Free The Watson Brothers by Lori Foster Page B

face.
    He’d literally worn the little darling out, and damn, that made him proud.
    His grin died a quick death when, just as they reached the landing, an outraged knock sounded on his door. Ariel jumped a foot and dashed behind him, staring at the door as if it had suddenly become transparent and whoever lurked on the other side could see her. Scowling, Sam went to the peephole to look out. Ariel clutched at him, staying so close he felt her nipples on his back.
    “Shit.”
    “Who is it?”
    Dropping back against the door, he said, “Pete. And judging by the look on his face, he’s finally noticed your car.”
    She covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh no.”
    “Oh no” was right. What the hell should he do now?
    The door rattled again, and Pete yelled, “Open up, Sam! I know you’re in there.”
    Sam gave Ariel the once over, then lifted a brow. “Now might be a good time to display that innate modesty, sweetheart. I somehow doubt Pete will believe anything I try to tell him if he sees you flitting around my house in your birthday suit.”
    Her mouth fell open and in a flash she turned around and dashed back up the stairs. What a sight, Sam thought, watching the way she bounced and jiggled in all the right places. He shook his head. He was an idiot, letting himself be ruled by his gonads instead of common sense. He should have sent her home last night.
    Hell, he should never have touched her in the first place. But he had. And he’d more than enjoyed himself.
    Now he’d have to pay.
    Pete had his fist raised, apparently ready to pound the damn door down, when Sam drew it open. He took his brother off guard, saying, “Hey Pete. What’s up?”
    Pete’s look of surprise disappeared beneath censure. He shoved his way in, looking this way and that. “Where is she?”
    “She who?”
    Pete whirled around to face Sam. “Don’t be an asshole. You know damn good and well I’m talking about Ariel. It didn’t register last night, but that’s her car in your driveway and now it’s still there—”
    “Yeah?” Sam leaned out the open door, looked at the car, and said, “Huh. So it is.”
    Pete’s teeth clicked together. “Where—is—she?”
    From the top of the stairs, Ariel said softly, “I’m here.”
    Both men turned to look up. Sam took a surprised step forward. Did she have to hit him with one emotional punch after another? He knew Pete gave him a startled glance, but Sam couldn’t get his gaze off her, not even to reassure his brother.
    Ariel had hastily dressed in one of Sam’s extra large white T-shirts. It was so enormous on her, one shoulder hung down nearly to her elbow and the hem landed almost at her knees, more than adequately covering her. Still, she’d also borrowed a pair of his drawstring running shorts. She’d tied them so tight, the string hung to her ankles. She looked…comically precious.
    It was a wretched situation for Sam to find himself in, and still he smiled.
    Pete punched him in the arm, glowering and bristling and somehow looking protective. Toward Ariel? Well hell. He’d sworn he was over her, yet here he was with his shoulders hunched and his jaw jutting forward.
    “You’re in your damned underwear,” Pete told Sam under his breath, as if Ariel might not have already known that.
    “Yeah, and you know, Ariel just might be in my underwear, too. Are you, honey? Did you find the boxers, along with the shirt and shorts, in my third drawer?”
    Not amused, Pete slugged him again.
    In an odd way, Sam was proud of him. Pete was a man, and apparently he’d listened to at least a little of what Sam had told him about respecting women.
    “This isn’t funny,” Pete said.
    “No, I don’t suppose it is.” Sam wondered how the situation could get any worse. He found out when his neighbor, Hesper, and her bloated bulldog poked their heads through the open front door.
    First family and now friends. You’d think he was throwing a party, rather than debauching one very sexy,