So I made a decision.


“I need to make a statement to him,” I announced.

“Come again?” Brock asked and, automatically, my hand fisted in his flannel but I didn’t notice it.

“Tomorrow,” I whispered, “I’ll go into the Station with you and I’ll press charges against Damian. Assault, battery and rape.”

The room filled with crackling electricity that snapped vicious against my skin.

And this wasn’t coming from Brock.

It was then I remembered we had an audience and I looked to the men at his bar.

At what I read on their faces, I tensed.

Uh-oh.

“Sweet Tess,” Brock murmured but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the men at the bar and Brock kept talking, “I didn’t share. They didn’t know.”

I closed my eyes tight, turned my head to face his chest and clenched his shirt harder.

Damn, now I was blurting that shit out willy-nilly.

I felt Brock’s big, warm hand over mine at his shirt, pushing in hard so I had no choice but to unclench and then he pressed my hand flat to his chest as he whispered, “Hey.”

I pressed my lips together and continued to scrunch my eyes closed.

He gave me an arm squeeze.

“Baby, hey.”

I opened my eyes and tilted them up to him.

He looked into my eyes and a shadow passed through his.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

“I am,” I whispered.

“No, sweetness, look at me. What do you see?”

I felt my throat clog.

“Don’t go there, stay here with me,” he urged softly, I swallowed and he pulled me closer, dipping his face lower. “I took that away, baby, you gave it to me. Don’t go there, don’t take that weight back. Look at me, see me. Feel this,” he demanded gently, his arm tightening further, pulling me even closer, his hand pressing mine into the warm, hard wall of his chest.

“Where are you?”

“I’m with you,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, Tess, you’re with me.”

I held his eyes for a moment then closed mine and did a face plant in his chest.

The fingers of his hand at mine curled around tight.

“This is free,” I heard growled and I opened my eyes and turned them in the direction the words came from and saw Vance’s infuriated gaze locked on Brock. “No marker. This I do for your woman.”

I felt my belly tighten with shock as my fingers wrapped hard around Brock’s at his shirt.

“I work that angle too,” Hector announced and my eyes shot to him to see he, too, had his furious, dark eyes locked on Brock.

“Uh…” I mumbled but they were on the move.

“You see to your woman and your boys,” Vance declared. “We’ll get to work.”

Um.

Wow.

I didn’t know them, like at all, outside of the fact they were hot. But I liked them.

“Appreciated,” Brock muttered.

They tore their eyes from Brock and looked at me.

“Tess, next time, hope it’s better circumstances,” Vance said to me.

I did too.

“Thanks,” I whispered.


Hector, who didn’t know me either, wasn’t done being pissed on my behalf and therefore he scowled at me. Then he jerked up his chin at Brock and they moved to the steps. Brock let me go to start moving with them.

“Uh…” I called, they stopped and looked back at me. “I, um… own Tessa’s Cakes in Cherry Creek.”

They just looked at me.

“Uh, well, you boys look like you aren’t cupcake eaters,” more like ribeyes grilled blue,

“but, you know, if you’re ever in the mood, come in, anything you want on the house for, like, eternity.”

It was lame but then again, my cakes were really good. Maybe they wouldn’t think it was lame.

They didn’t. Vance’s handsome face split into a shit-eating grin. Hector’s dark eyes melted, his lips twitched then he gave me a glamorous white smile.

Brock chuckled.

“And, uh…” I started to add, “whichever one of you is on that bike, that bike is hot but be careful. Snow’s coming.”

“Will do, Tess,” Vance murmured.

Then I got more chin lifts and they headed back out.

Moving on!

I headed to the fridge and was perusing options for dinner when I heard and felt Brock come back.

Determinedly setting the mood that what had just passed had passed and now we were going to get back to regularly scheduled programming that did not include bitchy, manipulative ex-wives or vicious, nasty, territorial ex-husbands, I stated, “Dinner choices, steak and potatoes, pork chops and rice or hamburgers.”

I pulled my head out of his fridge, closed the door and turned to Brock.

He was leaning his hips against the counter, hands to his sides, palms to its top, studying me.

Then he gave me my play and answered, “Pork chops and rice.”

I nodded, opened the fridge and pulled out the package of pork chops. Then I dropped it on the counter and opened the cupboard to pull out the box of seasoned rice.

“What’s with the bags?” Brock asked as I tilted my head down to study the directions on the rice.

“Christmas presents,” I answered. “The boys get here tomorrow and the area under the tree is a little barren. Tree skirts are not meant to be barren, especially in a house with two boys aged ten and twelve. So, tonight I’m wrapping and tomorrow they’ll get here and see presents under the tree.”

“Babe, how much did you buy them? There’s gotta be twenty rolls of wrapping paper there.”

“Something to learn about me,” I muttered to the box. “I have a weakness for wrapping paper and not just the Christmas kind.”

This was met with silence.

Until, “Babe, forgot to tell you something.”

I looked from reading the directions on the box of rice to Brock to see he had hauled himself up on the counter and was sitting on it.

“Yeah?” I asked hesitantly.

“Coupla weeks ago, you gave me a fuckin’ sweet nightie and words I loved hearing.”

I felt my entire body go still as I held his eyes.

“Forgot to mention I feel the same,” he stated and my insides hollowed out.

“What?” I breathed.


“Put down the rice and come here, baby, I wanna tell you I love you when you’re in my arms.”

I didn’t move. I stared at him, my internal organs gone but still, my body managed to produce tears which gathered in my eyes and then promptly and silently slid down my cheeks.

Brock watched this for about two seconds then he whispered, “Tess, darlin’, come here.”

I went there; he opened his thighs and reached out to me when I got close. He pulled me between his legs, deep into him, one arm tight around me, one hand cupping my head and pressing my cheek against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on.

He dipped his head so his lips were at the top of my hair and whispered, “I love you, my sweet Tess.”

I soft sob hitched in my throat; I held on tighter and pressed deeper.

“Jesus, my girl, so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured against my hair.

Another hitch then I tilted my head back, his came up and I pulled an arm from around him, lifted it, curled my hand around his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine.

Then I kissed him as hard as I could trying to show him how much his words meant to me.

I was guessing this worked when he tore his lips from mine and muttered, “Maybe I don’t love you. Maybe I just love your mouth.”

I grinned up at him.

“And your cunt,” he went on.

My grin got bigger.

“And your cupcakes,” he added.

I started giggling and he smiled.

Then he whispered, “No, it’s just you.”

I stopped giggling, stared into his quicksilver eyes and then dipped my chin and did another face plant in his chest.

He held me close, arm around me, hand at my head becoming fingers sifting through my hair.

After awhile, I sighed, lifted a hand to my face, swiped away the wet and muttered, “Let me go, baby, I gotta feed my man.”

His hand stopped sifting through my hair and both arms wrapped around me tight.

Then he let me go.

Then I moved away and got down to the business of feeding my man.

* * * * *

I sucked back the dregs of the hot cocoa then moved on my hands and knees across the floor, dragging boxes with me to arrange the newly wrapped presents under the tree. Then I cleaned up paper scraps, put away scissors and tape, bunched up and folded bags and tucked them away and stowed the rolls of Christmas wrap, ribbons and bows in the hall closet.

Through this, Brock lay on his back on the couch, head to a pile of toss pillows, one hand behind his head, one resting on his abs, eyes on a game on television.

I approached the back of the couch, put my ass to it, turned, whipped my legs over while straightening and rolling and, at the last minute, announced, “Incoming,” then I dropped full body on his.

He grunted and his body jerked on impact then his arms wrapped around me.

“Jesus, babe,” he muttered, humor in his tone, that sweet hum filling the air.

I slid off, my back to the couch, my front pressed to his side; I rested a cheek to his chest, arm around his abs and settled in.

Brock moved a hand back to his abs but his other arm stayed curved around my waist, hand at my hip.


I watched football I didn’t give a shit about but I did it contentedly because it was late, I was tired, my mind needed to shut down and the beautiful man who loved me that I loved back was stretched out beside me.

At a commercial, I heard and felt Brock rumble, “What’d you get ‘em?”

Hmm. Apparently the game took all his attention considering the fact that I spent the last forty-five minutes on the floor right in front of him wrapping presents that I did not in any way try to hide.

“Nerf stuff,” I answered.

“Nerf stuff?” he asked.

“When you were out running before we went to look at trucks that last Sunday you had them, I asked them to write a letter to Santa and they did,” I informed him.

“Babe, hate to break this to you but they’re ten and twelve. They know there’s no Santa Claus.”

I lifted my head and looked down at him. “Yeah, I know. But they aren’t stupid. They humored me because they also know I have a credit card.”

Brock’s body shook slightly and pleasantly against mine with his chuckle and I smiled at him.

Then I settled back in.

“What do you usually do for your nieces and nephews?” I asked the TV screen.

“I give their Moms fifty dollars for each kid and they put my name on a card.”

My head jerked up as my eyes shot to him.

Then I asked a horrified, “What?”

“You think fifty dollars is too much?” he asked back.

“No, I think their uncle should buy them presents that he’s put some thought into.”

“Darlin’, the last time I walked into a mall was two presidents ago.”

I stared at him in shock.

Then I asked, “Is that even possible?”

“I got a dick and I was single so, yeah, it’s possible.”

“So, how do you buy the boys presents?”

“Four options, give a wad of cash to Mom, Jill, Laura or all three.”

I stared again.

Then I asked, “Where do you buy clothes?”

“I don’t. I got a Mom and two sisters. I get them for Christmas and my birthday.”

“T-shirts?”

“I don’t get my tees at a mall, Tess. No decent tee can be bought at a fuckin’ mall. A good tee is bought during an experience.”

I had to admit, this was true. When I went the way of tee and jeans just months ago, I’d done copious research with Brock’s tees as my guide and I’d found no tee in any store that was even close to the cool tees he owned.

“Boots?” I kept at him.

“Harley store, babe, doesn’t count.”

This was also true. The Harley Davidson store was one of those rare and exceptional experiences where women and men could go and enjoy but in entirely different ways. And therefore, considering it was an experience, it was acceptable to buy tees there.

That and Harley tees were freaking awesome.

“And, Tess, sweetness,” he went on, “before you get any ideas… you wanna shop for my family, have at it. But I’m not breakin’ my streak.”

Hmm. Dylan, Grady and Ellie, no problem, especially Ellie. The adults, again, not a problem.

There were only two problems.


“I barely know Kalie and Kellie,” I reminded him.

“Kalie, anything with fringe, a peace sign or a fair trade logo. Kellie, don’t bother with anything other than a gift certificate unless it’s the absolute trendiest shit amongst teenagers,”