Chapter 7 C7

"I'll be praying for him," Cutter assured with a nod, then marched One-Mile's way, cutting a scathing look in his direction. "Why are you here?"

"She was in no shape to drive herself."

"You were with her when she got the call?" Cutter demanded, brow raised.

One-Mile didn't see the point of stating the obvious.

"Would y'all mind giving us a minute?" Cutter asked his family. "Maybe get me a cup of coffee. I could use one."

"Whatever you want, little brother. Let's go, Brea." Cage took her arm.

Brea twisted from his reach. "I'd rather stay."

Cutter scowled. "You don't need to hear this, Bre-bee."

"I'm not leaving. The doctor might return with an update."

"Let her stay, son," Sweeney implored.

"All right. But One-Mile and I are going to have a man-to-man talk." Cutter jerked his head toward the door. "What I have in mind is probably best said outside."

Did the fidiot think he was going to beat him up in the parking lot? It would be hilarious if he wasn't so annoying.

As Sweeney and Cage exited for the cafeteria, Brea propped her hands on her hips. "You will not speak a cross word to Pierce, do you hear me? He got me here in one piece. He fed me and took care of me and-"

"Ask yourself why he'd do all that," Cutter fired back. "It wasn't out of the goodness of his heart, Bre-Bee. I guarantee he's focused on the desperation behind his zipper."

One-Mile hated being run out by the prick, but the last thing Brea needed right now was to be in the middle of their bickering. "I'll just go, pretty girl. I wish your father the best."

"But-

"It's fine," he cut into her objection, then pinned Cutter with a glare. "Bryant, maybe you should try getting your filthy mind out of the gutter."

As One-Mile headed for the exit, the asshole followed. "I have a few things to say before you go."

The moment they were out of Brea's earshot, he whirled on Cutter. "I'm not obligated to listen to your annoying-ass lecture, especially when it looks like you spent the night cheating on your girlfriend. So fuck off."

Bryant pointed a finger in his face. "Brea is off-limits to you, asshole."

"That's for her to decide. She's a grown woman."

"Who's too naive to know who you really are, so-hey!" the Boy Scout yelled. "Don't you walk away from me."

As he headed to his Jeep, One-Mile gave Cutter a one-fingered salute before he revved out of his parking spot and lurched toward the freeway, Brea Bell still on his mind.

Brea hustled up the walkway of the surprisingly well-kept mid-century modern home in Lafayette, questioning her sanity for the tenth time in as many minutes. Loud rock music throbbed behind the front door as she clutched the plastic food container in one hand. With the other she rang the bell, her fingers shaking-along with the rest of her body.

What the devil was she doing here? Courting danger. Pierce Walker was more man than she could handle. She was likely to get herself in over her head.

But Brea owed him her thanks. And, okay...she was dying to see him again.

What could five minutes alone with the man hurt?

Suddenly, the volume on the music dropped under a dull roar and heavy footfalls got louder as they headed her way. Then the door whipped open, and Pierce stood on the other side of the threshold, scowling.

He was covered in nothing but ink, body hair, and bulging muscle from the waist up. Well-washed jeans hung low on his hips. He dangled the neck of a half-empty beer in one hand. His bare feet were built like the rest of him-big and overwhelmingly masculine.

Brea sucked in a silent, shaking breath. "Hi."

"Brea." His scowl disappeared. "This is a surprise."

How was it possible that his eyes had been on her a handful of seconds and she somehow felt naked?

"Sorry to drop by. I-I just wanted to thank you." She held out the container to him.

He took the dish from her hands. "For what?"

As Pierce propped himself against the doorframe and stared, she nearly lost herself in his fathomless black eyes. She forced herself to blink, but her wayward gaze wandered down his body. A Marine crest tattoo covered his right pectoral. More dark ink enveloped both shoulders, emphasizing every ridge and swell of his sizable physique. Well-washed denim cupped the substantial bulge between his legs.

And she utterly forgot everything she'd planned to say.

"Brea?"

His deep voice jolted her. She jerked her gaze from places it didn't belong and cleared her throat. "Um...helping me get to the hospital the day Daddy collapsed. And for bringing my car to me afterward. It was very kind of you."

"No problem. How's he doing now?"

"Recovering. His surgery went well. Since you thoughtfully left me your contact information in my console, I meant to come sooner to tell you how much I appreciated your help, but I've been taking care of him. I finally got a few minutes, so I-I brought you these cookies. Since I didn't know what you liked, I baked a few different kinds..." She dropped her gaze to collect her thoughts and stop rambling, but her stare glued itself to him again, this time fixating on his ridiculously delineated twelve-pack abs. "But you don't look like you eat many."

He laughed. Pierce Walker was menacing when he scowled, but when he smiled he was stunning. Something wild and reckless quivered in her belly, urging her to put her hands on him, press herself against him, beg him to somehow stop this breathless, fluttery yearning she'd only ever felt with him.

"Because I don't have anyone baking me cookies." He peeled the lid off the top and peered down. "These look good."

"I baked the chocolate chip without nuts. I didn't know if you were allergic."

"I'm not."

"I also included checkerboard, cinnamon sugar, and gluten-free almond wafer."

"Thank you." He curled his fingers around her shoulder. They burned like a brand as he scooted her breathlessly close to his naked torso and locked the door behind them. "Why don't you come in and let me get you something to drink?"

"I shouldn't stay. I would never want to interrupt your..." Goodness, what had he been doing? It was a Friday night. Maybe he was getting ready to go out. Or heaven forbid, planning to stay in...with female company.

"Game of pool. You're not interrupting. Stay. Like a lot of things, it's a lot more fun when you're not playing alone." He winked.

His seemingly suggestive words sparked a reaction low in her belly. "I-I've never played."

He raised a dark brow. "Ever?"

"Daddy isn't much for games. My friends aren't, either."

"What about Cutter?"

She shrugged. "He's never shown any interest."

He sent her a stare that looked somewhere between stunned and dubious. "You sure? I've seen him play."

That didn't surprise Brea. Cutter had a whole life she barely knew about. "I'm sure he does, but not with me."

"I find that hard to believe."

Were they still talking about billiards? "Anyway, I won't keep you..."

"Don't go. One game." He wrapped his arm around her middle and ushered her deeper into his house. "What do you say?"

She risked a glance up at him. "You're sure I'm not in your way?"

"No. I'm thrilled as hell to have you here, pretty girl."

That low, deep declaration of his did something to her insides. Heat crawled up her cheeks. She ran her tongue across her suddenly dry lips. "O-one game, then."

"Let me get you a drink. Water? Tea? Beer?"

Brea shook her head. "Nothing. I also wanted to thank you for the thoughtful birthday gift you left me at the salon yesterday. I'm sorry I wasn't there, but I got it this morning. The wine was a lovely gesture."

He finished off his beer, then cocked his head at her. "You don't drink, do you?"

"Not much, but I'm looking forward to trying this." One of her fellow hairdressers who was a wine enthusiast had assured her it was a more than decent bottle.

Pierce led her deeper into his house. One wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. Movement outside hinted at trees in the yard, swaying in the dark. The adjacent wall was covered in white subway tile with dark grout. Over that he'd hung ten identically sized bright graphical pieces of art-skulls, poker cards, crossbones, masks, and the like-in two perfectly straight rows. Black modern furniture went with the vibe. A big vase of yellow daisies sat on top of a round, glass-top table, adding the lone homey touch. The living room was flanked by floating stairs with an angular steel railing that probably led to his bedroom. Beyond that lay a big pool table with a red felt top. His kitchen, with cabinets stained a warm, mid-tone brown, hugged the far wall.

The place seemed so him-vivid, sexy, contemporary, unexpected.

"This is really nice."

He smiled. "Thanks. I bought it a few months back. Gutted and rebuilt it."

That impressed her even more. "You did an amazing job."

Pierce grabbed a cookie from the plastic container and tossed it in his mouth. In fascination, she watched his sharp jaw work and his Adam's apple bob. Even the way he chewed dripped masculinity. It did something wicked to her when he closed his eyes.

"Hmm... Your cookies are delicious, pretty girl. I knew they would be."

The low dip in his voice nearly made her melt. "I like to bake them."

"I'm going to love eating them." He licked his full lips. "I'll do it all night if you let me."

He definitely wasn't talking about anything she whipped up in her kitchen.

She blushed. "Let me know when you run out. I'll be happy to make more." She turned for the door. "But I really should go."

He blocked her path. "You promised me one game, remember?"

"I don't know how."

"I'll teach you." He set the cookies and his empty beer aside, then sauntered closer. "Stay."

She probably shouldn't...but Brea couldn't resist. "All right."

Pierce gathered up the colorful balls on the table and racked them in a triangle, arranging each in numerical order. When he'd finished, he lifted the rack away, settled the plain white ball in front of the triangle's point, then grabbed a cue. "Do you know the object of the game?"