Roman-2(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(81)

That makes me laugh, harder than it should, because imp has always been one of those rare, kind souls, the girl who gives her last ten bucks to a homeless person because she can’t not do it.

If she’s cursing her brothers out that can only mean they’re smothering her, something I shouldn’t be surprised at since they’d refused to take her training wheels off till she was eight and took a hammer to the things.

She’s sweet and kind and always there for anyone who needs her, but that woman has a pair of bollocks bigger than her brothers’. Any day of the week.

“Maybe you should give her some space, Grey. The woman is twenty-two years old, not five. If she needs help with something she’ll let you know.”

I say it, but I still have every intention of finding the wanker who’s harassing her and shoving my fist down his throat. Grey doesn’t need to know this, so I keep it to myself and concentrate on my coffee while he broods.

“Maybe…maybe you could get her to talk to you? She’s still got that schoolgirl crush, and…I dunno, maybe if you paid her some attention she’d open up a little,” he mutters, meeting my eyes with a pleading look.

“Whoa. Are you asking me to play on her emotions to ferret out information about her life?”

I already know what he wants to know, but I want to see how far he’s willing to go with this. Plus, I want him to suffer a little for that lecture four years ago. That shite had offended me, even if he’d been spot on about the way I’d looked at imp.

“No. Yes. Look, she already likes you. All I’m saying is spend some time with her and see what happens,” he pleads, giving me a mock pout. “For me?”

Bingo.

“Fine, but I’m not leading her on to get anything out of her. The last thing I want is for imp to get hurt just so you can have what you want,” I warn, hiding a smile beneath my usual scowl.

“Deal. So you ready to spend the next week ‘enjoying’ the wedding games?”

“Jesus. Who decided to take an entire week and turn it into a torture session before you say your vows?” I ask, letting him know exactly how thrilled I am at being subjected to this shit.

I’ve seen the itinerary for the festivities, and I highly doubt I’m going to enjoy treasure hunts and team sports.

“Diane, Lila’s mom. She’s been planning this shindig since my girl got planted in her belly, so it’s not an option. Lila wanted to run off to Vegas but the woman almost had a stroke, so now we’ve just resigned ourselves and let the harridan have at it.”

We talk about the wedding and the convoy it will take to get everyone to the hotel Grey has booked for the two hundred plus guests for the week, and then move on to general things until we hear movement upstairs and the grumble of voices.

Imp is the first one through the door, her arse jiggling seductively behind a pair of Sponge Bob cotton sleep pants. I try not to look too closely at her breasts, because she’s not wearing a bra and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of her big brother and father and get myself beaten to death.

“Hey, scamp, you still a bear in the morning?”

“Shut up, asshole. Let me drink my coffee. I can’t believe you ate breakfast without us, you animals.”

She proceeds to decimate a full breakfast and a chocolate muffin, not even half ashamed that she’s eaten the same amount as a fully grown man.

I like that. A lot.

When she licks a crumb from the cupid’s bow above her lip, her tongue slicking the pink crease, I smile and start putting my plans in place. Two days I give her, and then, ready or not, I’m taking what I want.





Chapter Six


Becky

I don’t know what the heck is going on right now, but something is, and it’s making me feel more than a little uncomfortable. Well, okay, not uncomfortable but very much confused…and suspicious.

Devon’s been glued to my side since I caught him checking out old Sponge Bob and the goofy smile across my ass yesterday morning, not to mention the way he’d almost choked when he’d seen my boobs.

And now he’s elected to be my partner for the games, something I was so totally hoping to avoid, since I’m the clumsiest nut this side of the Mississippi.

“Remember, the aim of the game is to hit the shoe as to—”

“Will you quit it! I’m not dumb, just not coordinated,” I yell, shoving him away.

Half of my problem is that he’s plastered to my back and wreaking havoc on my concentration, and, yeah, the other half is that I’m pretty darned useless at anything that even remotely requires hand-eye coordination.

So sue me.

And why the heck is he getting so competitive about this stuff all of a sudden? Yesterday it was like pulling teeth to get the guy even halfway enthusiastic about it.