Miah (Lane Brothers #2) Page 59

  I just wish I could say the same for me and Lucian. For real, that guy is going to run till his thousand dollar loafers have burn holes before he lets me anywhere near his black heart.

  Asshole.

  “Dude, if your brother takes that long and needs that much incentive to tell his own sister he loves her, I don’t stand a freaking chance. Especially not after—”

  Don’t go there, Ash. Do not open that can of maggots up right now.

  “After?” Cammy urges, her blue eyes watching me intently.

  “Nothing, I—I…what am I supposed to do? I’ve never been in this situation before. Do I let it go and just get on with things the way they were? I mean, he’s so good with Ben, and I…”

  God, this love stuff is turning my brain into whipped cream if I can’t even string together a complete sentence.

  “No. What you do is beard the lion and bloody well force him to listen to you.”

  “Yeah? What if he doesn’t… Well, I know he doesn’t love me, but what if that upsets him?” I ask, taking a drink from the throat-stripping martini she made me an hour ago. “Jesus, what the hell did you put in that shit, battery acid?”

  “Alcohol,” she quips, topping me up again. “Listen, Ash, the only way to get by those defenses my brother has built up around himself is to take a battering ram to them. He’s stubborn and hard-headed and just male enough to spite himself if it means keeping himself protected. He’ll never get where he needs to be without a healthy shove.”

  Yeah, but I don’t know if I wanna jump off that cliff just to get him there, and I say so. What happens if I say it and things get awkward? That would mean I’ll spend the next fifty years walking around on freaking eggshells around the man.

  Oh, where has all my mean-spirited fire gone? I wonder, feeling my confidence take another dip at the thought of being married to an ice cube for the next five decades. Usually I’d be over the hurt by now. That’s just who I am. When people hurt me I thumb my nose at them and walk on by, giving them the finger for good measure.

  Now I can’t seem to have two rational thoughts without thinking about the repercussions of my words and actions. I think sex and this love stuff have definitely ruined me.

  “I don’t want to shove him into anything. Geez, I have some pride, you know,” I grouch, swallowing another gulp of alcohol in the hopes it’ll overcome the Sulky Susie mood I’m in.

  Cammy gives me a brilliant smile, one I’ve come to recognize as her plotting look, and raises a regal brow.

  “I’m going to introduce you to the Goldens. They’re just what you need to get your arse into gear.”

  “The Goldens?”

  God, please, whatever she’s talking about, let it be something a sane, rational woman would be into. I have no way to shake the little minx loose once she gets an idea in her head, and I really don’t need to be getting my ass in trouble.

  Lucian would kill me if I so much as broke a nail right now, never mind getting myself into trouble with his maniac of a sister.

  “Don’t piss yourself yet, Ash. The Goldens are my friends, a motley crew of women who know what they want and go after it. If anyone knows how you should deal with Luc it would be those bloodthirsty skirts. Now cheer up, you’re about to meet Chicago’s legends in male takedowns,” she trills happily, tapping at her phone so excitedly I feel sorry for the glass.

  “There, now go get your face on and tell the security guys and that old ratchet-faced housekeeper to keep an eye on Benny. We’re going out.”

  “Who exactly are The Goldens?” I ask, knowing that I really don’t want to know but have absolutely no choice when all the little devil does is smile and bite her lips.

  “They’re the ones who taught me to go after what I want. Believe me, Ash, by the time we’re done you’ll have Lucian eating from the palm of your hand.”

  Holy shit, what have I done?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  I want to run screaming and hide behind the ten foot walls surrounding the house when Cammy shoves me none too gently and urges me to enter the private dining room of Madge’s Tea Room, an exclusive little eatery that boasts some of the finest desserts ever created.

  “They look crazy,” I hiss, digging my heels in when one of the women looks up and breaks out in a smile that’s bright enough to singe my eyeballs.

  “Oh, there they are! Come on over, bitches, we just ordered the éclairs and some of Madge’s margaritas!”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Cam, they look—”

  “Yeah, yeah, put on your big girl panties and move, Ashley, you big old ninny. I already outlined your problem, and they’re ready to get the ball rolling on your ‘bag Lucian’ campaign. Now move, before I tell them you don’t want to be friends. That makes them right vicious, it does.”

  Oh, crap.

  I move, but only because one of them, a statuesque blonde that makes my heterosexual self rethink my sexuality, comes stalking toward us, her face a mask of determination and glee.

  “There you are! Come on, girl, we have everything ready. Come tell the bitches what your man did to make you look so down-hearted.”

  I swallow my trepidation and allow myself to be led to a table overlooking a garden that’s obviously lovingly tended. Three other women sit staring at me, their mouths tilted in what can only be described as grins of pure, evil glee.

  “That bitch over there with the green eyes is Lola. The one to her right is Brit, and the mouthy piece with the baby blues is Nat. I’m Vivi, by the way. Welcome to The Goldens. We look forward to a long and eventful membership.”

  “Huh?”

  Membership? These woman all look like society misses, rich and so golden—every single one of them is some variation of blonde—and beautiful I feel like a freaking troll just sitting here.

  “Well, duh. You didn’t think we’d withhold membership after hearing that you’ve bagged the great Lucian Jasper, did you! Good God, woman, we’ve been harassing Cam to bring you along for weeks. Now, sit down and tell your sisters what that big mean lump of testosterone did to make you so sad.”

  I’ve fallen down the freaking rabbit hole, I think, as I take a seat and watch five avaricious gazes zoom my way, their attention so absolute I feel like a bug under a microscope.

  Do I really want to sit here and tell a bunch of complete strangers my marriage woes?

  I soon find out, after three margaritas and two tasty ass éclairs, that yes, I really do want to tell them everything and see what they have to say.

  At the very least I’m feeling better than I did an hour ago, even if I’m pretty sure I’m tipsy and halfway to drunk.

  “He just walked out? Are you sure he knew what you were gonna say?” Brit demands, narrowing her eyes at me.

  Or the last éclair on the plate. Those things are damned delicious.

  “Yup. I thought he was gonna dive through the door, he moved so fast. And honestly, what’s so bad about your wife telling you she loves you?” I gripe, shooting my hand out to snatch the dessert right out from beneath their noses.

  Brit glares for all of two seconds before conceding defeat and settles back with her fifth drink. I’m really glad I’m not in a drinking competition with them because damn, these females know how to hold their liquor.

  Vivi snorts so hard she chokes on her drink, and everyone bursts out laughing, as if I’ve said something stupid. I can’t tell, since I’m laughing along with them. I can’t say why.

  Nothing I’ve said or done has even remotely made sense since I sat down to tea with the four mad hatters of Chicago.

  “That’s the dumbest question I ever heard! Of course he ran! All men run when they feel the cold fingers of death at their necks.”

  “Geez, thanks, Viv. And here I thought you were gonna say something nasty,” I huff sarcastically, scowling when they all start laughing again.

  Cammy included.

  “No, I mean, he knows that once you say
it his days of being an objective observer will be over. My husband Jack was the same. He tried his damnedest to keep his neck out of my noose in the early days because some men work under the misapprehension that loving their wives makes them weak or some shit.”

  That makes a sense in a weird way. I think.

  “Anyhow, the poor idiot tried to throw me off by turning me into some society wife or some shit. He actually thought that throwing money at me would get my sweet ass off his back.”

  They all laugh again, giving me the impression that poor Jack had taken a rough fall straight down the same rabbit hole I’ve stumbled down. Poor bastard. With the way Viv talks I just know she’d made him suffer for thinking she could be managed.

  “I get the idea you did not want to be a pampered Botox Barbie.”

  She snorts and flicks her golden hair over her shoulder.

  “This, my friend, is five foot three inches of educated lawyer, I’ll have you know. The man didn’t stand a fucking chance before I cut him down to size and had him eating out of my hand. He tells me he loves me all the time, thanks to the contract I made him sign.”

  I gape a little and flap my mouth as they start spouting off about Viv’s legendary contract and her refusal to ‘give up the goods’ till poor Jack finally bit the dust and admitted he loved her.

  Part of me is totally loving them right now as they cackle like a gaggle of witches—is it gaggle? I don’t know—while telling really explicit stories about some of the sex tricks they’ve used on their husbands, fiancés, or significant others.

  “Stop trying to figure them out and enjoy yourself, Ash. You’re one of us now, so you might as well just fold. Once they hook you, you’re finished. I should know, I’ve been in this group since I got over the pond.”

  “And you’re still alive?”

  I say this only half jokingly, since Nat is currently talking about her latest lover while making a slashing motion across her throat. Poor fool, he doesn’t know what I now know about these women.

  They’re hell in heels.

  “So Ash, are you ready to start brining Lucian Jasper to heel?” Brit suddenly asks, making me choke on my next bite when they all turn bloodthirsty eyes on me.

  “Uh, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the way you’re talking about my husband. He’s—”

  “A man. Which means he needs a lot of guidance in the love department,” Nat says brightly. “Don’t look at us that way, Ash; we happen to love our men fiercely. We just aren’t willing to put up with their bullshit. Now, you ready to get your man?”

  I gulp and nod, since it’s all I can do as they all clap enthusiastically and lean closer, their expressions avid.

  “Now, listen closely, Ash,” Viv say conspiratorially, sharing a look with the rest of the girls. “Because this is how you bring a tycoon to the table.”

  I listen for the next few minutes as the Golden Bombshells outline a seduction plan so diabolical even my hard-assed inner harpy is awed by it. When the Golden Bombshells get into battle mode it’s a sight to behold, and so awesome even I can’t find fault with their reasoning.

  The only question now is where I’m gonna find the apples to do half the sexy shit they’re planning for Lucian and his blissfully ignorant self.

  Oh well.

  “You got it, Ash?”

  “Got it,” I say, smiling the same sly smile I see on the faces of my cohorts.

  Lucian doesn’t stand a chance against me when he finally drags his punk ass home, and I can hardly wait to see how he reacts to some of the stuff we have in store for him.

  Poor baby.

  Chapter Twenty

  Luc

  The house is eerily silent at this time of the morning as I reengage the alarm and tiptoe my way toward the kitchen, needing a few minutes to regroup before going upstairs to my sleeping wife and all the hopeful love I’ve spent the last three days trying to outrun.

  I’m a total bastard for having fled the way I did that day, but in my defense I’d still been on shaky ground due to her near death and kidnapping, and…well, the thing is that while I revel in the knowledge that my wife now loves me, I am not willing to return the sentiment.

  Ever.

  So I’d had to run and escape the vulnerable ache that had settled deep inside at her near declaration, lest I do something totally insane, like reciprocate her words.

  To be fair to myself I have spent the last days catching up on the work I’d missed while trying to keep the little minx in bed and unaware of the manhunt being conducted for Wesley.

  However, and only since I’m so bleeding honest with myself, I know that I could have accomplished it all from my laptop right here at home.

  But I couldn’t stay while under siege from my stupid heart, so I’d done the best thing possible and made myself scarce. I’m rock steady now and ready to face her words without doing something monumentally stupid and telling her things she has no place knowing.

  Like the fact that I’d almost gone mental when she’d been taken. Like the fact that facing a future without her had almost felled me. Like the fact that I’d wanted to puke just thinking of never giving Benjamin all the brothers and sisters I’d planned to put in my woman.

  “Well, hello there, stranger.”

  Oh, shite.

  I push away from the refrigerator, a bottle of water clenched tightly in my fist as that sultry drawl washes over me, reminding me that I haven’t touched what’s mine in almost a full week.

  Bloody hell, Luc, keep it together, man, I caution myself, taking a deep breath before turning to get a look at—

  “Jesus, what the hell are you wearing!”

  My dick goes rock hard and starts chomping at the bit when I take in her sleep wear. Ashley has a magnificent body, all curves and arse and luscious tits, just the way I like.

  I’ve never been capable of not wanting the woman, even sick and looking like death. Now, though…

  “Cammy took me shopping this afternoon. Do you like?” she purrs, spinning around to give me a view of her round arse and the almost sheer fabric making up her silk sleep shorts and matching top.

  I can’t breath as she turns back and smiles at me.

  “I—I can see your…”

  My voice trails off and lodges somewhere in my pants when she skips over and leans into the refrigerator, rifling around for God alone knows what with that luscious bum sticking into the air and tempting me mercilessly.

  Down, boy, I murmur to my weeping shaft when he gets a look at her arse cheeks peeking out the bottom of her shorts. I’ve just managed to keep from throwing her to the kitchen table to have my wicked way with her when she turns, giving me a close up look at what cold does to the female body.

  Her nipples in particular.

  “Want some leftovers?”

  No, what I want is dessert. Right bloody now.

  “Uh, sure,” I say instead, groaning when she dives back into the cool confines and starts rifling around, her plump behind wagging at me the entire time.

  I manage to keep myself together and even swallow some water before she’s bouncing to the table and asking me to sit, her own seat directly across from mine.

  “Sooo, I wanted to ask you if you’re planning to go to the next therapy session with Ben. Mary said you should have one of those father-son things with him, and she called to confirm.”

  I can barely hear as she folds her legs beneath her and leans forward onto her arms, making her top gape with every breath. I’ve lain awake nights dreaming of those breasts and all the things I’d like to do to them, and now here they are practically begging for me, and I can’t do a thing about it till I’ve got myself in hand.

  “Heeellooo? Luc, are you listening to me?”

  No, I…

  “Sure. I’ll move some things around and be there.”

  The food is not going down that easily, despite the hunger I’d felt earlier, and I bloody well know why. I don’t want to eat this sawdust when I have a buffet star
ing me in the bloody face.

  “Okay, cool. So whatcha been up to?”

  Nothing. I want to be up you.

  Jesus, keep it cool, man, before you attack your wife and ruin the shoddy control you’ve only just gained.

  I want to listen to my better self and stop whatever’s happening inside, but the sight of her nipples pressing so firmly against her sheer top is driving all thought but one form my head.

  Mine.

  “Ash—”

  “Oh, never mind, I can see you’re exhausted. Finish up and come to bed; we’re both beat.”

  And then she’s gone, skipping her cheeky arse upstairs before I can say one bloody damn word on the contrary.

  “Ash!”

  “Yeah?” she asks, yawning so widely I see the back of her throat and her lack of tonsils when she turns and gives me a lazy-eyed stare.

  When I don’t respond she shrugs nonchalantly and goes on her merry way, her full arse jiggling just the way I like, leaving me alone, hard as a brick and not at all sure what the hell I’d been thinking to assume I could resist her long enough to rebuild my defenses.

  ***

  I wake late the next morning to the soft glide of satin over my lower stomach and morning wood that would scare the most practiced of harlots.

  The unsatisfied beast inside roars to life in under a second, ready to collect on the promising package I’d been forced to sleep beside all night while nursing a pounding erection.

  She hadn’t made it bloody easy, either with the way she’d squirmed and sighed in her sleep, giving off the occasional moan and shoving her arse closer to the beast chomping at the bit of my control.

  I’d wanted nothing more than to turn her over and fall upon her, to gorge myself and make up for the days that I’d been celibate, but her soft snores had put paid to my raging libido, forcing me to grit my teeth and breathe deep as I pulled myself together and let her sleep.

  Now, though, all bets are most definitely off as that satiny glide creeps below my hips and ghosts over me, pausing at the crease where my thigh and groin meet.