Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
YOU WROTE YOUR OWN BOYFRIENDS?
“ L et go of me.” Jackson squirms in Lars’s clenched fists, the pale white of the alpha’s knuckles a sharp contrast against his olive-toned skin.
“Not until you apologize for hurting your sister,” Lars grits.
Wentworth shoots up, barking loudly. It’s the first time he’s shown any protectiveness. Though I can’t tell if he barks to defend Lars or Jackson. Owen scoops him up, despite his chunky seventy pounds, and soothes his barks.
“I didn’t hurt her,” Jackson spits out.
Is this really happening? My breath catches at the ominous fixation of Lars’s eyes on my brother.
“It will be alright, my lady,” Lord James assures, pressing a tender kiss to my temple, his masculine scent overwhelming my senses.
Like a stray kitten, I lean into the sturdiness of his arms as if it’s my new home. This is where I live now… In the arms of a fictional duke while a fictional werewolf threatens my brother and a fictional baker stands by, exasperation twisting his expression.
“You made her cry,” Lars sneers, baring his large teeth.
Jackson’s eyes jump to mine, remorse swimming in the brown pupils. “Georgia, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Do better.” Lightning flashes in Lars’s eyes. “That’s not an apology.”
Despite my body’s protest, I pull from Lord James’s embrace and round the kitchen counter. “Lars, it’s alright, I?—”
My protest is cut off by Jackson slipping out of Lars’s grip. In a swift motion, he maneuvers the burly werewolf into a headlock.
“I repeat, who are you?” he snarls.
“Pretty boy has moves.” An amused chuckle slips from Lars.
“Wrestled in high school.” Jaw clenched, he tightens his hold. “Even went to the state tournament.”
“Impressive.”
Hands on hips, I huff out an annoyed breath. “Would you please let Lars go and?—”
“But high school was a long time ago.” A dark laugh vibrates from Lars. Hitching forward, he moves to break out of Jackson’s hold, then launches my brother into the air.
“Jackson!” I lunge forward as if to catch him.
“My lady!” Lord James’s arms loop around my waist, pulling me back against his front and ensuring I don’t crash into my brother’s flailing body.
Jackson drops to the carpet with a loud thud. “Oof,” he groans, his face pinched with pain.
“State champion, huh? Must not be a big state.” He places his boot atop Jackson’s chest.
“Your…mom…never complained about…the size,” Jackson gasps out his retort.
“Ha!” Lars’s violet eyes almost twinkle with admiration. “Nice one, pretty boy.”
“You…wish…you were as pretty as me.”
He leans over, his face hovering mere inches from Jackson’s. “Says the man who’s flat on his back for me.”
“You wish. You’re cute… But not my type.”
He smirks. “I’m everyone’s type.”
“If you’re into the wolfman lumberjack thing,” he scoffs playfully.
If Lars didn’t appear straight out of central casting as sexy werewolf number one from a paranormal TV show, Jackson’s comment would give me pause, as if he knew who these three men were.
With his flannel shirt that molds over a ‘carved out of stone’ physique, ripped fitted jeans, black boots, and dark beard and hair, he’s the epitome of the pack alpha from an episode of True Blood .
Lars howls with laughter. “I think I’m going to like you.” A furrow notches his brow. “Well, I will once you apologize to Georgia.”
“The feeling may be mutual, once you take your boot off my chest.”
“Wonderful, there are two of them,” Lord James mutters.
Oh, god. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Did I accidentally base elements of my snarky werewolf character on my brother?
If one of these three men is, indeed, whom I’m supposed to end up with, this assures Lars is no longer a contender.
My brothers may think I’m picky, but this one I’m sure they’ll bless.
Romantic entanglements with fictional men are one thing, but those having shared personality traits with my brothers are deal-breakers.
Good lord, am I seriously considering dating one of these men? Also, are they even real live men if I made them up? I rub the erratic pulse beating in my temples, the twinge of a coming headache forming.
“Jackson, are you okay?” I ask.
“I will be once Wolverine lets me up.” He juts his chin up at Lars, who merely grins.
“Lars, would you please let Jackson up?” I sigh.
“Once he apologizes.”
“Lars?”
Ignoring my brother, I go on, “He did. He said he didn’t mean to upset me.”
“That’s not an apology.”
“He’s right.” Jackson turns his head on the floor to look toward me. “I am sorry, Georgia. My not intending to hurt you doesn’t change the fact that I did… And I’m so sorry. You’ve had enough happening without me pushing or lecturing you.”
“What’s been happening, Georgia?” Owen places a calm Wentworth down.
“Nothing,” I lie.
There’s enough going on here. The last thing we need to add to this ridiculous scenario is the melodrama that is my life.
Sighing, I motion at Lars. “Please let him up.”
With a nod, he removes his boot and extends his hand to help Jackson up.
“And you should apologize for attacking Jackson.” One eyebrow lifted, I take in Lars’s now sheepish face.
“Sorry. As alpha, I get a little overprotective. Not to mention, in my pack, we tussle a bit.” He pats Jackson’s back.
“Alpha? Pack?” Jackson looks between the three men, then jerks his gaze back to me. “Who are these guys?”
“Uh…” I worry my lower lip.
The lies form so easily inside me, but none breach my lips. How to explain who these men are. Telling falsehoods, even for the sake of keeping the peace, isn’t my strong suit. Not to mention, Jackson always sees through them.
“I’m Lars. We’ve met.” His mouth quirks.
Relinquishing his hold on me, Lord James strides to my brother. “And I’m Lord James Everly, First Duke of Chamberlin. Your sister is my future intended.”
“She’s what?” Jackson’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
“Excuse me!” Marching up to Lord James, I jab a finger into his way-too-sculpted chest. “I am nothing of the sort.”
“My lady, it’s only a matter of time. After all, this is why we’re here.”
“That may be true, but we only just met.” I toss my arms into the air, my voice hitting an almost shrill octave.
“Why they’re here?” Jackson’s head tilts.
“What makes you think it will be you?” Lars says, incredulous.
“You’re after my sister, too?”
Ignoring them, Lord James moves closer, raising his hand and cradling my cheek. “My lady, you must feel what is between us. Not only have I been utterly enraptured by you since you appeared in that vision, but there is a pull between us. I know you feel it too.”
The flutter in my chest doesn’t disagree. Like a gravitational pull, something unseen attracts me to Lord James. My body reacts to each of these men, but it comes alive with his attention.
“From the moment I caught you when you fainted, I knew you were meant to always be in my arms.” He leans in, his lips scant inches from mine, his breath a ghost of a kiss.
“You caught me? You put me to bed?” I breathe.
“I’ll always catch you, my lady,” he murmurs, swiping the smooth pads of his fingers against my skin.
A drunken buzz bubbles in my bloodstream with his pretty promises. How easy it would be to allow him to sweep me off my feet, replacing Lady Cecily in his story. But that’s not my story. It’s hers.
“Alright, Lord No Boundaries—” Lars grabs Lord James by the arm and tugs him away “—rules, remember. No seduction until she asks for it.”
“It is only a matter of time before she asks for it. From me.” He yanks himself from Lars’s grip, wickedness blazes in his green eyes.
“Careful; that’s my sister.” Jackson shoots a warning glare. “Rules? What’s happening?”
“Your sister somehow summoned us from her books to help find her happy ending.” Owen emerges from the bedroom with copies of each of my books in hand.
In the chaos of the last few moments, I didn’t realize he’d slipped away into the bedroom. To where one of the three bookshelves throughout my small apartment sits. The one with each of the proof copies of my novels.
“We have a lot to discuss.” He tosses all three books onto the coffee table.
All our gazes are drawn to the three discreet cartoon covers popular with romance novels.
The kind that hides the sexy nature of what you’re reading from fellow passengers at airport terminals.
Nobody would suspect behind those covers lies a small town baker that drizzles icing all over his lady love before licking her clean, a werewolf that bends his vampire rival over the hood of his pickup as he fucks her, or a Duke that uses his cravat to muzzle his lady’s moans as he falls to his knees and feasts on her in her father’s study.
My brother’s wide eyes illustrate his understanding. There’s an uncanny–almost identical–resemblance of each man that stands in my living room to their cartoon versions on the book covers.
“Georgia.” My name is almost an accusation from my brother.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I croak.
“I know.” Owen places a hand on my shoulder, its warmth forcing my focus to him. “Let’s have tea and muffins, and we’ll talk.”
“Are they gluten free, because my sister has celiacs, and?—”
I shoot him a sharp look and lift my hand a little.
Clearly, my brother is unable to turn off his ability to interfere in my life.
I know he and Rem both mean well. My mother’s soft voice almost whispers inside me, “That’s what brothers do for sisters,” but it would be nice if they meant well just a little less.
“Of course they are. I would never do anything to put Georgia at risk.” Owens’ forehead pinches.
“How’d you know?” I clear my throat.