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‘Sod, huh?’ He grinned; her clipped, precise accent made her sound like the lady of the manor addressing one of her peasants. It made him think of all those summers he’d spent in London as a kid with his English grandmother. It was one of the very few good memories from his childhood. He grinned. ‘You are English, I’d know that accent anywhere. Hell, I’m half English myself. Kind of.’
‘Isn’t that flipping lovely for you?’
Funny, but she didn’t remind him of prim and proper Granny Lacey one bit.
‘Tut-tut.’ He inhaled the heady scent from her wildly curling hair. ‘And my sweet little granny always used to say English manners were the best in the world.’
‘I’ll give you manners,’ she snarled, wriggling some more.
He laughed, really starting to enjoy himself. She was rigid in his arms, but he could feel her chest heaving with fury. He could imagine that pretty face of hers, glowing with temper. High cheekbones, smooth peach-toned skin, the sprinkle of freckles across her pert little nose, and those large, expressive sea-green eyes. He’d only glimpsed her face for a moment, but it had made a hell of an impression. She struggled again, and the firm swell of her butt pressed against his naked belly through the clingy little dress she had on.
The strong surge of arousal surprised him. He tightened his arms. She smelled good, too. ‘You know, you’re cute.’ He smiled, nuzzling her hair. ‘When you’re not trying to kill me.’
‘You are so going to die,’ she snapped back.
‘Get your hands off her!’
Monroe’s head jerked up.
A man with a savage scowl on his face marched across the patio towards them. The little girl skipping along beside him didn’t make him look any less threatening. Monroe registered the heavily pregnant woman behind them, but kept his gaze focused on the big guy.
The situation didn’t seem quite so funny any more.
‘Damn it.’ Monroe let go of Miss Firecracker. She turned, glared at him, her green eyes sparking with fury, and then dashed over to the pregnant lady.
‘Who are you and what the hell are you doing on my property?’ the man bellowed.
Monroe held up his hands and tried to think fast. The guy was maybe an inch over his own six feet two and well built, but the tailored pants and pricey designer polo shirt he wore made him look rich and cultured. Monroe figured he could take him. But he couldn’t swing at the guy when he had a kid beside him. And he didn’t want to add assault to a trespassing charge if the cops arrived. Which left diplomacy as his only option.
‘I just took a swim in your pool. I thought the place was empty.’
‘Well, it’s not.’ The big guy ground the words out, his ice-blue eyes blazing with temper. ‘Stay with Jessie, Emmy,’ he said as he pushed the little girl behind him.
Monroe spotted Miss Firecracker take hold of the child’s hand. The redhead was still glaring at him—and starting to look very self-satisfied.
The guy pushed the sleeves of his polo shirt up forearms that were ridged with muscle. ‘I’m going to teach this idiot a lesson.’
A sick feeling in his gut, Monroe realised he’d have to take the punch. He closed his eyes, braced for the pain.
Then the pregnant lady shouted, ‘Stop, Linc, stop!’
When nothing happened, Monroe risked opening one eye. The woman had a hold of the man’s arm but she was staring right at him. ‘Who are you?’ she asked softly.
‘Nobody, ma’am. All I took was a swim.’ If only he could just deck the guy and get out of here.
‘You’re Monroe.’ She said the words so quietly, Monroe wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Mr Furious shouted back, still busting to take a swing at him.
‘Linc, he’s your brother. Can’t you see the resemblance?’
Oh, hell. It hit Monroe just who these people were. He tried to swallow past the boulder in his throat, but his mouth had gone bone-dry. All he’d wanted was a quick swim and now look what he’d done.
‘Monroe?’ The big guy looked as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. Monroe knew how he felt.
He hadn’t seen that face since he was ten years old, but now that he looked at it properly, Monroe recognised it all right. The guy had the same clear blue eyes as he did. And that mouth, that chin—didn’t he see virtually the same ones in the mirror every time he remembered to shave?
‘I should split,’ Monroe mumbled.
