Her Kind of Trouble. Sarah Mayberry
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him a while to discover what that niche would be. They’d both resisted the call of convention, living their lives in ways that worked for them. And they’d both made mistakes—sometimes big ones—but managed to power through them and come out the other side with a semblance of dignity intact.
That had been her take on their relationship and on him. Clearly, Seth saw things differently. Apparently, he saw her as a sluttish loser who couldn’t get her act together. An unreliable, insubstantial party girl who shouldn’t be trusted with the well-being of two people who were incredibly precious to her. All of which made him one of the most judgmental, uninformed, narrow-minded ass-hats she’d ever met.
She found his street easily, slowing to a cruise so she could find his house number. The houses were old and large, most of them built from the deep red clinker bricks that had been popular in the twenties and thirties. She made a rude noise in her throat when she found Seth’s place. It had a high gabled front, bow windows and a neatly manicured formal garden.
Mr. Respectable. What a crock.
She slammed the car door shut with a satisfying thud. Chin high, she took a deep breath, eyeing the door of his house. Then she stalked up the driveway, suppressed rage grinding the spiked heels of her boots into the concrete with each step.
She hoped Seth had medical insurance, because he was going to need it after she’d finished with him.
* * *
SETH WAS IN the backyard scooping leaves from the swimming pool when he heard the doorbell ring. He leaned the skimmer pole against the pergola and made his way to the front door, his bare feet almost silent on the polished floor. He could see a slim silhouette through the frosted glass, and he frowned as he reached for the handle. He wasn’t expecting anyone, definitely not a female anyone. Whoever it was, he really hoped she wasn’t about to interfere with his plans for the rest of his one free evening of the week—pizza, the footy on TV and then maybe a movie. The perfect antidote to an afternoon of screaming, raucous children and his mother’s endless questions regarding Lola and the baby.
“You are a flaming hypocrite of the highest order, Seth Anderson. In fact, I don’t think I have met a more sanctimonious asshole in my entire life.”
The words flew at him the moment he opened the door, and a heartbeat later something solid thunked him in the chest. He looked down to see Vivian’s hand drawing back before the heel of her hand smacked into his sternum a second time, the power behind the blow enough to force him back a step.
“How dare you bad-mouth me to your brother? How dare you even imagine that you have a clue as to who I am or what I’m capable of, you judgmental, self-righteous prick?”
He blinked rapidly, scrambling to catch up. Vivian was clearly angry about something. Really angry, if the way she was snarling at him meant anything. Then his brain kicked in and he understood that his brother—or more likely Jodie—had shared his concerns regarding Vivian’s suitability for guardianship with her.
Awesome.
“You have no idea how lucky you are that I’m a girl and no one ever taught me to punch properly, Anderson, because your nose would be a pancake right now if I had my way.”
He caught her hand as she took a third shot at his chest, a little surprised at how hard he had to work to keep her at bay. Apparently rage bestowed unnatural powers on a woman. Who knew?
“Listen—”
“No, you listen. You don’t know me. Just because you once had the privilege of being inside my body for a few minutes—something that would never have happened unless I was very drunk and very stoned, by the way—does not mean that you get to pass judgment on me. No freaking way. You have no idea who I am or how I live my life or what my values are. You know nothing about me. Nothing. And yet you dared to try to cut me out of my nephews’ lives. Do you have any idea how freaking evil that is?”
Her blue-green eyes were bright with fury, her body rigid as she fought him for control of her arm. Her jaw-length hair swung around her face, the ruler-straight fringe ruffled by her exertions.
“Look, I have no idea what Jodie told you, but I think you might be overreacting,” he said. “Ow.”
Pain bit into his shin. She’d kicked him. Shock made him loosen his grip on her arm and she wrenched it free, taking a step backward so that she was out of his reach.
“Don’t you dare tell me I’m overreacting, you snake in the grass. You told Jason I would make a shitty guardian to Sam and Max. You said I was unreliable and a bad role model.”
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