Brothers in Blue: Marc by Jeanne St. James

Author:Jeanne St. James [St. James, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-12T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Time for her to switch it up. Be in charge. Get back at him for driving her lust crazy. Those thoughts and more were what motivated her to sneak out of his parents’ house and hoof it over to his.

It had nothing to do with her own self-gratification. Nope. Not at all.

She always seemed hungry for him. Starving, really. Couldn’t ever get enough of him.

It’s said men think about sex several times a day. She was worse. And she needed to drive him from her mind.

Even though the sky was clear and the moon lit like a glowing nightlight, the darkness out in the country seemed endless. Occasionally an owl would hoot. And the yipping of some foxes came from somewhere out in the distance. But so far, no sign of any coyotes.

However, she was packing just in case. It would be stupid to walk by herself at night without any protection. She had borrowed one of Ron’s coats, as well as a large flashlight. Her personal weapon, a Sig Sauer, fit perfectly in the pocket and, well, the coat just kept her warm since she was swimming in it.

When she finally broke through the trees at the north end of the Bryson’s farm, she could see Marc’s house, some of the windows lit up. After that walk, she was glad to see he was home. That or he just liked to waste electricity.

As she closed in on the house, she switched the flashlight off. Last thing she needed was for him to look out of the window and see a light bee-bopping around his property and him getting his shotgun.

At the front door, she kicked off her sneakers and removed her socks, tightening the coat around her. She slipped on the high heels she had carried with her. Setting the flashlight on the porch, she knocked. Loud enough to wake the dead. Or a sleeping man. Same thing.

Menace’s immature bark was deafening even through the door and so was his pounding paws. He left no doubt he was beelining toward the foyer. Then she heard a skid, scrambling, and a thump. Leah could picture him wiping out on Marc’s shiny wooden floors, crashing into the solid front door. That had to hurt.

She listened for a whimper, but there wasn’t any, and she was relieved. That puppy was the klutziest thing ever. She knocked again and her answer was claws scratching at the bottom of the door.

“You better not be ripping up my door, or you’ll end up as a throw rug.”

With no peep hole, Marc cracked it enough to eyeball her. Then swung it wide. And there he stood. Breathtakingly wrapped in only a towel, his hair damp. And what do you know, a shotgun leaning nearby. He reached down to keep the enthusiastic Mastiff from leaping on her. And his towel slipped. Just enough to reveal the top ridge of muscle that ran at an angle from the top of his hip to his groin. The one that looked good enough to eat.

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