He’s nasty. He said all these things to get into your head. Men like him don’t reciprocate.
You aren’t familiar with men like him, the sane part of me retorts. You’ve only fucked Lance.
It was making love.
Oh, shit! How much time has passed with me looking deep into Brody’s eyes? Look away. You aren’t a moth; he’s not your flame! One, two, three, look away.
Failure.
An imaginary sound goes off in my head. I’m prepared for a crash landing.
My next attempt is a success. I clear my throat. “I’m free. Wow, thanks. I can’t...” Dammit, I’m drowning in the rapture of his eyes again.
“Ye said thanks already, lass.”
The sound of his baritone created a slight fissure in my trance. I break free, scurrying backward. “I’m gonna search out Chevelle.”
A hollow sigh leaves my throat as I exit Brody’s bedroom. I can press play on my life.
These thoughts are the same from earlier today, yet the gravity sinks in. Brody helped me. There has to be a cost for him. How much?
I’m glancing along the long hallway when Chevelle comes out of another door. Oh, thank God. I didn’t want to have to search for her. I felt a tad uncomfortable sensing her and Leith’s disconnect earlier, and I’m in a MacKenzie home, a Scottish mafia family. Okay, Justice, too many books. I’ve read Russian Bratva and Italian and Irish mafia. Do the Scots have a mafia? Either way, I’ve heard about this family from my boss Michie. Or rather my ex-boss. I sort of quit the other night when paranoia got the best of me.
Chevelle has an easy smile on her face, the one that made her a top earner at Michie’s. “I kind of ditched you in New Mexico, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “However, it’s kind of a funny story.” Why did I say that? Aftershocks from the nearness of those hypnotic blue eyes?
Like a concerned momma bear, Chevelle says, “What? I’ll beat—”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Gotcha! Brody was a gentleman during our long drive.” And now he has a favor to pay.
Owing people scares the ever-living daylights out of me.
“Oh, thank God. Leith and I have to handle a few things. Then we’re heading home.”
Forking my braids over my shoulder, I cast my gaze downward. If it’s not a favor, good. If it is, I need to put some distance between myself and Brody. “Alright, girl, tell me to stay away from him. Tell me that the years I’ve spent lonely have made me susceptible to any old Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
There’s a glint of mischief in Chevelle’s gaze. “So, you’re asking me if I approve or not?”
A flame of unexpected hope sparks in my soul. I’m way out of my element here. I’ve spent years busting my ass, and instead of driving off in a brand-new car or dropping a down payment on a house, I have nothing to show for my efforts. Part of me craves contentment, although adding Brody to the equation puzzles even me. On bated breath, I ask, “Do you? No, you don’t. It’s evident. You can’t approve.”
“Yup, that’s right. I refuse to condone any love connection between you and that.”
I laugh, but it’s strained as I walk back to Brody’s room. Well, that settles . . . that.