Chapter Two
Pepper
“ Please don’t hold the reports until I get back. I don’t want to get behind ,” I say to my empty hotel room as I lean over my laptop and reply to an email from one of my employees, Min Zhao, a brilliant medical engineer. I swear owning a research and development company requires forty-eight hours in each day. I don’t like taking time off work, but my siblings pressured me into coming to Paris with them to support my twin, Sable, the lead singer for Surge, on her international concert tour. Now that I’m here, I’m glad I came, but work won’t stop because I’m on vacation.
A knock sounds at my door.
“Pepper, open up!” Brindle hollers. My youngest sister is about as patient as a gust of wind. I open my mouth to respond, and she knocks again. “Pepper!”
“Hold on,” I call out as I type.
“Move your butt, Pep!” Brindle demands. “We’re going to be late.”
“Give her a second,” Amber, always the mediator, says.
“She’s had hours ,” Brindle complains.
“The guys are waiting for us downstairs,” Morgyn chimes in, in Brindle’s defense.
I huff out a breath, trying to tune them out as my fingers fly across the keyboard. I’m used to tuning out my younger siblings. I love them dearly, but I know once I open the door, they’ll sweep me into their chaos and I won’t have another chance to think clearly all night.
“Hey, Pep!” our only brother and the youngest of our brood, Axsel, yells. “Is that guy who tried to pick you up last night in there?”
As if I would sleep with some guy I barely know? Axsel knows me better than that, but I can’t help smiling as I type, because while I’m thrilled that I’ve had the last couple of days with my siblings, I’m especially happy to have had that time with Axsel. As the lead guitarist for the band Inferno, his schedule is insane, and we don’t see him often enough.
“Yeah, right ,” Brindle says, her laughter carrying through the door.
Tension tightens across my shoulders as I click send on the email and then stalk over and open the door. Four sets of eyes land on me. Brindle’s are filled with impatience, Morgyn’s shimmer with happiness, Amber’s are apologetic, and Axsel’s smirk reflects in his eyes like trouble waiting to happen.
“About time,” Brindle snaps, strutting past in a black leather jacket over a concert T-shirt, a red suede miniskirt, and black boots, with her blond hair pinned up in a highly teased ponytail. She looked more like a college student than a high school English teacher and mother of a toddler.
“Sorry. I was working,” I say as the others file in.
“You’re in the City of Love,” Morgyn says as she breezes by. “You’re supposed to be having fun, falling in love with this romantic city, and forgetting about real life.” Her fair hair is loose and wild over the shoulders of her bejeweled green velvet jacket, which she’s paired with jeans that are ripped and patched strategically. She embellished both items of clothing herself—proof of her incredible creative side, which I’ve always been a little envious of. Morgyn could make a paper bag beautiful.
I’ve been in Paris for two days and have yet to see what’s so romantic about it.
“Is everything okay with your project?” Amber asks gently. She looks sexy in leopard-print leggings, a black turtleneck, and matching boots. Her brown hair falls halfway down the back of her black cropped jacket. She never would have worn a curve-hugging outfit like that before falling for her husband, Dash.
Amber would worry all night if she knew I was stressed about work, and I don’t want to stress her out for fear of exacerbating her epilepsy, so I lie. “Yes, it’s fine.”
“Work, my ass. Fess up, sis. Where’s the hottie hiding?” Axsel plants a hand on the hip of his leather pants, his shaggy dark hair trapped beneath a backward baseball cap, the ends curling around his ears. The sleeves of his long-sleeve black shirt are pushed up, revealing the tattoos he’s accumulated over the last few years.
“You think I’d let you near any man I’m interested in?” Axsel was handsome, gay, charismatic, and a shameless flirt with all men. “I made him climb down from the balcony.”
Axsel laughs. “Smart move.”
“If only it were true,” Brindle exclaims. “I’d love to believe Pepper cut loose, but the evidence says otherwise.”
“Evidence?” Amber asks.
Oh, Amber, why couldn’t you just let it go?
“The laptop is open,” Brindle points out. “The bed is perfectly made, and there’s no way a man’s fingers were in that perfectly combed hair of hers.”
I roll my eyes. Brindle has owned and flaunted her sexuality since she was old enough to understand the power behind it. She mostly only used it on her now-husband, Trace Jericho, who she’s been in a relationship with since she was fourteen, but compared to her and Sable, I might as well be a nun. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I’m just careful and private.
“Your pinched expression says it all,” Brindle says. “If you got a few good Os, you’d be grinning like a fool.”
I can’t even remember the last time I had an orgasm from a man. “Not everyone thinks about sex all the time.”
“They don’t?” Axsel asks with a baffled expression.
“I’m trying to make a point,” I say exasperatedly, and turn back to Brindle. “Some of us keep our sexual escapades private, and some of us show up at events with our shirts on backward because we couldn’t keep our clothes on for an entire night.”
“That happened once ,” Brindle says.
“More like twice,” Amber corrects her.
“I can think of three times,” Morgyn says. “Wait. Four . Remember two years ago at the Valentine’s Day Festival, and the year before that at the Turkey Trot?”
“Don’t forget the barn bash the summer after her first year of college,” Axsel said.
“What ever ,” Brindle says, and we all laugh. “Trace and I have a great sex life. I’m proud of that, and I want Pepper to be with a guy she can’t keep her hands off, too, so she doesn’t have to make up stories.”
“I was kidding , and my sex life is just fine, thank you very much. Why don’t you focus on Axsel? He’s single.” These three sisters are all happily married, and they’ve been on some kind of mission to couple me off since Sable got engaged to business mogul Kane Bad last year.
“Axsel isn’t sitting home alone at night,” Brindle explains.
“Neither am I.” Okay, I am, mostly . But that’s by choice. Dating is not all it’s cracked up to be, and it’s not like I’m sitting at home staring at a television. I left my corporate job to follow my heart and develop medical devices to help people with disabilities who can’t find relief through products that are currently on the market. That means working harder for less-profitable contracts, putting in more hours to run and market the business, and missing some outings and get-togethers. But at the end of the day, I’m helping others and changing lives, and that makes me happier than any man ever could. My sister knows this, and now I’m done with this conversation.
“Can we go, please?” I grab my room card and shove it into my pocket as I head out the door.
Amber hurries after me. “I’m with you on keeping it private, but I’m also with Brindle. I want you to find love, and I have a feeling you’re going to meet your match soon.”
“I think we all have that feeling,” Axsel chimes in.
“Did you guys start day drinking or something? You’re more annoying than usual.” I push the button for the elevator.
“Can’t you feel the magic in the air, Pep?” Morgyn looks up at the ceiling with a wide grin and throws her hands up. “The universe is finally on your side.”
I love Morgyn’s faith in the universe, but while she’s all about fate and love and all things mystical, as a scientist, I believe in facts, quantifiable evidence, and results. “Please tell the universe to mind its own business.”
Brindle nudges Morgyn. “How could you forget our practical sister doesn’t believe in magic?”
“Oh! Practical Magic! I love that movie,” Morgyn exclaims.
Axsel cocks a grin. “A young Aidan Quinn? Yes, please.”
I sigh as we step into the elevator. I’m not a big drinker, but I could sure use some wine right about now. “Actually, I do need the universe on my side tonight to give me the strength not to throttle the four of you.”
They laugh, and the elevator doors start closing, but a large hand shoots between them, and they open again, revealing six-plus feet of broad-chested, hard-bodied man and the insanely handsome face of Dash’s close friend Clay Braden. The man I’ve been trying to forget since Dash and Amber’s wedding. But forgetting him is impossible when he randomly shows up to see Dash and attends events in my hometown, then texts me afterward like it’s his right . I could kill Dash for giving him my number.
Clay’s mesmerizing blue eyes lock on me, and I swear they sear into my brain like lasers, making the neurons misfire. A slow grin slides into place, bringing out his dimples as he says, “Looks like the universe is on my side tonight.”
My stupid heart skips, and my thoughts turn on that confused organ. Do not go there or I’ll throttle you, too. I am not getting worked up over the man the media calls Mr. Perfect. Clay oozes charm like Amber exudes sweetness, as if it’s innate and he can’t help it. I don’t have to be on social media or follow football to know better. There are so many rumors about the pro-baller’s active personal life, they carry in the wind. He is a total player with an ego bigger than the football fields he plays on. He’s the farthest thing from my type that a man can be, and yet as my siblings greet him with enthusiastic Clay s ! , I can’t take my eyes off him in a leather bomber jacket that makes him seem bigger than life and probably cost as much as my monthly mortgage.
His megawatt smile glints beneath the harsh elevator lights as he steps inside, taking up far too much space. “Ladies. Axsel,” he says as the doors close behind him.
“I’m sorry you lost your playoff game, but I’m so glad you were able to join us,” Amber says, hugging him.
What? You knew he was coming?
“It sucks that we lost.” Clay’s gaze locks on me again as he says, “But it looks like my luck is changing. Nice to see you again, Pepper.”
“You, too.” The words are hard to get out, which is a strange occurrence for me. But so are most of the ways he makes me act and feel. Except for my smile. That comes naturally, because he is a beautiful man, and I don’t see many of them in my lab.
His eyes gleam arrogantly.
I realize I’m staring, and force my gaze away, looking straight ahead. But there’s no escaping our reflection in the shiny elevator doors, or his decadent scent, a mix of cedarwood and pure potent male, bringing a rush of hot, tingling awareness. Clay holds my gaze in our reflection as he shifts behind me, his chest brushing the back of my shoulder. The touch echoes in the seductive narrowing of his eyes, sending electric currents slithering through me like asps, and I wonder if anyone else feels flames licking up their skin.
“Is it hot in here?” I tug at the neckline of my shirt beneath my blazer.
“It sure is,” he says low and deep, the edges of his lips tipping up.
“From so many people in a tight space,” I clarify.
“Exactly. One hot body makes all the difference.”
My cheeks heat, and I’m vaguely aware of my siblings’ chatting as the elevator descends, but Clay’s presence holds me captive. The feeling of being under anyone’s spell is so foreign to me, I’m not sure I breathe the rest of the way down to the lobby.
When the doors open, I hurry out, relieved for the space, but at the same time, I want to chase that rush of adrenaline he caused. Which is precisely why I need to put distance between us.
Clay has a way of making me feel like the swoony-eyed teenager I left behind a long time ago. At least when he shows up at community events in my hometown, I can claim a work emergency and hightail it back to Charlottesville, where I live. Then the most I have to deal with are texts from him, which I simply ignore. But I can’t jump in my car and drive home from Paris.
I steal a glance at him as he talks with Axsel. He must sense my gaze, because he looks over and our eyes connect. My body tingles and burns again. I know better than to be sucked into that enticing vortex, but it taunts me like only an equation with a missing parameter ever has.
“There they are,” Morgyn calls out, bringing me back to the moment. She’s waving to her husband, Graham Braden, one of Clay’s cousins, who is standing by the entrance with Dash and Trace. The three of them look like they walked out of a lifestyle magazine, tall, built, handsome, and as different as can be. Graham is wearing a worn MIT baseball cap and a Henley, Dash is in a crisp button-down, and Trace is wearing a flannel shirt over a plain-white tee, his ever-present cowboy hat firmly in place.
As we head in that direction, I snag Amber by the arm, tugging her traitorous butt back to me as the others forge ahead, and lower my voice. “Why did you invite Clay?”
“His team didn’t make the Super Bowl. We thought this would lift his spirits.”
“Hasn’t he won a few Super Bowls?”
“How do you…?” Amber’s eyes widen. “Have you been googling him?”
“No.” There’s no way I’ll admit that . It was only once, and I never made it past drooling over pictures of him. “You guys rave about him like he’s some kind of hero. It’s hard to miss.”
“I know football isn’t your thing, but he is a hero to his fans.”
I roll my eyes as we make our way across the posh lobby toward the others. “The whole thing is ridiculous. He gets a ring and worldwide notoriety for throwing a ball, and I get a pat on the back for building life-saving medical devices.”
Amber looks amused. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” I realize I sound like I am and nip it in the bud. “I’m just annoyed that he’s here. I wish you’d given me a heads-up.”
“I didn’t think you’d care. You take off every time he’s around.”
I give her an imploring look, whispering as we near the others, “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
A mischievous grin curves her lips. “Actually, it reminds me of how I used to avoid Dash, and now he’s the best part of my life.” She beams at her husband, who’s looking at her like she’s his world.
“There’s my gorgeous wife.” Dash draws Amber into his arms and kisses her.
I glance at Graham and Morgyn holding hands, their foreheads nearly touching as they talk, and Brindle and Trace, his arm around her like he never wants to let her go, his hand resting on her butt. I might not be a starry-eyed romantic like Amber or Morgyn, or a sexpot like Sable or Brindle, but watching my sisters fall in love, seeing them change and grow with their partners, has brought a longing that takes effort to ignore.
“They almost make you want it, don’t they?” Axsel asks as he sidles up to me.
Yes , hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I notice Clay heading our way, and that tingling starts low in my belly again. The past slips in like a ghost, reminding me of what those feelings can lead to, and I tuck that yes down deep. “ Almost . You?”
“Oh yeah,” Axsel says. “But only for a night.”
I laugh.
Clay lifts his chin. “Care to share?”
“Hell yeah.” Axsel eyes him lasciviously. “My room or yours?”
“Dude, if I swung your way, I’d be all over that,” Clay says without missing a beat.
“My loss,” Axsel says, and heads for the others.
“Let’s go, you guys,” Brindle calls out. “The limo is here.”
As we head for the door, Clay falls into step beside me and says, “You know, if you wanted me to be your date for the concert, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to ask Dash to do it for you.”
“I didn’t ask him to invite you.”
“If you say so.” His cockiness rivals Axsel’s. “How long are you going to play hard to get?”
“I’m not playing hard to get.”
“Then why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?”
He puts a hand on my lower back as we follow the others outside. Cold air stings my cheeks, but my body is warm from his proximity. “I don’t text people I haven’t given my number to.” It turns out that talking about his texts is as nerve-racking as fighting the urge to respond to them.
“I got your number from Dash, who got it from Amber,” Clay says. “That has to count for something.”
“It does. Bad judgment on their part.” We wait as Trace and Brindle climb into the limo, and all I can think about is how I’ll probably spontaneously combust if I have to sit close to Clay. After Brindle climbs in, I snag my window of opportunity to get away from him. “I’ll get in next,” I call out, rushing forward to slip inside the limo before Morgyn. I feel bad for being rude, but my sanity is on the line. I breathe a sigh of relief as I settle in beside Brindle, pleased with my strategic move to sit between her and Morgyn.
“Clay, you can go next,” Morgyn offers.
Are you freaking kidding me? Is this some kind of conspiracy to make me as uncomfortable as possible?
Clay flashes those disarming dimples as his big body lands beside me, and he claps a hand on my leg, giving it a squeeze as the others pile into the limo. “Of all the limos in all the towns in all the world, she’s sitting in mine. It must be fate.”
As if trying to ignore my quickening pulse isn’t hard enough, the heat of his hand sears through my jeans, and I like his quick wit so much, I’m smiling like a teen with a crush. What’s worse is that I can’t seem to stop . It’s so infuriating, an incredulous laugh slips out. “Does that kind of pickup line ever work for you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually have to speak to pick up a woman.”
And there it is. The perspective I need to keep my distance from Mr. Perfect. I lift his hand off my leg, meeting his gaze as I place it on his leg.
Big mistake.
His blue eyes are no longer mesmerizing.
They’re challenging .
Seductive.
Dangerously alluring in a way that would appeal to rebellious souls like Sable and Brindle, not to a rational woman like me.
Only they do.
My skin goes hot, my heart races, and suddenly I understand what Sable and Brindle have been claiming forever—that there are certain types of chemistry that are so all-consuming, they seep into your pores and saturate the very air you breathe. Inescapable.
That’s when I realize I’m wholly and completely screwed.