By the way Bruiser’s face hardened, she’d picked the wrong subject and stepped into a big pile of shit and, so typical of her, she trudged right on through it. Yeah, don’t heed the warning signs, just dig yourself a grave-sized hole. “I mean, they’re nice enough.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself. Everyone says that.” Bruiser’s smile idled on his face, motor running but no power behind it. His eyes had turned a cold stone gray.
“How come this is the first time I’ve met them? In fact, I thought your parents didn’t live anywhere around here.”
“My father doesn’t. He’s in LA.” Bruiser’s jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead.
“They’re divorced?” She just didn’t know when to shut up. Never been one of her special skills.
“Like a dozen times between the two of them.”
“Oh, wow.” Mac shook her head in surprise.
“Yeah, wow. You can see why I have no respect for marriage. It’s a crock.”
“I understand why you’d see it that way. Do you only have a sister?”
“I had a brother too,” he said in an emotionless voice, his closed expression not inviting further questions. A muscle jerked in his strong jaw. She’d inadvertently hit another sore subject, actually beyond sore—an open, gaping wound.
A brother? She’d never heard that before. Yet he’d said had, as if his brother no longer existed. Maybe they were estranged. Or something happened to him. Something Bruiser very obviously didn’t want to discuss. Tons of questions raced through her mind, but for once, she curbed her nosiness. Everyone had private pain. She should know that better than anyone.
Mac cranked up the Mariners game, but she couldn’t have stated the score if her life depended on it. Bruiser didn’t speak again, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts, and thanks to her big mouth, they didn’t appear to be pleasant ones.
Time ground to a turtle’s pace as they made the short trip to the Simms family’s Lake Washington home. Bruiser maneuvered his ’Vette around dozens of parked cars along the long driveway and pulled up to the grand front entry, tossed his keys to a valet, and strode around the car to the passenger door. Mac waited patiently while he swept the door open, not because she was trying to be a lady but because she didn’t dare walk without clinging to his arm. He held out his hand, and she took it. The heat from his large, warm palm rocketed through her body like a missile finding its mark and detonating, engulfing everything in its path, including her heart and her common sense as she shuddered in reaction.
“Cold?” He angled his head at her, looking damned irresistible from the cleft in his chin to the way a lock of golden hair fell across his forehead. His expression softened and his mouth tipped up at the corners in one of his signature smiles.
“Just caught a cool breeze for a second,” she lied.
He looked skeptical but said nothing. After all, it was at least eighty degrees. Instead, he tucked her hand in his forearm and led her to the huge front porch, which looked like it should be the entrance to a five-star hotel, not a single-family dwelling. Mac took a moment to appreciate the landscaping and rare plants flanking the entry. The place was a regular arboretum. The Simms had to employ a full-time gardener.
Mac glanced up at Bruiser and put on a brave face. He grinned and winked at her, the familiar, charming Bruiser taking over. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead, Mac. Just smile and let me do the talking. Veronica will know exactly who you are by the night’s end.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Of course it is. Trust me.”
She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe he could wave his magic wand and transform her into Veronica’s idea of a scholarship-worthy employee, but she wasn’t convinced even Bruiser was that good.
Mac clung to him as they entered the house, taking in the sights and smells of the party. They paused in the doorway, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to play the part she looked, a part she oddly somewhat liked—except for the heels. A stranger had invaded her body, a stranger who liked pink, ordered a double macchiato with caramel, and haunted downtown Seattle in search of her next pair of Jimmy Choos. Not that any of those things were true about her, but hey, she almost felt as if they could be. In some really weird way, she wanted to be that girl once in a while and do girly things. Was that too much to ask?
Mac placed one foot in front of the other with careful precision, attempting to walk like a girl and not a gorilla, but it wasn’t easy. Drill Sergeant Kelsie’s words played through her brain: Stand up straight, shoulders back, head up, and smile, smile, smile like you’re on the red carpet at a world premiere.
A servant in a black suit with an English accent ushered them to the back of the house, where a tiered deck ran the entire length of the mansion. An emerald-green lawn sloped down to a pebbly, low-bank beach where the lazy waters of Lake Washington lapped at the shore. The late-afternoon sun warmed the breeze coming in from the water, and a yacht large enough to house its own football stadium was tied at the end of a long dock. Over to one side, a slate path led through a garden awash with flowers and shrubs, complete with a bubbling waterfall. And roses, lots of roses in a rainbow of colors, lined the meandering path.
Bruiser nudged her. “Hey, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’ve never seen such gorgeous gardens.”
“Well, Simms is worth billions. He can afford it. They probably have an entire crew of gardeners.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they do.”
Mac glanced over at the She-Wolves, who stood sharpening their claws
