Lemon nods, listening as she unpacks my basket, plating the croissants and pouring the orange juice and champagne in the flutes. “Hey, I should be doing the work,” I tell her. “It's your birthday.”
She smiles. “I don't mind. Besides, you're the one who made that amazing dinner last night.”
“But you helped me clean up when we made midnight pancakes.”
“We cleaned that kitchen pretty well, don't you think?” She laughs, remembering.
“Yes. And can you believe that it's already 11 in the morning now?” I ask.
“Sure, considering how late we stayed up.”
I walk toward her as she hands me a glass of champagne. We clink our flutes.
“I think I get to make a toast,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her waist, eager to untie her bathrobe.
She nods as I pull her closer, her breath shallowing in anticipation.
“I have a better idea than a toast,” I say, untying the knot on her bathrobe, letting it fall open. Underneath, she's wearing nothing at all.
“Fuck me now,” I groan.
She sets her champagne aside. “Yes, please,” she says, licking her lips.
I moan in pleasure as I pick her up and set her on the kitchen counter, her thighs spreading before me. Her pussy, mine.
“Fuck, you look good.”
“I feel good,” she says as I lean down, kissing her perfect tits, loving the sight of them in broad daylight.
She wraps her arms around my neck. “I feel…” She shakes her head then lets it fall back.
When she looks up, though, she looks straight past me. “Oh my god,” she shrieks. But not in delight as I was hoping—in genuine shock. Horror, even.
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She pushes me away—fast, hard—and tugs her robe tight around her.
Jumping off the counter, her feet plant on the floor just as the front door opens. She leaps away from me.
“Anybody home?” someone calls out. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. You may act like a sour puss. But Lemon, we love you,” several male voices sing, poorly.
“Oh my god,” she whimpers.
“Who is it?” I ask just as three big-ass guys enter the kitchen. I take them in, realizing just who these guys are. “Your brothers?”
She drops her head in her hands. Her bathrobe is tugged so tight around her that no one would guess she has nothing underneath. She reaches for that champagne and downs her glass in one drink.
But I don't need champagne. I need coffee. Fast. I was not expecting to be meeting her family so soon. And the issues I have with commitment come, rearing their ugly heads. This is getting real, fast.
Still, I want Lemon to have the perfect day, so I push my issues aside and focus on making a good first impression. She told me these brothers of hers tease her mercilessly, but that is because they haven’t met me—a man who wants to protect her, even if I have to learn how to do that along the way.
I pick up my mug and take a sip as the boys take in the scene, giving them a once over and realizing I’m as tall as them, as strong as them, and am not intimidated.
“What the fuck is happening here?” one of them asks, surveying the situation. Lemon leans against the stove; I’m opposite her against the sink.
The guy talking has dark hair and dark eyes and he’s looking us over.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks.
“I'm Anchor, the next-door neighbor.”
“The neighbor?” he asks. “Looks like you're more than the neighbor.”
“Stop,” Lemon says. “Be nice, Graham.”
“You're the police officer?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yeah, I am. And if you're here with my sister, I'm gonna need to do a background check. What's your last name?”
I scoff. “Are you kidding me?”
Another guy steps forward. “Were you here with her fucking around? Because that’s not gonna fly. We don't even know who you are.” The guy is young, way younger than me.
“Let me guess, you’re Mac?”
These are the brothers who have been giving Lemon a hard time about not being married. And here they are, ruining her fucking birthday.
“Yeah, I’m Mac. What do you know about me?”
“I know you need to back the hell up,” I say, eyes narrowing, wanting him to understand I am in control.
Lemon steps between us. “Stop, guys. Stop. Please. This is so cringy. Look, I was just having breakfast with the neighbor. He brought over croissants and champagne.”
The third guy standing there, with a nasty cut over his right eye, snorts. “Looks like you guys were doing more than having breakfast.” His accent is a little bit country.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Cash Rowdy. I'm her cousin. Not that it's any of your business.”
Lemon shakes her head. “Why are you guys here? This is my vacation. My time away from you. This is so typical.”
Cash’s eyes narrow at me. “Don't I know you from somewhere? I swear to God I do. Have we met before? Are you from Burly? You don't look like you're a Burly boy.”