No Fooling Around: Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy Read online

  No Fooling Around

  Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy

  Talia Hunter

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  No Funny Business

  About the Author

  Also by Talia Hunter

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  This book starts just before the end of No Laughing Matter (Mason and Carlotta’s story).

  It contains mild spoilers about the end of No Laughing Matter, as some events occur in both books.

  I hope you enjoy it.

  - Talia. x

  Chapter One

  Asher

  My new neighbor was a big problem.

  And it wasn’t because she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  My problem with her had nothing to do with how spectacular she looked in an emerald-green swimsuit that matched her eyes and showed off her bronze skin. It wasn’t the alluring freckles on her long, bare legs, the silky black hair that hung past her shoulders, or the stupendously ugly dog by her side.

  My problem was that she was there at all, strolling gracefully along the deck of the house next door. I had big plans for that house, and it was supposed to be empty.

  So what was she doing there?

  “She’s gorgeous,” said my twin brother Kade, walking out of the house to join me on my back deck. “Who is she, Asher?” Then he jerked to a halt, noticing the animal next to her. “Whoa. Is that a dog?”

  “It’s a Neopolitan Mastiff.” I shifted on my chair, a little hot even though my outdoor table and chairs were positioned under the overhang of the roof and I was sitting in the shade.

  Kade was wearing board shorts and had a towel slung over his shoulder, clearly about to head onto the beach for a swim. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and squinted.

  “Its skin is too big for its body,” he said. “What do you think it weighs?”

  “Around a hundred and eighty.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Its jowls must weigh at least fifty pounds on their own.”

  The dog in question plodded heavily along, accompanying my new neighbor as she headed toward the steps at the back of her deck that provided access to the white sand of San Dante beach. Though we could see her, she couldn’t see us. Her deck was lower than ours, and there was a small privacy screen that shielded us. We could look all we liked, and she wouldn’t know we were there.

  “Seems she and I have the same idea,” said Kade. “She’s going for a swim too.” He started to move, and I put up a hand to stop him.

  “Wait. Don’t follow her onto the beach yet. I don’t want you to run into her.”

  “Why not? Who is she?”

  “I haven’t been able to find out. But she has to be connected to the house’s previous occupant.”

  Kade’s eyebrows shot up. “You think she could be a friend of Santino’s?” He sounded shocked. Probably because Santino Martin was a scum-sucking drug dealer, and eight months ago we’d watched with satisfaction as the police charged into his house to arrest him. We were both glad Santino was now behind bars where he belonged.

  I nodded. “She’s most likely a friend of Santino’s, or even a family member.”

  My new neighbor said something to her dog, presumably telling it to stay put, then went out her back gate and started down the steps to the beach, her hips gently swaying as she descended. Her body was an awe-inspiringly perfect combination of rounded curves and long limbs, and I was mesmerized by the motion of her buttocks and legs. She glided like an ice skater, and in spite of my annoyance at her unwelcome presence, I couldn’t have dragged my gaze from her movements if there was a gun to my head.

  Kade seemed to be struck equally dumb. Even the woman’s dog stared mournfully after her, its broad shoulders sagging as she vanished from view.

  “I’m going for my swim now.” Kade started toward my back stairs, sounding far too eager for my liking.

  “If you see her on the beach, stay away.”

  “But don’t you want to know how she’s connected to Santino? If I strike up a conversation, I could ask her.” My prankster brother shot me a mischievous look over his shoulder that made my heart sink.

  Kade didn’t know the whole truth. All he knew was that Mason and I had arranged for a police surveillance team to watch Santino from my house, and were responsible for his arrest. He had no idea about the rest of my devious scheme.

  And he had no clue my plans for revenge against Santino were still in motion, or how much I stood to lose if anything went wrong.

  “There are plenty of other hot women on the beach you can talk to.” I sharpened my tone. “Any friend of Santino’s is no friend of ours.”

  “But she’s gorgeous.”

  “Kade, don’t do anything…” I broke off with a frustrated sound, because he was already hurrying down the steps, heading toward the sand.

  Frowning, I watched him go. We were fraternal twins, not identical. We had a similar build, but his hair was lighter than mine, a mid brown that was hard to keep track of as he walked through the groups of sunbathers and people exercising on the beach.

  Kade had his own TV show, and not only was he a celebrity, but women seemed to find him irresistible. If he decided to talk to my new neighbor, who knew what could happen?

  I was considering going after him and tackling him to the ground, when a lithe black shape appeared from the side of the deck and slunk through the shadows, making her way toward me. It was a black cat. My black cat. And she had something dangling from her mouth.

  It didn’t take great powers of deduction to guess she was bringing me a pair of women’s panties.

  Nemesis was a compulsive kleptomaniac and talented cat burglar. In the two years since I’d adopted her, she’d been breaking into people’s houses and bringing home trophies, mostly socks, stuffed toys, or slippers. Once she’d proudly dropped a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs at my feet.

  But in the three weeks since my new neighbor had moved into the house next door, panties had become my cat’s favorite prey. The ones she dropped in front of me this time were black silk with delicate lace detailing. After presenting them, Nemesis let out a loud, deep purr and wove herself around my legs, her tail held high.

  I shook my head, refusing to pet her. “Another pair? What did I tell you about staying out of the house next door?” Receiving regular stolen panty deliveries wasn’t my idea of keeping a low profile and limiting contact with my mysterious new neighbor.

  Nemesis was as irritating as Kade. I couldn’t afford to let either of them mess up my scheme.

  Sighing, I scooped the panties up.

  They rustled.

  There was a piece of paper pinned inside them. A note, written in perfect cursive handwriting that was just as beautiful as the panties themselves.

  In even,
curved letters, the note said: Stop stealing my panties, you perv.

  My first reaction was to laugh. Until it hit me that my hot neighbor must actually think I was a creep who got off on panty pilfering. She clearly hadn’t seen Nemesis in action and was picturing a weirdo who liked to toss his egg salad onto her panties, probably while he imagined her wearing them.

  Unacceptable.

  Though I didn’t want to have anything to do with my new neighbor, how could I let her go on thinking I was a pervert?

  Taking the scrap of fabric inside, I added it into the box of Nemesis’s trophies I kept in the hall closet. I’d given up looking for the owners of my cat’s stolen goods, but didn’t throw the items away because people occasionally came looking for them.

  I didn’t put the handwritten note into the box. Instead, I took it into my office, where I found a graphite pencil. On the note’s blank side, I drew a sketch of Nemesis carrying a pair of panties. Then I switched to a regular ballpoint to write a short explanation under the drawing.

  ‘Nemesis by name, nemesis by nature’.

  Before I could think better of it, I went outside to drop the anonymous note into my neighbor’s mailbox. When she saw it, she’d know a cat was the thief. Hopefully she’d secure her house to stop Nemesis from sneaking in and stealing from her, so I wouldn’t have any more panties to deal with.

  Going back inside, I distracted myself with some work until I heard Kade coming back from the beach, then I went to meet him in the kitchen. His wet hair was sticking up in spikes, and he flashed me his charming, lazy grin. That grin made him look utterly unlike me, as though he were my opposite instead of my twin. It had won him thousands of female fans, and made his cooking show into a hit.

  His fans had no idea what a trickster my brother could be, but I knew him well enough that his grin made me cross my arms and glower.

  “What have you done?”

  He took a glass out of the cupboard, deliberately taking his time. “Remember we talked about me asking your new neighbor out, and you said it would be a good way to discover her connection to Santino?” He moved to the faucet to fill up the glass.

  I sank onto one of the kitchen stools and rubbed the part of my forehead that was starting to ache. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Her name’s Iola. She’s just as gorgeous close up as far away, and we’re having dinner on Friday night.”

  “Kade, I said to stay away from her.”

  “Did you?” He turned with his glass of water, his eyes wide and innocent. “Sometimes when I see a beautiful woman, instructions fly out of my head. It’s a character flaw, actually. Something I really need to work on.” His mischievous grin crept back. Lifting the glass, he brandished it as though offering a toast. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck, Asher? I’ve scored myself a hot date.”

  Chapter Two

  Iola

  Nemesis, huh? I studied the clever little drawing of a cat on the note, taking a few moments to admire it before I shook my head.

  I didn’t believe it for a second.

  A cat couldn’t be the underwear thief who was stealing panties from my washing line. No cat could climb that high, unless it was a tightrope walker. And no cat with any sense would go anywhere near Ruff.

  My dog was lying on the floor next to my painting easel with a chew toy that used to be a giraffe. Though it was supposedly indestructible, Ruff had already chewed off its head and legs. Now it had just a long neck and body, and it was disturbing how much he looked like he was chewing on a spotted vibrator.

  Ruff was incredibly solid and his size was intimidating, even if his sagging skin gave him the air of a mournful monk. He might have slowed down a lot in the last few years, but he was still an excellent guard dog. No thieving cat could possibly get past him.

  “Did you let a cat wander around?” I asked Ruff, just to make sure.

  Ruff dropped the giraffe and lifted his giant head. His eyes always drooped in the corners, and his floppy eyebrows formed a worried frown. But somehow he managed to give me a look that was even more sorrowful than usual, as though he was heartbroken I doubted him.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t believe the thief could be feline,” I told him. “No kitty would dare disrespect you like that.”

  Placated, Ruff dropped his head back on his paws, his jowls splaying so he looked like he was melting into the floor.

  I picked up my paintbrush and tried to concentrate on the painting I was trying to finish. I’d been working day and night for weeks, and this was the final painting in the series that would hopefully cover my bills that so badly needed paying. But I couldn’t focus. I kept glancing at the note I’d found in my mailbox.

  The person who’d sketched the cat had known what they were doing. The drawing was simple but beautiful, the cat’s form captured in quick, efficient lines. Could Kade have drawn it? He was the only neighbor I’d met, though he was a chef, not an artist.

  I still couldn’t believe a TV star had asked me out. After seven years trapped in a joyless marriage, I was more than ready to take some risks and let my hair down, and dinner with Kade would be a great start. I’d ask him then if he knew anything about this note, but in the meantime, I may as well send the thief a reply.

  Setting my paintbrush down, I grabbed a fresh piece of paper and drew Ruff in cartoon style, exaggerating the solid squareness of his head and shoulders, and giving him a mean stare. I drew him snarling, with drool dripping from his huge jowls and a pair of panties under one paw.

  Underneath the drawing, I wrote:

  Bite wounds are red,

  Bruises are blue,

  I swallow kitties whole,

  But thieving perverts get chewed.

  Okay, I wasn’t Doctor Seuss. Not even close. But hopefully the message was clear enough, even if my rhyming was awful.

  Opening my underwear drawer, I selected a pair to sacrifice. I was running low. Again. I had to keep buying more panties from the local lingerie store, and I’d shopped there so often the woman who owned it must have thought I had a crush on her.

  Grabbing my pen, I added one more line to the note:

  P.S. I want my panties back, pervert!

  I pinned the note into my sacrificial pair, then took them out to the washing line and pegged them up, ready for the panty thief to steal.

  Once back in my painting room, I studied the painting that was already drying on my easel, pleased with how it was turning out. I’d been nervous about going from painting landscapes to surreal portraits, but the series I’d been working on had burst from my hand onto the canvas, like I was purging the terrible years of my marriage through explosions of color.

  This house was perfect for painting, with its big windows that weren’t so good for privacy, but let the Californian sunlight flood in. When my long-lost brother had given me his house out of the blue, I’d flown across the world with no idea what exactly I was fleeing to. All I’d hoped for was a bed to sleep in while I created enough paintings to start selling them.

  What I’d found was a small two-bedroom house, the perfect size for me and Ruff, with stunning ocean views, access to the beach, and even a swimming pool. But the best part was the photograph of my brother on the mantel, the first glimpse of him I’d had for years. Not just that, but the house was full of Santino’s furniture and his clothes hung in the wardrobe. I could even detect a faint whiff of his cologne on them.

  Being in my brother’s house made me feel close to him again.

  Soon I might even get to see Santino. It would be a dream come true, except for one thing. In two weeks, my brother was supposed to be sentenced for crimes he didn’t commit.

  I was still reeling from that news.

  At least his lawyer had apparently filed an appeal. In the meantime, I’d keep hassling the prison to approve a visit, and I’d look after Santino’s house for him while I waited for justice to be done and my brother to be set free.

  My phone rang as I was putting some last touches on th
e painting. Though the screen read Unknown Number, I figured it must be Gloria, the woman who ran the community center where I was about to hold my exhibition, so I put down my brush to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Iola,” said a male voice I’d hoped never to hear again.

  “Benedict?” The word came out as a yelp that made Ruff lift his head and whine.

  I stepped closer to Ruff, as much to reassure myself as him. But surely Benedict had to still be thousands of miles away, in London?

  “How did you get this number?” I squeaked.

  “As your husband, it’s my right to have your phone number. Until death do us part, darling.” His rounded, upper-class British vowels rolled through the phone’s speaker like expensive grenades.

  Dragging in a deep breath, I forced myself to sound angry instead of afraid. “If you have something to tell me, call my lawyer. He’s dealing with your crap so I don’t have to.”

  He made a tsking sound. “A few weeks on your own, and you’re already developing disgusting habits. Don’t use foul language, Iola.”

  “Sign the crap-shit-fuck divorce papers and get the crap-shit-fuck out of my life!”

  His voice hardened. “I’m not signing any papers, darling. Members of the aristocracy don’t get divorced. How would it look?”

  “I don’t care how it looks. Besides, if Princess Diana can get divorced, so can I.”

  “And what happened to our beloved Princess Di? Killed in a tunnel. Such a terrible shame.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I crouched next to Ruff to run my free hand over his back, taking comfort from the feel of his muscles under my hand.