Marry Me (54 page)

"I know so. I was worried about you. What with your parents and all their hang-ups and problems, you had a tough load to carry."

"I survived."

"If I could have yanked you out of there, I would have."

"My hero!" She gushed, making him laugh, but it brought on a coughing fit.

She'd learned to wait while he suffered through an attack, not to fuss or attempt to help. Any display of concern rankled him.

As he calmed, he said, "You're not going to marry that banker are you?"

"No. After I ran off with Matt this last time, it's awfully clear that I'm looking for something other than what I had."

"Would that be Matt?"

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't play matchmaker."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but it was obvious he was lying.

"I mean it," she scolded. "Leave Matt alone."

"If I left Matt
alone
, he'd fall off the face of the earth."

"I don't know, Ken. He seems fairly functional to me."

"He's showing you his good side."

"It's a pretty good side."

"He's got you fooled," Ken grumbled, but it was all macho nonsense.

His affection and respect for Matt were blatantly evident. If Ken had been Matt's father, he couldn't have been more proud.

She'd never met anyone like Ken, and Matt was lucky that Ken had refused to abandon him and his brother. Not that you could tell it by anything Matt had to say.

From the minute he'd introduced her to Ken, he'd been an absolute grouch. He was gone most of the time, being sure to flee before she woke. Then he'd sneak in late after she was asleep—her
bed
being a narrow cot in a glorified closet they referred to as a guest bedroom.

Ken claimed Matt was working another job for Talbot Security, but she couldn't decide if she believed him or not. It appeared as if—now that Matt had delivered her to Ken—he'd washed his hands of her, and she was extremely annoyed by his sudden disregard.

She'd been ready to have an affair with him, eager to terminate her engagement merely so he could scratch an itch that was driving her crazy. It was insane behavior, and totally out of character for her, but she was desperate to proceed anyway.

Except that he was no longer interested.

The rat!

As if she'd been thinking about him too furiously, he took that moment to stagger in. She hadn't realized he was still home, and he'd just crawled out of bed. His hair was mussed, his scrumptious blue eyes droopy with sleep.

Dressed in baggy sweatpants and a tight t-shirt that hugged his sculpted chest, he looked yummy and sexy and delectable.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. "I'm making omelets."

"I don't need you cooking for me," he complained.

"Hey, I offered. It's not like you ordered me to do it."

"I'm perfectly capable of cooking for myself."

"That's not what Jeremy says."

"Leave Jeremy out of it."

Ken interjected, "Good morning to you too."

"What's good about it?" Matt groused.

He ignored her and went to the refrigerator. After studying the meager contents, he grabbed a carton of orange juice and downed the last of it. He put the empty carton back on the shelf.

"There's no question that you're a bachelor," Brittney said.

"No, there's not."

"Go ahead and act like a Neanderthal. See if I care."

Matt scowled, appearing aggravated and confused, as if he couldn't remember how she'd come to be in his kitchen.

"How long are you planning to stay with us?" he inquired.

"Maybe forever—just to spite you. Why?"

Still scowling, his irate gaze moved over to Ken.

"You insisted on meeting her," Matt said, "and now you have. Why is this charade continuing?"

"I'm in no hurry to have her leave. It's my damn house. She can stay as long as she wants."

Matt snorted with disgust and muttered a comment under his breath that she couldn't decipher.

"What did you say?" Brittney demanded.

"None of your business."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?"

"I try."

He started out and, merely to irritate him as much as possible, she stepped in his way. At their sudden proximity, sparks seemed to shoot around the room.

"What is your problem?" she taunted.

"You."

"You brought me here."

"Wish I hadn't."

"Why is that exactly?"

"Because you blustered in as if you…
belong
here. We don't need you."

"Speak for yourself," Ken griped. "If the choice is your sorry face or hers across my breakfast table, I pick hers every time."

"Can I use your car?" Brittney asked Matt, aware that he'd refuse, but eager to push him into a reaction.

"No."

"I have to buy some groceries for the party tonight. I'm baking a cake."

"No!" he repeated more sternly.

It was Emily's birthday. Had she lived, she'd be turning thirty. Ken was anxious to celebrate, and Brittney had offered to take care of everything.

She wanted to help him:  fill his cupboards with food, repair the drapes in the living room, have the place painted, purchase some new furniture.

She was grateful for the respite Ken had provided, for his easy acceptance of her, for how he'd made her feel welcome. She was more comfortable with him than she'd ever been with her own family. Yet she hadn't raised the tricky subject of giving him gifts he obviously needed.

She had so much, and they had so little. It would be a simple matter to improve their situation. But she was worried about their idiotic male pride, about insulting them if she suggested financial assistance in the wrong way.

"I need some clothes too," she said. "I can't keep washing my stuff in the sink."

"You should have thought of that," Matt absurdly replied, "before you came over here without a suitcase."

"You brought me straight from the restaurant, so I would like to point out that that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say. And trust me, in the time I've known you, you've said plenty of stupid things."

"Now, now kids," Ken sarcastically cut in, "let's not fight."

"Too late," Brittney snapped. "I'm asking you again, Monroe:  What's your problem with me? Ever since I arrived, you've been growling like a wounded bear."

She leaned in so that her front was pressed to his. He stared at her, studying her mouth, her eyes, and she could tell that he wanted to respond, but she couldn't decide if he was about to kiss her or throttle her.

"I don't like rich people," he scathingly said. "I told you that the first day I met you."

"You never said why."

"Because it was a rich, spoiled princess like you who killed Emily and Michael. She got away with it too."

"Matt…" Ken admonished. "That's not fair."

"How did she get away with it?" Brittney inquired.

"Her daddy hired a high-powered lawyer. How do you think?"

"Is that true?" Brittney asked Ken.

"Yup. Killed them both and didn't spend a minute in jail. It's a bit of a sore spot with us."

Brittney whipped her gaze to Matt. She still couldn't understand this hostility that had developed. He seemed about to explode over issues that had nothing to do with her. If she could light the fuse, he might detonate, and they could move beyond this tantrum he'd been having. 

"I'm rich," she jeered. "I've always been rich. I'm richer than you can ever imagine. I'm richer than you can ever picture in your wildest dreams." She poked a finger at his chest. "Deal with it."

"Believe me, I'm dealing with it."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "You're such a baby." She glanced over at Ken. "I'll call a cab. I'm going to stock up on groceries and clothes and some other stuff. Then I'll be back to bake that cake."

"You don't have to waste any of your money on us," Matt fumed. "Is that why you think I brought you here?"

"I have no idea why you brought me here"—Matt shot a fierce glower at Ken that Ken pretended not to see—"but I'm buying you guys some food."

Matt's wallet was on the counter. He grabbed a hundred dollar bill out of it and shoved it down the front of her shirt.

"We can pay our own way," he insisted.

"I never said you can't."

"We don't need your charity."

"Shut up," Ken warned Matt. "She has plenty of money. She said so herself. If she wants to buy us some groceries, I won't complain. Don't fuss so much or she might change her mind."

Matt glared at Ken, his look so bleak that Brittney didn't know what was happening.

"You've had five days to handle this," Matt cryptically told Ken. "I'll give you until tonight. If you haven't finished it by then, I'll finish it for you."

"Finish what?" Brittney asked, perplexed by his rancor. "Are you about to murder me in my sleep? Hold me for ransom? What?"

He didn't answer, but whirled away and headed for the stairs. He stomped up to his bedroom.

Completely exasperated, she peered over at Ken who was his usual affable, composed self.

"What is he harping about?" she said.

"Don't pay any attention to him."

"It's hard not to when he's shouting constantly."

"He has some bug up his ass about you and your money. He's been a mess ever since he got back from that hospital in Germany. Ignore him."

"Why is he so angry with me?"

"You want the truth?"

"That would be very helpful."

"He hasn't been laid in awhile." Ken grinned slyly. "It makes him surly."

She blushed such a bright red that she wondered if she might burst into flames.

"I told you," she scolded. "No matchmaking."

"Can't hurt to talk to him." He nodded toward the front room. "It might calm the waters a bit—if you know what I mean."

"I really don't like him barking at me."

"Maybe if you went upstairs, he'd stop." He pushed himself to his feet and extended his hand. "Give me that hundred. I'm feeling better. I'll drive myself to the store; I'll pick up the stuff for the party."

She gave him the bill, then opened her purse and pulled out two hundred more. "Buy whatever you need. And get something fun for Jeremy."

"I will." He walked to the door. "I'll be gone for
hours
, and Jeremy won't be home from school until four. The house will be empty—in case you decide you'd like some privacy."

"Why would I need any privacy?"

"I'm taking the car, so even if he tries to storm off in a huff, he won't be able to."

"Good plan."

"I thought so."

Ken left, and Brittney was alone in the kitchen with a ton of options.

Go upstairs? Or not? Poke that furious, stalking tiger? Or not?

She poured herself a cup of coffee and plopped down to figure it out.

* * *

Ken sat in Matt's car, curious if Brittney was in Matt's bed yet, or if she was still debating.

He already understood her much too well. Eventually, she'd goad Matt into doing precisely what he'd been salivating over since they'd first met.

Hopefully, when Ken returned, all that pent up sexual energy would be tamped down. A man could have some peace and quiet in his own damn house.

Watching the two of them, it made him wish he was twenty again. Almost anyway. Occasionally, he missed those wild escapades of women and bad choices.

These days, he was simply a sorry old fool, regretting his errors and working to fix them before he ran out of time.

Matt believed he'd brought Brittney home for Ken's sake, that he'd done it because Ken had requested it of him. But Ken had done it for Matt.

Ken hadn't allowed Emily to marry Matt—even though the poor girl had been crazy about him. Then she'd died soon after. Why had he—Ken—been so obstinate and inflexible? Why couldn't he have let her have her slice of happiness?

In the end, Ken's stubbornness had been pointless.

Emily had wanted Matt so desperately. It was the only thing she'd ever asked Ken for, and he'd refused her. He hadn't just broken his daughter's heart, he'd sent Matt away so that he spent years off on his own, serving his country and nearly getting himself killed in a thousand different ways.

Emily had paid the price of their idiotic separation, and Jeremy had suffered too. But Matt had suffered the most. And Ken wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Matt had grown up in the army, had proved himself to be fine and decent, and he needed someone to love him like no one had ever needed to be loved.

Brittney was no better. She had all the money in the world, but she was so alone.