Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(69)

“She’s sweet. She’s thoughtful. She’s polite. She has great style. And she’s head over heels in love with you,” I said softly. “So, if you can’t feel that for her, it’s not my place to tell you this and I don’t mean to offend you but I’m speaking on behalf of the sisterhood here, you need to let her go so she can find someone who feels about her the way she feels about you.”

I held his eyes before he closed his and turned his head away.

Crap.

Well, I was out there so I might as well finish it.

“Levi,” I called, waited a moment then his eyes came back to me. “Again, speaking for the sisterhood, if you gave all that devotion and loyalty to a woman and she was a good woman, I swear, honey, you will live every day for the rest of your life until your dying breath never regretting it.”

Brock’s arm got super tight, curling me partially into his front while Levi held my gaze.

When he didn’t speak, I whispered, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place.”

“No,” Levi finally spoke. “You’re wrong. Any member of this family has a right to say what they gotta say.”

My lips parted, my belly warmed and I melted into Brock.

“Brother,” Brock murmured and Levi looked to him.

Then he pulled in breath through his nose.

Then he remarked, “It’s good you didn’t piss off your little minx, would suck, Christmas getting cancelled.”

I grinned.

“She wouldn’t do it. Longest Tess has been able to remain pissed at me is five minutes and that was when I came back after she thought I played her when I worked her for the DEA,”

Brock shared.

“Bodes well for you, Slim,” Levi returned.

“Fuck yeah,” Brock muttered.

Oh for goodness sakes.

I cut in, asking Levi, “Are you staying for breakfast with the boys or what?”

He looked at me. “What are you making?”

“French toast with caramelized cinnamon apples.”

Levi did another slow blink.

“Brock loves it,” I informed him when he made no response and continued to stare at me with unconcealed disbelief.

“Uh… yeah. He would,” Levi stated then he looked to Brock. “She cook like this all the time?”

“Man, she owns a bakery,” Brock answered.

Levi looked at me. “I’m stayin’.”

“Good,” I muttered and pulled away from Brock, ordering, “Honey, go wake the boys. I’ll start breakfast. The Christmas trees aren’t going to march in our houses by themselves and we need to get there early. There’s always a rush the weekend after Thanksgiving and we need two good trees.”

“She always bossy?” Levi asked as I turned to the coffeepot.

“No, she’s usually always sweet but Christmas does shit to people,” Brock’s departing voice replied.

I yanked out the coffeepot, turned to Levi and rolled my eyes.

He took that in and, sounding just like his brother and nearly as beautiful as when Brock did it, he burst out laughing.

Chapter Fourteen

You’re with Me

Nearly two weeks later…

I parked behind Brock’s brand new, huge, dark blue GMC, turned off the ignition, exited my car and headed to the trunk, shivering the minute my body left my warm vehicle and hit the arctic air.

It was Denver. Tomorrow, it could be sixty degrees even in December. But that night it was freezing and the air felt like snow, not to mention the forecast said we were going to get a dump.

Good for the mountains and ski resorts, bad for Tessa O’Hara.

I loved snow, playing in it, looking at it, making hot cocoa and reading a book while it was falling outside.

Driving through it… not so much.

I opened the trunk and grabbed the handles of the plethora of parcels in the back, carefully arranging the bags in my grip, bags made awkward due to the copious rolls of Christmas wrap poking out.

I had a weakness for Christmas wrap. In fact, I had a weakness for any kind of wrap including bows and ribbons. I gave into this weakness often so I had an entire closet at my house dedicated to wrapping paper and all its accoutrement.

No joke.

Juggling bags while avoiding poking myself with rolls of paper, I slammed the trunk using my elbow and headed to Brock’s patio.

When my eyes went there, my brows drew together.

There was a Harley outside the gate. It wasn’t Brock’s. It was a Dyna Glide. And anyway, when not in use, Brock kept his Fat Boy on the patio under a sturdy, custom-made cover.

Hmm. It appeared Brock had company.

Still juggling bags, I maneuvered myself through the high, wood patio gate then through the storm door and front door.

Before I could call a word of greeting, I heard Brock say low, “Tess.”

I knew instantly he wasn’t greeting me. It was a warning to halt conversation.

Oh man.

“Hey!” I called, shut the door and walked into the living room, eyes to the right.

Then I saw them. A Hispanic man and a Native American man on the stools in front of Brock’s bar, Brock standing in the kitchen behind the bar.

My first thought, seeing as I was female and these thoughts usually took precedence above all others, was these guys were hot. Not hot, per say, if you were talking the average sense of the word. Hot in the Brock sense of the word which was to say mouth-watering, off-the-scales hot.