All In: The Blackstone Affair (Book 2)

Gladstone’s for lunch and Ivan was late. I don’t know why I bother trying to be punctual with my cousin, because he certainly doesn’t. I checked my watch and looked around the room. Formerly a gentleman’s club in the past century, the place had been reanimated with white linens, lots of glass, and light woods, looking nothing like the exclusively male societal enclave for the entitled Londoners of a hundred years ago.

Well, Ivan would certainly have fit in. My cousin was a peer of the realm even if he hated to be reminded and certainly didn’t act like it. None of us can help how we are born, and Ivan couldn’t control that his father had been the previous Baron Rothvale any more than I could control that my dad drove a London cab. We had connections that went far deeper than money could ever take us anyway.

Who was I kidding? Ivan could drop off a cliff if he liked, I had two beautiful women at the table looking happy and gorgeous across from me—my girl and her best friend.

“You ladies look like shopping has agreed with you.” I poured for both of them from the Riesling I’d ordered.

Brynne and Gabrielle grinned and looked at each other conspiratorially, obviously sharing female secrets of a mystery I could only guess at. They’d been having a shopping excursion for dresses when I got a text from Brynne asking me what I was doing for lunch. Since they were only a few blocks over from Gladstone’s I told them to add on to my luncheon date with Ivan. I wanted to introduce him to Brynne anyway, hopeful that he could wield some influence over at the National Gallery for her. Hell, I’m not too proud to ask for a favor. Not that he would give a rip. The man was on the board of one of the most prestigious art museums in the world and couldn’t have cared less about it if he tried to. In fact, I am sure Ivan would resign if he could get away with it.

“It did, Ethan. Brynne got the most fabulous vintage dress for the Mallerton Gala. You just wait,” Gabrielle warned me.

I made a face. “So you’re saying she’ll be even more lovely than normal.” I looked at Brynne blushing and then back to Gabrielle. “Just what I need—more admirers chasing after her. I thought I could rely on you, Gabrielle, for just a smidge of help here?” I implored. “Why didn’t you take her to a place that sells unattractive bathrobes instead?” My words were joking, but inside I was deadly serious. I hated when men looked at Brynne like they were picturing her naked.

Gabrielle shrugged. “Aunt Marie turned us on to the shop. That woman has mad skills with the unique and rare. Vintage little beauty that it is, tucked away in a quiet corner of Knightsbridge. I know I’ll be going back.” She smirked at me. “You need the competition anyway, Ethan, it’s good for you.” She took a sip of her wine and turned her attention to checking messages on her mobile.

“Not true. I’m struggling enough as it is, thank you very much!” I picked up Brynne’s hand and kissed it. “I’m glad you came for lunch.”

She just smiled at me and said nothing in that mysterious way of hers. I wished we were alone.

Gabrielle was a devoted friend from what I could tell, and fiercely protective of Brynne. We had an understanding that was workable as long as she saw me as friend and not foe—I’d passed the test so far. Beautiful too in her own right, just not my flavor of female. Her long brown hair, with just the faintest hint of dark red glinting through, combined with very green eyes, was striking. Nice figure too; even if she wasn’t my flavor, I still had eyes in my head and wasn’t dead.

The color of her eyes reminded me of Ivan’s eyes. Same green. I wondered what he would think of her when he got a look, the womanizer that he was. I bet he would like her very much. I had to stifle a laugh. Gabrielle would probably tell him to sod off to his face and he would lick his lips and ask her to join him without a hitch. Would be a riot to watch if he ever got his arse here.

Brynne’s roommate was another American living in London, studying art at university, and making her way . . . away from home. Her dad was a British citizen, though. London Met Pol—one Robert Hargreave, Chief Inspector, New Scotland Yard. I’d looked him up, and from all accounts he looked solid, a respected detective on the force. I supposed I should set up a meeting with him at some point too. Although things had been very quiet on the Senator Oakley front. No news was good news . . . I hoped.

“What color is your amazing dress that will make me mad with jealousy when men drool over you wearing it?” I asked Brynne.

“It’s periwinkle.” She smiled again. “Aunt Marie met us there and we had so much fun with her. She really does have the eye for fashion.”

“You should have brought her along for lunch with you.”

“I would have loved for her to come with us, but she was off to a ladies luncheon with her book club. She said to tell you how much she’s looking forward to meeting you.” Brynne blushed again, as if the idea of our people meeting for the first time made her shy.

She had a shyness to her that was charming in public but didn’t carry over into the bedroom with me. Nope. My girl wasn’t shy with me like that, and it was all good. I thought about how many more hours until tonight when I could get her back into my bedroom and she could show me her un-shy side some more.

We’d been burning up the sheets lately…and the shower walls . . . my office desk . . . the rug in front of the fireplace . . . balcony lounger, and even the gym. I shifted in my chair and remembered that morning workout with great fondness. Who knew how much fun a weight bench could be with Brynne naked and sliding up and down my—

“You’ll love Marie, Ethan,” Gabrielle said distractedly, still checking her messages and interrupting my erotic musings. I needed to rearrange my cock but forced a smile at both of them instead.

I had yet to meet the adored Aunt Marie but was about to very soon. We had decided it was time to bring the family together in a dinner at my place. My dad, Brynne’s aunt, Gabrielle, Clarkson, Neil and Elaina made up the short list. We’d discussed it and felt it was time to get everyone on board with what was happening with us and the possible threats to Brynne. Everyone was principal enough that they needed to know what might be in play. Brynne was too important to me to take a risk at this point, and everyone involved already knew her background anyway.

“Well I cannot wait to meet her. She sounds like she dotes on you.” I checked my watch again. “I can’t believe Ivan just not showing like this. So rude.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Brynne suggested.

“That would be a total waste of my time. He never answers his mobile. I doubt he even turns the damn thing on,” I answered dryly.

“Oh, man!” Gabrielle looked up from her messages. “I’m going to have to get over to the university. Trouble with a painting. An accident involving solvent getting dumped on a rare—get this, Brynne—Abigail Wainwright.” Gabrielle looked absolutely horrified, stood up abruptly and gathered her bags. “Not a good combination.”

“No, that’s not good at all,” Brynne said, shaking her head, “the solvent will eat through the canvas if they don’t neutralize . . .”

I tried to keep up with the art geek stuff they talked about, but it wasn’t easy for me. I don’t think I have an artistic bone in my body. I can appreciate it, though. Brynne’s portrait was the epitome of art in my opinion.

“Do you want a ride back? Neil will take you over there if you like,” I offered.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get a cab—it’ll be faster. I need to go right now, but thanks. I’ll see you at your place tomorrow night, Ethan. Enjoy your lunch, you two.”

“Let me know how it works out,” Brynne told her. “If anyone can fix the mess, it’s you, Gaby!”

Gabrielle hugged Brynne, waved off and left, her tall, curvy form attracting plenty of looks from appreciative males as she made her way out of Gladstone’s.

I smiled at Brynne and took both of her hands. “So I get you all to myself for lunch after all.” I whispered the rest. “Too bad we’re in public.”

“I know. We never get to do this.” She squeezed my hands a little. “You’ve had so much work lately, and I can only imagine with the Olympics. God, that’s huge, Ethan. All those people.” She grinned. “William and Kate!”

I nodded. “Yes. They will be there for events. Prince Harry too. He’s good fun.”

“You know him?” she asked incredulously.

I nodded again. “I can try to get an introduction if you like . . . as long as you don’t have a thing for princes with ginger hair.”

“Never,” she told me with seductive eyes. “I am partial to security guys with dark hair.”

Who had turned on the blast furnace? I actually looked around the room for an exit. If there was a door marked Private I swear I’d have had her behind it and naked in two seconds flat.

“You are so very cruel, Miss Bennett.”

She looked very pleased with herself sitting there across from me in the restaurant. So pleased, in fact, she made me think fondly of the spanking I’d given her over the sink. God, she was a sexy thing, bent upon driving me mad . . .

“So back to your job. You are doing VIP security for the flippin’ Olympics, Ethan!” Her excitement brought me out of my head. Probably a damn good thing right now.

“Well, I’m not complaining, it’s good for business but I could do without the stress. I just want everything to run smooth. No plots or crazies with an axe to grind for their bullshit cause, no bombs, or embarrassments, and I can breathe. Happy clients kept safe and I’ll be pleased.” I reached for my wine. “Let’s order. I don’t think Ivan’s going to show . . . always bloody late for everything!” I grumbled, opening my menu.

Brynne told me what she wanted in case the waiter appeared, then excused herself for the ladies. I watched her walk away, and the looks she got from others as well. I sighed. As much as Brynne carried her reserve, she still had that certain something that made people notice her. Something I could have done without for sure but understood was part of the deal with her. Men would always look at her. And want her. And try to take her away.

Work was going utterly mad for me, and the busier I got, the more stretched my focus became on the job at hand and the less able I became to watch out for her safety. The past two weeks had been good for Brynne and me and our relationship, but not without worry. The worry would never go away. I’ve been in the security business long enough to know that when things seem most in order it’s not the time to let down your guard. She was still very vulnerable, and the thought made me insane.

“Sorry, E. Lost track of the time and all that,” Ivan interrupted, plopping down across from me.

“Nice of you to show up. For the appointment that you made, I might add. And don’t sit there. Brynne’s with me.” I pointed to the next chair. “She’ll be back in a moment.”

Ivan moved to the next chair over. “Something came up and I got waylaid.”

“Yeah,” I snorted. “Your cock got waylaid. Who were you in bed with this time?”

“Bugger off, it wasn’t that. Damn reporters dogging me—say I need something more substantial than that.” He eyeballed the wine and motioned for a waiter, the hollow look of pain showing for just an instant before he masked it away from prying eyes.

I let him be. My cousin had his faults, but then everyone has. It didn’t mean he’d deserved the lot he’d gotten either. Yeah, Ivan was just as fucked up as the rest of us.

Brynne made her way back to the table a few moments later, her expression unreadable, but if I could guess, I’d say she had something on her mind. I wondered what it was.

I stood and reached for her hand, kicking Ivan’s chair leg in the process so he’d get off his arse. He jumped up and widened his eyes when he saw her. I wished I’d kicked his leg instead of just the chair’s leg.

“Brynne, my cousin, Ivan Everley. Ivan, Brynne Bennett, my very beautiful, and, I might add, very taken, girlfriend.”

“Enchanté, Brynne.” He took her hand and offered a kiss that barely passed as neutral in my book, but then did I expect anything different from him?

Stupid rhetorical question.

She smiled beautifully as always, greeting Ivan politely as I seated her and then myself. Ivan just stood there like a dimwit.

“You can sit now, cousin. And put your tongue back in your mouth,” I said.

“Well, Brynne, I was prepared to ask you how you managed to snag Ethan, but now that I’ve met you finally, I think the better question is for him.” Ivan made a show of looking at me. “How in the hell did you capture such an exquisite creature as this, E? I mean, just look at her! And you? Well, you are so dull and surly all the time.” He focused back to Brynne. “My dear, what do you see in him?” He made a face of mock interest and rested his chin on his hand propped up by an elbow.

“God, you are such an idiot, Ivan!”

Brynne laughed and made a comment about how determined I’d been to get her out on a date with me. “He was very persistent, Ivan. Ethan never gave up on me, and I finally went out on that date.” She took a sip of wine and winked at me. “The two of you are so very different. Have you always been this close?” Brynne asked.

“Yes.” We both answered her at the same time. Ivan met eyes with me and we had that communication for an instant, but then turned it off just as quickly in the next instant. That conversation was for another time. This was social.

“Close to killing him!” I smirked at Brynne. “No, seriously, I keep him alive and tolerate his many annoyances, and Ivan is dutifully grateful, isn’t that right, Ivan?”

“I suppose . . . it’s better than wanting me dead,” he answered.

Brynne laughed. “Who wants you dead, Ivan?”

“Lots of people!” Ivan and I spoke again at the same time.

We both laughed at a bemused Brynne and then the waiter showed up to do his thing, so it was a few minutes before I was able to explain about my very eclectic cousin.

“Hmmmm, where to start?” I paused for effect. “Our mothers were sisters and we’ve been around each other since . . . forever. Without the blood connection I doubt we’d ever have met, though. Ivan is aristocracy, you know. In heredity and in the eyes of the World Archery Federation.” Ivan scowled at me. “Brynne, you are looking at Lord Rothvale, thirteenth Baron or some rot, or Lord Ivan, as he’s called among his sporting compatriots.” I gestured with a flourish. “In the flesh.”

It was Brynne’s turn to look shocked. “Rothvale . . . as in the gallery where I conserve paintings?”

“Well, yeah. That’s my great-great-great-grandfather it’s named for, but I have no connection to the Rothvale Gallery,” Ivan said.

“But you do at the National,” I reminded him.

Brynne looked at me, incredulous, and then back to Ivan. “You are on the board of directors at the National Gallery, Ivan?”

He blew out a huge sigh. “Well yes, my dear, but not by choice. I’ve inherited the appointment and can’t seem to get rid of it. My knowledge is pretty weak, I am afraid. Not like you, an expert at restoring paintings, E tells me.”

“I love what I do. I’m working on the most lovely Mallerton right now.” Brynne looked at me and reached for my hand. “Ethan helped me solve the mystery of the title of the book the woman in the painting was holding.”

“She’s really brilliant, Ivan,” I concurred, brushing my thumb over her hand that I didn’t want to let go of. “I just translated a little French for her.”

Ivan sounded amused. “Wow . . . you two are really into it together. Shall I leave you to your lunch in private where you can translate more French for her?”

Brynne snatched her hand away. I glared at Ivan.

Ivan answered with a smirk. “I might have a job for someone actually. Maybe a whole crew.” He shrugged. “My estate in Ireland, Donadea, has rooms and rooms full of nineteenth-century paintings. A shitload of Mallertons too.” Ivan looked up sheepishly. “Pardon my French, but I need them gone through and cataloged. I don’t think they’ve been touched in a century.” He shook his head and held his hands up. “I don’t even know what’s all there, just that there’s a ton of it and it needs a professional’s attention. It’s on my list of things to do.” Ivan tilted his head at Brynne and offered a look that was far too flirty than it should have been for being directed at my girlfriend. “Interested?”

No, she’s definitely not interested in going to your Irish estate and cataloging your paintings while you try to finagle a way to get her into bed with you!

“Yes!” Brynne said.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Only if I come along as chaperone, and my docket is quite full until after August.” I gave him a look to let him know that Brynne would go alone to his estate in Ireland over my dead and decomposing body.

“What? You don’t trust me, E? Your own blood, too.” He shook his head. “So sad.”

“With her? No way!” I picked up Brynne’s hand again, the urge to touch her overriding the fact that I was a jealous bastard with anyone who tried to flirt with her, even my cousin.

“You know, I should introduce you to Gabrielle, my roommate—she’s doing her dissertation on Mallerton. She’s the one to do your job, Ivan. Gaby was just here too and had to go off. It’s a pity you two didn’t meet.” Brynne smiled sweetly, obviously pleased with her suggestion. She tugged her hand out of mine with a little pat and then a censuring look.

“Yes!” I said, suddenly interested. “Gabrielle would be perfect for the job, Ivan.” The sparks flying between the two of them would be a show I wouldn’t want to miss. And hell, it was Brynne’s idea, so I was completely off the hook. Anything to distract him from Brynne worked for me. “I’ll introduce you to her at the Mallerton Gala. Try not to talk too much and you’ll be fine,” I patronized. “Just show her the paintings.”

He ignored me and focused instead on charming my girlfriend. “Why, thank you, Brynne. I would love to meet your friend and have her tackle the job. You have no idea. It’s the proverbial monkey on my back that needs to be on his way like decades ago . . .”

Ha! Wait until you get a load of Gabrielle and you’ll be wishing for that little monkey clawing at your back!

Lunch arrived at that point and we got down to it. Ivan jabbering to Brynne about nonsense, and then to me about his security problems; before I knew it was time to get back.

I left Brynne with Ivan while I went to get the car pulled around front. Ivan winked at me and gave assurance he’d keep a good eye on her for me. I told him thanks for buying our lunch and gave him a warning look that left no question about just how much I needed his help. I knew my cousin was just playing with me. The poor man was probably in shock to see me like this over a girl, and I’m sure he’d have plenty to say to me about her in a private conversation. Lovely.

I handed the ticket to the valet and scanned the area. It was habit, just something I did when I was out. A bloke in a brown jacket leaned against the building, waiting. He had that hungry look to him and a camera around his neck. I pegged him immediately as paparazzi. They lived for shots of celebrities coming and going from establishments like Gladstone’s, where anyone could show up at any time.

The valet handed off my car and I got inside to wait. I tuned on the music and got “Butterfly,” by Crazy Town. Perfect song, I thought, tapping my thumb on the steering wheel while Brynne and Ivan took their damn sweet time getting outside.

I wasn’t thrilled about where I was taking Brynne either. Photo shoot. If there was one thing I could change about my girl, that would be it. I absolutely loathed and despised that she got naked for the camera and that other men saw her body. It was a thing of beauty, true, but I just didn’t want anyone else to see what was mine.

My thoughts were interrupted by the car door as Ivan opened it for Brynne, kissing her on both cheeks and making a big show of saying good-bye.

At the same time, that fucking photographer started snapping pictures! They looked like celebrities even if they weren’t, and Ivan technically was. Christ Almighty!

Brynne looked stunning on the street talking to my cousin. How would I ever survive this, I thought. The desire for a smoke nearly had me gasping, but my vice would have to wait for the moment.

“Good-bye, Ivan! It was so lovely to meet you today, and it’ll be wonderful seeing you again at the Mallerton Gala soon.” Brynne got into her seat and smiled up at him.

“It was lovely to meet you too, Brynne Bennett,” Ivan grinned and then bent down to speak to me. “Take care of this gorgeous girl for me, now, would you? No fits and tantrums, okay, E? You can do it.” He was laughing as he shut the door.

“Well that was fun,” I said sarcastically as I pulled away from the curb.

“I like your cousin a lot, Ethan. He is a character for sure. I’m glad you introduced him. I cannot believe you knew he was on the board at the National Gallery and did not tell me!” She gave me a little punch in the shoulder, which I found incredibly hot.

“Well, sorry, I know he doesn’t give a crap about the art, he’s just on the board.” Remembering my oath to tell her everything, I continued on, “I told him about you a while ago. I wanted to see if there can be something at the National for you. I want you to have that work visa too.” I looked at her across the seat from me, so beautiful and glowing, and knew I’d do anything in order to keep her in England with me. Even what Ivan suggested in jest on the phone?

“Oh, Ethan.” She touched my leg. “That’s very sweet of you, but I will get any appointment on my own. It’s something really important to me. I want to earn it by myself, not from you getting a favor from your cousin. No matter how well connected he is . . . and flirty. Jesus, that man is a flirt!”

“Don’t remind me. There were a few times I wanted to strangle him during lunch.”

“But it’s all just an act, Ethan. You must know that about him. He respects you, and I can see the relationship you two have. Like brothers almost.”

“Yeah . . . Ivan’s good deep down. He’s just had some hard knocks lately which have jaded him.” Haven’t we all.

“Haven’t we all,” she said.

I grabbed her hand and held it on my lap in a sort of answer. Didn’t know what to say in response to that and knew we didn’t have far to drive.

I dearly wished the trip could have taken a lot longer, though. The closer we got to her destination, the fouler my mood became. By the time I pulled up to the studio where she was working today and parked the damn car, I was a rabid mess. I felt irrationality sweep through my body and had to fight it off hard. My inner Mr. Hyde was having a field day with my inner Dr. Jekyll. Like kicking the good doctor’s noble arse to the curb and delivering sucker punches with glee.

“What are you shooting today?” I demanded. And please say there are some clothes involved.

“Ethan,” she warned. “We’ve been through this before. You can’t come in and you need to stop worrying. It’s just me and the photographer, and some time behind the camera lens. We’re all professionals doing our jobs.” She paused. “There is some lingerie involved . . .”

“Which photographer?” I asked.

“Marco Carvaletti. You met him before.”

“Oh, I remember the suave Italiano Mr. Carvaletti who likes to kiss you very well, my darling.”

“You can stop being an idiot now, Ethan,” she told me in no uncertain terms. “This is my job just like you have a job.”

I stared at her in the seat and wanted to tell her she couldn’t go in there and take off her clothes. I wanted to stand in the back of the room and watch everything Carvaletti did, every move he made, every suggestion he directed to her. I wanted to be there in case he tried to touch her or looked too close. I wanted to turn the car around and take her home. I wanted to fuck her up against the wall the moment we got inside again. I wanted to hear her pant out my name as she was coming. I wanted her to feel me inside her—to know it was me there and nobody else. I wanted so much.

And I couldn’t have any of those things. Nothing.

I had to kiss her good-bye and go back to my job. I had to tell her to text Neil when it was time for a pickup because I had an afternoon meeting and couldn’t come for her. I had to watch her go and wait until the door closed behind her and she was inside the building. I had to drive away and leave my girl inside that building.

I had to do it all.

And hated every bloody second of it.

• • •

I wasn’t in much of a better mood by the time I could leave the office. I rang Brynne and got voice mail. I left her a message and told her I’d bring the dinner because I know how tired she is after a photo shoot. Don’t think about the motherfucking photo shoot.

I wasn’t worried when she didn’t pick up, because I knew she was at home. Neil always checked in with me when he dropped her. I had hoped we could stay at my place tonight, but Brynne wasn’t going for it. I’d asked and she’d balked. Said she needed her own bed for the night, plus she’d be over tomorrow for the family dinner we had planned. I tried to get her over with me every night, but she was still elusive about relinquishing her independence. Brynne got annoyed with me if I interfered too much or tried to influence her choices.

Cue the nude modeling. You’re thinking about it again, asshole.

Damn, relationships are a lot of fucking work . . . like all the goddamn time.

So, being the brilliant sod that I am, I could weigh my options—my place with no Brynne vs. the package deal of Brynne and her tiny flat, and less privacy if Gabrielle was around.

Easy decision. Brynne won every time.

Hell, I was still fantasizing about another wall-shag and wondered if I might surprise her with one if the coast was clear when I got over there.

Where to pick up food? We liked a lot of different things. I would have brought lasagna from Bellisima’s, but I immediately was reminded about Carvaletti being Italian and shot that idea right down to hell. That bastard saw her naked today.

Brynne loved Mexican, but it was far better when she made things from scratch than any restaurant in town. I really loved the South American influences on what she liked to make. I decided on Indian and rang in an order for some butter chicken, lamb curry and veggie salad. I was just leaving the restaurant with the food when I sent off a quick text: Almost there, baby. I got Indian chicken & lamb.

I received something right back from her: Hi. Really tired and just want bed. Can I skip dinner 2nite?

What? I didn’t like the sound of her message and immediately tried to figure out what she meant by it. A flicker of unease ran through me. Was she telling me not to come over, or just that she wasn’t hungry? I couldn’t tell from that text, and I read it over about ten times.

I was tired myself, crabby, rumpled and nicotine deprived, and not at all sure my brain was up for a conversation with a possibly irrational female mind. All I wanted was to eat something, have a shower and crawl into bed with her. I could skip the sex even, but sleeping with her was nonnegotiable.

We’d made an agreement of sorts about where we stayed, because her place or mine, I wanted her next to me. I’d made that perfectly clear to Brynne when we started out. I rang her from the car and drove.

“Hi. I’m not hungry, Ethan.” She sounded odd.

“Well what’s wrong, baby? You’re not feeling well?” This was a first. She’d never been sick before, except for the headache that first night we met.

“My stomach hurts. I was lying down.”

“Like you’re going to be sick? You want me to stop at the chemist and get you something for it?” I offered.

She paused before answering cryptically. “No . . . like I have cramps.”

Ahhhh. The Curse. I knew about that from having a sister, I just never had to deal with it in a relationship before. Matter of fact, I’d never had a relationship like the one I was in with Brynne. When you have sex with short-timers, inconveniences like “she’s having her dead week” don’t come up. But I’d heard the complaints from friends for years, and I’d been around my sister. And I’d learned enough to know that giving a woman her space when she’s hormonal is the way to go. You think?! I supposed the nice wall-shag I had in mind was out of the picture now too. Damn.

“Okay . . . I can give you a massage when I get there. Is everything else all right? How did the shoot go?” I felt myself tense up just waiting for her to answer me.

“Ummm, the shoot was fine. Good.” She paused and made a sniffling sound. “I talked to my mom on the phone.” She sounded sad and I wondered if the reason she sounded snuffly was because she’d been crying. Made sense. That woman almost made me feel like crying from the one time we’d spoken.

“Our conversation didn’t go so great.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be there and we can talk when I get up to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” she snapped back. She had that lovely pissed-off tone to her voice that actually got me a bit hard, but also got my warning flaps going too.

I paused a beat. “That’s fine too. I’ll be there very soon.”

“Why are you sighing into the phone at me?”

Christ. I’m sure I opened my mouth and just gaped like a goldfish because I had nothing to offer after that question. “I’m not.”

“You just did it again!” she scolded. “If you’re going to interrogate me about the photo shoot, and my mother, then maybe you shouldn’t come over. I’m just not up for that tonight, Ethan.”

Can you say wicked hormones changing my girl into Medusa and scaring the hell out of me?

“Not up for talking to me or not up for me at all? Because I do want to talk to you.” I tried to keep my tone level but wasn’t too confident I was succeeding. I was pretty fucking sure I couldn’t do any better at keeping my cool, though. I did not like this fucked-up dialogue at all. It sucked.

Silence.

“Hello, Brynne? Am I coming over right now or not?”

“I don’t know.”

I counted to ten. “‘I don’t know’ is your answer to me?” What in the holy hell happened to our nice romantic lunch at Gladstone’s? I want my sweet girl back!

“You sighed at me again.”

“Have me arrested. Look, I’m driving with a car full of Indian takeout and don’t know where I’m going. Can you help me out, baby?”

I absolutely fucking refused to get in a row over this. She was having a shit day and hormonal—that I could deal with. It sucked if she wouldn’t be in my arms tonight, but at least we weren’t breaking up. Medusa might be messing with my night, but she would be out of the picture in a few days. I prayed.

“Okay . . . come get me then,” she said firmly.

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Come and get you? I thought you had to stay at your place tonight. You said earlier—”

She cut me right off, her tongue like a sharp-edged blade. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to stay here. I’ll pack a bag and be ready for you in five minutes. Call me when you’re at the curb and I’ll be down.”

“All right, chief,” I said in utter bewilderment, waiting till she hung up before I sighed good and loud. I shook my head too. And even blew out a whistle. Then I drove over to get my snake-haired, sharp-tongued, unpredictable, and very perplexing girlfriend, like the besotted sap that I very much was.

Women . . . frightening creatures.