Asking for Trouble (Line of Duty #4)(32)

Each squealing towhead took a turn laying a kiss on Brent’s cheeks, looking up at him with unabashed hero worship. Hayden’s ovaries stood up and delivered a thundering standing ovation. Whoa. Whoa. Where had that come from? A loud buzzer went off in her head. The kind you hear in movies before a submarine launches a missile. First of all, nice to meet you, ovaries. I’ve heard so much about you. Second of all, f*ck right off. You’re not welcome here.

This momentary bout of wistfulness had to be a by-product of her monumental upcoming decision. She’d come to the realization that if she married Stuart, it wouldn’t be the marriage she’d always secretly dreamed of. Coffee and conversation in bed. Holding hands while their child performed in some hokey school play dressed as a carrot. Lazy Sunday morning sex. None of it would be coming true. So now, presented with this Norman Rockwell mind-f*ck of a vision, the oversensitive woman inside her, the one stuck at the bottom of the well Hayden had pushed her down, was crying out for help. And she wanted to be rescued by the smiling giant who hadn’t bothered shaving this morning. The one who’d just caught sight of her across the lawn, and was looking at her with a decidedly odd expression that she couldn’t afford to interpret.

At least her ovaries’ intervention had been useful in one manner. She could waste no time putting Brent back where he belonged in her mind. Talk about a timely wake-up call.

“Um, Hayden? Did you get bitten by a zombie last night and forget to tell me?” Story waved a hand in front of her face. “If so, we need to have that awkward conversation where I promise to kill you when the change happens.”

“No.” She shook her head and stepped out of the car. “No killing necessary. And I need to talk to Daniel about the movies he’s letting you watch.”

…

Brent watched Hayden wander around his living room, perusing family photos and trading small talk with his sister-in-law, who’d stopped by to pick up his nieces and do a few chores around the house as repayment for his babysitting duty. He would have expected her to look out of place in his kid-friendly living room—with crayons and Barbie clothes strewn about on every available surface, they were a far cry from her chic Manhattan town house—but today she hadn’t gone for her usual tight, buttoned-up look. She wore one of those dresses. The ones with no straps that hug a girl’s breasts, then flow down her body, teasing you with hints of the curves underneath. Her red toenails peeked out just under the hem every time she took a step. All he could think about was those toes digging into his ass while she tightened up around him. Wishful thinking on his part, since she currently wouldn’t even look at him. They’d usually exchanged preliminary insults by now. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him something was up, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

Life had been so much easier when he didn’t know what Hayden tasted like. How she sounded moaning for him to go harder. The way she softened after sex, all liquid-limbed and sleepy-eyed.

Jesus. This was going to be a long weekend.

Frustration clawed at him. Frustration wrought by one sexy stocking enthusiast who, when last he’d seen her, had been in the process of unbuckling his belt. So ready for what he had to offer, she’d been all but panting. Not an easy thing to recover from when you knew where the encounter would have led, having experienced it once before. Rough, no-holds-barred f*cking. The angry kind that included biting and clawing. Ripping of clothes. Since walking away from her—for the second damn time—he’d been in a state of constant arousal. Nothing helped. Short of finding another woman to work out his lust with, a thought that for some obnoxious reason made him nauseous, he’d tried everything. Lord, he’d taken so many cold showers, he dreaded what his water bill would look like this month.

He suspected this undiluted need for her specifically sprang from his protective nature. This urge to soothe her, when instead he’d been forced to walk away, still lingered days later. It was one thing to trade barbs, but another completely to leave her looking forlorn and humiliated. Because of him. He didn’t like it. The memory sat in his gut like lead. Between the constant fantasizing while only wanting the real thing and the uncomfortable feeling that had taken up residence in his chest, he’d been in a perpetually shit-tastic mood.

He really couldn’t afford to take off a weekend at the garage. He needed a weekend in Atlantic City like he needed a new pair of pink roller skates.

Laurie’s girls took hold of Story’s and Daniel’s hands and dragged them to the backyard to show off the new tree house he’d built two weekends ago. Brent watched Hayden tense up as she realized they were alone in the room, but he couldn’t summon the ability to put her at ease. He needed a moment to collect his own thoughts. Seeing her in his home, so close to his bedroom, made him feel…impatient. He wanted that dress draping down over his thighs as she rode his lap. More than that, he wanted her in his bed. Call him a caveman, but he wanted to make her come among his sheets. He wanted to climb into them the following night, remembering the way he’d satisfied his woman there.

His woman? Jesus. She wasn’t even speaking to him. On their best day, they were cordial to each other. If she knew he’d laid claim to her in his mind, she would roundhouse him in the nuts. Yet he definitely had. Which was the only reason he’d agreed to this weekend. The thought of her alone in a notorious party-town made him a little crazy. Daniel and Story would inevitably go off on their own, and he meant to be there to make damn certain she went home with him, or no one at all.