Love Loyal and True Page 7

  “I did, but you were really drunk last night. I figured I’d better stay to make sure you were okay.”

  Wow. That actually sounded nice, but confusion swirled as parts of her dream floated in and out of focus.

  Loyal at the door with a basket.

  Taking away her wine glass because she’d had too much.

  On his knees untying her boots.

  Her begging him to kiss her.

  Him actually kissing her.

  That was a dream…wasn’t it?

  She shifted her gaze and spotted the big square gift basket on the kitchen table. A care package from Janine. Her fingers tightened on the fuzzy robe.

  Oh, God. Not a dream.

  A dizzying combination of humiliation and dread whirled in her belly as the devil took an ice pick to her brain.

  “I need ibuprofen,” she muttered.

  “There isn’t any. I checked.”

  She bit back a whimper and headed for the door. There was some downstairs in her desk, and she needed clean clothes to get dressed for work.

  But a couple steps past the couch, she knew she’d go crazy if she didn’t know exactly what happened the night before, so she turned around to ask. She froze when she caught sight of Loyal’s sculpted ass as he stood and reached for his pants. Thankfully—or not—he was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs.

  She enjoyed the smooth slide of muscle under skin as he stepped into his dress pants, but when he straightened and turned toward her while zipping up, she averted her gaze toward the windows. “Um…nothing happened last night, did it?”

  “Like what?”

  A quick glance caught his raised eyebrows as he leaned to scoop up his shirt. “I don’t know exactly.”

  “I don’t have sex with drunk women who can’t consent,” he stated.

  “I didn’t think that,” she scoffed, heat burning her cheeks.

  It had been so long, she was positive she’d know if she’d had sex last night, whether she remembered it or not. And, if she had had sex with Loyal when she was too drunk to remember every single detail, she’d never forgive herself. Even in this moment, she was angry the kiss was only a blurry memory.

  No. Damn it. She had to stop thinking that way. The rare nice gesture from him was not enough to make up for all the years he’d been a jerk. Besides, the basket was from his mom, not him.

  But he slept on that uncomfortable couch to make sure you were okay when you were too drunk to know better.

  So what? He wasn’t a nice guy. She was moving on. She was done with him taking up unearned space in her heart.

  “What did you think?” he prompted.

  “I…” She couldn’t say it out loud to his face. Especially when he was standing there all bare-chested and sexy with his shirt dangling from his fingers.

  “You don’t remember, do you?” As soon as he asked the question, a smirk tugged at his mouth. “Ah…no, you do remember. That’s the problem.”

  “I was drunk.” she rationalized with a lift of her chin. “People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Really stupid things.”

  “Like beg a guy they supposedly hate to kiss them?” he asked as he finally shrugged into his shirt.

  Exactly like that.

  Humiliation set her face on fire, and she spun around for the door again. “There’s no supposedly about it—I do hate you.”

  “Where are you going in that robe?”

  His voice was closer than expected, and she cast an alarmed glance over her shoulder to see he’d grabbed his socks and shoes to follow her. Her heart lurched with him being close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of male mixed with lingering cologne. He hadn’t taken time to button his shirt yet, and she tightened her hand on the door handle to resist the urge to reach out and touch his chest. To trail her hand down over his ripped abs, follow the happy trail of hair—

  Geezus! Hadn’t she just reiterated she hated him?

  “I don’t have clothes up here, so I have to get dressed down in my shop,” she explained impatiently. “I have to open in twenty minutes.”

  He backed up a step and swiped her bag of underwear and bras off the counter. “Don’t forget these.”

  Heat flooded her face as she snatched the bag from his hand and yanked open the door. Her head still hurt, and he was making it worse.

  “What did you mean last night when you said you needed to sleep me off?”

  His question made Roxanna’s stomach bottom out, but she refused to look at him. “How would I know?”

  She did know, but if he hadn’t already figured it out, she sure as hell wasn’t going to explain it to him.

  “You are the one that said it.”

  “We’ve already established drunk people do and say stupid things,” she argued as she moved into the hall. She tried to pull the apartment door shut in his face, but he caught it and stepped out after her. “Clearly, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  His footsteps dogged hers on the stairs. “Last night you assured me you knew exactly what you were doing.”

  “And you believed me when I was that drunk?” She shot him a frown over her shoulder. “Shame on you.”

  He looked guilty for a brief moment, but then he shook his head. “That’s not going to work. You can try to turn this back on me, but I had plenty of time to think after you passed out.”

  She faced forward, her heart thumping madly in panic. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

  “Aw, look at that.” Amusement filled his voice. “Using weak insults to avoid the truth.”

  Roxanna was at her shop door now, and desperate to get inside as he crowded close enough for her to once again inhale the goodness of him. He wouldn’t follow her in there to keep up with the interrogation, would he? Clearly he had figured it out, so why the hell was he so intent on pushing this damn point, anyway?

  To humiliate me even more.

  Okay, then, how could she convince him the truth was not really the truth?

  “You can admit you want me, Roxanna,” he taunted in a husky voice as she keyed in the lockbox code. “That’s the first step in getting over addiction.”

  “Rein in the ego, jackass.” The light turned green, and she opened the door only enough to slip partially inside before meeting his gaze. “I was pretending you were your brother.”

  He drew back in surprise. “Asher? I thought you two—”

  “No, God, not Asher.”

  “Merit?”

  She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. The moment it dawned on him exactly whom she was talking about, his whole body tensed. His face flushed, his nostrils flared, and his eyes went dark as his eyebrows slammed together.

  “You said my name,” he said in a tight voice. “You said Loyal last night.”

  “Of course I did,” she bluffed past the guilt that was making it hard to breathe. “Because you wouldn’t have kissed me if I’d called you Grayson.”

  Chapter 9

  Loyal’s fists clenched as he stared at the door after Roxanna shut it in his face. Again.

  “You wouldn’t have kissed me if I’d called you Grayson.”

  She was fucking right about that.

  He forced his hands to relax against the urge to punch something. And just why the fuck did the thought of her and his half-brother make him crazy? He shouldn’t care if she liked Grayson.

  He didn’t care. She could like whomever she wanted, because he didn’t even like her.

  Liar.

  No. Lust did not equal like.

  He finished dressing right there in the hall, then stalked out to his Land Rover and drove back to his hotel for a shower and clean clothes.

  As he dried off, he concluded he needed to go back to avoiding Roxanna. That had worked for years.

  Mostly.

  Once he’d put on a pair of tan khaki’s and a navy vest over a crisp, white button up, he spent a couple hours on his laptop checking out houses online. There were plenty to choose from, but nothing caught
his attention, leaving him restless and annoyed. His thoughts kept turning back to Roxanna, but iron determination shut them down each time.

  When his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten, he shut his laptop with a grimace. Room service didn’t appeal, but neither did going out to sit somewhere alone. Spur of the moment, he texted the one person he guessed would be wide open for an early Monday lunch. The response came back a few minutes later.

  Merit: Lunch? You and me? Why?

  Loyal: To eat food. Why else?

  Merit: Are you dying?

  He frowned at his phone and gave a grunt of annoyance.

  Loyal: No, dipshit. Can’t two brothers go to lunch?

  Merit: Asher and I have done lunch. You and Asher have done lunch. Me and you? We don’t do lunch.

  Loyal: We do today.

  Merit: Seriously. How many months you got left? Is it a brain tumor? An aneurism about to burst? Testicular cancer?

  Loyal seriously second-guessed his offer even as he replied: Shut the fuck up and meet me at Nick’s in half an hour.

  Merit: That’s the Loyal I know. C ya in a few.

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys.

  His youngest brother strolled into the pub five minutes late, looking like he’d rolled out of bed and tossed on the first pair of ripped jeans and sweatshirt he picked up off the floor.

  Loyal raised his glass of Black Maple Hill from the table he’d snagged in the corner. Merit shrugged out of his leather jacket and took a seat as their red-headed waitress paused on her way by to ask his drink order. He requested a beer, and she promised to return shortly before moving on to the next table with her tray of food. Merit turned his head to watch her go, his gaze locked on the skin-tight fit of denim across her curvy backside.

  “Hey,” Loyal greeted wryly as he lifted his bourbon for a sip.

  “Hey,” he returned as he twisted back around. “You notice if she’s wearing a ring?”

  “Can this not be about you picking up a chick?”

  “I just want to know if I can flirt or not.”

  “She’s going to flirt either way for a good tip, so ease up man.”

  Merit picked up his menu with a muttered, “And this is why we don’t do lunch.”

  Loyal grit his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax while his brother perused the options. By the time he set the menu aside, their waitress—Carly—returned with Merit’s beer and a big, bright smile. She was not wearing a ring, and the two flirted their asses off as she took their order. On her way back to the kitchen, she tossed his younger brother a saucy grin over her shoulder.

  While Loyal had no problem finding women to spend time with, he much preferred a more sophisticated approach. Some real conversation added to the whole process and at least gave the illusion of something more than a hook-up.

  That realization was somewhat startling, and he frowned slightly. After his two broken engagements, he’d sworn off anything resembling—or that could turn into—a committed relationship. As long as both parties consented, it didn’t have to be anything more than mutual fun, so why the hell would he feel the need to disguise sex as something more than sex?

  That was a little too deep of a question to ponder on an empty stomach before noon on a Monday, so he lifted his glass and asked, “What’s new?”

  “I’m on a lunch date with my big brother,” Merit deadpanned. “You tell me.”

  A wry grin curved his lips as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “It’s been brought to my attention recently that I can be a bit of an ass, and I—”

  Merit nearly choked on his beer, then had to wipe a dribble off his chin. “A bit of an ass? Who uttered that massive understatement?”

  “I was going to ask if I’m really that bad, but no need now.” He avoided revealing who made the accusation. “I don’t mean to be.”

  Not all the time, anyway.

  “Only since Lisa.” His brother’s brown gaze narrowed as he rested his forearms on the table while twisting his beer round and round with the tips of his fingers. “But then again, I imagine it sucks having been engaged twice and still never been married.”

  “It does,” he agreed. It was humiliating, too.

  “But still, you know, you can lighten up. Quit being so damn buttoned up and uptight.” He gestured toward Loyal’s vest and sport coat as he practically parroted Roxanna’s drunken words.

  “What, I should be more like you?”

  “I’m not so bad.”

  “You’re not so good, either,” Loyal countered without any real judgment.

  His brother made a face and shrugged, but he also avoided his gaze as he raised his bottle for a long drink.

  Genuinely curious as to what his brother wanted to do with his life, he said, “You know, the other day after brunch, we were all talking about what we have going on. What about you? You’re twenty-five and still no job, so what exactly is your plan these days?”

  Merit set his beer down with a thunk. “Fucking A, man, not the infamous Diamond family plan. Why do we all have to have a plan?”

  “Because otherwise, where is your life going, and how are you going to get there?”

  “It’s going wherever I feel like it at the moment, and however I get there is how I get there.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you, not knowing what to expect?”

  He hadn’t expected his growing attraction to Roxanna, and it was driving him crazy. Not so much the physical aspect of it, that had already been bothering him for years, but the staying last night to make sure she was okay, and the excited—fucking excited—leap of his pulse when he came to the conclusion that maybe she had a thing for him, too.

  And the fucking worst that he still couldn’t shake off no matter how much rationalizing he did, had been her saying she’d imagined him as Grayson. He sure as fuck hadn’t expected that when trying to ruffle her feathers this morning.

  “Why should I bother to plan if I don’t have to?” Merit reasoned as he relaxed back in his chair. “It’s not like I need the money. If I went out and got myself a job, aren’t I just taking it away from someone who might actually need it?”

  Loyal blinked in astonishment. That explanation wasn’t nearly as self-centered as he would’ve expected from Mooch. Guilt twinged in a way that was becoming all too familiar recently, and had him looking at his youngest sibling in a new light.

  “You don’t have to work for money, I guess.”

  Though that sounded weird to him—he’d always measured his steps to success by the increasing numbers in his bank account. He’d learned that from Grandpa Ira and their dad, though these days it seemed his dad measured success in the next highest office. He would not be surprised if he ran for president some day.

  Merit narrowed his gaze. “All you guys do is rag on me to get a job.”

  “We all just want you to do something with your life.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s my life, isn’t it?” He fiddled with the corner of the label on his bottle, eyebrows heavy over his lowered gaze, his jaw set tight.

  Yeah, it was his life, and what he decided to do with it was on his shoulders, not anyone else’s. Loyal realized it was time he quit hounding his brother—quit making little digs that might be hurting someone he loved.

  That reminded him of Roxanna again, and he raised his glass to down the last of his whiskey in one bracing swallow.

  Suddenly, Merit sat forward and fixed him with a mutinous glare. “You know, just once I’d like to be asked instead of told, or, not even considered at all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Dad hasn’t asked me even once to work on his campaign.”

  Loyal frowned. “But you have helped.”

  “Of course I have. In fact, I’m heading over to headquarters to work with Shelby when she’s done with class, like we’ve done almost every afternoon for the past couple of months.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at then?”

  “Dad never a
sked for my help, but he asked for Shelby’s.”

  “He never really asked me, either.”

  “Until two days ago, you lived in Texas. Why would he ask you? Except, wait…the moment you do show up in town, he asks you to join the board of the new foundation he and Grayson are starting.”

  “Hey, you’re welcome to it. I want nothing to do with that.”

  “Except he asked you, and you know damn well that means you take the job or no one gets it.”

  Loyal shook his head. “Dad isn’t going to scrap the foundation simply because I won’t be the CFO. Why don’t you talk to him? Tell him you’re interested.”

  “Dad doesn’t listen to me. He’s too busy with the campaign. When he’s not doing that, he’s pointing out everything the rest of you are doing. Or he’s offering Grayson millions of dollars to open a veteran’s foundation.”

  “You want me to talk to him?”

  Merit gave a huff of frustration. “I don’t want to be the damn CFO, Loyal. I just want to be asked for once.”

  Before he could reply, Carly arrived with their burger baskets. As if a switch had been flipped, his brother sat back and flashed the curvy redhead a charming smile.

  “Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked.

  “I’ll take another beer and your phone number,” Merit said smoothly.

  She laughed and tilted her head toward Loyal in silent inquiry.

  “Water, please. And an empty dish for ketchup.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Merit pushed his fries aside and squirted ketchup into the space he’d created in his basket. Then he set the bottle on the table between them and laughed at Loyal’s grimace. “You’re going to dip them in the ketchup anyway, so why so anal?”

  “I don’t like soggy fries.”

  “It all tastes the same.”

  Loyal waited for his empty dish.

  He debated returning to their conversation about the CFO position and the foundation, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to get into that subject any deeper. Besides, his brother was busy digging in, and then Carly came back. She gave Loyal his dish and Merit her number.

  “Enjoy,” she said before heading to another table.

  His brother gave him a triumphant grin as he pocketed the slip of paper, then took a big bite of his burger and spoke with a full mouth. “You never did say who said you’re an ass. Was it Roxanna?”