Breathless (Steel Brothers Saga #10)(45)

There could be no mistaking our swollen lips and red cheeks. Not to mention the bulge beneath my jeans. I turned away from Talon.

If he’d noticed, he didn’t let on.

“I’m going to go pick up the boys at the bus stop,” Marjorie said.

“Thanks,” Talon said. Then, “You know what? Let me do that today. I’m so rarely home in the afternoons. It’ll be a nice surprise for them.”

“Um…okay.” Marjorie didn’t meet her brother’s gaze.

“What’s going on here?” Talon asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “In fact, I was just leaving. Good to see you.” I walked quickly out of the kitchen.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Why couldn’t I leave her alone? Or why didn’t she tell me to get lost?

This was going to be an issue. A big issue.

I left the house and checked in quickly with my mom. She and Henry were fine. Then I got into my car, the Mustang that had been my father’s. It was only a year old. My father had purchased it shortly before he died. With cash, I’d found out when I’d processed his estate. The title was in a locked file cabinet.

My father had always handled the bills, and my mother, being an old-school wife, had never questioned where money came from or went.

I hadn’t questioned him either.

How had I been so na?ve as to not see him for who he truly was?

I could sell this car. Indeed I’d thought about it. But it was brand-new, gorgeous dark highland green, and loaded.

Paid for by…

Yeah, I was definitely selling it. I was surprised the Feds hadn’t confiscated it, but they couldn’t prove it had been purchased with dirty money.

Maybe it hadn’t been, but I couldn’t take the chance.

So why had I held on to it this long?

Not because I loved the car, though I did love it. I could easily sell it and buy another that I picked myself. Or, more likely, I could take the money and buy something cheaper. Or I could drive my own damned car, which I also loved.

Could I be trying to hold on to something from the father I knew? The man who’d taken Joe and me camping and fishing? The man who had taught me…how to be a man?

For he had. He’d been a good father to me, and somehow I had to reconcile that with what I now knew he’d done to innocent people.

Including Colin Morse.

Including Talon.

I sighed.

I didn’t know why I did half the things I did these days.

In the rearview mirror, I watched Talon get in his truck and take off to the main road to pick up the boys at the bus stop. He wouldn’t be gone long.

I started the engine and looked behind me—

I jolted slightly when the passenger door opened.

Marjorie Steel sat down beside me. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nice car.”

“It was my dad’s.”

“I know.”

Did she really hijack me to talk about the car? I opened my mouth to say as much, but nothing came out.

“What are you doing, Bryce?” she asked.

“I’m going to sell the car,” I said.

“You think I’m talking about the car?” She shook her head, perplexed. “I mean what are you doing?”

“Leaving. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Cut the crap. You know what I’m talking about.” Her lips were beautifully red and swollen from our kiss only moments ago. Her dark eyes were serious.

Shit.

She wanted to talk.

Beware when a woman decided she wanted to talk. It never led to anything good.

“It was just a kiss, Marjorie.”

“You really want to go down that road?” She shook her head. “I should have known.”

“Does everything have to have some great meaning? Does everything require a conversation?” I huffed. “Women.”

“Women? Really? You’re going to play that card? You’re better than that, Bryce.”

She was right. I did know better than that. My mother had been a traditional housewife, but she’d also taught me how to treat and respect women.

And my father had backed her up.

Man. He’d had two distinct personalities. Had he suffered from a dissociative identity? Probably not. He’d just been a major psychopath. Psychopaths were notoriously good at hiding who they were. My father had been a master at it.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Marj. “Truly.”

And I truly was.

She trailed her finger over my forearm. Just that little contact had me tightening and tensing, in a majorly good way.

Except it wasn’t a good way. Not for us. Not now.

“Listen to me,” she said, her tone serious. “Don’t start something with me that you can’t finish.”

Her red lips trembled slightly. The urge to touch her, kiss her, take her right here in my father’s car overwhelmed me. My cock was throbbing, aching to be set free from confinement.

I’d already told her I had nothing to offer. Nothing to— Finish what you start, son.

Damn! My fucked-up father had given me good advice over the years. Good fatherly advice. What a time for that particular advice to pop into my head.

I’d take what I wanted, what I yearned for.