Staking Her Claim...: Book 1 in the Patricks' Brothers series (15 page)

Opening my web browser, typing in ‘jjshouse.com’, Harper’s favorite evening dress retailer, I start scrolling through my options before landing one that will be perfect for the event, Max and I are planning to attend.

Dark gray in color, made out of what looks to be a thin tulle overlay lined with satin, it’s simple yet elegant. The wide V-neck doesn’t drape low enough for the girls to escape but shows just the right amount of skin at my collarbones and where the capped sleeves begin at the tips of my shoulders. In my mind, I can picture pairing it with the elaborately embellished, four-and-a-half-inch, gladiator heels I bought last month on a whim. Where the sleeves made entirely of silver sequins are the only adornment on the dress, the way the fabric gathers, crisscrossing over the bust section is enough to catapult this find from, ‘it’ll do’ to, ‘I’ve got to have this baby.' 

But the best part about it, it’s only just over two hundred dollars. And that’s including shipping ladies. Don’t you wish you’d taken my advice and tried online shopping earlier now? But don’t despair, it’s never too late to start.

While I’m still logged on, I tap out a quick email to, Brookes detailing what I’ll need him to pick up from my apartment to see me through the next few days. Not sure at this stage how long this case will take to crack, I make sure I include plenty of items that should have him feeling a might uncomfortable as he rifles under my bathroom sink to retrieve them. Because let’s face it, no brother wants to wade through their sister’s feminine hygiene products to locate maxi pads if they don’t absolutely have to.

I don’t have a shred of sympathy for deceiving him. This is his karma for roping me into this mess by using my guilt about possible harm coming to my best friend. The fact I don’t currently have my monthly re-creation of a shark attack, and I’m not due to get it for another three weeks is neither here nor there. Brookes should know by now that manipulating me will yield these kinds of results. He’s done it enough and reaped the consequences since the time I was old enough to come up with elaborate plans of retribution after all.

Sighing, I sink back into the luxurious cushions and consider taking a nap. I won’t, but I can’t say that the thought isn’t appealing. Between pulling Rob’s ass out of the fire, getting shot, being on a forced break from work under the guise of recovering, dealing with my hovering Mom, and a few cases which have seen my putting in masses of overtime in the last month, I’m wiped. I can’t remember the last time I got more than five hours of sleep in a row, and I’d like nothing more than to say hello to a comfortable mattress, spending some quality time testing it out for at least a week.

The best I can hope for at the moment is a few minutes’ worth of power napping, and a hot shower at the end of the day. But I’m not fussy. If that’s as good as I’m gonna get, I’ll take it.

I’ve been here most of the afternoon and I’ve gotten fuck all done. Alysia’s presence isn’t just a distraction I don’t need while operating power tools, but it’s damn near maddening.

The desire to touch her, caress her smooth skin, inhale her scent, and feast on her perfect mouth is overwhelming. I want to hold her, feel the softness of her breasts pressed against my chest as I run my hands over every inch of her. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt the desperate craving for her heat my blood to boiling point. It won’t be the last either.

Every time, Alysia walks into a room I’m hard and aching for her. My erection has a mind of its own when it comes to her, and if I don’t know better, I’d think she had it on a leash ready to do her bidding at a moment’s notice. Not that I couldn’t get down with that plan because I could. But I want more from her than a night in my bed.

If I acted on the crazy chemistry we have between us, and on the off chance she agreed to sleep with me, I’m positive her reaction afterward would be one of regret. And that’s something I don’t ever want her to feel about us coming together like that. I couldn’t handle it if, Alysia felt remorse over trusting her body to my care. It would fucking devastate me if she left my bed telling me what we’d done was nothing more than a mistake. So, I wait. I wait until I can get her alone long enough to have the conversation we should have had the day we returned to, Dallas. I’ll wait until she’s ready to accept my apology. And I’ll wait even longer for her to forgive me before I take the next step with her.

Simply put; I want everything with this woman. The house with the white picket fence, the dog, my rings on her finger, and a signed piece of paper that binds her to me permanently. I don’t only want two kids either. I want more.

Coming up in the system, I knew at a very young age that if I were ever lucky enough to have a family of my own, I’d want at least four kids. Meeting the Patricks’ only solidified that idea. But back then, I believed I was too fucking damaged for that dream to become my reality. It was a beautiful dream, however.

The only idealized aspect of people’s vision of domestic bliss I’m dead set against is the minivan. There is no way in hell I’d waste my hard earned cash on a boat with wheels if I have any say in the matter. I can’t envision Alysia driving a glorified shoe box on wheels either. Give me a 4WD or SUV, and we’re all good. Fuck, I’ll take a station wagon over a minivan and do cartwheels for the privilege. Overreaction? Possibly. Sue me, but I can’t get past the fact it creeps me out there are vehicles available that could potentially double as a home for a small family at the same time as transporting a dead body or two. That shit’s just not right.

Don’t ask me where my severe distrust of a seemingly harmless inanimate object came from, because I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it was due to seeing endless commercials when I was younger that advertised disgustingly happy families packing up their minivan, smiling at each other like their world was now complete because they had a car with a side door that rolls open instead of a door on hinges. Anyone with eyes could see those commercials were total bullshit. They were designed to lure poor, unsuspecting victims into buying an ego crushing, emasculating piece of shit that will have them ridiculed by all of their friends.

Or maybe my abhorrence evolved simply because anything that looks like a Barbie campervan cannot be trusted. Who knows? I think we’ll have to accept we might never know and move on, because spending this much time contemplating the merits of minivans can’t be healthy.

Cleaning up my tools, gathering the packaging materials I haphazardly ripped open and strewn across the floor, I wipe my sweaty palms off on the front of my jeans. Making my way inside, everything comes to a screaming halt when I catch sight of, Alysia. She’d made herself scarce for the last hour of the installation, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been wondering if she’d gone to take a bath or a shower. Just the thought of her naked and wet, her small hands running soap over every inch of her body, water streaming over her lush curves had me hard all over again.

But now that I knew she’d showered, changing into skin tight jeans and a tank top that should be outlawed in at least fifty states, my thoughts turned downright indecent.

Images of her taking my cock into her mouth, sucking just the head first before she slowly made her way down my shaft, paying it the same amount of attention as she would my balls she’s tugging and rolling gently with her free hand, consumed me. Would she like her hair pulled or me to guide her mouth up and down as she fucked me with her mouth to orgasm? Does she like a man who’s gentle, reverent in worshiping her beautiful body? Or does she want a man to own her completely? A man who’s not afraid to spank her perfect heart shaped ass. A man who’s experienced enough to tip her over the edge of oblivion, multiple times, with his mouth, tongue, teeth, and fingers before he fucks her into the mattress.

Taking in the woman standing before me, I can’t hide my obvious reaction to her if I tried. Not sparing me a glance, continuing to flip through a magazine, Alysia asks,

“You all done already?”

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I pray for patience with an extra serving of self-control for good measure.

“Yeah.” Great. She’s rendered me practically speechless now too. That’s just what I need, to look like an even bigger idiot in her eyes because I can’t form a coherent sentence.

Furrowing her brow, she blinks up at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

“So, you’re heading out then?”

I’m not sure if that’s a hint of sadness I detect in her voice or if it’s wishful thinking on my part. Aware that Peter took, Max to the office so he could get some paperwork he’d need for the next day or so, I figure that make this the perfect opportunity for us to have a little chat. Alone. No interruptions. No pain in the ass brothers. No distractions other that Alysia herself.

“Before I go, have you got a minute?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral and my face blank.

“Sure,” she murmurs, waving me into the kitchen. “I was just going to make myself a coffee, did you want anything?”

Shaking my head, no, I take a seat on one of the industrial, art deco stools at the counter. Max might not be my kind of guy, but I’ll give him this; the man has exceptional taste.

His kitchen quite honestly is any chefs or amateur cooks wet dream. Even me, a guy who can’t cook to save himself wouldn’t mind spending most of my time in a kitchen like this. Polished concrete bench tops, stainless steel appliances, including a double door sub-zero refrigerator, and industrial sink have been paired with, timber framed cabinet doors. Doors which are inlaid with what appears to be artificially weathered, sheet metal roofing. The layout is clean, the design functional, and the countertops free of the usual clutter of spice racks and cookbooks. The only thing out is a weird looking, red knife block that resembles a voodoo doll with seven blades impaling it at random intervals.

Watching Alysia from the corner of my eye while trying to make it look like I’m not, I give her enough time to grab her mug before I crook my finger, signaling her to join me. She doesn’t sit beside me, instead taking up residence directly across the counter from me.

Resting her elbows and forearms on the surface in front of her, Alysia cradles her mug between her cupped palms, inhaling deeply.

“What did you need to talk to me about? If it’s about, Peter again, do you mind if I take a rain check? I’m going to have to spend enough time with him as it is, I don’t want to spend the time he’s not around filling it with talking about him.”

“I can assure you, Sweetness, what I need to talk to you about has nothing to do with that asshole,” I growl, giving her clear warning that hearing his name slip from her beautiful, pink lips isn’t appreciated.

Alysia runs a hand through her quickly drying hair, fingering out the mass of knots that’s developed.

“Right. So if it isn’t that, what is it?” Huffing, she adds, “I shouldn’t even be standing the same room as you right now, let alone talking to you after the shit you pulled a while back. You know that, right? I’m still pissed as hell at you for that shit you pulled in the conference room my first day back.”

“I get that,” I confirm. “It wasn’t my place to say anything, but you’ve gotta see it from my side, Sweetness. I saw a man shoot you not even three weeks earlier. Do you have any idea what it felt like for me to have to watch you fall to the floor, limp, lifeless, your skin white as a ghost, and not be able to do a damn fucking thing to help you? I can tell you, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. And it’s one I’d prefer not to feel ever again.”

“That has nothing to do with you verbally attacking me in our place of business, Rob. Nothing,” she snaps. “And, yes to answer your previous question. I do know what it’s like to watch someone you care for get injured and be powerless to do anything to help. I didn’t spend eight years in the Army without seeing my fair share of GSW’s, some of them were my own men for Christ’s sake. So I know how it feels, I’ve been there.”

“Shit,” I hiss. “I didn’t mean it like that, Alysia. I’ve got a good idea of the shit you and your brothers saw over there after talking to them a few times, and I know it was intense, but that’s not what I was getting at.”

“Well, what do you mean then. Spell it out for me, Rob, because I’m at a loss here.”

Bracing myself for her to turn and walk out on me, I gather every ounce of courage I’ve got before answering her.

“All I meant was, you seeing your men injured in the line of duty is entirely different to me watching the only woman I’ve ever cared about almost bleed out on the floor in front of my own two eyes.”

Meeting her astonished gaze, I scan the depths of her eyes for a flicker of realization as to where I’m headed with this. But all I get is a hint of curiosity, mixed with a generous amount of confusion.

I scratch my head, feeling itchy and uncomfortable in my own skin all of a sudden before forging on.

“Brookes and I spoke for a bit after you left this morning. For weeks, I’ve agonized about how I’d broach this conversation with you, especially seeing as I don’t talk about this shit, ever. I wish I’d known earlier what I do now because it would have made it a hell of a lot easier for me to approach you if I knew that you already know the basics.”

“You’ve lost me. What is it I apparently know, Rob?”

Throwing caution to the wind, I say, ‘fuck it.' It’s passed time we get everything out in the open. No more hiding. No more excuses.

“Specifically?” I ask, cocking my eyebrow, daring her to play coy about something this important. “I’m talking about what you know about the couple I lived with when I came to live in, Lancaster.”