Chapter 7
Justice
That deep Scottish inflection sets my desire aflame. Feelings that I thought were long dead for the male species entice me with the truth; Brody saved you.
He’s a bad guy, I remind myself.
The little hoe on my left shoulder replies, He saved you.
Is that all you have? I snap.
And gave you your life back.
Touché, bitch. Still, Brody will never know the chemical reaction stirring through me.
Me, fall to my knees for the likes of Brody MacKenzie? Not in this life. But I’ll safely reenact his debauchery in my fantasies.
His intense gaze never leaves mine, and I get the faintest inclination he’s plotting.
“Whatever, Brody. We’re not discussing me. You were mentioning,” I pause, sifting through my mind for rational thought. There was Brody’s suggestion that I should kneel to him. Think, Justice. Brody had mentioned a name too. What was it?
“The guy,” I gesture with my hand, “you were saying, Ewan?” I clear my throat. “He’s the person you need to appeal to? Someone you detest and must remind yourself is at the top of the food chain. Thus, requiring you to respect him and not follow through with your primal instincts?”
His laughter melds to the walls of my sex, causing each fatted, wet fold to spasm. I squeeze my thighs together and settle onto the edge of his old bed.
Brody asks, “How much ya charge for that psychological drivel? And I’m sure ya mean killin’?”
“Thanks, it’s free, remember.” I lift my legs, folding them onto the bed, and sensually run my fingertips down my chest while chewing my bottom lip. Of course, my gaze flickers to the left of Brody. I see the arousal burning in him from my peripheral. Ha! Take that sucker. I clear my throat. “It’s part of the bartender’s bible.”
“Och, I see.” Brody settles back in the chair, owning every part of the seat. His vicious muscles relax. Brody’s long fingers coil into gigantic fists while sharing how Ewan slaps his daughter around.
“Is that the Erika who flirts with Leith?”
“Yes, and nae.” Brody shrugs. “Erika loves screwing with Chevelle. We’re, honestly, all good pals since we were weans.”
“Hmmm.” I inspect his gorgeous face for deception. “Alright, I’m done conducting my obligatory friendship duties. Erika’s father sounds intolerable. Will there be any issues with you asking him for—”
“Nae.”
“Wow, blunt. Reassuring.” I pull in oxygen, running my thumb over my index finger. I stand up from his bed, suddenly restless. I stop in front of his chair. With him seated, we’re about eye level. “You don’t have to.”
Brody presses a button, and I notice he still has the iPhone in his hand. He holds it up, the screen showing Ewan’s contact. “Too late.”
“Please hang up.” My palm rests on Brody’s forearm. The pit of my gut twists, tightening, slicing. “This is my problem.”
“Ewan,” he speaks into the phone, “aye, Little Brody here. I’ve ringed ya for a favor.”
Their entire call spans sixty seconds at most. When done, Brody stands, and I look up into his eyes.
“You called it a favor.” I pause, throat clogged. The vast plains of Brody’s shoulders lift. “Brody, I’m asking—uh—you called it a favor?”
“I work for him, Justice, not ye. Calm down. Ye are free.” His palms drop onto my shoulders. As he kneads the tense area, my knees weaken. Right there, yes, I haven’t felt this level of attention in . . .
He’s so tall. I can see the top of my lashes fanning upward. He’s too damn tall up close and personal. So close that I appreciate the deep inhale I take of him. The scent of him, I could cling to this forever.
They say when someone does a good deed, you’re obligated to thank them. It’s proper, decent, even. Hell, it’s the way my momma raised me. But when I look him over, the rugged cut of his biceps, the expanse of his chest, that beard—
Damn you, Brody, and your beard. I will never straddle, fuck, or hold on tight to that beard. Or was it that the beard has good cushion when he’s giving head?