Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers, #4)(82)

Briony covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Just saying steak and rare made my stomach upset.”

“Fine. Give me the chicken pasta as well. But hold the damn milk.” Ken glared at her. “Just how long do you plan on being sick?”

She grinned at him. “A long, long time, now that we’ve had the good news about the baby and all.”

“Babies,” Jack corrected.

“Comes in useful, does it? I had no idea you had a mean streak in you, but I should have guessed, with Jack adoring you and all.”

Briony took a sip of water, looking away so he wouldn’t see her expression. She didn’t seem very good at hiding her thoughts from either of them. Jack didn’t adore her. The chemistry was there, exploding all over the place, but he didn’t adore her—that was never going to happen.

Don’t count on it. The warmth of Jack’s voice caressed her mind, touched her intimately, and spread through her body.

For a moment she could barely breathe with wanting him.

You can’t look at me like that, baby. Not here. Not where I have to keep my mind on protecting you.

She had to remember to shield her mind from him. She wasn’t used to having anyone around who could catch her thoughts, and worse, her face seemed to be an open book.

“Don’t look at him, Bri,” Ken suggested. “Pay attention to me. As soon as we hit the bar, he’s going to go all bossy and possessive and act like an idiot and annoy the hell out of you anyway, so don’t even think nice thoughts about him.”

“Are you, Jack?” she asked. “Are you going to go manly and possessive and act like an idiot?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Probably.”

“Why? I’m pregnant and on the run, Jack. Do you think I’m likely to fling myself at another man and beg him for wild sex?”

Jack groaned. “You can’t say wild sex. You can’t think it. I have the hard-on from hell now, thank you very much.”

Briony flushed, damp heat soaking her panties and her breasts suddenly aching and full. She lifted her chin. If he could admit it, then so could she—just not aloud. You can’t say hard-on from hell because then I want to touch—and taste, and have you buried very deep inside me. She took great care to keep her barriers up against Ken and hoped Jack was doing the same.

Son of a bitch, Briony, you’re going to f*cking kill me talking like that. Jack caught her hand and drew it under the table, pressing her palm tightly against him.

His reaction was definitely gratifying. She could hear the need pulsing in his voice, hoarse and clipped and edgy, feel it in the thick bulge throbbing under the thin material of his jeans. Nice to know I’m not alone.

“Would you like me to go check you into a hotel room?” Ken asked, glaring at them. “Because it’s getting embarrassing sitting with the two of you.” Hell, bro, we’ve been mind-to-mind so much we don’t even think about it and certainly have never cared how hot either of us was for a woman—but it feels different with Briony. I feel like a damned Peeping Tom.

I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful about protecting you.

I’d appreciate it.

“You’ll be doing a lot of babysitting, Ken,” Jack said, releasing Briony’s hand as the waiter arrived with their dinner.

Briony busied herself with her pasta, not wanting to think too much on her confession and what the repercussions might be. She was getting used to the tremendous pull between them. It wasn’t waning in strength—if anything, it was growing by just being in close proximity and getting to know each other better, but she was learning to handle it. Even so, she sat eating her dinner, listening to the sound of the two brothers’ voices, and all the while she was acutely aware of every move, every gesture—no matter how small—that Jack made.

He watched the doors and the people passing by. The table was situated where they could look out, but no one would see them. She realized that they were acting as they always did—her being there didn’t mean added security. They were always watching—always aware. What did that say about their lives? She studied them closely. The same shadows were in Ken’s eyes. That same wariness. He looked more relaxed, maybe even more easygoing, but she realized it was a fa?ade. And they knew each other so well, had worked with each other, could communicate silently—they were definitely a team, and a lethal one at that. It occurred to her that it was somewhat of a miracle that both of them had allowed her into their lives.

It was Ken who paid the bill, and all the while he was busy talking to the waiter, Jack was at his back, gaze flat and cold and watchful. How long had they had to be afraid someone wanted them dead? Too long. It had to have been too long.

Briony stayed between them as they made their way out into the dark of night. Music blared down the sidewalk, pouring out of a building just up the street. Neither man said anything, but they turned in the direction of the sound.

“I’ve never actually gone in a bar,” Briony confided, sliding closer to Jack as they went into the darkened interior. “I couldn’t go into such a confined, crowded space. There were too many overwhelming emotions—desperation and loneliness seemed the most prominent when I’d pass by an open door. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“I’m forced to come here,” Jack said, scowling at his twin.