In spite of herself, she replied. “You’re ridiculous.”
His grin was slow, lazy. He trailed his fingers down her cheek. “So soft, sweet.”
His tone lulled her and she closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his touch. She sensed him moving closer. His breath was warm against her ear. She cocked her head, silently offering her neck. A shiver worked its way up her spine as her nipples beaded tight against her bra.
He trailed a finger down the length of her throat. “So … breakable.”
Her eyes popped open and she jerked up straight. Heat enveloped her as his angry gaze met hers. “I’m not —”
“Uh, guys? Something you want to share?” Alec stood to the side, watching them with interest.
“Don’t push me on this.” The command in Caleb’s voice was unmistakable. He glanced at Alec. “Keep her here.”
“I’m sure we can find something to keep ourselves occupied,” Alec assured him.
Caleb gave her a final look, as if he’d wanted to say more. Her temper flared, but she held back, recognizing the meaning in his expression. He only wanted to keep her safe, and she’d given her word she’d try to work with him. Pushing at his first directive wasn’t trying—it was being difficult.
She was woman enough to admit it.
“I won’t give Alec any trouble and I promise not to trick him into taking me anywhere, but I do have work to do, Caleb. I assume I’ll be allowed access to my laptop?” She almost choked on the word allowed.
Caleb and Alec shared a look of silent communication that had her mashing her back teeth. A few days. She could do it. Just a few days.
“I’m on it,” was Alec’s only response before Caleb went and snatched his keys off the counter.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Samantha folded her arms over her chest and faced off with Alec. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”
Chapter 7
Time and distance hadn’t done anything to soothe his mood.
It had taken him less than ten minutes to track the shooter through the wooded area beyond The Five Crowns. He’d had more trouble tracking wounded deer than the moron who’d shot at them last night.
A moron whose days were numbered as far as Caleb was concerned. They’d been lucky. If he hadn’t gotten to her in time, if she’d left the bar on her own, he’d be facing a very different situation.
His mind returned to the scratches and bruises that marred Samantha’s skin. Her beautiful, soft skin that peaked and quivered under his touch. Memories of her cries had his dick thickening behind the zipper of his jeans. She’d been so responsive, so uninhibited. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and was secure enough with herself to take it. She’d made him come so hard he’d actually seen stars.
The minute she’d walked into the room this afternoon, all he could think about was getting her naked. Sinking into her moist heat and losing himself in her.
Had his brother not been there, that’s exactly what he’d have done. And just what the fuck was going on between Samantha and Alec anyway? He hadn’t considered the nature of their relationship before, but now … now it turned his stomach to think there was a possibility he and his brother were fucking the same woman.
Was Alec touching her right now? Did he have those succulent nipples between his lips?
Caleb balled up his fists and fought back the rage that threatened. He’d never truly wanted to kick the crap out of his own brother before. Oh sure, he’d slapped him around, sparred with him at the gym. Normal sibling stuff.
The thought of Alec touching Samantha made Caleb feel decidedly un-sibling like.
“Since I assume you didn’t leave those tracks, I’m guessing our shooter isn’t a professional.”
Caleb spun around, adrenaline surging through his veins, preparing him for a fight.
“Jesus Christ, Sterling,” he complained. “Make some fucking noise when you walk, would you? Whistle. Ruffle some leaves. Snap a twig.”
His brother-in-law grinned back at him. “Kinda defeats the purpose of being sneaky, wouldn’t you think?”
Caleb snorted. “Amanda should put a bell around your neck.”
Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “Occupational hazard.”
“You own a bar,” Caleb said dryly and shared a glance with Joe, a silent gesture that spoke of things best left unsaid.
“Old habits die hard, my friend.” Dressed in his usual black T-shirt, jeans, and roughed up boots, most people wouldn’t suspect Joe of being one of the greatest sharpshooters the US military had ever known—not that they’d ever claim the former sniper.