~~~
The room looked the same as it had the last time, the old linoleum on the floor, the school-style acoustic tile on the ceiling, and the air of cold authority. But this time as Liam sat in the courtroom waiting for Judge Devon, he didn't feel nearly as nervous and scared as he had the last time. He wouldn't say he wasn't nervous at all, but mostly he was proud and very happy.
Erica was taking care of him no matter what.
Adding icing to that cake, she'd apparently delivered one kickass business pitch to Brennan because Brennan had already signed a contract for her to give exhibitions and classes in his two stores.
Liam imagined Brennan had delivered his own kickass romantic pitch to Erica because she'd gone out with him the same night he'd accepted her business deal, and she hadn't come home again until three in the morning.
Liam was pretty sure Erica thought her younger brother hadn't noticed how late she'd sneaked home from next door. He was letting her maintain that delusion. Just like he was letting her tell him that she and Brennan were only trying a relationship on for size. There were no guarantees it would stick.
Like hell it wasn't going to stick. The two of them were bonkers for each other.
Down at the other end of the table, Clint yawned behind his hand. He sat past Brennan, who was right next to Erica. Yeah, that seating arrangement right there—Erica was already considering Brennan part of the family.
Same as the last time, a guy in a uniform—in fact, it looked like the same guy—got up from a seat near the door. "All rise."
As they stood up, short little Judge Devon emerged from the door and strode in her black robes up to her seat on the dais.
For a moment, Liam felt his back stiffen. At the last hearing, this little lady had thrown terror into all of them.
Reminding himself there was nothing she could do to them now, Liam calmed himself down as he took his seat again.
Judge Devon, her face pinched, shuffled some papers on top of her high desk. "Erica Carmichael?"
"Yes, your honor." Erica stood up. Her composure was serene.
"I gave you four weeks to prove you had some financial capability," Judge Devon reminded her. "What you have accomplished?"
"My physical training company now has nine clients, far less than what would be sustainable," Erica admitted calmly. "Meanwhile, though, I've entered a contract with Diehard Sports Equipment that should bring in a larger and steadier stream of revenue."
The judge looked up from her papers to give Erica a hard regard. "You've been taking lessons."
"Your honor?"
"In talking slick. The bottom line is that you don't yet have a going business or employment."
Erica inclined her head. "No, your honor. Given four weeks and starting from scratch, I was not able to make that happen. May I add something?"
"That's what we're here for." The judge's tone was sarcastic, as was the smile she gave Erica.
But Liam's sister ignored the nastiness. "Neither Liam nor I are interested in access to our father's pension if it means separating. He's staying with me regardless of what decision you make today." Erica turned to glance down toward Liam. It was a glance that made him incredibly happy. "We're family," she said.
Regarding Erica, the judge narrowed her eyes. "Clint Carmichael," she barked.
Clint straightened in his chair. "Your honor?"
Judge Devon turned her glare on him. "What do you think of this?"
Clint's cheeks hollowed since he probably was biting the inside of them. "I say good for Erica."
The judge glared at him a moment longer as if daring him to change his mind. Then, briefly, she closed her eyes. In that short moment something happened that Liam wasn't sure later he'd really seen. Very, very fleetingly, Judge Devon smiled.
If he hadn't been watching like a hawk, he wouldn't have caught it. And the thing disappeared so quickly, he wasn't sure he actually had. In an instant, she was back to a scowling sourpuss.
With a gusty sigh, she slapped the papers in front of her. "In that case, I may as well name Erica Carmichael guardian and conservator. You'll receive the paperwork in the mail. Bailiff! Who's next?"
What? Whoa? Was that it? They'd won? Apparently so, for the bailiff was calling the next party.
Liam stood up in a daze. Judge Devon had ended up giving them exactly what they'd wanted—and what they should have gotten—four weeks ago.
After a moment during which Erica apparently processed the same information, she grew a big smile on her face, swiveled, and enveloped Liam in a bone-crushing hug. She promptly turned and switched her embrace to Brennan. Clint clapped Brennan on the back.
Yup, Brennan was part of the family. No doubt about it.
Almost dizzy with triumph and relief, Liam caught the judge giving them one last look as he turned to leave. She was staring straight at him, a hard, penetrating stare.
A cold chill went through Liam. Damn, it was as if the woman knew.
He hadn't yet done what he'd promised his father. He hadn't contacted his oldest brother, Alex.
Liam finished turning toward the door, letting his view of the judge disappear as he left the courtroom. Okay, yes, he admitted that little task was still biting his conscience. He'd sworn to his father he'd find and seek out Alex. But he wasn't going to let his reluctance to follow through ruin today. Today was too damn good.
EPILOGUE
Sin City wasn't very sinful when one didn't drink or gamble. Erica had tried explaining this to Brennan when he'd suggested the weekend in Vegas two months after the final hearing regarding Liam's guardianship.
With a suspicious sparkle in his eye, he'd replied that he could think of plenty of sin that involved neither alcohol nor gambling.
Erica had provided no further arguments against the idea. Over the past few weeks, Brennan had taught her that she enjoyed sex far more than she'd ever dreamed she could.
By eight o'clock Friday night, and only an hour since they'd arrived at the hotel, Brennan had proven correct about how much sin they could commit. Erica's whole body hummed with physical bliss as she lay on the Egyptian cotton sheets of their room fifteen stories above the Strip.
Brennan strode over from the minibar with a champagne flute filled with her favorite sparkling water. A chocolate-covered strawberry sat impaled on the rim.
Sitting up in the bed, Erica drew the covers over her naked breasts and accepted the glass cheerfully. "Fancy."
"Only the best for my best woman." He bent to kiss her cheek reverently.
After plucking the strawberry from the rim, Erica placed her lips around the fruit and gave it her sexiest bite. She enjoyed watching the heat build behind Brennan's eyes. Pretty heady that she could do that to him even after the exercise they'd just finished. "You're spoiling me," she observed and finished the strawberry.
"Oh, good." He grinned. "You noticed."
Laughing, Erica drew the pillow from her side and tossed it in his direction.
Easily deflecting the pillow, Brennan took a seat next to her on the bed. "The fact is, I have an ulterior motive for this trip."
"Oh, really?" Like she hadn't noticed. The idea of the trip to begin with, the fancy room, and then champagne flutes with chocolate-covered strawberries. Of course he had an ulterior motive.
They'd been seeing each other ever since Brennan had accepted her business proposal. The relationship hadn't been all roses and honey. They'd had their disagreements, including a few doozies. But instead of assuming each bump in the road meant a personal rejection, Erica had taken them for what they were: bumps, disagreements, challenges. Underneath it all, she'd been able to tell how much Brennan cared for her—as much as she cared for him. She'd become able to believe someone could feel love for her. Her life had become infinitely happier because of it.
"Uh-huh." He kissed her under her ear, something he undoubtedly knew turned her to mush. He took the glass of sparkling water out of her hand and set it on the table beside the bed. "I wan
ted to get you in a...receptive mood."
"I've already shown you how 'receptive' I am."
"Mm. Receptive to an idea I have."
"Ooh." Erica was having fun playing dumb. "Did you bring some toys?"
Brennan's garbled laugh blew against her neck. Then he stilled. "Would you be open to using some?"
With a laugh, Erica hit his shoulder.
"Is that a no?"
"We don't need toys."
"No, but they might be fun."
He had a point. "Let me think about it."
Brennan smiled at her. It was his slow, confident smile that she loved. "Seriously, you know what I really want to talk about."
"If we're going to tell our children about this later, don't you think I ought to get dressed?"
"We can do the formal thing later."
"Really? You're going to go through this again?"
"I slipped a C-note to the maître d' at the restaurant to put a diamond ring in your chocolate cake."
"How do you know I'll order chocolate cake?"
Brennan tilted his head and gave her an incredulous look.
Erica burst into more laughter. "Oh, God, I love you."
He grabbed her in a warm embrace. "And I love you. Will you marry me?"
"Kinda silly to ask. You already know the answer and you've got enough brass to plan on giving me a diamond ring in public."
Pushing Erica onto her back on the bed, Brennan covered her body with his own and showered her with kisses, light and teasing. "Will you marry me? Give me an answer."
"Yes, you big lug. I already admitted we'd tell our children about it, didn't I?"
Brennan's hand slipped down Erica's naked waist. "We're not telling them this part."
"Probably not," Erica admitted. Her breath hitched as his hand created electric tingles all over her.
"I'm about to turn 'probably not' into 'definitely not'," Brennan warned. His hand wandered into more dangerous territory.
"We'll be late for that dinner reservation, the one with the chocolate cake."
"Oh, well." Brennan covered her mouth with a hot and thoroughly carnal kiss. "Nothing's perfect."
No, nothing was perfect. But some things came pretty darn close, Erica thought as she wrapped her arms around Brennan's muscled back.
The End
About the Author
Alyssa Kress completed her first novel at age six, an unlikely romance between a lion and a jackal. Despite earning two degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and spending nearly a decade in the construction industry, she's yet to see her feet stay firmly on the ground. She now lives in Southern California, together with her husband and two children.
You can learn more about Alyssa Kress and her other novels at https://www.alyssakress.com.
Other books by Alyssa Kress:
Marriage by Mistake
The Heart Heist
The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way
Asking For It
Love and the Millionairess
Working on a Full House
Your Scheming Heart
I Gotta Feeling
The Fiancée Fiasco
If I Loved You
That'll be the Day
A Perfect Knave
Call it Love
and the collection of all 12 nonfree books:
Dangerous Men and Determined Women
Preview of Just Friends
(Book 2 of the Home Again Series)
Maybe some would consider it unwise to seek out a woman on the eve of his hard-won freedom from the gender, but Clint considered his quest the best idea in the world. Besides, Rosalie Missen wasn't exactly a woman. At least, she wasn't the kind a man had to watch out for.
He found a parking spot across the street from one of the few mid-rise professional buildings that graced the high desert California town of Palmwood. As a craftsman, he didn't care for the sleek, off-green monolith of reflective windows where Rosalie worked, but he smiled up the height of the cold-looking building with the sun in his heart. Today everything looked beautiful. In his pocket he'd printed out the proof of that: the judge's order granting him a status divorce.
Two-and-a-half years ago he'd been stupid enough‑‑and horny enough‑‑to sleep with Judy Dawson. Two weeks later she'd tearfully called with the news she was pregnant, despite their use of two different types birth control. Three days after that, and after viewing evidence of the pregnancy, Clint had been stupid‑‑and naive‑‑enough to ask her to marry him. He knew he didn't love her, but he also knew she desperately wanted that proposal.
What he hadn't known was exactly how big a mistake his grand gesture would be.
The stress of his failure was all over now, though. Releasing a very happy sigh, Clint crossed the street and entered through the fancy revolving glass door into the building's granite lobby.
It was after six. He hoped Rosalie would be able to leave the office, but he knew she often worked overtime and sometimes even all night, conscientious and a bit proud. As the "IT coordinator," she was actually the only person at the big development corporation where she worked who could fix the various computer issues that came up. Some might call her a nerd, but Clint called her his very best bud. He really wanted to celebrate his milestone with her.
While in the hushed elevator cab riding to the tenth floor, Clint heard his phone receive a text. Taking it out of his pocket, he smiled at the name of the sender: Tom Gearson. Clint had met with Blaine yesterday to discuss some custom built-in cabinets Gearson wanted installed in his bedroom remodel. Clint thought Gearson had been impressed with Clint's portfolio.
Sorry. Going with another carpenter. Please don't call.
Clint frowned. Wow, he'd been sure Gearson was going to hire him. And what was this bit about "please don't call"? Had Clint given the impression he was going to start pestering the old man for the job?
Shaking his head, Clint turned off the phone and stuck it back in his pocket. You couldn't win them all, and today he'd won enough. Divorced. Clint grinned as the floor indicator hit the number nine.
Okay, his attorney had reminded him this was only a status divorce, giving him the ability to marry someone else should he wish. There was still the matter of property to be settled. But, come on. He and Judy hadn't had any 'property.' She was dreaming if she thought she could get her claws on his deceased father's house. In no way was that community property.
The elevator slowed at the tenth floor and the doors slid open smoothly. No receptionist manned the large desk facing the elevator beyond the big open double doors. In fact, nobody could be seen down the office halls at all. But the doors weren't locked, and the lights were all on. Clearly, at least a few employees were still working.
Clint headed down the hall on the left toward Rosalie's little closet of an office. If it were possible, his happiness quotient lifted even higher with the anticipation of seeing her. She'd understand exactly what this news meant to him. She'd supported him through the entire two years of his miserable marriage. And she would be happy to indulge him in exactly the kind of celebration he'd like. Actually, it wouldn't involve much indulgence on her part because she'd enjoy the very same type of celebration.
Rosalie's office door was open. Grinning, Clint stepped around the frame, but the little carpeted square with her desk, a filing cabinet, and two computer monitors was otherwise empty. No short, frizzy-haired bunny rabbit.
Rosalie would be horrified if she knew Clint thought of her as a round, cuddly little bunny rabbit, so he kept that image to himself. It was what he'd thought the first time he'd ever seen her, though, in his junior year of high school. As the teacher's assistant in the Sculpting I class, he'd taken on the task of helping the terribly out-of-place math nerd Rosalie figure out what to do with her virgin block of clay, the art assignment she could not understand. With her long baggy shirts and her flyaway hair, she'd looked to him then like a digruntled little rabbit. She hadn't changed much about
the baggy shirts or the flyaway hair in the intervening ten years, and the picture of her in his mind remained.
The overhead light and computer monitors were on, which meant Rosalie was somewhere in the building even if she weren't in her office. Clint paused a moment and then decided to go look for her. It was after hours and nobody would blame her for having a personal friend drop by.
Most of the doors down the hall were closed, but a few were open with the light from inside spilling out. Clint ambled toward the first such room and peered inside.
A tall, sloe-eyed woman turned from her perusal of her computer to regard him. She looked like a model, from her shiny black heels to the elegant twist of her mahogany hair. In between was a sleek body wrapped in a skirt suit that glided precisely over every slender curve of her. "Yes?" she inquired in a throaty voice.
Clint met her frank regard and felt...nothing. Not even the twinge of a sexual response to this veritable paragon. As a twenty-six-year-old man, he probably should have experienced some concern over this lack of interest. Instead, he felt profound relief, if not triumph. There wasn't a sexual impulse left in his battered soul.
This was fantastic. Sexual impulses were what had gotten him into the tornado his life had been for the past two-odd years. He hoped he never had another sexual impulse in his life.
He didn't have to worry about that with Rosalie. The bunny rabbit woke not a ghost of such a thing.
"I'm looking for Rosalie Missen," Clint told the paragon with the sloe eyes. "Do you happen to know where she might be?"
The siren moved her head slightly to the left. "She went down the hall to take 'an important call.' I don't know what's more important than getting my Excel spreadsheet to work when I have a deadline tomorrow, but she thought something was. Apparently." The woman half closed her eyes, as if daring Clint to disagree with her assessment of the situation.
Oh, it's the B-word lady. At least that's what Rosalie always called her when she related stories about the office. Rosalie didn't like using the actual word bitch because it was something her older brother had called her too often, and she was sensitive about using it on any woman, even one who did her best to make the work environment unbearable.
"I'll see if I can find her," Clint said.
The siren shrugged.
Clint continued down the hall slowly and checked the next open door he found. A young man with a crew cut did not look up from his work.
Where would Rosalie go to take a call if not her own office?
Her voice stopped him before he saw her. Rosalie had a deceptively sweet, high voice. Deceptive because the sharpest barbs could be carried on that dulcet tone if she were exercised enough to state her true opinion about something. She appeared to be talking behind some closed door‑‑Clint wasn't sure which.
Not that he would have gone around opening doors to interrupt her private conversation. In fact, he was about to retreat down the hall back to her office to wait for her when her next words stopped him, unfortunately clear despite the closed door.
"...is an interesting, in fact, amazing opportunity. Working on website algorithms is exactly what I've trained for. The only thing that concerns me is relocating to Boston. I'm going to need to think about that. When do you need a decision?"
Clint's heart turned to stone in his chest. Relocate? To Boston? Hell, he hadn't even known Rosalie was looking for another job. But apparently, she hadn't only been looking, she'd found one. In Boston.
Forcefully, he drew in a breath to get his heart working again, turned on his heel, and walked quickly back the hall in the direction from which he'd come.
Rosalie had supposed she was private, slipping into the first empty office she could find. She had no idea Clint‑‑or anyone else‑‑could overhear her conversation.
Meanwhile, two-ton weights seemed to be hanging from his chest. His very best friend, the one on whom he'd counted all these years, particularly the last two during his marriage‑‑was she leaving?
Unnerved, Clint ducked into the office of the siren with the attitude. He didn't want Rosalie seeing him out in the hall.
"Oh. Hi, again," he told the paragon, who turned with the same slow regard to look at him. "Couldn't find her, so I'll wait for her here to finish her call. Uh, if you don't mind."
She blinked lethargically. "Why should I mind? I only work here."
If she'd thought she'd scare Clint off with her sarcasm, it didn't work. He was too busy trying to process what he'd overheard. Rosalie had interviewed for a job in Boston. Without telling him. She might leave. Who knew if she'd ever get around to telling him that.
He bit his lip and tried to shift the painful two-ton weights in his chest. Damn, was this how Judy had felt when she'd been served with Clint's divorce papers? Utterly rejected?
Karma was a bitch, all right.
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