Can't Get Enough

  He sighed. "I know. But I was giving you what you thought you wanted."

  What she thought she wanted, not what he thought she wanted? "You thought I wanted bad sex?"

  "I knew you wanted no emotional ties."

  Oh. Oh. Diabolical genius. But also a little cruel. First he'd shown her how good they could be together. Then he'd gone all himbot before she could go all fembot, making her want what they'd had.

  "I thought you'd stopped wanting me," she admitted softly.

  Curse after curse left him. Like her, he had no filter. "I'm sorry, Scottie. Beyond sorry. I was an idiot. I swear to you, I wanted you. I wanted more from you. Badly. Very badly. I acted like a child in an effort to convince you my way is best, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself."

  Could he truly...care about her? Goodness gracious, Lyndie nearly melted into the mattress. "Bless your heart, Brock Hudson. You better forgive yourself, because you just dilled my pickle."

  "I...have no idea what that means."

  "It means I'm going to be super turned on when I'm better, and rather than making you suffer for making me suffer, I'm going to let you apologize with orgasms."

  "Not that," he said, deadpan. "Anything but that."

  "Yes. That. You're getting off easy." She grinned. "Get it? Getting off?"

  He kissed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "I won't be the only one getting off easy."

  Promises, promises.

  *

  Brock leaned back in his chair and let his gaze rove over the LPH Protection offices. Scuffed wood floors, exposed brick on the walls, and visible pipes running across the ceiling.

  Reminded him a little of Lyndie. Her past, her hurts, her hopes and dreams--everything was exposed, vulnerable.

  No wonder he loved the place.

  There were three rooms in back, one for each owner, as well as three desks out front for assistants they'd never gotten around to hiring. Instead, Brock, Jude, and Daniel used those front desks themselves. No walls between them meant face-to-face communication.

  The building occupied the center of the town square, right on Main Street next to Style Me Tender salon, where Virgil spent most of his time playing checkers with Anthony. Roughly ten minutes from Strawberry Elementary, home of the mighty Tornados.

  Tornados... Certainly true in Lyndie's case. The junior high and high school mascot happened to be a stallion. How fitting for Brock.

  He grinned. He'd been grinning a lot today. Tonight he got to apologize for bad sex with good sex. Did life get any better?

  The worst stomach bug of all time had passed. This morning Lyndie had gone back to school...but not before Brock had kissed her goodbye--a kiss light-years away from perfunctory.

  Lyndie had kissed him back like a woman starved.

  He was grateful for the time they'd spent holed up in the house. Finally he felt connected to his wife again. There at the end, when they'd snuggled in bed, he sensed her contentment too, though he also sensed a tinge of fear. She wasn't sure she could trust a happily ever after, but he would teach her better. His plan to win her back had officially kicked off.

  Focus. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. Jude was updating the computers; he only came in a couple of days a week now that he helped run the Scratching Post with Ryanne. Daniel was wrapped up in an upcoming job. Brock had done nothing but think of Lyndie.

  Forget focusing. He couldn't.

  He wanted his wife.

  He missed her when they were parted. Crave more minutes and seconds with her. Even blindfolded, he could pick her out of a crowd of thousands, like a moth to a flame. The warmth and silk of her skin could not be replicated. Plus she had little tells. Every time he approached, her breath got trapped in her throat. The sound, slight though it was, always drove him wild.

  How long would it take to convince her to relinquish her precious independence? How long would it take to win her heart? Lyndie came first for him, now and always. He wanted to come first for her.

  You couldn't win your mother's love. What makes you think you can win your wife's?

  Stomach twist. Chest clench.

  Nope, none of that. As Lyndie had said, Miranda was a thief and a liar. Her opinion meant nothing. Brock had value. But he also had a disadvantage. The loophole he'd allowed to be added to their prenup.

  He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and both were of his own design.

  Trust was precious and fragile. If he shattered hers...if she looked at him with disgust...if her good opinion of him changed...

  Denial roared inside his head. No! Unacceptable. He would not be able to bear it.

  Therefore, he had to work even harder to win her. If--when--she fell in love with him, she would want to stay married to him, would want to raise their child together.

  His phone beeped, jolting him. The timer, he realized. Another realization: he'd gripped the arms of his chair so tightly he caused them to bow.

  Breathing deep, he pried his fingers loose. Lyndie would be home, ready for him...

  His heart began to race, anticipation and excitement propelling him to his feet. "Boys, I'm taking off. You're on your own."

  A bell chimed over the door as Ryanne sauntered inside. She was smiling, both of her hands resting on her rounded belly. "Hey, cowboy."

  "Hey, shortcake." Jude hopped up and closed the distance to wrap her in his arms and kiss her brow. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I missed you."

  Twist. Clench.

  That. That was what Brock wanted with Lyndie. A beautiful give-and-take. A flood of joy every time they were together.

  Daniel offered Ryanne a mischievous wink. "Please tell me you brought food."

  Like Jude and Brock, he had a second job. He worked at the Strawberry Inn with Dorothea, which was located just around the corner, allowing him to go back and forth with ease.

  "Sorry. But I brought advice." Ryanne moved her gaze to Brock. "Be gentle with Lyndie today, okay. She's had a tough day and is about to have a full-blown come apart."

  Instant panic. "What happened?" Had Lambert started bothering her again? "Is she hurt? Sick again?"

  "No, no," Ryanne rushed to assure him. "She just got a little bad news is all."

  "What kind of bad news?" Even as he spoke, he gathered his keys and wallet.

  "Not my news to share. Sorry. I can tell you she's at home."

  Usually the bond between Lyndie and her friends delighted him. Today? Not so much.

  Brock raced outside, jumped into his sedan, and sped home. Ready to burn the world down, he parked and emerged into the cool evening air.

  Hinges squeaked as he shouldered his way past the front door, entering the house. No sign of Lyndie in the living room. He punched in the alarm code to disengage it, then turned the lock and dropped his keys on a side table, then headed for her bedroom. Nope. Not there either.

  A sniffle, sniffle caught his attention. Frowning, he returned to her bedroom.

  Sniffle.

  Bathroom. The door was closed, but light seeped through the bottom crack. "Scottie?" He knocked but gave no more warning than that. The door wasn't locked, so he walked right in.

  She sat on the floor, her forehead pressed against her upraised knees. Quiet sobs shook her entire body. The animals perched all around her. Cameow and Mega at her left. Athena and Peanut at her right. Thor and Pepper in front.

  My Little Red and her big bad wolves.

  Heart thudding against his ribs, Brock maneuvered through the animal kingdom to crouch beside his wife. The sight of Lyndie left him raw and broken inside. His heart felt as if it had been ripped to shreds.

  "I'm here, Scottie. Tell me what's wrong," he said, voice soft. "Please."

  Her head lifted, watery, red-rimmed eyes staring at him. "My period started."

  Twist, twist. Clench. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." What was wrong with him? Now he wanted to cry.

  With a shuddering breath, she leaned ag
ainst him, the same way Ryanne had leaned against Jude. Brock stopped breathing, too afraid of moving and scaring her off.

  Too late. She started to pull away. Nope. Not gonna happen. He snaked his arms around her, keeping her clasped against his chest.

  "I was so hopeful." Her fingers wadded the center of his shirt as another sob burst from her.

  "I'm sorry," he repeated. Never in all his days had he felt so helpless.

  "I know our marriage is coming to an end." Sniffle, sniffle. "We might be divorced by the time I ovulate again."

  His grip on her tightened even as guilt pierced him--because, at the same time, relief flooded him. They were going to stay together a little while longer. He had more time to win her. "We don't have to divorce anytime soon." Or ever.

  She used his shirt to wipe her nose, and he had to swallow a sudden laugh.

  "You can't want to stay married to me." She released a shuddering breath. "Can you?"

  "I can. I do." Why not tell her the truth even if she wouldn't understand the depth of his words? Yet. "I want to stay with you, Red."

  "Really?" Watery eyes searched his face, so hopeful he wanted to lay the world at her feet, give her anything and everything she'd ever wanted. Red splotches dotted her cheeks, bisected by white tear tracks. Her nose ran, and her lips were dry, but she'd never looked more beautiful to Brock.

  "Really." More than anything.

  Her tremors gradually subsided, but her grip on his shirt tightened. "All right," she finally said, and he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "We'll give it another month."

  Or forever. But he chose his next words carefully. "Or longer, if necessary. We'll get this right, Scottie."

  "Or just one more month," she said, fear now drenching her tone.

  Did she fear she was coming to depend on him, maybe even falling for him? A man could hope.

  Either way, the perimeter had been set. He now had four weeks to win her heart.

  Operation Forever is a go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  If Lyndie didn't better fortify her defenses against Brock--and soon--she was going to be in big-time trouble.

  Enjoy him during this marital vacation, but stay ready to say goodbye.

  Parting with him would hurt for a while, but the pain would fade. Eventually. It always did, right?

  It was just... Dang it, she was coming to care for him. Deeply. She'd begun to figure him out. He wanted people to like him because, thanks to his witch of a mother, he'd always felt unlovable. Perhaps he even blamed his actions as he fought overseas.

  Why couldn't he see the truth? He was a good man. Honest. Dependable. Trustworthy. Loyal. Reliable. And okay, okay. The description could have fit a car, but it hardly mattered; he was all those things, and those things were wonderful.

  He was so different than his rough, tough exterior suggested.

  Tonight, the day after her breakdown, he was driving her to a restaurant in the city.

  When they reached their destination, he made her feel like a pampered princess, opening her car door for her, keeping his hand on her lower back as he escorted her inside the fancy steak house, helping her into a chair, pouring her a glass of wine.

  Though women openly stared at him, he only had eyes for Lyndie.

  "Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?" he asked.

  "Twice."

  "Have I told you that you are the most beautiful woman in the world? Or ever."

  A lump grew in her throat, but she swallowed it. "Thank you. But you...you are the beautiful one."

  He grinned at her. "Am I the most beautiful man in the world, or ever?"

  "Most assuredly."

  "Sexy beyond imagining?"

  She laughed. "Yes, you conceited man. Yes."

  They talked and laughed for hours, candlelight flickering between them. Such a romantic atmosphere, soft music playing in the background. She'd never felt more comfortable with a man. Food had never tasted so good. Brock was better than the triple chocolate cake they split.

  Perhaps he was a magical healing portal all on his own.

  "If--when--you have my baby," he said, as they finished dessert, "do you plan to name a daughter Olivia? What will you name a boy?"

  She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, hating how desperately she wanted his input about names. He wouldn't be sticking around or helping her raise the baby, so there was no reason to pretend they were an everyday, average couple, planning a forever after together.

  Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, Lyndie said, "You'll have to excuse me. I'm going to the lady's room."

  Brock's expression blanked as she stood. Trembling now, she made her way to the bathroom in back, or tried to. An obviously drunk man moved into her path to lift a lock of her hair.

  "Hello, gorgeous," he slurred. "I haven't been able to take my eyes off me." He frowned. "Off you."

  She had no time to react. Suddenly Brock was in front of her, shoving the man back.

  "You do not touch my wife." Rage formed an almost impenetrable force field around him.

  Fear slapped Lyndie upside the head, and yet--shocker--not because she thought Brock would turn his rage on her. She didn't. She feared the legal ramifications of a public brawl. "Brock," she whispered, and the muscles in his back went rigid. But he did not back down.

  The other guy bowed up, as if gearing to attack. Then he got a really good look at the fury on Brock's face, and he backed down in a hurry.

  "Apologize," Brock demanded. "Now."

  "Sorry, ma'am." Ashen, the drunk stumbled away as fast as his feet would carry him.

  The restaurant had gone quiet, Lyndie realized. She looked around, and noticed all eyes were now on her and Brock. Ice spread through her chest, making her lungs constrict. "I want to go home," she said softly.

  Brock offered a stiff nod, led her back to the table where he threw a handful of hundred dollar bills, and ushered her outside.

  "I'm sorry," he grated after they were settled in the car and speeding down the highway.

  "It's fine." Now that he wasn't in danger of spending the night in jail, relief flooded her. "But honestly, you reacted over thing, Brock."

  "Nothing?" he roared, then sank lower in his seat. In a calmer tone, he added, "He was going to touch you."

  "And I would have moved around him."

  He was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. His back was still rigid, his muscles clearly knotted under his black T-shirt. "You shouldn't have to move around some guy."

  "I once had to move around you, remember?" She cringed as soon as she realized what she'd said. Low blow. Really low.

  He cringed. "I want you protected, Scottie. Always. I never want your smile to go away."

  Had sweeter words ever been spoken? "I'm sorry," she said now. "I appreciate all you do for me."

  "I'll do better, I swear."

  She frowned. Do better about what? Protecting her? Controlling his temper?

  Hoping to put back on track, she said, "I had a good time with you, but don't go thinking I'm sticking you with the bill. I'll be paying you for my half of the meal." With the usual currency of orgasms, thank you. "You can--"

  "You are not paying me, Scottie." The harshness of his tone startled her. "Not a dime."

  Okay. He was on a short fuse tonight. Noted. No need to upset him further. Her eyes burned as she turned in her seat to peer out the passenger side window, but she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't afraid of Brock. She was just...sad.

  Silence permeated the car the rest of the drive home. He didn't make a move, or ask to sleep with her, and she didn't offer, didn't want him feeling obligated, especially while she had no idea what to make of his mood.

  "Goodnight, Brock," she said whisper-soft. The animals followed her to her bedroom.

  When he offered no reply, she shut her door and tried not to despair.

  *

  Brock had almost gotten in a fight while Lyndie watched. He needed to be m
ore careful. But unholy fury had filled him the moment he'd spotted some man reaching out to touch her.

  Before Brock had realized he'd moved, he'd been in front of her, ready and willing to commit cold-blooded murder.

  He'd scared her.

  Cursing, he slammed his fist into the arm of the couch. He liked being a gentleman for her. Made him feel like he'd finally become the real Brock, the man he was always meant to be. He needed to make up for his behavior. But how?

  *

  Throughout the next week, Lyndie couldn't shake a persistent feeling of dissatisfaction. Brock had treated her like spun glass ready to break at any moment. He still hadn't slept in her bed since they'd recovered from the stomach bug. Which made sense. (1) She still hadn't asked him to sleep in her bed, and he refused to push for things she might not want to give. And (2) She'd been on her period, sex out of the question.

  She'd missed him more with every day that passed. Without him, she spent the nights tossing and turning, wishing his arms held her close as she breathed in his masculine scent.

  Forget getting used to his warmth. She was already used to it, and wanted more.

  At least her period had ended yesterday. Perfect timing. Tonight she was taking Brock on a date, or rather a marital vacation outside the house. Her way of saying "Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for giving me a second chance. Now, please, can we go back to being comfortable with each other?"

  She'd planned every little detail, had even ventured into the city to shop at the world's biggest thrift store where she'd bought the ugliest dress imaginable, complete with a gag-worthy green-and-yellow floral print, shoulder pads, and, like, zero shape. Oh, and she'd finished the outfit with a bright red faux-fur coat.

  A designer's nightmare.

  For Brock, she'd purchased a vest embroidered with kittens, a neon-green blazer, and pants with blue and white snowflakes.

  Even though Halloween had passed them by, they were going to dress up.

  "Scottie!" Brock's voice blasted through the door of his bedroom. "Are you kidding me with this?" He came barreling into the living room, where she waited. Pepper bounded after him, Athena close on her heels. "I'm supposed to wear this? In public? Tell me we're going to a belated Halloween costume party. And if we are going to a belated Halloween party, I'd rather go as a twister mat with a red dot over my crotch and a spinner that only lands on red."

  Finally! A reaction other than unending patience. Her passionate husband was still in there.