Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (26 page)

As she seriously considered taking the jacket and tossing it out the window, she shoved George aside with her leg and flung the leather over a chair. Did he actually called her mother, ma’am? Well, two could play that game.

“Can I get either of you anything?” she asked. Waving Brody off, she jeered, “Yeah, I know. A bottle of water and Mom? How about you?”

“Oh,” her mom gushed. “Whatever he’s having is fine.”

Stomping away muttering how well that didn’t go she narrowed her eyes at George.
Damn dog.
He was all but sitting in Brody’s lap.
Traitor.

When she returned from the kitchen minutes later and handed off the bottles, she found Brody and her mother chatting away like the oldest of friends.

“And the talk around the faculty lounge is that your daughter set a new fundraising record to boot. She really knows how to motivate people. Did she learn that from you, Mrs. Clarke? Or your husband, perhaps?”

“Ah, how funny, Brody. What you describe as motivation, we will tell you is badgering. Sometimes, the only way to get her to give it a rest is to give in.”

Throwing her a cocky smirk, he confirmed her mother’s comment in a way that nearly earned him a hearty swat. “Mmmm. You mean surrender.” He was actively biting off a laugh. “You’re right about that. Heather and surrender is a match made in heaven.”

She was going to strangle him.

“So I understand you also work in security. What kind of security, if you don’t mind my asking? Nothing too dangerous, I hope.”

Okay. Now, she was going to put a pillow over her mother’s mouth.

“Oh, no, ma’am. Not dangerous unless a mountain of overexcited puppies fits the bill. My days of carrying a weapon are over. What I do for the agency is train guard dogs and lay the groundwork for animals placed with the police and FBI.”

“My goodness. I guess that explains why Georgie won’t leave your side.”

Brody scratched the mutt behind the ears and nodded. “Yep. He’s my buddy. And I feel better knowing he’s here keeping a watch over Heather.”

Three pairs of eyes swiveled her way. Brody’s looking like he should be knighted for keeping her safe. George with his happy puppy eyes and her mother whose knowing expression turned kind of misty. Shit. If she started to cry …

“What time’s our movie,” she asked aloud hoping to divert an emotional outburst.

“We have plenty of time,” Brody answered. “I offered to drop your mom at the train station first. No need for a taxi. Not with that tank I’m driving.”

I
F THIS FUCKING
movie didn’t end soon, he was gonna explode. For real. The short ride to the station ended up being all sorts of friendly and fun. He’d been so busy charming Heather’s mother that it couldn’t be anything but. Unfortunately, ten seconds after Jennifer Clarke walked away to go catch her train his date went silent. And no amount of cheerful banter as they drove to the theater made any difference.

Did he fuck up in some way? As the movie dragged on, Brody played every minute over and over in his head. To say he’d been surprised to find Heather’s mother at her apartment was the grand prize winner of all understatements. Fortunately, the military trained him to think on his feet. Switching on a charm offensive he was pretty sure could win over his most ardent enemy, Mrs. Clarke was putty in the desert sun within minutes, and there was no doubt in his mind that he’d been given an unequivocal stamp of approval.

So why was Heather all tied up in knots? He couldn’t figure her out. She wasn’t mad. He’d know if she was. And she wasn’t gearing up to rip his face off. He’d know that too.

She made a hushed sound, and he peered into the darkness to see what it was. She was scrabbling through her purse and when she produced a handful of tissues, he recognized the sound as her sniffling.

“Are you crying?” he anxiously whispered. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry.” He’d covered every base not that it helped any. Shaking her head, she gave him a watery half-smile and wiped her nose.

“Happy endings. Always make me cry.”

It was ten kinds of wrong that when she said
happy endings
, he thought of something entirely different than how a movie ended.

Wait. The movie ended? As the house lights came up, he practically grabbed her and ran from the theater. Waiting impatiently as she gathered her coat and purse, he let her load him up with empty popcorn bags and drink cups. Heaven forbid they left a mess. When she insisted on visiting the ladies’ room in the lobby, he’d been left standing with a group of other guys who looked just as clueless as he felt. Glancing about anxiously instead of his usual still and observant posture, he tried to find his footing in this strange situation.

Mother of god
, he thought with a frown.
I’m one of the bathroom guardians now.

Subjecting her to a hard once-over when she came around the corner and walked to his side, he noticed two things immediately. Seeming put out about something, the sexy counselor was giving off a definite vibe … although pinning down what the vibe was didn’t come easily. The woman was a fucking pro at hiding her feelings.

Got what you deserved, asshole
, he imagined the guys snickering.

And then there was the not meeting his eyes thing that was getting old. What the hell? Did she really imagine he was going to let that shit slide?

“Come on,” he gritted down at her. Not waiting for her to take his arm, he captured her hand and pulled as he set off for the door. If they were going to get into it, he needed some sort of privacy.

Walking straight through a crowd of people making for the parking lot as if they weren’t even there, he considered pulling a Neanderthal move out of his ass by tossing her over his shoulder. Whatever the hell was going on stirred up his primal side. Testosterone was thick in the air.

Rolling his eyes, Brody grunted as he stomped along.
Testosterone was thick in the air?
Jesus Christ. When did he become such a chick?

“Dammit, Brody. Slow down, would you?” she demanded. Yanking back on his hand, she stumbled to a halt and dug in. In the animal world, she was doing what was known as going defensive. She might not be ready to strike, but she was damn sure getting into position.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she burst out. “Why the rush? Your car turning back into a pumpkin or something?”

With a mocking frown, he answered her. “You’re not talking. Something is clearly fucking with your Chi. And since you won’t just spit it out, I’m forced to drag it out of you.”

She sputtered a bit but didn’t come back at him.

Uh-huh.
“So if you don’t want to be dragged to the car, get your ass in gear and start walking. And be ready to explain because I’m not taking a shrug or a sigh as an answer.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
With a show of false bravado, Heather stepped around the hulking lug blocking her way and homed in on the Suburban. There would be no dragging.

At the car, he came to her side and started touching her. Little strokes. Down an arm. On her neck. Pushing hair behind her ear. When he anchored a warm hand at her waist, she stilled and gazed up. His mouth, the one she wanted crushed to hers, held her attention. His lips parted. She could hear his breathing.

The air around them thickened with emotion. When he leaned close and whispered in her ear, Heather whimpered softly and shivered.

“Whatever it is, I apologize.”

Oh. He apologized. How sweet. Her body swayed closer to his. Hold up … what? Raising her eyes, she was struck by the intensity of his expression.

”You make me,” he murmured with increasing hesitation. Wearing a rueful expression, he drawled, “Unbalanced. You make me unbalanced.”

Well, shit.
At least, it wasn’t just her.

“And don’t look so happy about it,” he teased a second later.

Releasing a soft laugh, she deliberately set out to rattle his cage just as he rattled hers. Carving her fingers through his shaggy hair, she breathed him in for a moment then growled, “Fair play.”

She thought he’d kiss her then, but his jaw tensed and she saw the faint movements that told her he was clenching it tight. Recognizing that he wasn’t in play mode, she backed off. The second she did, he took over.

Reaching behind her, he found the door handle and pulled. “Get in.”

Grateful for his help getting into the big vehicle, she swallowed hard when he made no effort to pretend he wasn’t taking liberties. Running his hands on her bottom, leaning across her lap to fix the seat belt, even rearranging the long sweater duster she wore over her dress. For that task, he took an inordinately long time smoothing the soft fabric over her thighs.

When he was finished, he drew back but stayed inside her personal space with scant inches separating their faces. Heather stared helplessly at his mouth. Before their relationship took this paradigm shift to the surreal, she would have simply seized control of the situation and taken what she wanted. But those days were gone. Blindly pursuing physical gratification wasn’t on the agenda any longer. Now that feelings were engaged … his and hers … everything was different.

“I know what you want,” he murmured. She heard the telltale thrum of masculine lust lacing his voice and knew she’d do anything to satisfy it. The instinct to please this man, no matter what it took, shook Heather straight to her soul-center.

Why wouldn’t he kiss her? Why? Looking him in the eye, she froze. Maybe she breathed, maybe she didn’t.

“But it’s not happening until you want to be
with
me as much as you want to be with me.”

Huh? Did the record skip? And then she saw it in his expression. The emphasis on being with him was about the emotional being at least as equal as the physical.

Damnit. It was hard to think straight. He was so close, she could taste his scent. Her senses picked up the aroma of popcorn and the pleasant tang of sweat. A faint sheen gathering on his neck told her how much control he was exercising over his desires.

“If that’s the case, why the touching? Do you really think I can’t latch my own seat belt?” What she said wasn’t a taunt and her voice made that clear. She was serious. If he wasn’t going to touch her until they worked this part out, why the sensual torture when he had no intention of acting on it? Felt like a reasonable enough question.

“Because I’m not made of stone,” he growled. “And because if I can’t touch you at all, I’ll go fucking insane.”

That was when the devil took her hand and crushed it against the unmistakable prominence of his very firm manhood. If he wasn’t made of stone, what the hell was the hard ridge pressed into her palm?

Reading her expression and zeroing in on her lip biting, he ground out, “Don’t even try to make a joke.”

A heavy sigh heaved her chest. No jokes. And no more apologies. “I’m instituting a new rule. No apologies.”

He blinked. His expression confused.

“Look,” she quickly ground out, “apologies are a poor substitute for communication. You said it before. I knew what you meant by being with you. Come in out of the cold and let’s talk. Right here. Now. Okay?”

A small smile flashed on his face. “I’ve got to give it you, m’lady. It’s refreshing to be with a woman who doesn’t play fucking games. You’ve got cojones aplenty.”