No Laughing Matter: Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy Page 5

Mason turned up the driveway of the house next door. Asher caught up, then strode ahead to open the door. Once inside the house, I expected Mason to put me down. Instead he maneuvered me through the hallway and into a bedroom.

  Mason’s bedroom.

  The bed was made, but it had clearly been slept in, and the closet door was ajar, giving me a glimpse of some clothes on hangers. Beside the bed were a couple of crime novels and an old fashioned alarm clock. A doorway at the far end led into a private bathroom.

  Being in his bedroom felt intimate and surreal, especially as I was plastered against his wet chest with his scent filling my lungs. His face was close enough to mine that I could study the square cut of his jaw, his rough shadow of stubble, and how the hard lines of his face contrasted with the soft curve of his lips. His eyelashes were surprisingly long and dark, considering his eyes were so light. And the scar on his neck must have been a deep wound, because I could see lots of little lines crossing it where the stitches had been. The scar disappeared beneath his T-shirt, running beneath his collarbone. How low did it go?

  “We have to stop meeting this way,” I said in an unsteady voice. “People will talk.” I could only hope Mason couldn’t feel the way my heart was beating too hard, as though being in his arms had pushed it into turbo mode.

  “Your teeth have stopped chattering.”

  “I feel drier. Which is more than I can say for your shirt.” I let my gaze run down to the wet fabric slicked against tempting slabs of muscle, and it was all I could do not to press my nose to his neck and breathe in his fresh oak scent.

  He grunted, setting me on my feet. When he stepped away, his heat went too, and I pulled Asher’s jacket tighter around me.

  “The bathroom’s through there.” His voice was gruff. “Clean towels are on the shelf. While you have a hot shower, I’ll find you some dry clothes.”

  I looked around, but Asher and Nat hadn’t followed us into the bedroom. “Um. What just happened? I mean, how did you turn up again out of nowhere? And why bring me here when you don’t even like me?”

  “Who says I don’t like you?”

  “What’s going on, Mason? You ignored me for years, then you literally sweep me off my feet and carry me into your bedroom? Why would you do that?”

  “You were cold, wet, and barefoot. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Oh sure, you make it sound logical.” I blew out a frustrated huff of air. “But why do you suddenly care?”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug, turning for the door. “You needed help.”

  “So you had to pick me up and carry me away?”

  He glanced back. “Asher says I have a compulsion. I can’t resist a damsel in distress.” He surprised me with a quirk of his lips, and whatever I was about to say died on its way up my throat. His smile was lopsided, boyish, and totally endearing. If his scent had made me think of shirtless woodcutters, his smile was an unexpected tumble of puppies.

  “Well, this damsel had the situation covered,” I managed to mutter. “For future reference, I’m perfectly capable of carrying myself.”

  “Got it.” He shot me a wink as he left.

  Rooted to the spot, I watched him go. Then I swallowed hard, shaking my head at myself. I wasn’t about to let myself fantasize about Mason Lennox, of all people.

  Been there, done that.

  Shutting myself in the bathroom, I stripped and got into a piping hot shower. And as the water chased the cold from my bones, I gave myself a pep talk.

  There was no point in trying to figure out Mason’s mysterious behavior. After growing up with Mom, I couldn’t handle anyone who wasn’t straight with me. Besides, he’d already proven he was a villain, not a knight.

  After my shower, I peeked out of the bathroom. Some neatly folded clothes had appeared on Mason’s bed. Giant-sized sweatpants and a hoodie that hung to my knees.

  I could hear Nat, Mason, and Asher talking in the next room. Mason's voice was a low rumble, and he must have said something funny, because Natalie laughed.

  While I was trying to make out what they were saying, I put on the clothes, rolling up the arms and legs. My underwear was too wet to put back on, and I had to keep hitching up the sweatpants or they’d end up around my ankles, but at least I was warm. And the clothes smelled faintly of Mason’s delicious cologne. Shirtless woodcutters again. Why his scent made my thoughts drift down that path, I had no idea.

  Whatever.

  I was about to go and find the others, when the door opened and Nat came in.

  “I’m sorry I left you with Frankie.” She looked around curiously. “I didn’t know he was such a jerk.”

  “That’s okay. I get to wear these fashionable clothes, so it all turned out for the best.” I hitched up the sweatpants and did a little jig, making fun of the way I was swimming in Mason’s Hulk-sized clothes.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “What was the deal with Mason carrying you?”

  “He seems to think he’s a superhero. Clearly he’s delusional.”

  She sat on the bed, bouncing a little as though to test its springs. “All three brothers are super hot.”

  I gave a reluctant nod, because I couldn’t argue. “I did get to cop a feel of Mason’s rock-hard pecs, so it wasn’t all bad.”

  Her grin was mischievous. “How hard, exactly?”

  I mimed running both hands over a large, perfectly-formed male chest. “He can probably open beer bottles with his nipples.”

  She let out a wistful sigh. “I’ve missed you, Lottie. I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “I missed you too. It’s a shame I can’t stay long. I’ve sublet my apartment while I sort out my income problems, but it’s only short term.”

  Her smile turned a little sad. “Well, it’s nice to hang out again, even if it’s only for a week or two.”

  I sat next to her on the bed, wishing we lived in the same city. I’d made friends in LA, but nobody knew me like Nat did. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you more often.”

  “We’ve both been busy. Besides, it doesn’t matter. When we see each other it’s like no time has passed.”

  “That’s true. Hey, is there something going on between you and Santino? He seemed like he was into you.”

  “Santino?” She wrinkled her nose, pushing up her glasses. “He comes into the café sometimes, and he’s a good tipper. I went the party to be polite, because I try to be nice to my regulars. There aren’t that many of them.”

  “He offered me a job. You think he’s legit?”

  “Apart from his terrible taste in friends, he seems okay.” She hooked her head toward the kitchen. “Want to go have a drink with the hot Lennox brothers? Or would you rather take off?”

  “Do you mind if we go? I’ll call us an Uber.” I looked around for my cellphone before I caught myself. “Dammit, I forgot my phone’s at the bottom of Santino’s swimming pool.”

  “I’ll call the Uber.” Nat concentrated on her phone for a minute. “They’re busy tonight. Closest one is fifteen minutes away.” She lifted her head and sniffed. “Do you smell something delicious?”

  “Shirtless woodcutters. You smell it too?”

  She shot me a puzzled look. “What? I’m talking about chocolate.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I could smell chocolate. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s investigate.”

  We found our way back to the kitchen, and discovered Asher sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, while Mason stood at the stove, pouring bubbling brown liquid from a saucepan into a mug. Both had changed their clothes. Mason had on a fresh gray T-shirt, and Asher was wearing dark blue jeans and a dark charcoal shirt. A black cat was lying on the couch, studying us with bright yellow eyes. I moved closer to pet her and she lifted her head regally, allowing me to scratch under her chin.

  “That’s Nemesis,” said Mason. “I made you hot chocolate to warm up your insides.”

  “We also have wine and beer,” said Asher.

  “Wine please.” Nat took t
he stool next to him.

  While Asher poured her a glass of wine, I accepted the mug of hot chocolate Mason offered and took a sip. It was as delicious as it smelled.

  “There’s one thing that’s bugging me, Mason.” I slid onto the stool next to Nat, cupping the mug with both hands. “Why is it that every time I see you, I get wet?”

  Nat coughed a laugh that sprayed droplets of wine over the counter. “Sorry.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Gross.”

  Mason rolled his lips between his teeth, clearly trying not to laugh. Only Asher looked impassive.

  “I mean, my clothes get wet.” I rolled my eyes, pretending I hadn’t made the joke intentionally. Inside I was sighing with relief. At last, I’d managed to crack a joke in front of Mason. Sure it was a lame sexual innuendo, but last time I’d been unable to even manage that much.

  “Have you warmed up now?” asked Mason.

  I nodded. “Thanks for the shower and clothes.” I looked at Asher. “And thank you for rescuing me from the swimming pool. I hung your jacket in the bathroom, but it probably needs emergency dry cleaning.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about at the party?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “What do you mean? You were so insistent, it had to be something urgent.”

  Asher met my gaze. “I was going to warn you not to fall in the pool.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, and Nat snickered. Then her phone dinged and she glanced at the screen. “Our Uber’s almost here.”

  “Cancel it,” said Mason. “I’ll drive you home.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but you can climb down from your white stallion now. I’m not a damsel who needs rescuing, remember?” I turned to Nat and dropped my voice to a loud mock-whisper. “I thought he might have figured that out when he saw the Vulcan on my panties.”

  “Spock’s only half Vulcan,” said Nat with a shrug.

  Mason looked from her to me as though trying to pick which of us was the craziest one. “I don’t have a horse, but a perfectly good car. No saddle required.”

  Nat took another gulp of her wine, and set the glass down when her phone dinged again. “As much as I’d love to take a ride with you guys, our Uber’s right outside.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mason

  Carlotta climbed into the Uber’s back seat and lowered the window. “Thanks for the dry clothes, Mason. I’ll return them.”

  “Just don’t tell your mother who the clothes belong to,” Nat warned Carlotta. “Or she’ll build a bonfire and burn them.”

  The sound of drunken laughter drifted from Santino’s house, and every light was blazing. In my six years as a cartel bodyguard I hadn’t run into Santino or Frankie, so if they saw me on the street they wouldn’t know me. Still, I didn’t want to loiter in front of Santino’s house for a moment longer than necessary.

  “Next time, keep away from people who push you into swimming pools,” I said to Carlotta, trying to subtly warn her away from Santino and Frankie.

  She nodded. “Especially obnoxious drug fiends.” The driver started the car, and Carlotta pressed the button to slide the window back up.

  “Drug fiends?” I asked sharply.

  She nodded. “Frankie’s a—” The car started to pull away and her window slid shut.

  I stared after the car for a moment, then turned to Asher. “Did you hear that?”

  He nodded. “You think she’s involved?”

  “Of course not. Come on, let’s get back inside.”

  He gave me a sideways glance, but followed me up the path. “I realize you have a pathological need to protect everyone you’re close to, but you need to be objective,” he said.

  I kicked a stone out of my way with more force than necessary. “Which is why I’ll run a background check on Carlotta anyway, even though she’s not likely to be in the system, or have a record.”

  As soon as we were inside, I went back to the still-dark spare bedroom so I could watch the partygoers crowded into Santino’s house. Asher followed me as far as the door.

  “Why did you turn up at Santino’s place?” Asher leaned against the door frame. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “Nobody saw me.”

  “Frankie might have followed us out.”

  “You’re the one who spoke to him after I told you to keep clear. He didn’t recognize you, did he?”

  Asher shook his head. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

  Truth was, neither of us should have gone near the house. But when I’d seen Carlotta fall in the pool, I’d rushed out without caring.

  Which was so incredibly stupid, I should slap myself.

  As a bodyguard I’d won the trust of key members of the cartel. Although those members were now in jail, my cover and reputation were intact. After helping the local team arrest Frankie and Santino, I could head back to Houston and get to work taking down more cartel members. But if Frankie or Santino learned I’d been involved, word would get around.

  Six long years of living and breathing my work meant I couldn’t afford to take any risks.

  “It’s easy to see why you like Carlotta,” said Asher, reading my mind. “But you need to be careful.”

  My father and brothers knew I was a special agent with the DEA. They also knew I’d been working undercover, though I hadn’t given them any details and I’d sworn them to secrecy. I was pretty sure they’d figured out my job was dangerous. Hell, they’d seen my scars.

  “I’ll have to put Carlotta and Natalie on the list of party-goers. The surveillance team will look into them to make sure they have no links to the cartel.” I clenched my jaw, hating the idea of anyone prying into Carlotta’s private life. “I know they aren’t involved. There’s no way. But if I leave them off the list and they’re somehow connected, it could come back to bite me.”

  “You could eliminate them as suspects yourself.”

  “You just told me to be careful.”

  Asher shrugged. “Then let the local team look into them. I’m going to finish my beer.”

  Once he’d disappeared into the kitchen, I turned my attention back to the party, taking photos and making notes. It wasn’t until several hours later that the last of the guests left the house next door, and I had time to log into my laptop and request records on Carlotta from the police database. The request would take a while to process, so in the meantime, I Googled her.

  Hundreds—no, thousands—of results popped up. Apparently, Carlotta was Internet famous. Some duck pictures were the top results, then… naked photos?

  My mouth went dry.

  I clicked through to Instagram, and saw Carlotta walking naked in what looked like a public park. It had to be early morning, because the golden light made her skin glow. A series of photos had been taken from behind, showcasing her body to perfection. I clicked on the first, and it filled my screen. Carlotta was twisting to smile over her shoulder at the camera. Her hair was swinging and the light caught it like a halo. The motion showed off the pert outline of her breast, and the breathtaking beauty of her ass.

  She was a work of art. A masterpiece.

  I was so captivated by her naked form that it was a long time before I even noticed the other people in the picture.

  A couple of joggers were gaping at her, their eyes wide and their mouths open. They were frozen mid-run, their expressions so shocked that I snorted a laugh before clicking to the next photograph.

  The second picture had caught one of the joggers stumbling over his own feet. The other was too busy staring at Carlotta to notice his friend was about to plow into him.

  In the third picture, the joggers were both sprawled on the ground, their necks craned to follow Carlotta as she strode, seemingly unaware of them, out of the shot.

  I chuckled. It was a clever sequence, beautifully timed. And there was no way the shock on the joggers’ faces wasn’t real.

  Carlotta’s user name w
as LottaLaughs, and her follower count was… Whoa. Almost a million followers? Was that even possible?

  I went back to Google and randomly clicked on some of her other photos and videos. There were hundreds of them, showcasing all kinds of wacky stunts and candid shots. She had photos of herself in a changing room trying on padded bras, photos mid-faceplant, photos of epic cooking fails.

  Clicking on the picture with the most views, I rocked back in my chair.

  Dead ducks?

  The picture wasn’t from Carlotta’s feed, but had been tagged with her name. The caption was: LottaLaughs can’t delete this!!!

  The picture was gruesome because someone had added realistic blood and gore to the foreground. Carlotta was in the background, grinning as she pointed a gun made from…was that bread? But there was no way the Carlotta I knew had shot anything.

  In the last six years, I’d seen plenty of blood and a whole lot of ugliness. I’d worked for criminals who’d slaughter people without a thought, let alone care about a few dead birds.

  Carlotta was the opposite. When we were teenagers, she’d named all the spiders outside her window. And it hadn’t been just because of her mother’s stories about spiders being able to trap people’s souls in their webs.

  Carlotta wasn’t a hunter. Hell, she wasn’t even holding a real gun.

  Then I glanced at the comments. My stomach tightened as I read the first one.

  Ugly bicth a nasty human bean. Im goona mess her up I sware.

  “Shit,” I muttered. There were over five thousand comments on the picture, and the first one was mild compared to some. They clearly thought Carlotta was an animal abuser.

  I heard a grinding sound and realized I was grinding my teeth. This was bad. Very bad.

  An entire online mob was out to get her.

  I checked the newest photo on Carlotta’s Instagram feed and found a photo she’d taken of waking up with her mother’s dog. Only she’d tagged the photo with the name of the town, and I closed my eyes and muttered several curses. San Dante was a small enough place that a crazy follower with a grudge would probably be able to find her.

  I was still sitting in the dark, so the feel of something brushing against my leg made me jump a foot into the air.