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“I cried on your shoulder and I looked like a wet cat,” she pointed out. “My dignity definitely took a hit, and that’s why I assert that I am no danger to your heart.”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied in that slow Cajun accent. He sighed and opened the bag of bread, taking out two pieces and placing them in the toaster. “But like I said, I’m more willing to take the chance that you can’t keep your hands off me than risking the scenario where you have to represent me in a murder trial.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be me, big guy.” She stirred the eggs, feeling perfectly comfortable with their banter. It was fun, probably the most fun she’d had in a long time. She was going to spend her whole day preparing to sue an old lady for showing her boobs, but it was okay because it would be fun to face off against Quaid. “So you’ll stay here and not murder your brother. That will save you a lot of money, because I would charge you my full rate.”
“You’re not going to press me about what’s going on with my brother?” He sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Who hurt you, Havery?” Someone obviously had made him believe he had to open his soul in order to be friends with a person. “Because no, I’m not going to press you. You’re an artist. You work out your problems on the page.”
“I do not.” He scoffed at the idea. “Those are nothing more than stories in my head.”
She chuckled because he clearly didn’t do a lot of self-reflecting. “Armand has a brother who is constantly in trouble. He’s also got an overbearing mother who thinks his job is beneath him. He wanted to be a lawyer but had to take over his father’s private investigation firm after his dad was mysteriously murdered. Now, the murdered-dad part isn’t real life, but the rest of it seems to be close to it. Do the brothers make up?”
Quaid leaned against the counter, a thoughtful look on his face. “Pierre dies in book three, and Armand has to solve the mystery.”
“Was it a painful death?”
One big shoulder shrugged. “He was beaten to death with an Academy Award. Damn it. He’s Paul.”
She barely stopped her eyes from rolling. “Of course he’s your douchebag brother, Paul. See. You don’t like to talk about your problems. You put it in your art. But I’m here if you do want to talk. Though you should know that for the most part I’ll just tell you that sucks and ask you what you’re going to do about it. I’ve found giving people advice almost never works out. No one listens to me and even when they do, they screw it up and then I get blamed. So I really would be a void to shout into. Like me telling you to amp up the romance since Armand obviously needs a woman who challenges him.”
The toast popped up. “I’ll think about it. I always saw itas more of a one-sided thing between them. Shannon is incredibly attracted to Armand, but I think it’s because she can’t have him.”
Now she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. “Oh, that’s such bull. He wants her bad.”
“Iwrote the character, Jayna.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t even realize you were writing you,” she countered sweetly. “So I think you should listen to me, pump up the sexual tension, and resubmit. Which you won’t do because you know better than me, and even in your brain right now you’re all ‘She’s not a writer. She knows nothing about publishing.’ So I will simply read the next book and let you go on about your business after I finish your eggs and we have a perfectly nice morning. Before I find a way to eviscerate you in court.”
She moved in, and his hand came up to touch her cheek. “And that is why I’m going to get my damn heart broken.”
He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, the moment seeming to stop and lengthen, everything else shutting out. It didn’t matter that the eggs might burn or that Luna had put her paws on the countertop so she could sniff the toast and jam. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t dressed properly and didn’t have a hint of makeup on. All that mattered was how soft his lips were, how warm the world suddenly seemed.
And then a chime swept through the place, a light jingle that let them know someone was at the door downstairs.
Quaid growled. “If that’s my brother come to perform step number eight on me, I’m going to need you on retainer.”
“Step eight?” She turned off the burner.
“Make amends,” he replied.
Ah, his brother was a twelve-stepper. That did not surprise her. Paul had been wild in high school. He’d been two years behind her, but it hadn’t taken him long to find his wayto her trailer park and the dudes in the back who sold everything under the sun and who her mother had prayed every day didn’t blow them all up.
How hard had that been on Quaid? He’d been the golden boy, always expected to be the best, to follow all the rules and be a role model, while his brother had been the bad boy.
That had to have killed their father, who had a sterling reputation. The man had practically been a saint. “Then you should finish up that toast. Luna, no, baby. You do not need that. I’ll go see who’s here.” She glanced at the clock. “We’re not open yet, right? The office, I mean. The office isn’t open.”
“No, we’re not open until ten.” He pulled out two plates. “I know that’s Paul at the door. I’ll let you buy anything you want at the grocery store if you manage to get rid of him.”
“I’m incredibly tenacious.” She made sure her robe was properly belted and that she had perfectly respectable fuzzy bunny slippers on her feet before she headed downstairs. “Luna, come.”
She’d found if she wanted to scare off a man, having a massive well-trained dog at her side helped. Unfortunately she only had Luna, so she would have to make do with a massive dog. She got to the bottom of the stairs and could see a shadow at the door. Paul was taller than his brother, but he didn’t have Quaid’s muscle. She remembered him being fairly slender for a man. He pressed the bell again, proving he really wanted in.
It was sad that sometimes a man simply didn’t get what he wanted.
She unlocked the deadbolt. She checked the alarm and saw that Quaid must’ve turned it off when he’d taken Luna out for her morning ablutions, so she threw open the door and there was Paul Havery.
He was one of those guys who technically lookshandsome but whose privilege was so stamped on his face that she could practically smell the frat party that went on around him. His expression went from determined to surprised in a heartbeat. “Well, hello. You are not what I was expecting. My name is...”
