The Stone Brothers: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 8

  I turn to Kyle. “So, what do you do, Kyle? Do you work for your brother as well?”

  “This tool? Hell no. You won’t catch me working for that tight ass with all his rules. I’m a med student at NYU.”

  “Is that so?” I glance over at Mr. High-and-Mighty. If he’s not going to speak, why not see if I can rile him up a bit? “That sounds really interesting. So if I hooked up with a random guy and am now experiencing some kind of itchy rash, you’d be able to help me out with that?”

  Vein. Throbbing. Harder.

  Kyle laughs, his eyes quickly bouncing off Ethan’s. “I’d have to see it first. But yeah, I could most definitely help you out.”

  I like him already. He’s a smart ass like me. Nothing like his older brother. While Ethan dons his usual dress shirt, tie and linen pants, Kyle wears jeans and a t-shirt; one that’s just snug enough to show off his muscles without seeming too self-absorbed.

  Levi fits somewhere in between with a collared polo shirt and slacks. Also a handsome guy by anyone’s standards, but unfortunately for him, he fades into the background next to the Stone brothers.

  “We’ll have waters, Charlie,” Ethan says, pulling my attention from his tablemates.

  “I’m on it.” I raise my eyebrows at Kyle and Levi. “Lemon for you two, or is that a sacrilege?”

  They don’t even try to hide their amusement. “However you bring them is fine with us,” Levi offers and Kyle agrees.

  I turn around and head towards the drink station when strong arms pull me into the adjacent hallway. Ethan cages me in with his hands on either side of my head. My heart races being so close to him. I wipe a sweaty palm on my apron as I look up into his dark-as-night eyes.

  He takes in a deep breath as if he’s inhaling my scent. As if he’s inhaling me. My skin breaks out in goosebumps.

  “What . . . Happened . . . Charlie?” Each word comes out as a sentence punctuated by a blink of his eyes between the very deliberate syllables.

  Despite blood rushing through my ears, throbbing so loudly it drowns out the sounds of the restaurant, I shrug, answering him calmly. “Some jackass tried to mug me the other day. Don’t worry, he got more than he gave.”

  I concentrate on the pulsating vein at his temple, aware of how either our proximity or his anger has sped up the frequency of his heartbeat.

  In my periphery, I see his hands come off the wall. I can feel the heat of them close to my arms, but I sense his hesitation. He wants to touch me. Protect me. Maybe he even wants to claim me.

  But he doesn’t.

  And for the first time in my life, I want all those things. The realization pins me to the wall and I’m suddenly scared shitless.

  Almost as if we can read each other’s thoughts, he takes a step back and studies me. The air between us is thick with want and desire. Maybe even need.

  I’ve needed men before. To provide for me. But I’ve never needed a man before. Not on the visceral level that is tugging on my insides right now. Not in the sense that I feel as if we were meant to cross paths. Not in the sense that has me believing that maybe my mother’s death purposefully brought me to him.

  Then again, that would make her death meaningful. There was nothing meaningful about that woman, except that I suppose she provided entertainment to millions and lined the pockets of thousands with her talent that simply wasted away because of her determination to stay wasted.

  “I’ll teach you how to shoot,” he says. “A single woman in the city should know how to protect herself.”

  I’m reminded of the gun that was strapped to his calf when we had sex. I feel a wave of heat run up and down my spine thinking of it. I quickly swallow my emotions. “What makes you think I can’t protect myself?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the information I gave you the other day, does it?”

  “What? No.” I scratch my head, then, realizing what I’ve done, I immediately put my hand to my side. Piper always says that’s my tell. If he knew me better, he’d know it, too.

  He eyes me skeptically.

  “Ask Piper Mitchell if you don’t believe I can take care of myself. We both took self-defense classes over in London.”

  “Good. That’s good,” he says, slowly backing away from me. “We’ll take those drinks now.” He turns to leave, hesitating as if he has something else on his mind. “Random guy?” he asks quietly over his shoulder.

  “Just seeing if you were paying attention, Stone.”

  “I’m always paying attention, Tate.”

  I smile at what seems to have become our exchange of endearments.

  “So, no itchy rash?” he asks.

  “Not unless you gave it to me,” I say.

  Even as he walks away, I can see his triumphant smile.

  I pour a cold glass of water but don’t put it on my tray. I down it myself, drowning the fire that man set in my belly simply from his close proximity.

  The rest of his lunch is spent with me making only quick visits to their table.

  I make small talk with Kyle and Levi when I bring their food and the check. Each pass by the table, I sense Ethan’s growing frustration over the fact I’m all but ignoring him. But he’s too distracting. The way his eyes follow me around. The way I can feel his heated stare. The way my body reacts to him.

  It’s been one of the longest damn hours of my life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Devon Totman. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Endlessly-Cocky. The man does not take no for an answer. He sees me enter the gym and proceeds to follow me through the workout area. I make idle conversation with him, not wanting to piss off gym patrons since I’m here for free, but not wanting to lead him on at the same time.

  As I reach the ladies locker room, he asks, “How about I join you for your swim?”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “Mrs. Buttermaker is my swimming partner and I really don’t want to offend her by replacing her.”

  “That old bat? She can barely doggie paddle from one end of the pool to the other.”

  “Yes. Well, that old bat is just about the nicest lady I’ve ever met. You’ll do well not to piss her off or speak badly of her around me.”

  He holds up his hands in surrender, looking confused as I duck into the locker room without another word.

  When I enter the aquatics area, I see Ethan helping Mrs. B out of the pool. I could swear I see her blush through her thin, wrinkled skin. She laughs, touching his arm as they have a conversation I’m too far away to hear.

  She’s flirting with him. And from the looks of it, he’s flirting back.

  She passes me by on her way out and it’s obvious she’s not sticking around for my swim. “That one’s sweet as sugar, he is.”

  “If you say so, Mrs. Buttermaker. Did you have a nice swim? I’m sorry I’m late. My shift ran over tonight.”

  “Not a problem, dear. That yummy Mr. Stone kept me company. If I was forty years younger . . .” She giggles like a school girl.

  I laugh. “I’m not sure Mr. Buttermaker would appreciate that.”

  “Oh, that old biddy wouldn’t know the difference. Since the day he retired twenty years ago, he only makes love to his Lazyboy recliner.”

  “Mrs. B!”

  “I’m old, dear. Not dead.” She winks at me, slipping on her yellow flowered flip-flops before walking away.

  I put my towel down and make my way over to my usual swimming lane.

  Ethan watches me. Of course he does. I swapped out my one-piece swimsuit with a sturdy yet sexy bikini.

  “Mrs. B likes you,” I say.

  His eyes rise from their survey of my body. But it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before—splayed all over his desk in fact. “Rule number five—be nice to little old ladies.”

  “I like that one.” I give him a smile before diving in, hoping my bottoms stay on when I hit the water.

  I swim for twenty minutes, the entire time acutely aware of Ethan’s eyes on me from where he’s perche
d on the side of the pool.

  Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, or maybe because I’m simply too breathless to continue my swim under his heated perusal, I stop at the end of a lap and ask, “Something wrong with your legs? You forget how to swim or something?”

  “I finished earlier,” he says, sinking back into the pool and darting under the lane dividers separating us. He pops up before me, dripping wet and looking even sexier than he did at lunch when he had me caged to the wall.

  “And yet you’re still here.”

  Half of his face turns upward into a devious smile. “So I am.”

  Despite the warm water of the pool, my skin prickles as if a cool breeze is flowing over me when he inches closer.

  “What did Devon want?” he asks, nodding to the clear glass separating the pool from the rest of the gym. I wasn’t aware he was watching that exchange. I’m not sure if I should be mad or flattered.

  “What does he always want?”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” His fist hits the water.

  “I told you, Ethan, I can take care of myself.”

  “So you’ve said.” His hand comes up to trace the faint outline of my fading bruise, more visible now that I have no makeup on. Feeling his light touch caress my face, a ball of need bursts to life in the pit of my stomach.

  He frowns, studying my face. “Where were you when it happened?”

  I try to remember what I told the girls. Did I give them details? “Uh, I couldn’t sleep, so I went out and did some window shopping. It was stupid, I know. But like I told you before, I’m fine. Believe me, the guy looks much worse than I do.”

  Not wanting him to prod anymore, I ask, “What’s your issue with Devon? And what does it matter to you who I date?”

  Instead of an answer, he splashes water on me like an adolescent.

  “Oh, you did not just do that, Stone.”

  “What are you going to do about it, Tate?”

  “Nothing, you toddler.” I climb out of the pool and then I turn around to face him, launching myself over him, doing a perfect cannonball in front of him, splashing him square in the face.

  “Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” he says, shaking the water out of his hair.

  I swim away from him, but he reaches me quickly under the water, jerking me back to him by my feet.

  I come up for air. “Ouch!” I scream.

  “Shit, Charlie. I’m sorry.” Guilt overtakes his features as he releases his grip on me.

  I smile and swim around to his back, jumping on it and dunking him under. He tries to buck me off, but I wrap my strong swimmer’s legs around his torso and drape my arms around his neck.

  He drags us both under water, twisting and turning in an attempt to dislodge me. I hold on for dear life, not budging an inch. He shoots us up out of the water and shakes his head from side to side, whipping his hair around. That’s when I catch a glimpse of it.

  His hair falls back against his neck and before he can swat my hand away, I push his wet locks aside and get a clear look at the tattoo at the base of his skull.

  ~CAT~

  I let go of him instantly and climb out of the pool. Looking down on him, I remember the comment Levi said earlier about him stalking me. With accusatory hands on my hips, I ask, “Why the hell do you have my initials tattooed on your neck?”

  He goes pale. “Your initials are C.A.T.?”

  I shake my head at him in diffidence. “Like you didn’t know that, Mr. Private Investigator.”

  “Charlie, I’m not investigating you. How would I know that?”

  “Then how . . . why?”

  He swims away, treading water more than a dozen feet from me, as if he physically needs the distance between us. “They aren’t your initials.” The words come out of his mouth, but it’s almost like they aren’t his words at all. They aren’t the words of the strong, vibrant man I’ve come to know. They are more like the words of a broken one.

  The resolve on his face tells me his declaration is true. And for one brief second, before I feel the wave of relief, I’m almost sad he hasn’t branded part of me into his flesh. “Oh? Well, whose are they?” I ask boldly.

  He looks forlorn at my question, but quickly recovers. “Rule number six—don’t play your hand too soon.”

  “So, there’s a hand?” I ask. “Some deep, dark secret about Ethan Stone?”

  He ignores the question. “So what does the ‘A’ stand for?”

  “Huh?”

  “In your initials, what’s the ‘A’?”

  “Anthony. As in my mom’s last name,” I tell him as I sit down on the edge of the pool.

  “Charlie Anthony Tate,” he recites my name and I find myself wanting him to chant it over and over again.

  He swims closer, narrowing the space he’d put between us. “So you seemed very interested in my brother the other day.”

  I bite my cheek suppressing a smile. The formidable Stone has a jealous streak. “I was just making small talk.”

  “Right. Good for tips,” he says.

  “Something like that. But, now that I think of it, he is rather good looking. And a doctor—impressive.”

  “Med student,” he corrects me. “And some people say we look a lot alike.”

  I giggle at his boyish remark.

  “And he’s named after a porn star,” he says.

  “Porn star? Really?” I laugh.

  “Yeah. An unfortunate coincidence for him.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “How about you, Charlie Tate? Were you named after the Hurricanes’ football coach?”

  I try to hide my surprise. Most people don’t know who Charlie Tate was. He played football for a few years. He coached for a few years. But it’s not like he was Peyton Manning or Bear Bryant or anything. For the first time in a long time, I think of my dad and how he loved football. How he would teach me what things like ‘nickelback’ and ‘red zone’ and ‘safety’ meant when we would watch games together. Football Saturdays are the only good memories I have left of the pathetic man who was my father.

  I shrug. “My dad kind of had a thing for football.”

  “Sounds like he and I would get along then.”

  I ignore his statement completely. “So Kyle said he’s your youngest brother? There are more?”

  “Just one. Chad. He falls in the middle.”

  “Sisters?” I ask.

  “Nope, just the three of us.” He swims up directly in front of me. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my family?”

  I slide my bottom down the edge, easing myself back into the pool. “You’re the one who brought Kyle to the restaurant.”

  “For lunch. I am allowed to eat lunch with my brother, am I not?”

  “Sure. It’s just that you seem to frequent Mitchell’s an awful lot these days.”

  “Well, yeah,” he says. “They do have the best Reubens in New York City.”

  “They’ve always had the best Reubens.” I raise my eyebrows. “But it’s been brought to my attention that you’ve only been coming there for a few weeks. Why is that, Stone?”

  His arms come up on either side of me, holding me prisoner against the side of the pool. “If you don’t know that, you’re not as bright as I thought you were, Tate.”

  Butterflies dance across my stomach. “I thought you couldn’t get involved with me,” I say, trying to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

  “That doesn’t mean I want you getting involved with anyone else.”

  His chocolate eyes burn into me. He picks up a wet chunk of my hair, working it between his fingers. I realize hair doesn’t have nerve endings, but I swear his touch sends impulses through every synapse in my body.

  “You can’t have it both ways, you know.” My chest heaves between words. Our close proximity has my pulse beating so hard I’m sure it must be echoing off the walls of the massive aquatics room.

  Nobody else has come in to swim laps. It’s late. Most of the gym patrons have gon
e home. A few stragglers remain in the fitness area, but they would be hard pressed to see us in the far corner of the pool.

  I reach out and place my hand flat against his chest, right over his other tattoo. His heartbeat is in sync with the fast pace of mine, pounding heavily against his chest wall. Boldly, I run my hand down over his taut abs as his breath comes faster. He puts his hand over mine, halting my progress. I look into his eyes, clearly seeing the battle raging in his head.

  I lean forward, letting my soft words flow over his ear. “What’s it gonna be, Stone?”

  Suddenly, his arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against his body so I can feel what our closeness is doing to him. One of his hands comes up and grabs the nape of my neck, and as he leans down, his heavy whisper resonates all the way through my body. “Fuck the rules.”

  His mouth comes crashing down on mine before my lips have time to break into a victorious smile. His hands are everywhere all at once, worshiping my thighs, my hips, my shoulders, as if he’s a man deprived.

  His large frame covers me, shielding me from prying eyes should anyone wander into the pool room.

  He supports me against the wall, giving himself leverage while his lips lick pool water from my neck. He lifts me slightly out of the water with one hand, exposing my bikini-covered breasts as his pupils dilate and his eyes grow as hungry as his hands.

  Slowly, his mouth works down my collarbone, across my shoulder, finally finding my breast as he pulls the fabric aside with his fingers to give access to his tongue.

  Pulses of feeling bolt straight to my center as he sucks, swirls, and flicks my breasts in a way I’ve never experienced before. He blows air across my chest, puckering my nipples even further.

  With one hand around his neck, supporting myself out of the water, I take my other hand and work it beneath his swim trunks, feeling him swell thicker at my touch.

  His groans bounce off the walls, the sultry noises feeding my greedy desire to have him inside of me again.