"No." I paused, but then couldn’t help but laugh. "Okay, well, sometimes. But normally, I just tell 'em to leave."
"Do they?"
"Almost always."
"And when they don't?"
"Well, uh, that's when the ass-kicking comes in."
She laughed. "And the girls?"
"Girls?" I looked away. "Yeah, well, they're a little harder sometimes."
"Why?"
I knew why. Because too many of them didn't get the hint. Because no matter what I said up-front, if I screwed them senseless, they'd stick around wanting something more. Because if I tried to take the high road anddidn'tscrew them, they'dstillstick around, hoping I'd change my mind. Because they were interchangeable, desperate, and shallow.
Because none of them were Chloe.
I could tell her that – and watch her run screaming out the door. Or, I could try to make a joke of it. "I can't exactly kick their asses," I pointed out.
That part was true. I'd never hit a girl – not even Brandy Blue, who some might say sorely deserved it for that whole sex-tape fiasco.
Next to me, Chloe grew quiet as I led her down the main upstairs hall. Up ahead, I spotted that stupid red bow, still lying where I'd flung it.
With a mental curse, I led Chloe off to the side, hoping like hell that she hadn't noticed – or if she had, that she wouldn’t think too much about it. I mean, there was other stuff lying around, so anything was possible.
Finally, I steered her into a nearby bathroom that overlooked the back of the house. It wasn't just the bow that I was avoiding. For all I knew, the front of the house might still be filled with cars or busses or who-knows-what, and I sure as hell didn't want Chloe to see that either.
Thanks to my housekeeper, the bathroom was stocked with everything Chloe might need – soap, shampoo, whatever. But it wasn't stocked with clothes, so I briefly left her while I grabbed some things from my own closet. I kept it simple, going with a plain T-shirt and nylon sweatpants.
Returning, I found her standing at the sink, combing her fingers through the damp tangles of her hair. She turned and gave me a sheepish smile. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"
She wasn't a mess. She looked tousled and sexy with her bare legs and tight curves, only semi-hidden by the oversized shirt. She looked like love in the morning or sex on the beach. Dirt, tangles, whatever – she still looked like heaven to me.
I let my gaze linger. "I don't see a mess."
She laughed. "Then you're not looking."
That's where she was wrong. I was looking. And I liked what I saw.
She glanced down, eyeing the clothes still in my hands. "Are those for me?" she asked.
"Yeah." I held them out, noticing again that they looked about ten sizes too big. "They're not gonna fit, but at least they're clean." I leaned my face close to hers and said, "Is it bad if I like what you're wearing now better?"
Her eyes lit in a way that had me that wishing I could stay. But Bishop was waiting. And if I didn't find him soon, he'd be finding me.
It was just as well. Brother or not, the guy was long overdue for an ass-chewing.
Chapter 33
I found Bishop on the back patio. I strode toward him and asked, "What the hell is your problem?"
He was lounging against the stone fireplace. "Me?"
"Yeah, you," I said. "You were an asshole back there."
He flicked his head toward Chloe's yard. "You see the ladder?"
