ONE WEEK 1 (2 page)

Dev

She’s just as cute as she always was. At thirteen she’d been a slip of a thing, following Grey and myself around and getting into as many scrapes as possible for such a clumsy girl.

She’d been mischievous and awkward and naughty as hell, hence the name ‘imp’. At sixteen I’d had to warn her off and rip the stars from her eyes, effectively killing the schoolgirl crush she’d had on me since the first time she’d seen me and stammered her hellos.

Not that I hadn’t thought her beautiful, even then, but at twenty-two I’d been loath to encourage her sixteen-year-old heart, lest I do something to break the fragile gem.

Now she’s well past the age of consent and all woman, believe you me. I know, since I’d had a hell of a time hiding my all too eager dick cramped within the confines of the little box she calls a car.

Besides being damn near horrified at her drivin
g
—
something we’ll be talking about soon, as she’s way too reckless and enamored of spee
d
—
I’d been forced to breathe in her jasmine scent for over an hour while my erection endeavored to crawl out of my trousers and into her lap, quite ready to do her bidding.

Bloody traitor.

Not that I don’t want imp, I really do, have since I’d gone to that bloody engagement party the year she turned eighteen and seen her in that little yellow dress that hugged her plumpness just right.

But Becky Slade can never be mine, not if I want to keep her brother as a friend. I’ve known this for years now, after he’d caught me staring slack-jawed at her and warned me off. I resented it then and managed to stay away, not wanting another episode like the one we’d had, but I’ve known the man almost ten years now since we met in college and shared an apartment, and I have no intention of ruining that friendship for a night between imp’s thighs.

Because that’s all it can be, one night. I never go in for seconds, not after Gia and what she’d taught me, no matter how delectable the woman is.

I have a feeling that one night with the little firecracker wouldn’t be enough, so I’ve resolved to keep things just as they are between us: as platonic as possible, with the way my boy is chomping at the bit to get in there and stake a claim.

Shit.

“You coming or what?”

And that smart mouth of hers isn’t bloody helping. I’m too used to her stammering and blushing when she talks to me. This mouthy piece is doing terrible things to my already raging lust, and I’m not sure I like it one bit.

Where’s my cautious, starry-eyed little imp? I’m not sure what’s happened to change her, or if she’s just having a bad day, but I want my sycophantic imp back, not this scornful baggage who’d rather not look at me at all.

“Rebecc
a
—
”

“Hey, Becks!”

I’m stopped from an apolog
y
—
whatever it is,she needs to look at me agai
n
—
when Lila comes bounding out of the house, her midnight black tresses blowing behind her as she skips over and launches her lanky frame at a much shorter Becky, all arms and legs, like an enthusiastic puppy.

“Hiya, baby doll. You look even skinnier than usual! Stop making me feel fatter, you bitch!” she laughs, just managing to right herself before they can both go crashing to the ground in an inglorious sprawl.

The way she says i
t
—
jokingl
y
—
comes out on a chuckle, but it pisses me off nevertheless. She’s perfect just the way she is, and the fact that she doesn’t think so makes my jaw ache. I clench it so hard my ear pops.

That bloke at the airport seemed to have liked her just fine, I think, steeling myself against the anger that thought provokes. Strangely, I am not pleased at the thought of another looking at imp and seeing what I see: a desirable woman ripe for the taking.

“Oh shush, girl, you look fabulous! Oh, Dev!”

I smirk when the leggy chit jumps my way and seizes me in a rib-cracking hug, her skinny frame belying her strength.

“Hi, Lila lips, you’re not having cold feet yet? Run away with me,” I tease, like I have since the day I met her and told Grey she’s way too good for his ugly arse.

“Never. My heart is taken, evil man,” she smirks, lightly punching my shoulder and looking at the car behind me. “So how was the drive?”

“Bloody harrowing. The woman has never met the brake pedal in her bleeding life! And that’s after I had to watch some wanker practically try to crawl his way down her chest.”

I don’t mention the hard on or the fact that I’d tried to engage in conversation at least four times and been rebuffed each and every time, my efforts met with a silent pursing of her lips and a raised brow.

Damned female is snarky.

Lila, being the incorrigible baggage she is, laughs at my chagrin and shrugs a shoulder, hooking her arm in mine to tow me along behind her.

“Leave her alone. It’s about damn time someone noticed her. Maybe she can lose the V-card sometime this freaking century.”

“Uh, wh
a
—
”

“Hurry it up, It’s baking hot out here, and Mama will skin me alive if I just leave you out here!” she yells from the doorway, her cheeks red enough that I suspect she heard Lila’s rather indelicate outing of her status as probably one of a handful of twenty-two-year-old virgins still inhabiting the planet.

It’s a shock, a bleeding heart-stopper, a flipping jolt to the senses and other things besides, to know that the sexy little package I’ve purposely avoided for four years is still pure.

I’m honest enough to admit that does things to me, primal things that I have no business thinking about.

We follow her into the house, my eyes squarely trained on her twitching bum, a bum so nicely curved it would likely cradle my monster very nicely as I take her from behind.

“Stop staring. You’re gonna make her uncomfortable, and you know she already has trouble forming whole words around you, asshole,” Lila mutters, pinching my arm. “No. Oh, no way. No freaking way, Dev. Leave her alone. She’s been through a hard time at work lately, and she almost shat a brick when I called her to pick you up. Just leave her alone.”

“What? Why is she having a hard time?” I ask, rubbing at my arm distractedly as that luscious arse twitches out of view and into the kitchen.

God, the things a man can do with that kind of arse.

“There’s a douchebag at work, can’t remember his name, but he’s been harassing her and now her boss is on her ass about it too.”

“Does Grey know?”

“You kidding me? If any one of these Slade boys knew their little princess was being pawed they’d snap the man’s dick off. She asked me not to tell any of them, and I promised I wouldn’t. Just…don’t make things harder for her than they already are. Her confidence is real low right now.”

“Fine. Bu
t
—
”

“No buts. Have an early dinner with us, and keep things light. Becks isn’t one of those airheads you pop and drop, Dev. She’s got deep feelings, and if you hurt her I’ll rip your nads off.”

I nod once, not meeting her eyes, and follow her to the kitchen, where Mill and Brand Slade are greeting imp with hugs and effusive kisses before pulling me into the fold.

We eat an early dinner, conversation flowing freely around the table as the five of us get caught up and listen to the hundred things that still need doing before the wedding next Saturday.

“You sitting for the bar soon?”

I see imp flinch before turning to Brand and shrugging, a sure sign that she’s uncomfortable with the line of conversation.

“Not yet. I’ve been busy working for the Dark Lord. She’s keeping me on my toes and enjoying every drop of blood she can get.”

The answer does little to satisfy her father, and I see him take a deep breath, his lungs no doubt ready to blast her to kingdom come for the non-answer.

“Mum asked me to get you to ring her some time during the week. She loved those jerseys you sent her last autumn and wanted to talk to you about the stitch or pattern or something,” I interject, looking as serious as I can without laughing at Brand’s frown.

I adore the man as much as my own father but he’s too much sometimes, something Grey and I both agree on, and way too hard on imp. If she goes left he shoves her right and vice versa.

According to Brand Slade, anything that imp gets into her head is the exact opposite of what’s safe or right for her.

“Oh! Uh,yeah, sure. She called me two months ago and we spoke about those quilts she was making, but
I
—
”

She’s saved from the outright lie on her lips when a commotion in the hall heralds the arrival of the prodigal son, and everyone but she and me leaves the table.

“Phew! That was close one. Thanks.”

It’s stuttered and barely audible, but I hear what she’s saying and smile, dipping my head in acknowledgement.

“That’s all right, imp, no harm. The old man still riding your arse about being the next best thing in law?”

“Eternally.”

“And that’s not what you want from life.”

It’s no question but a statement of fact. Imp is not cut out to be a lawyer. While she’s insanely intelligent and focused, the woman enjoys crocheting doilies, bleeding hell.

I can picture her in a courtroom about as well as I see myself wearing pink fishnets beneath a dress. Not at all. Ever.

“Tell him, imp.”

“And then what? He’ll have a fit and start the freeze out like he did with poor Logan. No, I’m jus
t
—
”

“Putting off the inevitable.”

Becky

Yeah, I know this shit is inevitable, I think, staring down at my half-eaten chicken and the potato I’d been about to go Terminator on, suddenly not even a little hungry anymore.

I always feel this way when I think about Dad and his unreasonable expectations. Too bad I’m not always capable of staying without an appetite, hence my big butt.

“Look, Devon, give me a goddamned break, okay? My dad’s like a Nazi when it comes to what he expects. You know what happened when Logan went into the Marines instead of taking that football scholarship and going pro-ball. They haven’t spoken in years. The only reason we’re seeing him next week is because Lila threatened to cancel the wedding if he didn’t keep his yap shut.”

Logan is by far my favorite brother. He’s three years my senior, but he’s always been there for me, even in girly situations like that time I got my period and needed him to bring me tampons.

We used to be inseparable, but due to the ‘banishment’ I haven’t spoken to him in about eight months, when he was deployed. Dad’s a great guy, but he has these goals for each of his kids and if we don’t conform he gets stone cold about that shit: what I am currently trying to avoid.

“You’re talking to me,” he says, and I frown, before it hits me.

I haven’t stammered or stuttered or blushed once, not once, because I’m angry and irritated by his nosy interference. Well, ain’t that fabulous? The only way for me to string a decent sentence together is when I’m giving him heat.

Dammit.

“So? I have lips, a tongue, and a freaking mind. Of course I can talk,” I mutter, attacking my potato for something to do while he just sits there and stares at me. “I just don’t do it all that well around you.”

Oh God, why did I have to go and say that? It’s like a red light, a beacon, a siren’s song for guys like Devon. They thrive on knowing that some poor pathetic chick is too dazzled by their beauty to form coherent words, and now I’ve gone and hinted that I’m still a complete dork when it comes to him.

Cripes.

I’d give anything if he’d just let that kernel go unasked and change the subject.

“I know. I also know you haven’t been with anyone. Why?”

I change my mind, I change my mind! Ask about the other thing instead! I yell inside, feeling my face heat so suddenly my hair should be standing straight up.

“This…something…potato?”

Aaand we’re back to the ‘soup for brains’ part of my schoolgirl crush. I’m so mortified I want to let myself turn to Jell-O and melt right off of my seat and into the floorboards, but he just smiles and keeps looking, his expression letting me know he has the patience of Job and expects an answer.

“Um, uh, I…”

If I string the words together really slowly, there’s a chance I might get a decent, albeit lacking, sentence together, something that’s better than my show of genius a second ago.

“No…attraction?”

There, not the most engaging thing I’ve ever said, but as my anger is totally dead, crushed beneath mortification and humiliation, I feel it’s better than stringing together something that will undoubtedly contained the words ‘broccoli’, ‘cabbage’, or ‘Brussels sprout’.

It’s a thing: when I get nervous I start recapping the name of every vegetable I know of. It was an exercise in therapy to correct my lisp, and I’ve had the brain fart ever since.

His eyes seem to sparkle at the statement, and I shake my head, oh brother, and stand to my feet, pointing toward the noisy bunch out in the hall and marching toward them.

“What about that arse at the airport?”

I choose not to answer, because telling the dick that I’m so stunted I can’t even get a wettie for a guy as hot as Dillon is so low on my list of things to do I can’t even…

“Mind your….business,” I snap, pasting a fake smile on my face and scuttling around to stand beside Mama, not wanting to get between Dad and his golden boy.

I love the bastard, but one of these days I’m going to tell him how brown that ring around his nose is.

“There you are, scamp. Come give your favorite brother a kiss!” he yells, bringing me in for a hug as if I haven’t seen him in years instead of the three months it’s been since he came to check my apartment and give me another lecture about safety, pepper spray,and kicking ball
s
—
ask questions later, after the dick wad’s dropped.

I know, a real teddy bear this one.

“Hey right back. So you ready to make that poor woman a bad deal on Saturday?”

That statement gets a round of chuckles and a mock scowl from brother dearest before he gives me a wedgi
e
—
I shit you no
t
—
and shoves me into the wall to sweep Lila up in his arms.

“Come here, you sexy minx.”

And then we all have to leave and go back to the dining room when he starts kissing her like he’s getting ready for a whole lot more than just a little lip action.

“Oh, get a room, Greyson,” Mama mutters, rolling her eyes at no one in particular. “No porn in my house, young man. The only sex here is for Brand and me.”

“Oh Jesus, Mama, I just lost the ability to give you grandbabies.”

“And my freaking will to live,” I mutter, swallowing as a twitch of disgust rattles my bones.

“Oh now, you got in my belly only one way, little lambs, and I hate to break it to ya, but it wasn’t a stork who put you there. Tell them, Brand.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Me too.”

“Pardon me kindly.” (Devon)

“Gross, Mama!”

We hear the old coots laughing as we all break for the stairs, and I feel a chuckle escape when I beat Devon to the top in time to miss whatever she hollers up the stairs.

His wince makes me grateful I’d shoved him to get here first, and I’m laughing by the time I get to my room. The last time Mama got a bee in her bonnet I got an A to Z recap of childbirth; I think this is why the thought of having a kid makes me physically ill.

“Bloody cheat,” I hear from down the hall, and turn to see Devon shaking a fist at me with a scowl.

“And don’t you forget it. Losers finish last!”