Complete We (A Her Billionaires Novella #4) (10 page)

“I’ll be in touch,” Frank said, cutting the entire conversation short by turning on his heel and heading toward the front door. Dylan looked at Laura, whose face was a mask of alarmed fury, and Mike—who was nothing but stone.

And then a parting shot from Frank. Of course.

“Remember, Laura—I tried.” Frank’s voice cracked as he stood with his hand on the doorknob, face consumed by an expression of grief. “I tried to see you. Tried to reconnect. Wanted to know Jillian. Wanted to…” As his voice trailed off he looked down, shaking his head, making a
tsking
sound that triggered a violent impulse in Dylan.

The man was playing her like a fucking violin.

“You’re a grown woman now and can make your own choices. But Jillian—” He made a dismissive sound, not quite a sigh, not quite a gasp. “I cannot abide by watching my own flesh and blood, so innocent—”

Mike stormed across the room with a speed Dylan never imagined he possessed and ripped the door open. Although he didn’t technically touch Frank, the force of the air moving around him seemed to push Laura’s uncle out the door like a gust of wind.

The snap of the closed door make Dylan and Laura jump, and then Dylan’s own swiftness kicked in and he was by her side, his hand on her elbow. Tears pooled in her eyes and she was shaking. He felt gut-punched, so impotent and filled with a murderous impulse that he shifted his gaze to the door, grateful it was closed.

The grinding sound of spurting gravel and rubber on stone told him Frank was leaving. The air lightened, and Jillian began shoving her little dimpled hand down the front of Laura’s shirt, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded second by painful second.

Dylan felt like he’d just been through a witchcraft trial that had ended with acquittal.

Mike’s shoulders were flexed, arms arced in a pose of a fighter, his eyes twitching. He looked at Laura, then Dylan, then Jillian, and back to Laura, whose body still trembled as Dylan’s flesh connected.

And then he realized she was shaking from
laughter
.

“Oh. My. God,” she whooped, the sound making Jillie’s face twist with confused fright, Dylan instinctively reaching for the little girl, who clung to him like a monkey, her little curls bouncing against his cheek as she turned her head to look at her mama from the safety of a non-hysterical parent’s grasp.

“He—oh, God—he thought he could—Mike!” she gasped, bending in half to laugh, the cackling like nothing Dylan had ever heard before. Over her prone figure his eyes locked with Mike’s and they shrugged simultaneously, eyes wide with curious befuddlement.

“He actually,” she wheezed, “thought he could prey on me and scare me into coughing up money…or something…because he disapproved of my lifestyle choices!” Laura’s face was a dangerous shade of red, and as she continued to shake, Dylan feared she was about to truly hyperventilate and pass out.

Mike caught it, too, and walked to her, placing one hand on her hip, the other under her elbow, gently guiding her to sit on the couch. He treated her like a wounded animal, careful to lead but not to push. If Dylan weren’t holding Jillie, he’d do the same.

Frank’s departure left more questions than answers, but as Laura’s eyes squeezed out tears of mirth and relief, and as her breathing became steady again, punctuated by aftershocks of uncontrollable giggles, he let a wry smile stretch his own mouth.

It was funny.

In a very, very weird sort of way.

Mike walked in the kitchen, the sound of running water the only other noise beyond Laura’s chokes and laughter. Jillian watched her mother like an anthropological specimen, with a mature detachment that made Dylan quirk an eyebrow and puzzle over the scene.

Re-entering the room with three glasses of water, Mike handed one to Dylan and pressed another on Laura, who looked up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She gulped the water down in one go, let out a small burp, then laughed again.

“I’m ridiculous,” she declared.

Both men nodded.

“Mama dick!” Jillian shouted, clapping. That was one way to say “ridiculous.”

The room erupted with giggles in baritones and basses, altos and sopranos, and by the time they all recovered it was done.

Done.

Frank had exorcised himself from their internal boxes of fear, his moralistic judgment like a scouring pad.

And yet the scratches remained.

Dinner with his
mom
was never an emotional land mine for Josie, thankfully. They’d enjoyed numerous meals in restaurants ranging from a great Turkish place in Arlington to a so-so Indian joint in South Boston, but dinner with his
stepfather
included could be…interesting.

At least John wore pants this time.

“Hey!” Josie said in a voice filled with friendliness, reaching up for a hug from John. “Where are the bagpipes?” The long-running joke about John’s Scottish roots had become a new feature again as the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon became a crazy hit on television, leading to multiple requests for his stepdad to play bagpipes at various events.

Including fan parties for something called “The Wedding Episode,” which Josie had insisted Alex watch, and which turned him into a Jamie fan, in more ways than one.

John’s obsessive need to practice—wearing a kilt in the most traditional way possible—meant that coming home for a visit could involve a glimpse of a wee couple stones more than he or Josie wanted to see. Especially when his mom and John had a high bar that bisected the open-concept kitchen and dining area, and John would climb up to sit and…

Chat.

Appetite gone.

Noi, the purebred Husky John and his mother had rescued from a shelter a few years ago, incessantly pushed at Josie’s crotch, even as they dined at the table. A huge farmer’s table, it easily seated twelve, though the four of them were clustered at one end, John at the head, Meribeth across from Josie and Alex.

A muffled movement under the table told Alex his mom had gently nudged Noi, who came out with his head down and tail in a position that indicated assent. He knew who the top dog in the house was.

And she smiled pleasantly across the table at Josie.

“You and Alex seem to be meshing well,” his mom said as she spun the stem of her wine glass slowly in front of her, almost hypnotic in her motion, as if she were treating a client. Alex suppressed a groan.

“He’s a lousy roommate, but a great partner,” Josie said, putting her hand on his thigh and squeezing a little too hard, her eyes on his mom.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked at her with mock surprise. He knew exactly what she meant. He was a slob. And she was right. Dr. Perfect couldn’t be on 24/7 in his personal life, right?

“It means you need to stop leaving your dirty socks on the counter next to the coffee machine,” Josie said with a shudder, laughing. Her hand dove between his legs, making a slow trek toward his growing erection.

We’re playing that game?
He moved his foot close to hers and pushed lightly. She pushed back, cheeks rounding with a smile, eyes lowering from his mom’s.

Then I’ll join.
He reached over and imitated her. Those cheeks reddened.

“Alex!” Meribeth said, making him retract his hand out of some instinct long buried in him, like he was a chastened boy reaching for an illicit chocolate chip cookie.

Hmmm, Josie was a treat, after all. And, as he put his palm against the soft, worn fabric of her snug jeans, he remembered that she was his. All his. And he could taste her at will.

And without recrimination.

“I didn’t raise you to throw your nasty socks on the kitchen counter!” Meribeth said in joking horror. She drained her glass and John filled it silently, pouring the Chardonnay in her wine glass with a silent grin. Josie liked John more than she thought she would. He was quirky and sharp, non-judgmental in a way that made it a bit hard to understand his boundaries, but once she’d gotten over the fact that her categorization-happy brain couldn’t fit him neatly into a box, she had relaxed.

“The socks are the least of it,” Josie said with a mutter, biting her lips as the laugh tried to escape. “He pulls the shower curtain in the wrong direction and insists on using a hand towel as a bath mat.”

“What’s wrong with that?” John and Meribeth said in unison, making Alex’s deep laugh shake the room. Something nudged at his crotch and he leaned back, enjoying the sheepish look on Josie’s face as her hand suggested that while he might be a terrible roommate, maybe he wasn’t too bad as a lover…

And then he saw both her hands fly up in the air as she covered her mouth.

If her hand was there, then what was touching his—

“NOI!” he thundered, jumping up, making Josie’s wine glass topple. She caught it before it went over, and the dog scampered across the room, meekly settling into its dog bed next to the fireplace, looking up with a guilty eye.

“I’ve heard of blow jobs and hand jobs, but you may have invented the best
nose
job ever,” John said drolly. Meribeth smacked him. Alex simmered in place, embarrassed and a bit disgruntled, his blood rushing. Damn dog.

Josie’s face was bright red, and not from the flush of histamine that always pinked her cheeks from white wine. “Oh, Alex,” she gasped, descending into giggles.

“Let’s go back to talking about my socks on the counter,” he grumbled, giving Noi one last glare. The dog’s eyes were closed, and he panted, pink tongue hanging out a bit, stark against the white fluff of his fur.

“He needs to go for a walk,” Meribeth said absently. “In a few minutes.” She turned to Josie. “What about work? How’s the career change going?”

Josie recovered from her little giggle fit and sat up, drinking a bit of water. Alex loved to watch her move, and especially enjoyed seeing her interact with his mom.

“Going well, actually. We plan to make some matches soon. But…”

“But?” John asked, eyebrow cocked. “Not enough men?”

“Never enough men,” Josie explained, suddenly serious. She could shift into work mode so easily, treating the strangeness of her job as if it were just another corporate venture. As if Good Things Come in Threes were a new web portal for music, or an app for shopping.

“Maybe I should sign up,” John offered.

Meribeth just rolled her eyes. “You don’t like to share appetizers when we go out for dinner. You really think you’re capable of sharing a
woman
?” Her arched tone carried mischief.

“Never tried. I’ll put it on my bucket list. Maybe we could sign up and Josie can match us with another guy.”

Alex had chosen that exact moment to take an enormous gulp of his wine, and as John’s words came out he choked, then sprayed the remains of his dinner.

Everyone looked at him like he was crazy.

“I already share myself with someone else, and I’m looking right at him,” Meribeth said sweetly as Alex mopped the mess from his hands.

The table burst into laughter. Minus Alex.

“I know we’re grown-ups,” Alex started.

“Some of us are,” Josie and Meribeth whispered in unison, looking at each other with surprise, then mirth.

Alex cleared his throat pointedly. “But talking about my mother being in a threesome really does cross a line I would prefer to maintain.”

John’s quiet nod in acuquiecense was enough for Alex.

“And then there’s creepy Frank,” Josie added, segueing nicely.

“Creepy Frank? Is that the name of a new band?” John asked.

Josie smirked. “I wish. It’s Laura’s uncle. We think he’s reappeared in her life, looking for money.”

Meribeth bristled. Alex caught it immediately and frowned. Why would she have that kind of reaction?

“Reappeared? After being gone for long?” Meribeth asked with a fake casualness, as if she were forcing herself to speak neutrally.

Alex’s body tightened. Something was suddenly off. He avoided John’s eyes but saw his stepfather’s hand clench. He felt it, too.

Josie appeared to be oblivious, continuing her story. “It’s been a few years. Last time Laura saw him was after her mom died.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Alarm flashed through Meribeth’s eyes. “Was she young?”

“Under fifty, I think.”

John and Meribeth exchanged a look. “That’s young,” they said together.

“Car accident,” Josie explained. “Her mom had asthma and had an attack that escalated quickly. Lost control of the car, and…” She didn’t need to say the rest.

His mom’s face crumpled with compassion. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing worse than losing your mom long before you’re supposed to.”

Alex’s eyes searched Josie’s face for a reaction, because he knew Josie had a very, very different opinion on his mom’s point. But she remained placid. A little too under-reactive, in fact.

“Right,” Josie said in a clipped tone. “Anyhow, Frank reappeared this week. Came to work and interrogated me without telling me who he was. He’s a real creep, making allusions to how Laura, Mike, and Dylan are living in sin, that the baby is being raised in an immoral home.”