Page 65 of The Sadist and the Brat

“Why?”

Jack didn’t pretend to misunderstand Nick’s question. “Why not?”

“She’s a brat,” Nick pointed out.

“I like brats.”

“She’s not a masochist,” Cade added.

“No, but there’s a pain slut hiding in there,” Jack countered, enjoying himself. “You just have to push the right buttons.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Jack eyed Nick over his beer, considering. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to say that yet.”

Nick’s eyes went bug-wide. “Yet?”

“Well, damn.” Cade leaned back against the pool table. “I did not see this coming.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Nick demanded. “This is Sadie we’re talking about.She’s…well, she’s…”

“Beautiful? Funny? Sexy? Loyal?” Jack supplied.

“And fragile,” Cade put in with a frown. “She comes off like a ball buster, but that’s an act.”

“Not all of it,” Nick protested, then conceded, “but some of it.”

“There’s a lot of fear hiding under all that swagger,” James agreed quietly.

“Major intimacy issues,” Nick agreed, frowning at Jack. “If she finds out you’re thinking about a serious relationship, she’ll bolt.”

Jack nodded soberly. “I know.”

“You got a plan?” Cade wanted to know.

Jack looked at the three of them, considering. These were his friends, as close to him as brothers. They were the people who, aside from family, knew him best—in some ways, knew him better. “It’s pretty bare bones. I wouldn’t mind getting some opinions on it.”

Cade took his Coke back from Nick and resumed his position against the pool table. “Tell us whatcha got.”

Jack leaned forward, waited for Nick and James and Cade to do the same, and filled them in.

Chapter Ten

When the phone rang on Saturday morning, Sadie scowled. Though her Saturday schedule usually held one or two client appointments, she’d cleared her calendar so she could spend the day finishing her redecorating projects. But she’d gotten into a groove yesterday and worked late into the night, and when she’d fallen into bed at three-thirty in the morning, both the bathroom and her new massage room were client ready.

She planned to celebrate by staying in bed as late as possible, getting up only to pee and eat, then climbing back into bed. Whoever was calling at the ungodly hour of—she opened one eye to squint at the bedside clock—ten-thirty in the morning was interfering with that plan, and she didn’t appreciate it.

She wanted to ignore it. But she had parents who were getting older, and siblings with small children, and emergencies happened. So she fought one hand out of the covers, grabbing for the phone on the nightstand, and managed to somehow hit the right spot on the screen to answer. “H’lo.”

There was a beat of silence before a low, smooth voice said, “Did I wake you?”

Her eyes flew open in surprise, then slammed shut again against the sunlight streaming through the window. “Oh, God.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

She couldn’t get her bearings. The light burned her eyes, and now that she was conscious her bladder was demanding attention. And for some reason she was talking to—

“Jack?” she rasped.

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