with Granddad! What the hell, Willow? What the flaming hell?”
There was plenty of color in her cheeks now. “Did I say yes?” she demanded. Brett considered the walker and discarded the thought. He’d be steadier, but he’d also look eighty years old. He grabbed the crutches instead, eased out of bed, and did his best to get between the two of them. Holyshit,but moving fast hurt. Superheroes were never this slow.
“What?” the surfer asked as if he didn’t even see Brett. “What do you mean, did you say yes? I told you I was coming! You heard me!”
