Usually Bruiser chose women who were like him, women who used him for their own agendas. He had no fucking clue what to do with a woman who didn’t fit his usual mold.
Bruiser walked down the short hallway, past the cat sunning himself in a pool of sunlight that ran across the couch. He found his jeans, pulled them on, and continued to the neat and tidy kitchen. He paused and looked around, taking some time to assess Mac’s home.
Besides being neat and tidy, the house was decorated in natural tones with glossy hardwood floors, comfortable, overstuffed leather furniture, and antiques. Various exotic-looking houseplants thrived in different parts of the room while a garden window in the kitchen held flowering plants displaying vibrant splashes of color.
Mac was quite a decorator. Another thing about her he’d have never imagined.
The kitchen had been remodeled with cherry cabinets and granite countertops. It was a kitchen Bruiser would like to cook in, if he cooked. He easily found the coffee and made a pot, impressed with how organized the kitchen cabinets were. Somehow this tidiness didn’t fit his picture of Mac with her hair flying every which way, dirt smudged on her cheeks, and mud on her work boots. Except that was the old Mac, the one he thought he knew. This new Mac dressed neatly, had highlights in her hair, and dirt didn’t seem to stick to her like it once did.
He found the girlie Mac sexy and the natural Mac hotter than hell. She had something none of those other women had. They couldn’t come close to duplicating her inner beauty.
Bruiser poured a cup of coffee and stared into the backyard at the array of colors and plants artfully arranged around a deep green lawn. Hell, he didn’t even have a lawn. He had a condo. He walked outside with his steaming coffee cup and sprawled in a lawn chair. It was a bit nippy, but the sun warmed him right up, promising a nice day in the making.
The French door opened, and Mac stepped outside, coffee mug in hand, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. She looked every bit the old Mac except for a few subtle differences.
He ached inside, wishing that of all the things in his world that changed on a regular basis, Mac didn’t have to be one of them.
“Beautiful morning,” she said.
“Sure is. I was admiring your yard and your house.”
For a moment she looked away as a cloud passed over her fresh-scrubbed features. “It didn’t always look like this.”
“Really? How did it look?”
“I moved in four years ago after Grandma died. She’d pretty much kept everything original.”
“You didn’t do all this work yourself, did you?” Not that it would surprise him. More than once she’d fixed some piece of equipment at the HQ when no one else could.
He flinched when he saw her sad smile.
“I did a lot of it, but Will did most of the carpentry work and plumbing. He could do anything with his hands. Very talented.”
“I don’t have a handyman bone in my body.” Bruiser snorted as he recalled his recent attempt at fixing a leak that ended up costing him about fifteen hundred dollars after he flooded the apartment below.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
He heard the unspoken words, or thought he did: pretty is as pretty does. Man candy with no talents other than running hard with a football in his hands and screwing women.
Or maybe those were his family’s words ringing in his ears, always nagging him, underneath it all accusing him of being the one who lived while the favored son died. He endured the digs from his mother at various family events, the guilt heaped on him because his brother couldn’t be there to celebrate with them. His father just plain avoided him because he was a constant reminder of Brice.
“Are you okay?”
Bruiser jerked back to reality. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About us?”
Unexpected pain sliced through him. There was no us. And there couldn’t be for a dozen fucked-up reasons, including the biggest one—him.
“Not that we have anything going or that I expect anything. I enjoyed last night, that’s all. I mean, it was great fun. Really great fun, nothing more.” She finished her statement in flood of nervous words.
“Uh, yeah, right.” He felt even more guilt at the strained look on Mac’s face.
“I’d make you breakfast but my dad should be here in the next twenty minutes.”
In other words, get the hell out of here. So much for a little morning delight. Bruiser downed the rest of his coffee and nodded at Mac. “I enjoyed myself.”
“So did I. Maybe we could—” She hesitated.
“Do it again sometime? Yeah, I’d like that. Sometime soon. Maybe tonight?” The words came out in a rush he couldn’t seem to stop.
Her eyes lit up, and he knew he’d made another big mistake. Women didn’t do recreational sex well, no matter how much they claimed to the contrary.
She grinned at him. “We’ll be back around nine or so. Is that too late?”
“It’s never too late.” Bruiser nodded, even as he was mentally kicking himself in the shins. “I’ll be here with pizza.”
He bent down to kiss her, aiming for her cheek, but she turned her head. Instantly, his peck on the cheek exploded into a passionate kiss with tongue, lips, exchanging of saliva, and mutual groaning.
He pulled away and straightened, running a hand through his mussed hair. “See ya.”
“See ya.”
The hope in her voice made him feel like the biggest ass in the world. He wanted this to be just fucking good sex. But to her? Hell, he suspected it was more.
He didn’t have the strength to stay away in spite of all the reasons he should.
Chapter 12—Staying in Bounds
As soon as Mac mentioned her father dropping by, Bruiser displayed his running abilities by getting the hell out of there. Not that Mac blamed him. Her father drove everyone away.
Meanwhile, Mac’s life flipped upside down and turned inside out. She
