Staking Her Claim...: Book 1 in the Patricks' Brothers series (14 page)

It was by far and away the worst month of my life. It was worse than any damage the monsters at home inflicted on me. It was worse than the horror filled nightmares I had every night. And it was worse than the terror the demons in my head inspired. I hadn’t realized how dependent I’d become on seeing, Alysia’s smile every day, or how much I needed her near to keep me calm when I was at risk of losing my mind.

But, thirty-one long days later, Alysia forgave me. Mind you, she made me work for it. I’d placed notes in her locker twice a day, every day. I sent her flowers a few times too. I asked her brothers to put in a good word for me. And I spent more than a handful of afternoons camped out on her front doorstep until she relented, letting me in so we could talk.

“Okay, okay, I take it back. You don’t cry, you leak from your eyeballs.” I concede.

Shading her eyes with her hand, Alysia turns her head slightly to face me.

“Because that’s soo much better. Now I sound like I’m a faulty Barbie or something,” she whines, making me laugh.

“Not faulty, just a minor defect. Something I’m sure can be fixed during one of the product recalls Mattel does.”

“Rob, you are such an asshole. Sometimes I even wonder why I’m friends with you at all,” she says, pinching my side.

Muttering under my breath, I grumble,

“I wonder that too.” Not expecting she’d have heard me, I’m not prepared for what she does next. Neither is my body.

Pushing up, Alysia straddles my hips, her knees on either side of my ribs and her ass firmly planted on my lap. Reaching down with both hands she cups my face in her soft palms and stare deep into my eyes.

Five seconds with her on my lap has me hard enough to pound nails. Something I know she can feel when she wriggles her gorgeous, little ass side-to-side making herself at home.

“Will you look at me please, Rob. I mean, really look at me for once.”

I don’t want to. Not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to see her looking at me with pity. Her beautiful violet eyes shouldn’t even know how to convey that emotion, let alone waste it on someone like me. But I’ve never refused her before, so hesitantly I tilt my head and look up. Surprised isn’t a good enough word for what I see when I do. Awestruck would be a better way to describe it.

Alysia isn’t looking at me with pity or sympathy, her eyes are intense and focused instead. Licking her lips and cocking her head, she studies me for a beat before saying,

“I might say stupid stuff like that sometimes, but you should know you’ll always be my best friend, Rob. No matter what happens, how far away you go, or how old we are, I will always consider you one of the most important people in my life. I love you, Rob. I have from the day you walked into our first period English class when we were twelve, and you forced me to watch you because you wouldn’t talk to anyone. And I have every day after too.”

Before I can speak, she places a finger over my lips to silence me.

“I don’t need you to say it back. Actually, I don’t want you to. I just needed you to know that even when you think there’s no one around to care about you that I’m always here, waiting.”

As much as those words meant to me, as much as my soul craved to hear them every day, I knew it was time now. It was time for me to start pushing her away to save her because nothing good could come from her loving a fucked up, stupid kid like me. I would only hurt her, not intentionally, but the results would be the same; my darkness would eventually drown out her light. And that wasn’t something I could allow.

The truth as I saw it was that, Alysia was meant for a better man than me. A man who would worship her, treasure her, treat her like the princess she is, and most importantly; a man who was worthy of all the beauty she had in her to give. While I could do the former, I wasn’t the latter. I’d accepted that long ago. All I had to do now was pretend I didn’t care about her the same way she did me.

I just had to fake it until I could convince myself what I felt for her was never real.

Your ex-boyfriend, pretend current boyfriend, and the man you once wished was your boyfriend all in the same room at once is a fantastic idea, said no woman ever. Yet here we are. Peter, glaring at Rob. Max, glancing between them obviously confused as to what the hell is going on here. And Rob? Well, he looks like he’s sizing them both up trying to decide who is the bigger threat. What Rob’s failed to consider is that it’s not them he needs to worry about, it’s me he should be afraid of.

Clearing my throat loudly, I roll my eyes when all three men snap their gazes my way like they had forgotten I was in the room.

“Rob can I speak to you privately for a minute,” I prompt, tipping my head to signal I want him to follow me into the hall. Wordlessly he does as I ask, leaning against the wall opposite me when I stop and turn to face him head on.

I don’t have the faintest idea why he’d show up here without checking with me first, but you can guarantee I’m about to find out.

“What’s with the house call, Rob? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and my brother is sending you to check on me, is he?”

For the sake of my sanity, and the well-being of Brookes’ balls, I hope he hasn’t sent Rob to babysit me or report back because if he has, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I am not ten, and I do not need watching after. I’m a grown ass woman for Christ’s sake. I took care of myself and a platoon of men for years without his assistance, so I think it’s safe to say I can handle one eccentric billionaire and an asshole ex-boyfriend.

Reclining against the wall leisurely, like he has all the time in the world, Rob quirks an eyebrow at me as a smug smile tips his lips upwards. Honestly, sometimes I wish I could knock that cocky smile right off his face, but I think it’s written somewhere in the office handbook that acts of violence will not be tolerated. Not like I’d let that stop me if the compulsion overwhelmed me because I happen to know the big boss man after all.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Sweetness, but I’m here to work not check up on you. Glad to see that you think so highly of yourself that, though,” he says, winking at me. Asshole.

Rolling my eyes and gritting my teeth so as not to say something I’m sure I’ll regret later, I enquire,

“What work? I’ve got everything under control and parts of the system I ordered won’t be in until tomorrow, so what could you possibly have to work on here?”

“Brookes wanted the window sensors and pressure pads on the balcony installed today at the very least,” Rob mutters gruffly, crossing his massive arms across his chest. “I’ll be back tomorrow to upgrade the alarm panel, put in the extra motion sensors, and fingerprint scanner for the door.” Scratching his head, he adds, “Not sure if there was anything else on your list I haven’t covered off, but if there is, just let me know and I’ll check it against the work order Brookes gave me.”

Rob’s position with, EyeSee isn’t that of a technician, far from it. Primarily his job revolves around running database searches, electronic tracking of missing persons, credit card analysis, and liaising with sub-contractors we outsource work to. Don’t ask me how a bartender who could barely work out how to pick up a phone years ago is somewhat of a computer expert now, because you guess would be as good as mine.

“Fair enough,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “How long will you need to get it done, and should I clear the place out so no one gets in your way while you work?”

Studying me carefully, Rob rolls his shoulders pushing himself upright off the wall.

“Nope, should be okay as long as they stay away from the windows on the left side and off the balcony till I’m done. What’s with the jacked up dude out there who looks like he’s taken a few too many steroids?”

That’s the perfect description of, Peter. He does look like he has abused a few too many steroids and spends more than half his life lifting weights, but that’s probably because he is in the gym, at least, four hours a day.

The thing about, Peter is; he’s incredibly shallow and superficial. It didn’t bother me so much while we were dating because I was happy for the reprieve when he was busy working out. Sometimes a woman just needs time to herself with a bottle of Jack, a tub of ice cream, and her vibrator, so far be it from me to ask him to take a night off. Knowing what I do now, I’m not sure if he was at the gym as often as he claimed, however. I mean, who can fit in four hours at the gym, a full-time job, and still have time to fuck his secretary on the regular? Peter, that’s who.

Thinking back on it, I should have known something was going on with him after he canceled dinner plans at least once a week, forgot we were going out to meet up with friends and didn’t show up, and started pulling a lot of overtime. At the time I didn’t give it much thought, though, I figured he was either distracted or it must have just slipped his mind. How wrong I was.

When I found him bending his secretary over the arm of my couch, giving it to her better than he ever did me, I wasn’t pissed off or angry. I was complacent. That in and of itself should tell you how much I had invested in our relationship. Not caring enough to be able to find the tiniest shred sadness or sense of loss over a man who shared my bed for more than nine months fucking another woman only goes to prove, I wasn’t in it with him for the long haul anyway. Speaking of that, why was I with him in the first place? A question I’ve asked myself over-and-over again with no clear answer in sight.

At first, I suppose I could say it was for fun. Peter, could be charming when he wanted to be. He was handsome, if not a little clean cut for my usual taste in men. But for the most part, he treated me well. I definitely wasn’t with him for the sex, though. If anything, that alone would have been a good reason to dump his sorry ass.

I won’t lie, I like sex. No, I love sex. I’m young, relatively agile, athletic, and creative when I need to be, all of which translates into a healthy sex drive that requires satisfying occasionally. More than occasionally if I can find a guy who’s worth the effort. I’m not non-discriminatory. I don’t pick up random men in bars and take them home for the night. And I rarely have sex with a guy on the first date.

A few one-night stands aside, the only sexual partners I’ve had have been men I’ve been in a relationship with. Those relationships may not have been long ones, but at least, I had a connection with the guy before opening myself up for business, as opposed to it being a meaningless, random hook up. Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you’re into that sort of thing, but it just isn’t for me.

Snorting, I mirror Rob’s stance, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

“That would be my pathetic excuse for an ex, Peter.”

“What’s the deal with you and him? He looked like he was ready to take my head off for daring to look at you. Those aren’t the actions of an ex, Sweetness. Those are the actions of a man staking a claim on a woman. A woman he considers his in every way she can matter to him.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at, but I can assure you we are most definitely through,” I reply defensively.

Holding his hands out as if he’s warding off a verbal attack, Rob grimaces,

“No need to get pissy, Aly, I was just asking. Has he given you any trouble since you’ve been here?”

“Not as yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try at some point or other,” I answer, resigned to the knowledge that by the time this case is over, Peter will do something epically stupid to irritate the shit out of me.”

“Do you want me to have a word with him, warn him against that?”

“Not necessary,” I say, shaking my head in the negative. “I can handle whatever he dishes out. Not to mention, he knows what he’s getting if he pisses me off. We got into it enough times while we were together that he’s well aware of what I’m capable of if he crosses the line.”

“What the fuck does that mean? He didn’t hurt you did he, Sweetness?” Rob growls, opening and closing his fists.

Sighing deeply, I can honestly say that I don’t know how to answer that question. Did Peter ever get physical? Yes. Did he have one hell of a temper? Yes, to that too. But did he ever actually hurt me? No, he didn’t. I’ve had worse from better men than, Peter, so I know how to handle myself when the need arises. Peter didn’t get more than a slap in once before I put him on his ass, humiliating him and bruising his fragile ego.

But before you go thinking I’m one of those women who stay with an abusive partner, I’m not. The first and only time, Peter slapped me was the day before I found him plowing his employee. Him cheating on me aside, I was on my way home to kick him out of my apartment before I knew about his extracurricular activities. Truthfully, the only reason I hadn’t kicked his ass to the curb the day he did it was because he was scheduled on a night shift and wouldn’t be there anyway.

Placing one of my hands over, Rob’s clenched fist, I say,

“Not really, unless you classify the pain my eyes suffered when I saw him fornicating with his underling on my brand new lounge. Because let me tell you, seeing that was traumatizing, to say the least,” trying to break the tension.

At that, I’m rewarded with a jerky nod but nothing else that would give me any indication as to what was going through his head.

“Good,” he rasps. The rich sound of his voice feels like a physical caress, and I can’t help but feel a tingle between my legs every time I hear him speak.

“Okay then. Glad we got that cleared up. Now, I’m going to go back out there and fire up my trusty laptop so that I can find a fucking dress I don’t want to wear, to a fancy gala I wouldn’t usually be seen dead at,” I whine petulantly.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s the odd occasion every now and then that I don’t mind putting in the effort and getting all dolled up, but those times are few and far between. The last time was I wore a dress was at a friend of our family’s wedding. And wouldn’t you know it, lucky me got roped into playing stand-in bridesmaid for a woman I barely knew. I was sympathetic to the situation, but that didn’t mean I’d had to like it.

See, the bride’s sister went a tad wild, deciding there was no time like the present to elope with her boyfriend who she’d been with for a grand total of five weeks. Apparently she ‘just knew’ they were meant to be from the instant their eyes met, and having felt similarly myself once, I knew the sister wasn’t a complete raving lunatic. But I wouldn’t place bets on her sanity just yet either. The bride’s big day went off without another hitch, but I can openly say I won’t be playing pity bridesmaid again anytime soon.

I’ve never been able to understand all the hype that surrounds weddings. Intellectually I get it’s all about tradition and ceremony. But my question is; who the hell actually
wants
hundreds of guests eating food better served to overfed midgets the portion sizes are that small? Who willingly chooses to provide virtual strangers all the alcohol they can drink, and then some? And why on God’s green Earth would you force a guest to dance with your creepy, perverted second cousin no one can stand? Uh, not me. No, ma’am. Hence my aversion to doing it ever again.

Needless to say, it wasn’t a huge surprise when the bride’s sister announced less than six months later she had filed for divorce. Not that divorce is something I’d wish on anyone, especially after seeing more than my fair share of particularly nasty ones in my line of work. However, in this woman’s case, she couldn’t have gotten rid of him at a better time.

What none of us knew then was that the guy she married was currently wanted in two states, with outstanding warrants for his arrest in both. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, a third state wanted him brought in for questioning due to their suspicions he was involved in felony break and enter before he skipped across the state line. Nice guy, right? Like I said, the woman was lucky to be free of the jerk before his life got a shit ton more complicated.

Settling myself on Max’s huge sectional, (the thing is big enough to take up every square foot of my apartment it’s that ginormous), I flip my laptop open and power it on. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I had some dress shopping to do. Unless I wanted to wear an LBD that bordered on indecent, a God-awful pink number, Harper bought me that makes me look like a flamenco dancer or my prom dress, I was clean out of options.

For those of you who haven’t discovered the wonderful world of online shopping in this day and age, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Truthfully, I consider it a public service, shopping online as often as possible. Especially since one more person, such as myself, going to an already overcrowded mall filled with too many crazies might just tip the natural balance of things. On top of that, who wants to willingly be condescended to by a bunch of barely legal, shop assistants who wouldn’t know tits and ass if they grew them themselves, or trampled by harassed looking Mom’s pushing strollers filled with annoying children trying to find the next great bargain. Not fucking me. In fact, that sounds like a fate worse than death if you ask me.