Texas Tangle (14 page)

He found Dillon wiping down the kitchen table, his hair clinging to his neck in damp curls and his shirtless chest glistening. He’d either just had a shower, or he’d just had a long hot sweaty bout of sex.
Please let it be a shower he’d just taken.

“Hey, bud, what you doin’ back so soon?”

That was it? Dillon wasn’t going to go ape-shit about finding Nikki in his arms? Just “what you doin’ back so soon?” Was he totally oblivious?

Brett couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “How’s Nik? Where is she?”

Dillon’s grin widened until all Brett could see were those fucking white teeth. He looked so fucking smug. The look of a man who was sexually satisfied. He sat down at the table and stretched his feet out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “She’s upstairs. Having a nap.”

Shit, it wasn’t a shower that had made Dillon’s hair wet.
At least it wasn’t
only
a shower. If it wasn’t for his latest news on Phil—and the ten-ton invisible weights someone had permanently attached to his balls—he’d turn around, walk away and never come back.

“I asked her to marry me.”

If Dillon had grabbed his gun from his holster and shot him point blank, it couldn’t have hurt more. “She say yes?”

Please say no.

Dillon’s confident grin faded. “Sorta. She agreed to live with me for a while, give us a shot.”

Should he be happy she hadn’t said yes outright? He stomped on the ember of hope that flared up.
Nik’s better off with Dillon, and you know it. He’s got the Barnett name behind him. He owns his own company. You’re a hanger-on. A Barnett wannabe-but-never-will-be.

“I’m happy for you, man.” He buried his head in the fridge, pulling out a beer.

“You wanna grab me one while you’re in there?”

Brett grabbed a second bottle and handed it to Dillon. His foot stuck to something on the floor. He stalked to the cabinet beneath the sink and grabbed a sponge. “You spill something earlier?”

Dillon’s lips quirked up, as if he had some private joke. “Nik and I, uh, had some dessert earlier on. Some of it must have dripped without us noticing.”

What had Dillon done? Stripped her naked and then laid her on the kitchen table and…Oh, shit, yeah, Dillon had been cleaning off the table top. That’s probably exactly what he’d done.

Was there no place in the fuckin’ house he could be without visualizing the two of them going at it?

Dillon took a long swig from his beer then wiped his arm across his lips. “So there’s no chance of getting any of Nik’s stuff back, huh?”

“No.” Brett swiped at the floor and tossed the sponge in the sink. He settled opposite Dillon and drank from the long neck before forcing himself to focus on his report. “The department got authorization to follow the activity on the credit cards Phil obtained under Nik’s name. It looks like Phil thought he’d get clever and tried to squirrel some money away for a rainy day. We found accounts in Waco, Fort Worth, Arlington, Waxahachie and Cleburne.”

“So he’s still in the area.”

The speed with which Dillon picked up on it surprised him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Focusing on work helped ease the pain of having to walk away from Nik. No. That was bullshit. It still hurt as if someone had rammed an icepick into his chest and twisted the damned thing. “Yeah.”

“Is there any money left?”

“He’s running through it pretty fast. The only thing we can figure is he’s gambling or back to buying drugs.”

“Fuck. She’s not ever gonna get anything back, is she?”

“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a useless attempt to eliminate the knot that formed there long ago. “At the rate he’s going, he’s got less than a week at most before he runs out. Then all we can hope is he screws up somewhere along the line.”

“Phil’s not the sharpest crayon in the box,” Dillon said. “It won’t take him long to fuck something up or piss someone off.” He slammed his bottle down on the table. “Goddamn, that fucker pisses
me
off. Why would he treat Nikki like his own personal bank? Why would he steal from his own sister? The one person who gave him a hand up? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Since when did life make sense? I gave up trying to figure that out by the time I was eight.” When he’d realized other kids’ fathers didn’t beat on them just for walking into the room.

“Yeah.” Dillon dropped one leg from the chair and straightened, knocking the neck of his beer bottle against Brett’s. “You were better off once you got away from that sack o’ shit who called himself your father.”

Better off? Hell, yeah. He hadn’t realized what a real man was until he’d gone to live with the Barnetts and saw how Mr. Barnett could command respect without using his fists. He doubted to this day Dillon realized how lucky he was.

Uncomfortable with the memories, he got up to grab another beer. He was just opening the fridge when Nikki appeared in the doorway. Instead of the braid she’d had her hair in at noon, it now cascaded down her back like a thick ginger waterfall. His fingers twitched, remembering threading them through the silky mass, wanting to bury themselves in it, to have it brush over his belly, his cock.

She was still wearing his shirt, but the cutoffs were missing. There was something incredibly erotic about how she’d had to roll up the sleeves so they didn’t flop over her hands. His gaze skimmed down her long legs, trim from riding her horses, to her bare feet, her toes curling away from the cool tile. Damned if she didn’t look sexier than any Victoria’s Secret model.

“Hey Brett.” A blush filled her cheeks, and her gaze burnt him to the core.

He chanced a glance at Dillon, who met his gaze and gave a smug yeah-she’s-got-that-well-fucked-look-and-I-put-it-there grin before turning back to her. “Come sit down over here.”

She padded over to the bench and settled on it, tucking her legs up under her. Dillon wrapped his arm around her waist and slid her closer beside him. A blind man couldn’t have missed the connection crackling between them. Right now he felt like he had x-ray vision. Maybe he could retrieve the icepick from his chest and use it on his eyes.

Unable to watch the two nuzzling each other, Brett turned back to the fridge. “Hey, Nik? You want a beer? Or would you rather have some iced tea?”

“Any root beer in there?”

After retrieving a bottle and opening it, he handed it to her. When her hand brushed his as she took it, he had to fight the groan that rose in his throat.

He watched her lift it to her mouth and tip the bottle, spellbound by how her lips fit around the top, how the long column of her throat moved as she swallowed. Is that what she’d look like with his dick in her mouth, swallowing his come?

Not going to happen, buddy, so you can just forget that fantasy.

Aware of the contemplative look Dillon gave him, he dragged his gaze from Nikki and focused on his own bottle. This had to stop, this longing for her. The fantasy of holding her in his arms as they fell asleep together, of waking up beside her, would never happen. So why did he keep torturing himself?

Dillon broke into his thoughts by asking if they were hungry.

“Starving.” She graced Dillon with a beatific smile, one Brett would have given anything to have directed his way.

“Brett? What about you? You hungry?”

Yeah, but not for food. What I want to taste is Nikki’s…
give it up
.
You’ll never taste her again.
Talk about forbidden fruit.

He should walk out. Leave.

Coward.
If he left now, he’d never be able to face them across the dinner table. Here or at the Barnetts’. Which meant he’d have to cut himself off from the only family he’d known. Again.

Dillon took his choice from him when he shoulder-checked him. “Park your keister, buddy, you’re in my way. Dinner’s coming right up.”

Knowing he had to either suck it up or lose his best friend, he claimed the chair opposite her.

True to his word, Dillon slid the plates in front of them ten uncomfortable minutes later.

Because Nikki and Dillon spent more time discussing her horses and keeping the Arabian lines pure than eating, Brett finished his meal before them. While they talked, he leaned against the wall, watching her, soaking in her enthusiasm. She had such a joy about her, a passion about her precious Arabians’ bloodlines. Her face came alive, and her hands punctuated her points in graceful arcs. At one point she put down her fork and picked up her root beer. Instead of her fingers curling around the bottle, he pictured them curling around his dick.

He was just settling into the fantasy when the phone rang. Dillon checked the caller ID then picked it up. “Hey, Ma, what’s up?”

Two minutes later he hung up and frowned at Brett, then glanced between him and Nikki. “Gram’s in a tizzy. Something’s disturbing her chickens, and she wants me to go check it out.”

Seeing his chance to escape, Brett pushed his chair back. “I’ll go.”

Dillon waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

He patted his jeans pocket to ensure he had his keys, then grabbed his hat. After brushing a quick kiss over Nikki’s lips, he headed to his truck.

With a sigh, Brett stood up and held out his hand to help Nikki out from behind the table. “Guess we’d better clean up.”

It took them less than two minutes to stack the dishes in the dishwasher. Two long, awkward minutes where Brett was hard-pressed keeping his eyes off the way his shirt hugged the curves of Nikki’s breasts. The way the hem rode up when she reached up to close a cupboard door, promising a peek at her taut little ass. How pathetic was it that he was jealous of his own damned shirt?

Nikki leaned against the counter as he filled the soap dispenser in the dishwasher door. “Dillon asked me to marry him.”

“I heard.” It came out as a whisper. He cleared his throat. “He also said you didn’t say yes.”

“Once bitten, twice shy, you know?”

He closed the dishwasher, then fiddled with the buttons, trying to buy time. “There’s also the saying if you fall off a horse, it’s best to get right back up again. Dillon’s a good guy. He’d be there for you whenever you need him. Him and his family. You won’t go wrong marrying him.”

“Yes, he is a good man.” A sympathetic look flickered across her face then disappeared, as if she knew that wasn’t what he wanted from her. “But you know, you’re a good man too.”

A good man wouldn’t be fantasizing about fucking his best friend’s girl, his conscience mocked. He shrugged her off, turning away, only to have her follow until she was directly in front of him.

She caught his face between her palms and forced him to look at her. “You are! You put your life on the line for strangers every day. And I know the Barnetts love you as much as if you were born to them. That says a lot about your character, you know.”

If she only knew where he wanted her to put her hands. Then she’d see his real character, discover the dark needs he kept carefully hidden, not only from her but from Dillon too. “I’d do anything for them.”

She searched his eyes for a moment. “Do you ever wonder where we’d be if it had been you who had stopped for me that night?”

“But it wasn’t me, was it?”

“What if it was?”

He opened his eyes. She was looking at him with such compassion, even love. The knots in his stomach twisted even tighter. “We can’t play that game, Nik. You’re with Dillon. You’ve made your choice.”

“Have I?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? Just leave it at that. Please?” He stepped back, leaving her hand hanging in mid-air for a second before she dropped it. “You’re better off with Dillon. He’s good for you. He’s got a family who will love you. He’s got this farm where you can keep your horses.”
He’s better than me; he’s not
damaged.

“Love isn’t about money. It’s not about how much land a man has. It’s about how much he loves me. How much I love him.”

“Dillon loves you.” The words might have been broken glass, the way they tore at his throat.

“I know he does. Even if he hasn’t said the words.”

“You love him too.”

“Yes, I do.”

At Nikki’s answer, he sat down on the chair with a thud. “See? You’ve made your choice.”

And it wasn’t him. She’d chosen Dillon.

Whatever was going on with Brett, Nikki couldn’t figure it out. He’d always been calm, always stoic. Sometimes his control was downright scary. But right now she was afraid he was on the brink of losing it.

She wanted to put her arms about him, hold him tight and not let go. She wanted to tell him it would be all right, to comfort him the way she would a child who’d lost their parent in a mall. If she did either, he’d probably push her away, afraid of losing face in front of her.

So why was he acting so strange? Like she’d just shot his dog?

“You’re right. I love Dillon. And I have chosen him. But I hope you’ll always be my friend. One day you’ll find someone you love too. You deserve someone who loves you. Someone better than me.”

His knuckles clenched until the skin stretched taut, the veins on his forearms bulging. “I’m not good for anyone.”

“Why aren’t you good enough, Brett? You’ve got a good job. You’re as good a man as Dillon.”

“No. I’m not.” His eyes opened, pain filling his eyes. And his voice was rough, betraying the struggle he was having with himself. “I’ve got a drunk for a father. My mom ran off when I was little. I’ve got nothing to offer anyone. Dillon’s got the whole Barnett family behind him. He owns a ranch, while I live in a rented apartment. He’s got his own business, with employees. Responsibilities. Don’t you see? That’s why I had to back off. He can offer you so much more than me.”

Her breath stuttered in her throat. She barely made it to the chair before her legs folded under her. “You
did
want to date me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The word was little more than a breath, barely making it past his lips.

All his hesitations, the number of times she’d caught him looking at her, the way he’d held her out on the lawn the night she’d been robbed, and again on the couch when she’d sworn he’d been about to kiss her. Despite his denials, he had been attracted to her. It all made sense.