Shameless(7)

Which is nothing like his brother.

Because Brady’s a brewing storm of intensity.

Jet black hair. Piercing green eyes. A few day’s worth of stubble covering his strong jaw. And muscular, filling out his leather jacket with broad shoulders that cut a dark swath through my vision.

It’s hard not to stare.

He’s sitting with his elbows pressed against his wide-spread knees, glaring out the window, looking like a Sons of Anarchy character about to kick someone’s ass.

He towered over me when he walked in, looking at me like I was some kid he caught trespassing. Yeah, he’s intimidating.

And ridiculously hot.

I glance down at my t-shirt, wishing I had put myself together more before he arrived. Closing my hoodie to hide my stupid t-shirt, I suddenly feel self-conscious.

He hasn’t said much, but based on his expression a few minutes ago, I know I’ve just rocked his world. I find myself wanting to comfort him. If we were friends, if I’d known him longer than the ten minutes he’s been sitting on the couch, I’d hug him. But obviously, that’s weird.

I can’t believe he thought Isabella was gone. The thought sends chills through me.

As though she can sense my unease, she snuggles closer. I need to feed her, but it feels wrong to leave Brady right now.

After three shots of Jim Beam, he puts down the glass and sighs, running his hands through his messy hair. How is it that men always look better after doing that?

He looks up and clears his throat. “Let’s try this again.” He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Brady. Sorry it took me so long to get down here. That nor’easter really screwed up my flight.”

His accent slides over me and holds me captive. It’s intense like the rest of him. Cal had a New England accent too, but for some reason, coming from him, it made me laugh. Brady’s sends goose bumps down my arms.

Nothing funny there.

Realizing the man is waiting for me to return the gesture, I extend my hand. “Katherine Duran, family friend and glorified babysitter.”

His big paw shakes mine. His skin is calloused and rough, a little like his exterior. But when those green eyes stare back, butterflies riot in my stomach.

When I let go, I feel a little light-headed. What the heck is that about?

“So you’re… you’re Cal’s younger brother? You’re bigger than Cal.” Like way bigger. He has to be well over six feet tall.

He chuckles. “Yeah, he hated that I was taller. We’re only nine months apart, though. I’m actually older. The bastard likes to tell people he’s older.”

Just as quickly as it came, that smile fades, and he stares off again. I can tell he’s realized his mistake, talking about Cal in the present tense.

The pain in his expression makes my chest constrict. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. Picking up the baby, I scoot over to the couch and place my hand on his broad shoulder. My mind fumbles through a number of things I could say to comfort him, but I’m momentarily distracted by how intimate this seems. By how close we are. By how I can smell his aftershave or shampoo or whatever it is that reminds me of the woods after a thunderstorm.

I’m tempted to yank my hand back, but I’ve already committed, so I take a deep breath. “Brady, it is an honor to meet you. I loved Cal and Mel like they were my very own brother and sister, and I want you to know I’m here to help however I can.”

A little gurgle has us both turning to the baby in my lap who is grinning up at him. Preciosa.

I nudge him with my elbow. “Aww, she likes you, and if Isabella likes you, I know you must be a great guy because she is a really good judge of character. She hates Mr. Roosevelt, who cheated on his wife, loves Mrs. MacIntyre, who bakes us the best apple pies, and she’s suspicious of Ted Mayfield, which I thought was weird until we found out about his great affection for his sheep.”

Brady lets out a choking laugh, and I find myself smiling too. I must be nervous because that was some major word vomit. Really, Katherine? You’ve met almost every politician in the state of Texas and this biker boy has your panties in a twist?

I motion toward him. “Why, uh, why don’t you clean up in the kitchen, and then I’ll let you hold her. Would… would you like that?”

His eyes well with tears, and damn it, mine do too. He swallows and blinks back the emotion. “Yeah, I would. Thanks.”



The fleet of butterflies somersaults in my stomach again as Brady and I stare at each other. Ignore the crazy, Katherine. Get your act together.

Right now, that means helping the hot biker dude hold his baby niece.

I extend my arms as Isabella squirms between us, and his eyes widen. A laugh escapes me. “Brady Shepherd, this isn’t rocket science.”

“I’ve never held a baby before.” His voice is deep and scratchy, and for some reason, I wonder what it would sound like whispering in my ear.

I clear my throat. “Ever?”

“Ever.”

A small laugh escapes me. “How is that possible?”

Brady runs his hands through his hair and shrugs. Good heaven almighty, he’s a sight all flustered like this. Here’s this big, strong man intimidated by holding a baby.

He’s taken off his leather jacket, so he’s just wearing a Boston Red Sox t-shirt that stretches across his muscular chest and tapers snugly at his biceps where tattoos blaze down his arms. If he weren’t Cal’s brother, there is no way I would be handing Isabella over to this guy. I mean, he seems harmless enough, but his exterior is just so dang intimidating.