Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
brOOKS
She has a pastry in her hand and another big mug of hot chocolate.
And she’s smiling at something Chrissy’s friend, Rory, is saying.
Rory showed up about ten minutes after we came out of the bedroom to knowing looks and smug smiles.
Thank God I paid all that money for soundproofing.
They still knew what we were doing down the hall.
They just couldn’t hear it.
Worth it, even if they could.
I can still feel the slick evidence of her desire on my fingers, the clench of her muscles, can still taste her on my tongue and hear her moans and—
“She’s not going to disappear, man.”
I blink and turn toward Jace, mind shifting from the bedroom to the threat against her. “You sure about that?”
He winces. “Right. That was a shitty joke.”
“Not on you,” I say quietly.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jean-Michel says as he leans back against the counter, and I’d bristle at the way his eyes are locked onto Briar…if it wasn’t the same exact way he looks at Chrissy.
And Marie.
And Rory, who showed up with her hockey-playing husband, his arms laden with bags.
All of which turned out to be filled with clothes and toiletries and shoes.
“Thanks for arranging for the clothes.”
Briar’s still wearing the uniform from the fundraiser, and even though I’d love to take her on a Pretty Woman-esque shopping spree, that wouldn’t be smart.
Not until we know more.
Not until the threat against her is gone.
So though part of me fucking hates that someone else took care of her before I could, the rest of me is glad.
“I’ll reimburse you.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t accept it, for one. For another, it was Chrissy and the others. I had no part of it.”
“A donation to her charity then.”
Those blue eyes come to mine. “I heard you gave a big one at the event.” Amusement begins to trickle into his expression. “Though we do have a litter of kittens that need—”
“No.” I put my hands up. “Absolutely not.”
That mischief grows as he calls, “Buttercup?”
My brows fly up at the non sequitur. Then further when Tiff turns toward him with a shy smile. “Yeah, honey?”
Buttercup.
Huh.
“Brooks has good news.”
Her eyebrows drag together in confusion.
As do mine.
Mostly because I’m still stuck on the billionaire shouting endearments across the room as easily as he discusses security measures and business deals.
“What’s that?” she asks, gaze flicking to mine.
“He and Briar are going to be foster parents.”
Briar jerks, hot chocolate sloshing over the rim of the mug in her hand. She hurriedly sets it down, starts mopping up the mess, but her eyes are on mine.
And they are clearly saying, What the actual fuck?
And all I can silently communicate back is, I have no fucking idea what this man is talking about.
Which is fine—because we don’t have long to wait for an explanation.
Rory squeals and hops to her feet. “Dogs or cats?”
“Cats,” Chrissy says. “We just got a new litter in this morning.”
Rory narrows her eyes at her best friend. “My foster system is nearly full.”
“And mine is overflowing.” Chrissy plunks her hands on her hips. “It’s kitten season.”
Marie leans back in her chair and sighs, not getting involved, just watching the standoff.
Likely this is far from the first (and the last) she’s seen.
Tiff, meanwhile, is eyeing the friends with concern, and a glimpse of her nanny skills come out as she tries to negotiate a solution. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for Brooks and Briar to take on—”
“Cats would be preferred.”
All eyes go to Pascal, where he seems to have emerged from thin air to stand by the couch.
Last thing I knew, he was checking the sensors near the windows.
The man moves like a shadow.
Thank fuck he’s on our side.
The women look at him and he shrugs. “Dogs need walks and to use the bathroom. The cats and Briar can hang out in here, where she’ll be safe.”
A blip of silence.
“Or maybe they don’t need the stress of taking care of animals when they’ve already got a lot on their plates?” Marie points out.
“Fine,” Rory grumbles, completely ignoring Marie as she looks over at Chrissy. “You win.”
Chrissy grins.
“But I get first dibs during puppy season.”
“Deal.”
They shake hands and I drag my bewildered gaze from the deal that’s just taken place over to Jean-Michel. “What just happened?”
Jace is the one who answers. “You just signed up to be a zoo, my friend.”
“Say again?”
“It’s better just to accept your fate now.” Rome claps my shoulder, King nodding in agreement behind him.
“Remember how we were”—he does finger quotes—“just watching a dog for a few days?”
That dog now has a bed with its name embroidered on the front in several rooms of Jace’s house.
“You told me that you decided to keep Gus.”
“We did”—he winks at Marie when she glances over her shoulder and smiles at him—“but want to guess who brought us Gus to”—finger quotes again—“watch?”
I groan. “I seriously think this is the worst time to be taking on an animal—or animals.”
“Cats don’t need much.” He lightly punches my shoulder. “And it might be good for her to have something to do that isn’t…”
Thinking about the danger.
About the last five years.
About me walking away.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But if something happens to the cats…” To her…
Jean-Michel shakes his head. “We suspect we know who’s involved, and what we know is that the Lyons aren’t particularly violent,” he says.
“Pain in the asses, yeah, and they’re not above a kidnap and ransom, certainly.
But they mostly hit us through our businesses, and they’ve never messed with the charities”—something pings in my mind at that statement, but he keeps talking and it slips from my thoughts just as quickly—“instead they’ll hit you in other ways. ”
My temple throbs in protest to his words.
But I know that wasn’t Briar’s mission.
I know she wasn’t trying to hurt me, not really. It was rage and anger and fear all coming together…and exploding.
Still, “Say that again when my woman isn’t flinching when I go to touch her.”
His eyes turn to ice. “What happened?”
“I don’t know it all yet,” I admit. “It’s going to take time for her to trust me enough to open up.”
“Seems like she trusted you plenty a few minutes ago,” Jace says dryly.
“Don’t make me punch you, asshole.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
King glances at Rome. “I thought us hockey players were supposed to be the violent ones.”
He’s looking down at his phone. “I’m too busy making a list of supplies Brooks needs for his house to talk shit.”
I groan.
King jerks his chin toward the balcony. “We’re definitely putting the cat tower there, right?”
I groan again, but even as I do that, I see Chrissy pointing her phone in Briar’s direction. Her face melts at whatever is on the screen (though I guess I know exactly what Chrissy is showing her).
Which means I’m sunk.
My apartment is about to turn into a menagerie.
But I find I don’t really care.
Because if it means she keeps smiling like that, I’ll fill this fucking place with kittens.
Because if Briar stays long enough for me to make her safe, to let me love her again…
I’d give her the world.