Oh sugar. “Of course.” She tried her best to ignore their reaction to the chaos. Olly tore through the flat, vaulting himself over debris, and disappeared down the hall. Brooke touched her hair self-consciously; it was still covered with a handkerchief to keep the dust off as she tried to put her place back together. Not knowing what else to do, she went back to the mess she’d put off cleaning for a week.

  “Brooke, this place is still a disaster.” Saint sounded angry. No surprise there. “Why didn’t you call me to come help you with this stuff?”

  She shrugged. “Because you’re neither my boyfriend nor my brother.” And after such a wonderful weekend pretending to be a family, I needed a break from you.

  “But I’m your friend.” With a head jerk, he signaled to James to help him right a bookshelf against the wall.

  “Don’t do that.”

  They ignored her.

  “I’m serious, Saint. Stop it.”

  Olly came running out into the living room. “Done.”

  “That was suspiciously fast,” Brooke said, crossing her arms. “Show me.”

  He scowled at her. “I’ll pick up later. I did the towels . . .”

  “No, you’ll do it all now, or I’ll send them on without you.”

  He opened his mouth to argue again, but Saint interrupted him. “Olly. Listen to your CO. She calls the shots.” Olly turned and marched back to his room. As annoyed as she was with Saint, it was nice to have someone back her up for once. James and Sam started returning books to the shelf as Saint edged through the mess over to her.

  “It’s not a sin to need help, you know. Everyone does.”

  “Oh? I’ve yet to see you need any.”

  He grumbled something under his breath, but she didn’t catch it.

  “I beg your pardon, Captain?”

  “Stop being so Woz-damn stubborn. This isn’t a lead you’re chasing. Why isn’t Judson over here helping you? Where’s your mum? Or your cousin?”

  “I didn’t ask for their help.”

  “Why the Jersey not?”

  “Because I’m fine,” she said, her tone firm.

  “Oh, I’m sorry—were you bitten by a radioactive spider? Are you secretly from another planet? Because that’s the only way in Jersey you were going to get that bookshelf back against the wall by yourself.” He stalked down the hall, and she shot a wide-eyed look at his friends, who were clearly holding back amusement. Her heart rate ticked up.

  “Where do you think you’re going? Hey! Captain, get back here,” she shouted after him, pounding down the hall. Brooke found him in her bedroom, going through her closet. “What the jackrabbit do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m looking for your spandex suit and cape. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

  She crossed her arms. “Very funny. Now get out of my bedroom.”

  He turned to face her and crossed his arms. “Not until I find your superhero costume. I bet it’s smashing.”

  “Oh,” she said, getting behind him, “there will be smashing if you don’t get out of my bedroom, but I doubt it’s the kind you prefer.” She pushed him toward the door, but he didn’t move more than an inch or two. He laughed. Brooke lowered her shoulder and shoved against his hip, trying to not ogle his backside. Useless. This is useless. But he is going to respect my privacy . . .

  Game time was over. Brooke strode calmly out of the room and to the front door. She picked up the baseball bat where he’d left it. Then, ignoring his gaping friends, she strode back into the bedroom with it over her shoulder. He’d turned back to the closet and was sifting through it.

  “How come I never see you wearing any of this? You’ve got some cute stuff in here.”

  Because I never lost that last ten pounds after being pregnant, you donkey.

  “Get out of here, Captain. This is the last time I ask nicely.”

  “What are you—” He doubled over laughing. His friends, however, had seen the murderous look in her eye and were hovering nervously in the doorway.

  “Are you going to let us do all the cleanup out there ourselves, lazybones? Come on, come help us.” Brooke and Saint both ignored James’s pleasant attempt to intervene.

  “Are you trying to threaten me, Everleigh?” He stepped closer to her. “You realize I could disarm you easily, right? I’ve at least a hundred pounds on you. What do you think you’re going to do to me?”

  Brooke was shaking with rage. “You’re a bully.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. You’re a bully. You don’t care that I’m uncomfortable and unhappy that you’re in here. You want to poke around in my space, so you’re doing it.”

  “Brooke . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to make a point.”

  “What? That I’m weak and you’re strong? I’m painfully aware of that. Everyone seems to be stronger than me. But in here? I’m king and queen both. And if I want to let the bookshelf lie on the floor a few more days while I process the infringement of my sovereignty, I’ll do that. And if I want to repair my sense of self by nailing my desk drawers back together myself, I’ll do that.” She stepped closer, mere inches from his stony face. “And if I tell you to leave my bedroom, then that’s what you’ll do, even if I have to convince you with a pathetic show of force. It seems to be the only language you understand, Captain.”

  “Mum?” The timidity in Olly’s voice told her that he’d heard her speech, and she cringed.

  “Yes, love?”

  “I’m all done cleaning my room. Can I go now?”

  “Yes, love.”

  “You’re still letting him go?” Saint muttered, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “I’m only as good as my word.”

  He stared at her a minute longer, then gave a single nod, gently pushing past her to the door. She closed her eyes to rebuff the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes and released a shaky breath. Olly needs men in his life. Deserves it. Even when that man is acting like a bastard today for some reason.

  Saint was helping Olly into his coat, and she quickly grabbed a few granola bars from the kitchen to stick in his pockets.

  “There’s a snack if you’re hungry. Don’t con the Captain into buying you treats.”

  Olly still seemed unsure, and she kissed the top of his head and bent to look into his eyes. “It’s okay, love. Mum lost her temper, that’s all. Have a fun time, all right? Come home soaked.” He grinned then, and she grinned back. “I love you, my sweet son.”

  “Love you, Mum.”

  She stood up. The three men were still standing in the doorway. “What are you waiting for?”

  “We need our bat back,” Sam mumbled, not making eye contact. “Please.” She reddened; she’d forgotten she was still holding it. She passed it to Saint, who brushed her fingers with his as he took it, sending tingles up her arm.

  “When would you like him home?” he asked.

  “Three would be fine.”

  Single nod again. “Thank your mum for letting you come out with us, mate.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” Olly called. He pointed at her with both hands, and she mirrored the gesture back to him. It was their silly thing: their secret handshake. Saint hung back as the others started down the stairs. She pinned him with a stare, daring him to argue with her again. I don’t have the bat anymore. Damn. But something in his crestfallen expression told her she wouldn’t need it . . .

  “I’m sorry, Everleigh. I just . . .” He trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’ll have him home on time.”

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN it, Edward,” Arron James said around the sandwich he was eating. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He’s so smitten with this woman. And she leveled him like . . . like . . .”

  “Like an atomic weapon,” Sam Simonson put in.

  James swallowed. “I was going to say a volcano, but I like your thing better.”

  “But a volcano spews lava, and there were definitely flames happening. Yours is good, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Shut it, both of you,” Saint growled. “I’m not smitten.”

  Simonson and James shared a look.

  “I thought she was going to murder you with that baseball bat, and you just stood there with moony eyes,” James said. “If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

  “You’re both idiots.”

  Edward said nothing, to Saint’s mild surprise. His friend didn’t usually hesitate to join in on a good ribbing, but Edward just sat and watched Abbie and Tezza play tag with Olly on Bluffton’s south field; all the women found him adorable. He is pretty adorable. A handful, but adorable.

  “Oh yes,” James laughed, “we’re the idiots. Not the man going after a woman who told him she didn’t want him the moment she met him. That’s not insensible at all.”

  “Perhaps it’s for the best, as your relationship would be doomed from its inception,” Edward said.

  Saint lifted his head to give his friend a hard stare. “Who’s talking right now?”

  Edward’s eyebrows snapped together, low on his forehead. “Pardon?”

  “Are you my boss or my friend right now? I can’t tell.”

  Slowly, Edward turned to Arron and Sam. “Would you two excuse us, just for a moment?”

  “I believe I’d like to stay,” Arron said. Sam began dragging him down the bleachers by the collar. “Seems like an interesting conversation is about to take place. I think I’d—hey, Simonson, let go of me. I can walk on my own, thank you very much.”

  “You were saying?” Saint prompted, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses faithfully hiding his eyes and therefore the emotions crawling to the surface.

  “I’m uncertain why we’re even having this conversation. You can’t date a reporter.”

  “Why? I’m not her boss.”

  “Why?” Edward echoed, shaking his head. “Because it’s still favoritism. Every time you call on her in the briefing room, the other reporters are going to resent it. Every time she breaks a story first, they’re going to say it was pillow talk. Every time she goes after my administration, because this likely won’t be the last instance of that, it’s going to make you look bad. And by extension, make me look bad.” Edward balled up the parchment paper his sandwich had been wrapped in and calmly stood. “I looked the other way when you bedded Scrope and Paris and all the rest, but I can’t this time. I think it’s fantastic that you’re mentoring her son, investing in the life of a boy who needs a father figure. Just don’t forget that you can’t stand in his father’s shoes when it comes to his mother. You’ve always excelled at finding other outlets for those impulses, anyway; no shortage of ladies in line to have a piece of Saint.”

  He was trying to make him laugh. He had just shut down any possibility of him getting together with Everleigh and keeping his job, and he was making a Woz-damn joke. Saint started his meditative breathing without realizing he was doing it. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. In for four . . .

  “And to answer your question, I am always your friend. You’re good at this job, Saint. Very good. I don’t want to see you screw that up over a pointless fling.” He clapped him on the shoulder as he descended the bleachers, and it felt like a slap to the face rather than the back.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AFTER HIS CONVERSATION with Edward, Saint decided to keep his distance from Everleigh. It seemed like the easiest way to stave off more feelings. A few weeks went by, and they didn’t share anything more than passing greetings as they exchanged Olly. But when Saint went to sit down to watch TV on the evening of their latest meeting and saw Olly’s backpack, he decided to walk it over. No sense in getting him in trouble with Hanae or his teacher needlessly. It had nothing to do with missing Brooke, he told himself.

  Saint knocked on her door, and it took a long time for her to come. Worry crept in that she’d had another home invasion, this time when she was present . . . He’d just raised his hand to knock again harder when she opened the door.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she echoed, but she didn’t smile.

  “He left his backpack, I thought perhaps he’d need it tomorrow . . .”

  She nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. “Thank you.” Something was off.

  “Everything all right?” She nodded, avoiding his gaze, biting her lips.

  No, it’s not.

  “Want to come in?”

  “Just for a minute . . .”

  The house was cleaner than usual, and there was a quarter of a bottle of red wine on the island. “You want a drink?”

  “Sure.” He watched her as she poured. Definitely something off. “You drink all that yourself?”

  She gave an exaggerated nod, and he noticed how pink her nose was. She topped off her own glass with the rest of it, killing the bottle.

  “Maybe go easy on that stuff, Everleigh. It’s only Wednesday, you know.”

  She laughed, low and throaty. “It is only Wednesday, that’s true. Too bad shit can happen any day of the week.”

  “What shit? Wait, shit? You actually used a bad word.” He looked around. “Where’s Olly?”

  “He’s with my cousin, Rachel.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, looking at the ceiling. “I wanted to be alone.”

  He put down his glass. “What happened?”

  “First of all, my stupid microwave stopped working again. I tried to talk to it, you know, person to magical appliance, but I swear it growled at me, so I had to make grilled cheese for dinner and I burned it, of course . . . And then my smoke detector didn’t even go off, so I think all the devices are conspiring against me, and then my phone rang, and it was . . .” She let her head fall back, still looking at the ceiling. Her sigh was wet and shaky. “Why did I even answer?” She took another big swallow of her wine. “Why did I answer the phone?”

  “Who called you?”

  “Charlie.” She whispered the name.

  He covered her hand with his, about to ask who Charlie was, when he realized he might already know. I’m Oliver Charles Everleigh . . .

  “Olly’s dad? He called you? What did he want?”

  “He wants partial custody.” She looked into his eyes, and he saw how devastated she was. “And I can’t fight him. He has money. I don’t have money.” She rested her forehead on his bicep. “Woz, you’re strong. Will you beat up Charlie for me? I don’t have money, I can’t pay you.”

  He would’ve laughed if she hadn’t said it so brokenly. Saint made the executive decision that she was done drinking and shifted both wine glasses away from her. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed her to his side.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll get through this. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

  She shook her head, her voice thick with unshed tears. “He’s already got a barrister. I’m jacked.” Brooke covered her face with both of her hands and sobbed. Saint wrapped her tightly in his arms.

  “Love, what can I do?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled, sniffling. “You can’t . . .” She hiccupped. “You can’t do anything.”

  “There must be something. Do you want me to take Olly overnight so you can talk to Charlie without him around?”

  She looked up at him, and the earnestness was palpable. “You like Olly, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, he’s a great kid.”

  “And me?”

  He wiped the mascara trails from under her eyes tenderly, fumbling internally for the right thing to say. “You too. You’re both very important to me.” Her eyes went hot, molten, and her gaze dropped to his lips. That was all the warning he got before her hands were on his face, pulling him toward her, kissing him like her life depended on it. Saint froze for a moment, but his indecision was embarrassingly short-lived. He pressed his body to hers like any distance between them was a crime, pinning her against the island. Her hands were everywhere: threading through his hair, caressing under his shirt, tracing the tips of his ears, squeezing his backside through his jeans. His thoughts were swimming like he was the one who was drunk, his ego proudly floating on its back in the middle of it all . . . until he tasted the wine on her breath. Oh, right. His conscience pulled the drain plug.

  “Wait . . .” He drew back, but she followed him, pushing him onto the barstool and moving between his parted legs. “Brooke, wait a minute . . .” Her nipples grazed his chest through their shirts, and he thought his eyes were going to roll back in his head permanently with pleasure.

  “I want you,” she whispered, kissing his neck. “Take me to bed, Captain. That’s an order.” She tilted her hips forward into him eagerly.

  He groaned so loud, he felt it in his sternum. “Tonight’s not the night for this, love.” He realized to his shame that he was still kissing her; he didn’t exactly know how to stop. How did one give up a willing woman who was clearly ready for anything? He forced himself to pull away, panting, pressing their foreheads together. Her hands went to her shirt buttons.

  “I know you’ve been dying to handle these . . .” The slightest hint of lace had him salivating. He lifted a hand to touch her, but pulled back as though burned.

  “Brooke . . . you said you didn’t want this, remember? Let’s take a step back.” Apparently, his libido was controlling everything but his mouth. She stepped back, and he let out a relieved sigh . . . until she dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers popping free the button of his jeans. He swore.

  “Brooke, stop, Woz-condemn-it! If you were sober, you wouldn’t be doing this. You told me no; you told me never. You’re just scared, you’re just sad.” He hauled her back up to her feet and held her tightly against his chest, even though his heart was still beating wildly. Without letting her go, he walked her backwards down the hall. “You just need sleep, love.”

  “Yes, orgasm-induced sleep,” she purred.

  “No, regular sleep,” he said, using his commander voice. “It’ll all look better in the morning.”

 

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