Four Temptations by PJ Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

know I do.”
    “I could knee you in the balls right now,” I said, still smiling. “You know I would, and you know how bony my knees are.”
    “And now the sweet talking!”
    “Don’t spoil it, Bran. Jimmy’s put a lot of work into this.”
    “He can take it. He’s man enough.”
    Brandon could be very dismissive, very sure of himself. That was all part of the attraction: a man who knew his own mind, who didn’t suffer fools. That boorish straight talking did well for him on TV. It was an act, of course, a protective layer.
    “What do you want, Brandon?”
    It was the look in his eyes that suddenly cut through everything. A moment of vulnerability.
    “You’re not just fooling, are you?”
    He shrugged, looked away, took a big slug of red wine.
    Back when we’d been a thing, it had been those protective layers that had come between us in the end. It had taken a lot of work to chip away at them, and even when I had he’d wanted his space, his distance. That two houses thing. His place and mine. I’d wanted more; he’d wanted what we had.
    But now?
    That look in his eyes, that inadvertent chipping away of a protective layer...
    “You’re serious, aren’t you, Bran? This isn’t just some game.”
    “I don’t play games.”
    “No, you don’t, but there are different levels of not playing, aren’t there?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “What level of not playing is that response?”
    We were standing close together, face to face. I really could just knee him in the balls. Or kiss him. And we were at that stage of fighting and joking where I could easily tip in either direction.
    §
    Was I really even thinking about it?
    Me and Brandon Tyne ?
    Again?
    Hadn’t we learned our lessons the first time around?
    But then, if we’d learned our lessons then maybe we were well placed to get things right this time.
    And was I really arguing with myself, right here while I was standing in the middle of a city-centre street arguing with the man himself?
    What level of screwed up is that?
    §
    “This is what you do to me!” I said, and of course he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.
    He shrugged, then reached out and put a finger under my chin, with just enough pressure to tilt my head up for the kiss that was going to come at any moment. I knew his moves.
    And he knew my responses. He could play me like a Stradivarius.
    He knew the effect that move had: the teasing, barely a touch at all, and yet it was an alpha male thing, a control thing. A strong man doesn’t have to be physically overpowering; he has to be in command.
    And, oh my God, but Brandon knew how to dominate me like nobody else ever came close to doing.
    “Hey, babe,” he said. “You know you want–”
    The sound of the pub doors swinging open and then shut again interrupted him, and then: “You really are , aren’t you?”
    That was Jimmy, standing in the doorway, haloed by the pub’s light.
    “I...” But I didn’t know what to say.
    Brandon barely glanced at our agent, instead keeping those steely eyes locked on my own.
    “Seriously?” demanded Jimmy, approaching us. I’d never seen him so worked up. Had he been drinking? He’d never really been much of a drinker, in my experience, which was unusual for the publishing world.
    Now, Brandon turned to face him. “Why wouldn’t we be, boy?”
    “After last time?”
    “Don’t worry,” said Brandon. “If we screw things up we won’t mess with your business plans, okay? Your golden girl won’t let you down.”
    “You think this is about money?”
    “I sure hope so,” said Brandon. “That’s why writers hire agents, isn’t it?” And with that, dismissively, he turned his back on Jimmy.
    That’s an image that will be with me forever: Brandon standing facing me, that look of cocky triumph smeared across his face; and over his shoulder, Jimmy, my champion and protector... and he looked so broken .
    That was when it all fell into place in a single, brief,