Broken (Brody Brothers Book 4) Page 13

  “Hell, no, you’re not. You’re an original, and I’m smart enough to know and respect that. And to answer your question, what I’m trying to do is get a little honesty out of you, but it’s like pulling fucking teeth. Easy,” he added when he realized she was shaking so hard it was a wonder she hadn’t fallen to the floor. “Look at me, Winsome. I need you to know something about me, and I need you to look at me so you can see I’m telling you the truth.”

  “What?” She was trying—and failing—at calming her breathing, and the eyes that flashed to his were filled with equal parts fury and fear. “What is it that you want from me?”

  “Want from you? Not a damn thing. It’s what I want to give you that’s important now, and what I want to give you is a promise.” Very gently, he lowered his head to brush her unresponsive mouth with his. “I promise you now that I’ll never hurt you. I’d cut off my fucking hands before I’d ever raise them to you. And I’d do the same goddamn thing to my cock before I’d ever hurt you with that, either. I’m not your father.”

  Her flinch was full-on this time, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t. Don’t talk about him. Just… don’t.”

  Goddamn motherfucker. “He’s dead, baby, but he’s not gone from you. But he will be one day,” he added, ignoring her stiffness to lower his brow to rest against hers. “I’m going to make a point of holding you like this every single day from now on, just so you can get used to me and see that you’ve got nothing to fear. And someday, whether it’s a week from now or month, or even a year, I’m going to look into those amazing eyes of yours and see nothing but you, wanting to be fucked by me. That’s when I’ll know that fucker’s poison has been purged from you once and for all.” Then, before she could tell him to go fuck himself, he captured her mouth once more, this time kissing her deeply. She responded with heartening gusto, her tongue tangling with his, while her arms wrapped around his neck and held on as if she thought the cosmos was going to rip them apart.

  Ha. As if the cosmos could keep him from the crazy ride he went on every time he kissed her. The exhilaration of bull-riding paled in comparison.

  When he broke off at last, he found her watching him with wary eyes.

  “Listen to me, Des,” she said, and the fine thread of pain lacing through her words struck him like a knife in the gut. “I don’t want you believing there’s something wrong with me because you think you recognize parts of yourself when you look at me. I’m not some broken thing you need to fix. If there’s something broken in you, focus on that and heal whatever’s hurting you. I’ll even help if I can. But don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re alike. We’re not.”

  “Baby girl.” Far from offended, he shook his head and slowly let her go. “I do know how different we are. You know what the main difference is? I can talk about my shit. You can’t.”

  “No—”

  “Maybe it’s because I had all my brothers with me, going through the same shit that I was going through—at least for the most part. You didn’t have anyone. Makes me think you don’t know how to open up about whatever god-awful hell you’ve got locked down tight inside you. But that’s okay. I’m going to teach you how to talk. Then I’m going to teach you how to like being held. And then I’m going to teach you how to fuck like a goddess. But first…”

  Her breath came to a squeaky halt. “But first?”

  “First you settle into this room here, get comfortable, and know you’re safe.” He nodded to the open door next to her, the same room he’d occupied as a child. Now it looked like an elite, five-star hotel room with all the amenities, and none of the terror. “We’ll have a nice, relaxing dinner later on tonight at my place. And then… who knows?” With a confident grin, he kissed her brow and headed back toward the stairs, his mind laser-locked on all the possibilities.

  Considering what his plans were for Winsome Smiley, getting her right where he’d wanted her had gone far better than expected.

  Chapter Nine

  “Tell me everything,” came Cleo’s voice through the speaker of Winnie’s cellphone, now resting on top of an antique dresser. “Mom and I have only been to Green Rock Ranch once before, for one of those epic blowouts the Brodys are famous for throwing, but I remember every detail like it was yesterday. Does the main house still look like it’s a lighter, swankier version of the Addams family mansion?”

  “Addams family? I’m not getting that vibe at all.” Digging through her suitcase, Winnie snagged up a yellow and peach ombre-colored T-shirt dress that went to mid-thigh, draped it on a hanger, then headed for the room’s closet that was as big as her entire apartment. “If anything, I feel like I’m in some penthouse suite. I wouldn’t be surprised if I get complimentary champagne and a fruit basket delivered from the freaking concierge. The bed is about five feet off the ground, and there’s a bidet in the en suite bathroom, which is filled with towels monogrammed with the Green Rock Ranch logo. I had no idea people lived this way.”

  “I want to come over so bad,” Cleo whined while Winnie continued her march between her suitcase and closet. “Are they allowing you to have visitors?”

  “I’m not in prison, so I don’t see why not. Just call first,” Winnie added hastily, pausing as she pulled out a white sundress with a huge red and purple hibiscus splashed over one side of it. It was a design she hadn’t yet tried out at Cleone’s Closet, but it was her current favorite dress in all the world. “I’m going to spend at least part of my day in the offices downstairs with Des’s sister Dallas, and then I’m having a grilled steak dinner out at his house… wherever that might be. Apparently none of the Brody brothers live in the main house, which is kind of weird. It’s gorgeous.”

  “No matter how gorgeous the house is where you grow up, it’s only natural to want to go out and prove you’re capable of making your own way in life, I suppose,” came the logical reply. “And God knows the Brody men are more than capable of being successful at anything they do. Have you met any of his brothers yet?”

  “I rode the school bus with Fin Brody as well as Des, Cleo. I’ve known them both for years.”

  “Yeah, but what about the older ones? Ryland and Killian? I’ve never actually even seen Killian Brody in person before. He might just be a myth—y’know, like a unicorn.”

  “His wife would tell you otherwise.” Grabbing up an armful of silky underthings, she moved to the dresser and dumped it all in. Her father would have screamed at such a mess, and for half a heartbeat she thought of tidying it to OCD perfection. At the last second she caught herself and couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t some truth in what Des had said about Able Smiley’s poison still polluting her system. “Let’s not forget why I’m really here, Cleo. The apartment is having ductwork and central air installed. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all, and I can’t believe you expect me to buy that smokescreen.”

  “Smokescreen?”

  “Des manipulated the situation so he could get you exactly where he wanted you, which is where you’re standing right now,” came the patient reply. “Come to think of it, I wonder if any other Smiley besides you has ever made it to the Brody family’s main house.”

  “I have no idea.” Shaking out a shell-pink chiffon tank and jeans shorts with a matching pink chiffon belt, she once again moved to the closet. “I’m not sure if it’s disloyal to the countless generations of Smileys who’ve waged their stoic, Quaker-like resistance against the relentless ambition of the Brodys, but you were right, Cleo. It doesn’t matter what happened between our families in the past. What matters is living in the present while keeping an eye on the future. The only hiccup I can see when it comes to family is letting my grandmother know where I’m staying while my apartment’s getting worked on. It’s entirely possible she’ll keel over in shock.”

  “Yeesh. Maybe you could tell her you’re staying at the Lunar Motel while the reno is happening.”

  “At the Nooner? Ugh,” Winnie shuddered delicately. “I wouldn’t be caught
dead there, and she knows it. Besides, I’ve never been a great liar.”

  “Yeah, you’re too honest for your own good.”

  “Granny was programmed to think the Brodys are the enemy, but they’re not.” The last outfit, the zebra halter top and culottes with cute zebra flats that she’d picked up in San Antonio, got transferred to the closet before she zipped up the empty suitcase and rolled it into an empty closet corner. “She needs to get used to the idea that the Brody family isn’t all bad. Or at the very least, Des isn’t. With the exception of showing up at my father’s funeral with talk of acquiring Smiley Lake—”

  “Totally in bad taste,” her friend put in.

  “Exactly, but other than that off-key moment, Des has shown himself to be anything but a rattlesnake, which is what my granny calls all the Brodys. I just want her to see he’s not like that. He’s so much more.”

  “And her opinion of the man in your life is extremely important,” Cleo said with such decisiveness Winnie could all but see her nodding her head. “I get that.”

  “Cleo.” Grabbing up the phone, Winnie hit the right button and put it to her ear, weirdly paranoid that the whole world would hear her friend. “Des Brody isn’t my man. I don’t have a man. What I have is a… neighbor. Who’s a man.”

  “A neighbor man who’s installing a central air unit worth several thousand dollars in a building he doesn’t own, just so he could get you to come out to the boonies and live with him. Uh-huh, got it.”

  “I’m not living with him, you weirdo,” Winnie hissed, then nearly jumped out of her shoes when a knock sounded on the closed bedroom door. “Gotta go, someone’s at the door.”

  “I want a report on how dinner went after your tell-all meeting with Granny,” Cleo all but yelled before Winnie hastily hung up, tucked her phone into a slash pocket, and snatched up the sketchpad she’d left on the bed.

  “Coming, Dallas,” she called, hurrying to the door. “Sorry, sorry, I just finished unpack—” She stopped on a gasp when she flung open the door and found a strange hulk of a man standing outside in the hallway, a flattish medium-sized cardboard box in hand, with a stack of towels on top. “Hi. You’re not Dallas.”

  “No, but I did marry her, so that should count for something. I’m Killian, or Kill, if you prefer.”

  “Holy crap, the unicorn.”

  He blinked. “Uh, what?”

  “Nothing.” Horrified, she tried to cover with a bright smile. “You heard nothing, honest.” Especially about a mythical beast who had a thing for virgins.

  “Ohh-kay.” Clearly not sure what to make of her, the hulk offered up the box and towels. “Dallas was worried you wouldn’t have enough towels, so she sent these up, along with a delivery that just came for you.”

  “For me?” Baffled, she looked at the box’s label. Sure enough, that was her name on it. “I didn’t even know I was going to be here until an hour ago. How…?”

  “Des is like every Brody who’s ever been born—he thinks ahead. By the way, my wife wanted to know if there’s anything else you might need?”

  “No, there’s nothing, really. This room is perfect.” As Winnie spoke, she took Killian Brody in, from his long ebony hair pulled back at his nape, to his emerald green eyes framed by dark lashes. A vicious-looking scar cut through a dark eyebrow, and he’d pierced that scar with a malachite-studded barbell. He looked rough and invincible, with that conquering air of relentlessness that seemed to be part of the Brody makeup. As she set the box and towels on the neatly made bed, she could easily see this man simply scooping Dallas up and heading for the hills.

  That thought made her glance back at him with keen interest. “So, Killian. Did you really kidnap Dallas?”

  “Holy hell.” With a long-suffering sigh, the oldest Brody brother looked to the ceiling as if praying for strength. “I am never going to live that shit down.”

  That answered that question. “Probably not.”

  “For the record before you get freaked out, I’m not a dangerous man, and I had my reasons. Now,” he went on before she could say anything else. “Do you want me to wait for you while you open up your package? Dallas thought it best if I went ahead and walked you back down to the offices, just in case you were worried about getting lost in this mausoleum.”

  “I’ll head down with you now. I just want to take a quick peek.” Using her sketch pencil, she zipped through the packing tape and opened the lid—

  And slammed it back down.

  From the doorway, Killian raised his brows. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep.” Taking a second or two more, Winnie bent and peeked into the box, letting in just enough light to see, nestled in pink and purple tissue paper, several gorgeous brassieres, many of them brilliantly colored, a few of them in pastels, and all of them drop-dead sexy.

  What in the world…?

  I’ll buy you a dozen neon bras.

  Hastily she counted.

  Twelve.

  How wonderful that Des was a man of his word.

  At the door, Killian cleared his throat. “So…”

  “Sorry. Coming.” She was just about to close the lid once more when she saw the envelope. Plucking it out, she flipped it open and read the printed message.

  Yesterday I noticed you were a C-cup.

  Definitely the perfect size for my hands.

  Des

  “Oh… wow.” She pressed her free hand to her cheek only to find it was volcano-hot. But there was nothing she could do about it. Yesterday, when he’d taken her bra from her, he’d obviously taken note of her size, and without missing a beat ordered her a dozen of the prettiest, most feminine bras she’d ever seen, along with a commercial-sized air-conditioning unit so she wouldn’t die.

  What on earth was a woman supposed to do with a man who made her feel like the center of the universe?

  An image of them together filled her mind, a tangle of naked limbs as she gave herself willingly to him…

  Again Killian cleared his throat. “Sorry to rush things, Winnie, but—”

  “Right.” Startled out of the steamy daydream that made her achy between her thighs, Winnie tucked the card into her pocket, gathered up her sketchpad once more and stepped out into the hallway so Killian could lead her toward the stairs. “Your wife seems very calm, cool and collected,” she managed, trying to act normal when all she could think of was modeling those bras for Des and reveling in his devouring gaze. She had to be losing her mind. “In fact, it’s probably a good thing she’s so chill. Otherwise you would’ve had a real fight on your hands when you snatched her up.”

  “Tell that to my thumb she dislocated.”

  Eek. “Ooh. Ouch.”

  “Only when it rains. Which means it’s been feeling great for the better part of the past year,” he added with a hint of darkness as they descended the stairs to the grand foyer. “By the way, you don’t happen to smoke, do you? We’ve got a moratorium on all open flames, including cigarettes. It’s so damn dry something as small as an errant spark from machinery or a live cigarette butt could set this part of the world on fire.”

  “I’m boring, like that old song—don’t drink, don’t smoke. What I do is draw and sew, and my idea of a wild party is taking my girl posse to the fabric store and buying everything I see. How exciting is that?”

  “You know how to live large.” When she laughed, he glanced over at her as they headed through a large wooden archway and into a modern-looking office space. “So I guess you’re not into farming or ranching over there at the Smiley homestead?”

  “I haven’t lived at the homestead for years. Considering I have a phobia about large animals and I hate getting dirty and sweaty, I was never destined for the farming way of life. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t inherit the property.”

  Killian’s black brows shot up. “You didn’t?”

  “No.” She shook her head as Dallas came into the room, carrying the largest binder Winnie had ever seen. “My father bequeathed the ho
mestead to my grandmother, not me. I’m surprised you don’t know this. Didn’t Des tell you?”

  “I’m still working on the whole communication thing between my husband and my brother,” Dallas announced, dropping her burden with a bang on one of the desks. “To be fair, they’re getting along better than they ever have before. That is to say, they no longer try to kill each other in bare-knuckle fights to the death. I consider this progress.”

  “Des and I have come a long way, Spice, so I’m not going to go out of my way asking him for more,” Killian said flatly, and as far as Winnie saw it he might as well have hung a sign around his neck that read Don’t Push Me. “If he’s got an interest in bridging whatever gap there is between us, he knows where the fuck to find me. I’m more than willing to listen, and my door is always open.”

  “But forget about extending another hand in peace and friendship.” Dallas rolled her eyes and looked at Winnie. “When it comes to these Brody men, it’s like wrestling with the Rock of Gibraltar. They’re too big to handle, they’re so stubborn they’ll never be moved, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to change them. Welcome to my world.”

  “You have my sympathies.” Coming to sit in front of the desk where Dallas had dropped the binder, Winnie opened her sketchpad and gestured with her charcoal pencil. “What’s with the binder?”

  “My never-ending homework.” She gave the binder a dirty look. “Go ahead. Ask me any possible question you could ever have about Black Angus bulls and bloodlines. Go on, ask me. At this point, I’m talking about this crap in my sleep.”

  “That crap is what puts a roof over your head, woman.” Killian’s laughing tone belied the no-nonsense words, and he came around the desk to give her a kiss. “I’ll make a cattlewoman out of you yet.”

  “At least I won’t embarrass you when someone calls and wants detailed information on sperm motility and how many swimmers can be found in each frozen straw of Black Angus bull semen. That’s what we do here,” she added hastily to Winnie. “We’re a Black Angus stud ranch as well as beef cattle ranch. I’m not weird because I’m memorizing the fertility stats of our bulls’ semen.”