Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(11)

“What do you want from this talk?” I pushed.

He shook his head but as he stared at me I saw his eyes light and felt the sharp flickering voltage of his mood shift out of the room as the sweet hum that came with his humor started pulsing through it.

“How many conversations do you think I have with women I corner against a counter, hold in my f**kin’ arms and do it with icing all over my favorite f**kin’ tee?” he asked.

Oh God.

I had to move this away from Brock being sexy and amused back to Brock being out of my life somehow so I did the best I could do.

“I don’t know. Turns out, I don’t know you very well.”

He held my eyes and replied, “Well, lettin’ you in a little more, the answer to that question is none. A bitch throws attitude at me, shouts in my face and gets icing on my Charlie Daniels tee, that bitch isn’t you, I walk out the door.”

“I’m not fond of being referred to as a bitch,” I snapped.

His face dipped close and I saw his eyes were now full on lit with his amusement. “And right now, darlin’, you’re just holdin’ on to hold on and we both know it.”

Damn. He was right.

I held his eyes.

Then I tried a different tactic.

“I can’t do this now. I’ve got a cake to finish decorating, I need to change my shirt because now that icing is on me and I have a baby shower to get to,” I informed him and his lips tipped up as his hand at my head became fingers that slid through my hair then it moved down and around so he was holding me in both arms.

Damn, I missed this. He could be sweet, a lot. When he got in a good mood it was the best, the best ever. And he could be touchy, a lot. He held me, he held me close, he held me loose, he held me while he laughed, he held me while I laughed, he held me while he kissed me and he held me just because.

And I missed it.

Damn.

“When’re you gonna be home?” he asked.

“Later,” I answered.

“When later?” he pressed.

“Later, later,” I evaded.

His arms gave me a squeeze and he said low, “Tess.”

Crap.

“I don’t know. Later. Seven? Eight?”

“I’ll be back at nine,” he declared.

Damn.

“Why don’t we make a date to meet for coffee?” I suggested.

“Maybe because I’m not stupid?”

Damn!

I was totally going to bail on coffee and he knew it.

He kept speaking. “But right now you’re gonna tell me why you put your house on the market.”

“I need a change,” I told him.

“Yeah,” his arms gave me a squeeze, “I see this. You’ve shifted ten pounds that looked better when it was on your ass and tits. You’re in a tee and jeans and not your fancy-ass clothes and heels. You lost the glasses and got contacts. The only thing I like, babe, is the hair. Looks good longer and lighter.”

He liked my hair.

I tried not to let that make me feel tingly but it ended up more like me pretending I didn’t feel the tingles that made me feel.

“Brock, seriously, can we talk about this later?”

“Where you movin’?” he asked telling me that no, we couldn’t talk about it later.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I lied and the pulsing hum of his humor and good mood went flat as his eyes narrowed.

“Christ, Tess, did the three months you spent lickin’ your f**kin’ wounds erase the four months we spent together so you don’t remember you can’t pull shit over on me?”

My eyes narrowed too and then I informed him, “That was not cool.”

“No, what was not cool was you taking three f**kin’ months to lick your wounds and makin’ me haul my ass to you but we’ll talk about that tonight.”

I felt my body go stiff. “If that’s why you’re coming over tonight then don’t bother.”

“Okay, no,” he said on a low rumble. “I see this shit shook out some sass in you, babe, my Tess was sugar sweet from the minute my eyes hit her to the minute I kissed her goodnight. I know what happened was f**ked and it f**ked with your head so I’m willin’ to ride that with you but you gotta know now, once we clear a bump, you’re not draggin’ us back time and again so we become intimately acquainted with it. We’re over the bump, we move the f**k on. We’re agreed I’m over tonight, nine o’clock, we sort shit out we shoulda sorted out three months ago and see where we are. But right now, you’re tellin’ me where you’re movin’.”

“We didn’t agree anything, Brock. You said you were coming over. I want to have coffee.”

“Don’t shit me, Tess. You’ll bag on coffee.”

“See!” I cried. “Is this sinking in that maybe I’m trying to move on in a variety of ways including moving on from Jake Knox slash Brock Lucas?”

Way, way, way wrong thing to say.

I knew this when one of his arms got tight, the other one slanted up my back, his hand cupping the back of my head as he leaned deep into me, pressing me over the counter and his face got in mine.

“I was observing,” he snarled. “Calhoun promised he’d handle you with care and I was keepin’ an eye on him ‘cause, he didn’t, I told him I’d rip his f**kin’ throat out and I wanted to make sure, he f**ked with you, I didn’t f**kin’ delay.”