Calamity Jena (Invertary Book 4) (16 page)

“Babe,” he said. “Is it only the official words you have a problem with, or can you say…”

Na, na, na, na.
Clair shut her eyes tight as her singing and fingers blocked out the words.

Strong arms wound around her waist, giving her a start. Grunt lifted her, sat in her armchair and settled her in his lap. His grin was still in place.

“Okay, I gotta know. What do you call your—” She smacked a hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

Claire swallowed a grin as his shoulders shook with laughter. “I call it ‘down there’,” she said in the most prim voice she could affect.

His laughter deepened. With a roll of her eyes, she removed her hand.

“Guess we should all be grateful you don’t call it down under. That way if you ever have a problem, the doc won’t think you mean in Australia.” He nuzzled the spot behind her ear that made her stomach do flips. “Babe, if you can’t use the words, how will you tell me what you want me to do to you?”

“Oh, but I can say the words. I can say lots of words. I just like winding my sister up.”

His eyes glittered with mischief. “What kind of words are we talking about here? You got to tell me some, or I won’t believe you.”

Claire straightened her shoulders. “Willy, dick, club of the gods, joystick, Mr Winky, the one-eyed monster, the mighty—”

Grunt smacked a hand over her mouth as he laughed. She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Enough,” he said. “I take it back. Someone who looks like an angel shouldn’t have a potty mouth.”

“Potty mouth? Big, bad Grunt says potty mouth? Does Joe know you say stuff like this? I’m not sure that even your manliness can handle saying potty mouth. You’ve just lost at least ten points on the macho scale.”

“You need to shut up now.” His sparkling eyes ruined the threat.

Claire leaned into him, until their lips were almost touching. “Oh yeah, why don’t you make me.”

“With pleasure.” The low rumble swept through her body.

His fingers grasped the back of her head. He paused, barely an inch between them, and inhaled as though breathing her in. Her eyes fluttered shut as his warm lips met hers. They were soft, teasing in their touch, and mind-numbingly delicious. He coaxed her lips, easing her mouth open until he was able to take his time tasting her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His woodland scent engulfed her. It was the most perfect kiss she’d ever had. Slowly, with tiny nips to her bottom lip, he moved away from her.

Claire felt more than a little stunned. She wanted to stay right where she was forever. Wrapped in his strong arms, engulfed in his scent, able to taste and feel him whenever she chose. It was bliss.

He flashed that wicked smile of his. “I need to hit the road. Don’t want you missing church in the morning and getting a bad rep ’causa me. But save the afternoon for me. I need my Claire time.”

Claire smiled at him as her heart stuttered. It took a moment for his words to really register, a delay that amused him.

“I have a family dinner in the afternoon, then we’re going to visit my dad.”

“What time will I pick you up?”

Her brain stalled. He couldn’t mean…? She blinked at him. “You can’t come to our family dinner.” She cringed. That sounded really rude.

“Baby,” he said slowly. “Your family’s got to get to know me.”

“Do they have to do it tomorrow, though?”

“Yeah.” His grin said he thought she was cute. “Sooner we get this outta the way, the sooner we can focus on us.”

Damn, why did that sound reasonable and terrifyingly stupid at the same time?

“What time am I picking you up?” His tone was low and teasing, and his eyes sparkled with mirth.

“One.” She gave in with a sigh.

He leaned forward and tucked his nose in her neck below her ear. She heard him let out a long breath. “Good,” he whispered.

He chuckled at her mewls of complaint as he led her to the front door.

“Lock up after me,” he ordered.

She shook her head with a sigh. Maybe there was a handbook somewhere on how to deal with a bossy alpha male? With one last toe-curling kiss, he turned towards the path. Leaving Claire to wonder if she had the skills needed to handle a man like Grunt.

16

Jena thought Sunday lunch with Matt’s family would be a relaxing affair. Maybe even a little dull. That was before Matt’s mother, Heather, led one of Frank’s goons into the kitchen.

“No,” Jena shouted, grabbed her purse and made a run for the back door.

Matt snagged the back of her purple wraparound dress and held on tight.

“Stay,” he snapped.

“Do I look like your freaking poodle?” Jena snapped back, giving him the words he’d used on Bob the butcher.

Matt ignored her. Instead he turned to Mr No-Neck Mob Hitman. “What are you doing here? If Frank wants to talk, he can come to the station. In the meantime, you can get out.”

“Matt!” His mother looked like she was ready to smack him. “I didn’t raise you to be rude.”

The goon kept his eyes on Matt. “I’m not here for Frank Di Marco. This has nothing to do with him.”

Jena tried to prise Matt’s fingers from the neck of her dress. If there was going to be a fight, she wanted to be far, far away—even if dinner did smell delicious and her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard.

“Leave. Now. Before this becomes messy.” Matt was coiled tight, ready to pounce.

“What’s going on?” One of the twins said as she came into the room. Her arms were full of Tupperware boxes, filled with what looked like cookies. Jena’s mouth watered at the sight.

“We have an unwanted guest, Claire.” Matt’s jaw clenched. Jena tried to appear invisible. “This isn’t the place to talk about Jena. You need to leave, Grunt. Before I forget my manners.”

“What manners?” Claire smacked the containers onto the countertop. “Samuel is my guest. Do you see me trying to kick Jena out? No. You don’t.”

Matt’s gaze snapped to his sister, and Jena cringed. She was so glad he wasn’t her brother. Claire looked fit to spit. His mother looked annoyed and about ten seconds away from putting a stop to the confrontation happening in her kitchen—by any means necessary.

“What do you mean he’s your guest?” Matt’s voice was a low, threatening rumble.

Claire’s face flushed. “I mean he’s with me. I invited him, kind of…”

There was a deathly silence. Jena wished Matt would forget about her and let go of her dress. Instead his grip tightened.

“You’re dating him?”

Everything within Jena screamed for her to run. The air crackled with the warning. The red in Claire’s cheeks deepened. She tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear. The goon frowned, his jaw hardened and he stepped closer to Claire. Positioning himself between Matt and his sister. His fists flexed as his posture loosened. She’d seen that stance before—he was getting ready to fight. No, not fight—defend Claire. Jena’s eyebrows tried to crawl up her forehead. Poop in a bucket, the goon was crazy about Matt’s sister. World War Three was about to start in Heather Donaldson’s kitchen. And Jena was trapped in the middle of it.

She took a deep breath as her sense of self-preservation kicked into overdrive. “Okay, so this has nothing to do with me. This is obviously a family thing. Best if I go. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself home.” She tugged at Matt’s grip as she tried to walk towards the door.

“I don’t think so.” He yanked her back. “Well?” he demanded of Claire.

“Yes.” She glared at her brother. “If you must know, which you really don’t, I am dating Samuel.”

Samuel the goon cocked an eyebrow at Claire. “It’s more than dating. You know it.”

Claire seemed to have trouble breathing for a minute as her gaze locked with his.

Heather gasped. “It’s the family curse. I’ll get my wedding dress dry-cleaned. You’ll be needing it.”

Matt shot his mother a look that said “what the hell, woman?” before returning his attention to Grunt. Jena didn’t think the atmosphere in the room could get any tenser. But it did.

“What games are you playing?” Matt said. “I won’t let you, or Frank, use my sister to get to Jena.”

Claire’s jaw dropped as she turned to the goon. “You know Jena? How do you know Jena?” Her face paled the minute realisation struck. “Are you one of those no-neck guys that’s hunting Jena for the mob?” She sucked in a loud, dramatic breath. “You’re with the mob. You lied to me.”

The muscles in Samuel’s shoulders clenched. “Baby, I am not, nor will I ever be, with the mob. I’m exactly what I told you I am. Ex-marine. Current security guy. Nothing more. What you see is what you get. And you get all of it, babe. What we have together has nothing to do with Jena.”

“Semantics.” Matt pointed at Samuel. “Mob or not, you’re here with Frank Di Marco. Jena’s ex is with the mob.”

“Frank is not mob. Frank
wants
to be mob. Big difference,” Samuel informed Matt.

Matt released his grip on Jena’s dress and took a step towards the goon. Instead of running, like any sane woman would have done, Jena wound her hand into his T-shirt in an attempt to hold him back. Matt vibrated with rage. “Keep away from my sister.”

“Not going to happen.”

Matt glared at Claire. “Keep away from him.”

“Not going to happen,” Grunt answered before Claire could open her mouth.

“I’m warning you,” Matt said. He strode towards Grunt, dragging Jena behind him.

“Help me, somebody,” Jena said as her heels slid over the kitchen floor.

“Hit him and I’ll never talk to you again,” Claire shouted as she tried to get out from behind Grunt.

“I’ll handle this, baby,” Grunt told her softly before growling at her brother. An honest to goodness growl. The kind rednecks and brown bears made.

“She’s too young for you and she doesn’t associate with criminals.”

“Who says I’m a criminal?”

“If you sleep with a dog, you catch its fleas.”

“Are you saying I had sex with Frank Di Marco?” Grunt looked ready to morph into the Hulk.

Three women shouted at the same time, “It’s just a saying.”

It would have been funny if the amount of testosterone in the room hadn’t sucked all the joy out of the house.

A door banged, and a minute later a grinning Megan barrelled into the kitchen. “What did I miss?” she demanded.

Everyone glared at her. She nodded with a chuckle. “Clash of the Titans. I get it. Carry on.” She turned to her mother. “Got any popcorn?”

Her mother looked between the two men. “I have chocolate cake.”

“Great.” Megan rubbed her hands together. “Dish it up. This is going to be better than watching wrestling. I bet a month’s worth of dishwashing that King Kong pulverises Don Don.” She grinned at everyone, her glee overflowing. “Any takers?”

“I’ll get the cake.” Heather sighed dramatically. “Might as well; looks like we won’t get to the roast I slaved over until these two are done hitting each other about the head. Take the fight outside, boys—we’ll watch through the window while we eat. We know how you men like to have an audience when you’re proving who’s got the biggest willy.”

The siblings gasped.

“Mum!” Claire covered her mouth with her hand.

“What?” Her mother held up her hands. “This is my house. This is the lovely meal that I cooked for my children and their friends. If it’s going to be ruined, I can say what I like. After all, it isn’t as though I have a lot to look forward to these days. What’s another ruined family afternoon? I guess it’s a bit much to hope that two grown men would set aside their differences for a couple of hours so I could take my mind off your father in hospital. We might as well have cake and watch them pummel each other.”

And just like that, the tension was sucked out of the room. Both men seemed torn between guilt and the need to hit something.

“That roast smells delicious,” Grunt said, earning a beaming smile from Claire. “Wouldn’t want to miss out.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. He pointed at his mother. “You are a master manipulator.” She curtsied. “Fine, we’ll eat.” He stared at Grunt. “We’ll pick this up later.”

Grunt grunted.

“Great, sit down in the dining room and we’ll get the food. Jena, you can help.”

Feeling slightly bewildered as to why she’d been singled out, Jena watched everyone else leave the kitchen.

“I’ve been married thirty-five years,” Heather told her as she pulled the roast from the oven. “If you want a healthy relationship with my son, never forget three things. Food will always triumph over any other need. When confronted with a wall of testosterone, nod as though you agree, then do what you had planned anyway. And if all else fails, resort to guilt. The men in this family can’t stand the thought of their women losing out, even if they’re the cause of it.”