Chapter 4 Anna #2
“Brides are supposed to be insufferable monsters, Mel! They’re supposed to screech and stomp and demand ridiculous things at even more ridiculous hours.
” I drag her closer and walk hip-to-hip.
“You’re perfect, Melanie Hamilton. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and you’re marrying the best guy in existence.
I’m not stressed about your wedding, I promise. ”
“But you’re stressed about something.” She steals her coffee back and takes her shot.
“I know Decembers are hard for you. Stupidly, I thought having a Christmas wedding would be a good way to redirect all that red and green energy and provide you with a new focus this month. Now I’m thinking all I achieved was a redirection of my attention, while you stew inside your house and ignore the happiest season of the year. ”
Shaking my head, I glance over the top of my car and stop on my front door, startling and skidding to a stop.
I slip in the snow and balk at my guest’s smiling expression.
“What the f—” I meet Nick’s playful eyes, while right beside him, Dean huddles into his jacket, but with the fabric simply pulled over his bulky frame, his arm still wrapped and his bare stomach peeking through the open zipper.
He grins the grin of the devil, his eyes alight and his lips twitching with torment.
“Oh!” Mel swings her gaze from Dean to me. To Dean. Then back to me. “Well…” She clears her throat. “I suppose that answers that.”
“W-what are you…” My stomach lurches and swirls, nerves pinging from side to side like balls inside a pinball machine. “What’s going on?”
“Looks like Anna Banana got herself a friend for the holidays.” Nick digs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “His name is Dean.”
“Dean?” Mel unravels her arm from mine and continues ahead. “Um… Hello.”
“Hi.” He’s not shy. The instant she’s close enough, he offers his hand and shakes hers so forcefully, her shoulder jumps. “Dean Warner.” He hooks a thumb Nick’s way. “I already met your fiancé. Just a few days out from your wedding, huh?”
“Uh… yeah.” She peeks my way for a single heart-aching beat. Then she puts her focus back on Dean. “A week today. I’m sorry….” She gulps. “You’ll have to excuse my unfamiliarity, but who are you, Dean Warner? Have you been here long?”
Horrified, I dart forward on fast, slipping feet. “He’s—”
“Her brother,” he announces.
I crash onto my bottom porch step and groan.
“Her brother?” Mel’s voice jumps an octave or two. “Really? That’s so weird, don’t you think?”
I zoom up the stairs and shove between my friends.
Grabbing Dean’s wrist, I flash a slightly insane smile for the other two, before latching onto my front door and whipping it wide open.
“We’re going inside for now.” I herd the muscular fighter—possibly felon—across the threshold and swing desperate eyes back to Mel. “I’ll call you later.”
Her nose twitches. Her nostrils flare. Her eyes narrow.
“Promise!” I lope into my house and slam the door in their faces, then I press my back to the thick wood and meet Dean’s playful, teasing eyes. “What the hell!?”
“What?” Carefree, he slips his coat off and sets it on the back of my couch, then he wanders across my living room in jeans and a bandage.
That’s it!
Expansive back muscles ripple under tattoos and purple bruises, each individual section of muscle clearly visible beneath an olive tan.
Dimples sit arrogantly above the waistband of his jeans, and a deep valley where his spine extends creates more contrast compared to his—what are those called?
Lats? He stops in front of my fireplace and turns to face me, subjecting me to the cruel and unusual punishment of witnessing the V muscles ducking into his jeans.
He has abs—one, two, ten—and in the light of a new day, what may be holes signifying nipple piercings, but without the jewelry to show for it.
His back tattoos continue around, vines tickling his ribs and teasing his pecs, however, most of the design stops there, leaving his chest and stomach largely untouched.
He’s saving that space for the bruises, I suppose.
“Earth to Anna?” He can’t clap his hands, since one arm remains bound to his side, but he claps his palm to his rock-solid stomach instead. “You in there, Counselor? Did you have a stroke, or…?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and carve more lines between my brows. Outside, Mel and Nick’s footsteps echo across my porch and down my stairs.
They’re leaving… for now.
Remembered rage bubbles in my blood, warming my veins now that I’m no longer counting abdominal lines, so I open my eyes and focus on his. Only his. And his cheekbones, too. And maybe his jaw.
His lips curl into an arrogant smile. “You were saying something?”
That’s right! I was. I push away from the door and stalk in his direction. “Mel—” I wave toward my front yard. “Is my best friend! I’ve known her since kindergarten.”
“Okay…” His brows pop high on his forehead. “So?”
“So she knows I don’t have a brother!” I blow straight past his obnoxiously sexy, ridiculously muscled body, and stomp into my kitchen. “She knows you lied!”
“Well, shit, Sis. Sorry I didn’t read your unabridged biography before continuing the lie you started.
” Laughing, he follows me in and rests against the doorframe, folding his good arm across the bad.
“I didn’t realize we’d need a unique cover story for each new person who knocked on your front door. ”
“I shouldn’t need a cover story!” I slam my empty coffee mug in the sink and grab a fresh one from the cupboard. “I shouldn’t have even brought you here.”
He clicks his tongue, entirely too fucking casual in someone else’s home. “But you did. And let’s not pretend your motivations were anything other than self-serving. We both know you wanna avoid catching charges for negligent driving.”
I turn and clamp my hands around the lip of my counter, the edge biting into my back. “You told me to bring you here! You refused medical attention.”
“I don’t know that I was cognitively capable of making such a decision.
” He shrugs, his face the picture of innocence.
“To accept, or deny, medical attention was clearly beyond my intellectual abilities, Counselor, especially considering my unfortunate entanglement with a nearly two-ton vehicle. Therefore…” He flashes a mocking smile.
“The only conclusion I can logically arrive at is that I’m actually, technically a victim of kidnapping. ”
I suck in a noisy, indrawn breath. “Kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped,” he confirms solemnly. “It puts us both in an awkward position, don’t you think?
If you release me, I might stumble toward a police station.
What, with how dizzy and scrambled my brain is after last night, it would be entirely possible, though not intentional, that I may tell those fine detectives you hit me on purpose. ”
“But I didn’t!”
Chuckling, he pushes away from the wall and meanders closer.
“I know you didn’t.” Stopping in front of me, his aftershave twines into my lungs, down to dance with my soul, then up to ensure my brains are as scrambled as his.
With a flirty wink, he chucks my chin before reaching around me, setting my mug under the coffee spout, and selecting the button to get the machine going.
“I just figured it would be safest for us both if I took a few days to rest before reintegrating back into regular society. I’d hate to inadvertently get you in trouble for the hit-and-run incident. ”
“It wasn’t a hit-and-run!” I fold away from his broad form, bending backwards and shrinking to make myself as small as possible. And still, my throat burns dry when his chest touches mine. “It wasn’t a hit-and-run,” I repeat on a whisper. “I stopped immediately and rendered aid.”
“You brought me home and locked me in your basement.” His teeth gleam and sparkle, perfectly straight and pretty behind a light stubble. “It’s Christmas week, Anna. The least you could do is offer me a stack of pancakes and a place to stay until I’ve recovered from our ordeal.”
I slip out from between his body and my counter and stalk to my fridge. “I don’t have a basement. And this is a crime, just so you know.”
“What? Running people down with your cool-as-shit car?”
“Intimidation,” I bite out. “Blackmail. Coercion.”
“Beautiful women become even more beautiful when they use sexy smart-girl words.” He takes my place against the counter, stealing my coffee and bringing it to his smiling lips.
“I’ve spent more than two decades inside a fight gym, which is nice and all.
Brawn isn’t necessarily exclusive of brains.
But I always had a thing for beauty, Ms. Maxwell, and I just so happened to run into a woman with both last night.
Or, well…” He chuckles. “She ran into me.”
“You’re shaking me down?” I snatch a carton of creamer from the fridge and slam the door shut.
Stomping back to the coffee machine, I grab another mug, already my third attempt for the morning, and place it under the coffee spout.
“Is this some kind of scam? Like those people who intentionally walk on the interstate and hope for an insurance payout?”
“Not a scam.” And yet, he enjoys my coffee with a little too much eagerness. “But I’m hurt, and that hurt is a consequence of your poor driving.”
“My poor—”
“I was on my way to a tournament when you struck me down. Even if I got in my truck and continued my trek, I couldn’t compete.
” He glances left, his long dark lashes coming down to almost kiss his cheeks.
“I’m out for half a year at least. I’ll need to rehab my shoulder, regain my fitness, learn new fighting techniques that won’t cause further damage.
” He flashes a wide, taunting smile. “The tournament came with a million-dollar purse this year, Ms. Maxwell.”
“So that’s your game?” I broaden my shoulders and harden my face. Flatten my lips. Could I pick him up and toss him out the door? “A million dollars would make this all better?”
“I’d rather a stack of pancakes.” He sets his coffee down and steals my creamer, working one-handed to twist the lid open and drop a little into his mug. “I have nowhere else to be, and you have approximately two tons of guilt to work through, since you did, in fact, run me down with your car.”
“You—”
“I think I’ll stay a few days. Hang around. Maybe attend a wedding. Nick seems nice.” He sets the carton aside and grins. “He said you failed to invite a plus one, and Detective Dinkenschnoot was so sure his would be the ass sitting in the chair beside yours. Seems we could help each other out.”
“Remind me again what, exactly, I gain by harboring a—” Oh God.
Please don’t let him be a multi-million-dollar jewelry thief.
“A-a fighter inside my home? I could call my detective friend and tell him the truth.” I snatch my freshly poured coffee, only to spill a little more over the lip of the mug.
More burns on my fingers. More liquid soaked into my sleeve.
“Detective James would believe whatever I told him.”
“Yuh, cos he wants to bang you,” he snickers. Pushing away from the counter, he wanders past my island and around to peek out my sliding back door. “You don’t appear to have any other plans, Anna. I have nowhere else to be, and no way to do the thing I originally intended.”
“Fight?”
He peeks over his shoulder and looks me up and down. “Exactly. I stayed last night, and you’re still alive today. That provides me a measure of credibility, no?”
I choke out a dismissive, bordering on hysterical laugh. “The bar is low. So, because you didn’t kill me last night, I’m to believe you pose no risk to my life moving forward?”
“Precisely.”
“Dean—”
“I didn’t come looking for you, Anna. You ran into me.”
“And insisting on staying here, on hiding here, has nothing to do with the jewelry heists on the news, right?”
His eyes flash with guilt. With mild panic. And then with arrogance. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
“Oh, my God.” I clap my hands to my face, covering my eyes, and walk a lap of my kitchen.
“Oh, God. I’m harboring a criminal.” I split my fingers and glare at him for a beat.
But it’s too much. It’s too beyond reasonable doubt, so I close them again.
“Hit-and-run, my ass! My prison sentence won’t be a consequence for vehicular manslaughter.
It’ll be because I’m harboring a wanted felon. ”
“I literally just told you I had nothing to do with that.” He surprises me, grabbing my wrists in one hand, and pulling them down so we’re almost nose to nose.
“Let me stay for a few days. It’s nearly Christmas, and you don’t have a tree up yet.
I could chop one down for you. And Nick said you plan to move a bunch of stuff over to the wedding venue this week. I could help with that, too.”
I lower my gaze to his wrapped shoulder. So muscular. So purple! “You can’t help with either of those things. You’re injured.”
He winks, yanks open a cupboard door, and snatches out a cast-iron frying pan. “So I’ll do the pancakes, and you do the heavy lifting. It all works out in the end.”