Introduction To Romance (10 Books). Кэрол Мортимер
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And she was pretty sure whatever he was imagining had nothing on the reality.
’Cause they were seriously dead.
When the knots in her stomach did a sickening lurch from side to side, she closed her eyes and breathed through clenched teeth and prayed she wouldn’t puke all over Brody. Not that he was ever going to want to talk to her again after this. But still, that’s hardly the last impression a girl wanted to make on the guy who’d given her her first orgasm just before her father killed him.
Maybe if they stayed here, didn’t move, it’d all go away. Like the bad dreams she still had every once in a while. She just lay there, eyes closed, and waited.
The silence was broken by the sound of a shotgun chambering a round.
Genna gulped.
Waiting was probably out of the question.
Clearly in agreement with her brilliant assessment, Brody shifted. He didn’t wait for her to pull up her top, instead yanking the halter so high she was afraid it’d end up tied around her mouth.
Taking her cue, she reached behind her and tried, three times, to tie it. Finally she managed some sort of knot that included a lot of her hair and a broken fingernail.
As soon as her fingers cleared the knot, he stood. If she’d had a voice, she’d protest his hurry. Didn’t the guy know it was always better to put off ugly confrontations?
Genna stared at the hand he held out. The long fingers that, only minutes ago, had been teaching her what pleasure really was. At his impatient look, she grimaced and took his hand. He pulled so hard, she almost flew to her feet.
Midflight, she got a look at her father standing in the doorway.
Holy hell.
She tried to swallow, but couldn’t get any spit past the knot of terror in her throat.
Her entire body started shaking, but this time she knew it was pure fear. Knowing it was insane to touch Brody, but needing the support all the same because her knees had just turned to water, she gripped the back of his jeans, the fabric still slack thanks to her quick work with his zipper.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, not at all sure he wouldn’t pull the trigger.
* * *
FOR JUST A BRIEF, blissful few minutes, Brody had come as close to happy as he’d ever been in his life. Heaven couldn’t feel as good as Genna Reilly did in his arms. And heaven, like Genna, was obviously not available to guys like him.
He should have known better. Hell, he had known better. Brody had to wonder when he’d finally learn. Anytime something looked too good to be true, it was. And a girl like Genna, she was not only too good to be true, she was so far off-limits that he was only surprised her cop father hadn’t shown up earlier. The guy had to have a warning alarm planted on her somewhere. Brody just wasn’t sure what’d triggered it. His hands on her body, or his lips on her mouth.
And it totally pissed him off that he considered both worth whatever price he was about to pay.
Teeth clenched, he eyed the shotgun. It was gonna be one helluva price, too.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Sheriff Reilly growled, fury radiating off the guy in waves.
Brody braced, feet planted firm and fists loose at his side. His body was wired tight, ready to dive to either side. He’d spent most of his life facing one attack or another. He figured at least he’d earned this one.
He didn’t wait long. The sheriff was on him in a flash. The guy was a lot faster, and in better shape, than Brody’s old man. They flew backward, trapping Brody against the wall right next to where Genna had stripped down and blown his mind.
“Daddy!” Genna jumped forward, grabbing on to her father’s arm and tugging. She was a tall girl, but as slight as a wish and no match for her muscular father when he shook her off. She fell backward, stumbling over Brody’s bike and sending the Harley crashing to the floor. It barely slowed her down, though. She was back and grabbing on her father, tugging and demanding that he let Brody go.
Apparently unable to effectively threaten and deal with his daughter at the same time, the sheriff spun with a roar, grabbed his daughter by the shoulder, swept the shotgun off the floor where he’d thrown it before his dive. He shoved Genna toward the door.
“Get the hell in the car, Genna Yvonne. Now. I’ll deal with you later.”
“You’re not going to hurt Brody. You can’t. He didn’t do anything.” Tears soaked her cheeks, but Genna didn’t budge from her position between her father and Brody.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m going to do,” her father growled, his face contorted in fury.
The cop raised his fist in the same move he’d pulled on Brody. Would he follow through? Rumor was that Genna was a pampered princess. Joe would have gladly outed his old man if the guy hit her.
Still...
“Don’t.”
That’s all Brody said. He wasn’t getting in the middle of family drama. He’d spent enough time in his own to know that bystanders were safer on the sidelines, and participants never appreciated interference. But he’d be damned if the guy was gonna get violent with Genna. Not in front of Brody, not later in private, not ever.
“Shut your mouth and sit down, Lane,” the sheriff barked, confirming Brody’s take on bystander interference. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
“There’s nothing to deal with. I didn’t break any laws, you have no reasonable cause to be here and this is private property,” Brody pointed out quietly.
“You were in here with my daughter.”
“When did a kiss become illegal?”
“When she’s my daughter,” Reilly growled, lunging again. Brody grimaced, knowing this time the guy was going for more than intimidation.
“Daddy! Stop or I’ll call 911.”
Genna’s horrified cry was like a bucket of water over the man’s head. It only took a blink for the rage to clear from his eyes and the cop-face to fall back into place. Brody didn’t take a lot of comfort from that. He’d been kicked around plenty by cops wearing that same neutral look. But he wasn’t worried about getting shot any longer.
“You touched my daughter.”
Expressionless, Brody returned the dead-eyed stare, but didn’t say anything. Why bother? The sheriff had walked in on them together. Lying was pointless and admitting it was probably admissible in the ass-kicking court the guy was convening.
The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up to the point that even Brody was shifting uncomfortably. He hated inaction. Kick his ass or get the hell out already. He managed—barely—to keep that suggestion to himself, though.
Finally, Reilly gave a grunt. He shouldered the shotgun, took his cuffs from his belt and gestured with his chin for Brody to turn around.
“You arresting me?”
Reilly’s gaze shifted from Brody to Genna, then to the bottle of beer on the workbench.
“We’ll discuss it.” He lifted his hands, the cuffs dangling from one finger. “Turn around.”
More intimidation. He had nothing. The beer was warm enough by now that it could have been Brian’s, left there before the old man had gone to work his shift in the bar. Getting hot and heavy with Genna was stupid, but not a criminal offense. Fine. Brody sighed, then turned around. Let the guy cuff him and play hard-ass.
“Dad—”
“You say another word and it’ll be on his tab,” Reilly warned Genna, his icy glare making it clear the bill was already more than Brody could afford.
Whatever.