A Pride of Brothers: Rick

By Peggy Jaeger

Elite bodyguard and P.I. Rick Bannerman's job is to protect. He doesn't get emotional with his clients, but when a woman from his past is threatened, his next job becomes personal.

Family lawyer Abigail Laine is the target of a client's vengeful husband, but refuses Rick's offer of protection. He walked away from her four years ago, and she swore to forget him.

Now her reluctance to accept his help could cost Abby her life.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509229376

Peggy Jaeger

Peggy Jaeger is a contemporary romance writer who writes Romantic Comedies about strong women, the families who support them, and the men who can’t live without them. If she can make you cry on one page and bring you out of tears rolling with laughter the next, she’s done her job as a writer! Family and food play huge roles in Peggy’s stories because she believes there is nothing that holds a family structure together like sharing a meal…or two…or ten. Dotted with humor and characters that are as real as they are loving, she brings all topics of daily life into her stories: life, death, sibling rivalry, illness and the desire for everyone to find their own happily ever after. Growing up the only child of divorced parents she longed for sisters, brothers and a family that vowed to stick together no matter what came their way. Through her books, she’s created the families she wanted as that lonely child. When she’s not writing Peggy is usually painting, crafting, scrapbooking or decoupaging old steamer trunks she finds at rummage stores and garage sales. As a lifelong diarist, she caught the blogging bug early on, and you can visit her at peggyjaeger.com where she blogs daily about life, writing, and stuff that makes her go "What??!"

Book preview

Inc.

Come on, Abigail. You can’t leave me hanging.

Right there. She aimed her fork at him as if it were a spear. Perfect example. You know I hate being called Abigail. I’ve lost count of the hundreds of times I’ve told you and you still do it, knowing it pisses me off. And—she cut him off before he could speak—your usual response is to lift your hands and say ‘and still’ when you’re called on it. Who does that? What kind of person persistently and purposefully annoys people?

So you’re saying I’m intentionally annoying?

Persistently, so. Yes. Makes the lawyer in me wonder why.

Just the lawyer? Any answers come to mind?

Plenty.

Care to share?

She placed her fork down next to her plate and regarded him across the table. You really want to hear this? Because if you know anything about me, you know I’m truthful. I don’t hold back.

Oh, he was sure she didn’t. And wouldn’t. Her tenacity was one of the things he’d first been drawn to. That and her fabulous ass.

I’m a big boy, he said with a grin. "I can take it.

She took a sip of water first, her eyes trained on him the entire time. Okay. If you really want to hear this.

He waved his hand for her to continue.

I think you use your cocky, aren’t-I-simply-too-witty attitude to keep people at a distance.

Praise for Peggy Jaeger

"DEARLY BELOVED will take readers on a journey of a fairytale wedding, or rather a true wedding filled with family drama start to finish! Ms. Jaeger captures a beautiful sibling relationship that flourishes when the parents are not emotionally or physically available. Overall, the push and pull of the budding romance is delightfully written, and readers will enjoy this quick read that ties up with a red-bow ending!"

~InD’Tale Magazine

~*~

A delightful start to what promises to be a winning series…with a myriad of moving parts…characters and their individual stories…that the author has seamlessly woven together into a story with emotions that will surely resonate with readers.

~Netgalley

A Pride of Brothers:

Rick

by

Peggy Jaeger

A Pride of Brothers, Book 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

A Pride of Brothers

Rick

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Margaret-Mary Jaeger

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kristian Norris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2019

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2936-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2937-6

A Pride of Brothers, Book 1

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Kari—my sistah from another mistah!

You taught me the meaning

of Romantic Suspense LITE

and gifted me the word alpha-hole.

For that, and your endearing friendship,

I am eternally grateful.

Chapter One

Four years ago…

Maybe you want to slow down the champagne chugging, Abs, Gemma Laine said, her tone more suggestive of a parent than a sibling, as she lowered her camera and regarded her older sister. Have an hors d’oeuvre. Maybe three or four. The reception hasn’t even started yet, and already your eyes are getting glassy.

Abby Laine tipped the champagne flute to get every last drop of the delicious bubbly down, her long neck stretching back for easy access. When she was done, she licked her lips and, through narrowed eyes, stared back at her younger sister.

Did Gemma usually have two heads?

She blinked, and thankfully, only one Gemma stood in front of her. But her sister was a little fuzzy around the edges.

Okay. Maybe she’d had a little more to drink than she should have. But dammit, it wasn’t every day one of her sisters got married. And it wasn’t her fault the wedding planner had left two opened bottles of Cristal in the church dressing room for pre-ceremony toasting. Or that her mother had made it her personal responsibility to refill every glass after each of her six remaining daughters delivered a heartfelt speech to the bride. Plus, Abby’d been working full-time and nonstop for the past two years while attending law school at night. Without a break. She deserved to get a little loose, kick back, and celebrate. Especially on such a special day.

The empty flute tipped over when she placed it down on the table a tad harder than she’d planned. Gemma’s reflexes were certainly sharper than her own. Her sister caught the crystal glass before it toppled over the side and shattered on the floor.

Once the flute was righted, Gemma dragged in a deep breath and nailed her sister with a hard, I-mean-business glare.

That’s it. She slung her camera strap over her shoulder, grabbed a small dish from the buffet stand, and filled it with a few crackers and cheese wedges. You’re having something to eat. No more champagne until you do. She thrust the dish into her sister’s hands. Here.

Who died and made you the booze police?

"Eat."

With a pout, Abby shoved a cracker into her mouth and crunched. The savory herbs and salty crispiness made her taste buds jump to attention with the realization she hadn’t eaten anything before heading into wedding hair and makeup at Kandy’s condo.

These are good, she declared, popping another in.

Of course they are, Gemma said. She lifted her camera and glanced down at the viewfinder. Kandy gave the caterer Grandma’s recipe.

Abby swallowed. God, I’m starving, she said, piling her dish with more.

Hey, save some for the rest of us, Eleanor, the youngest Laine sister said. Red and white rose bouquet in her hands, she sidled up to them and grinned. I’m hungry, too.

Have at it. Abby stepped to the side a little too fast. Her knees softened, and she stumbled backward.

Damn, these stupid bridesmaid heels. And damn Gemma because she was right. She had had too much to drink already.

As she reached out to clutch the table for support, a pair of firm hands seized her upper arms from behind.

Easy there, Abigail.

Abby’s entire body stilled. In a heartbeat, she went from tipsy to stone-cold sober as the smooth, deep timbre of that voice washed over her.

Reception hasn’t started yet. Wouldn’t do for one of Kandy’s minions to go down before the band even warms up.

When her arms were freed a moment later, Abby whirled around to find a pair of chocolate-drop-colored eyes trained on her from a face hand carved by the gods of gorgeous. Hair as dark as unprocessed coal was cut military short. Dark, thick lashes framed his almond-shaped eyes, and his mouth was pulled into a totally charming smirk that she wanted to kiss off his chiseled face.

Why did simply looking at him make her stomach act like a roller coaster spiraling downward and back to the station?

Minions? Really, Bannerman?

He had the nerve to grin. "Well, you are required to blindly follow and do everything Kandy tells you to without argument, aren’t you? Sounds pretty accurate to me."

You’re wearing a tuxedo. Does that make you one of Josh’s minions? She raked a finger up and down his ridiculously well-cut black lapel.

A free and easy laugh kicked her square in her already shaking stomach. Not in this lifetime. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He’s got two brothers who can more than fill the bill. I’m merely a humble wedding guest.

Humble was hardly the word she’d use to describe him. At six two and a solid, muscular two hundred pounds, Rick Bannerman was cocky, sinfully sexy, and a total player. Exactly the kind of man she knew she shouldn’t be drawn to, but God help her, was.

Hey. Eleanor pointed toward the ballroom doorway. The wedding planner is signaling it’s time to line up. Come on, you two.

Abby glanced over to see the emaciated woman’s hands flapping to beckon them over. Anyone else think she looks like a bird ready to take flight?

Gemma snorted and snapped a picture of the woman the sisters referred to as the Cricket due to her irritating habit of clicking her tongue every few seconds. Abby couldn’t decide if it was a nervous tic or simply the woman’s way of showing annoyance—which seemed to be her perpetual state.

Meow, Rick whispered close to her ear. His soft, sensual chuckle and the heat from his warm breath as it floated against her skin sent a shiver of arousal bolting up her spine. Before she could say something in her own defense, Gemma grabbed her.

Let’s go before she starts clicking at us.

Abby plopped her dish onto the table and let her sister drag her from the room. She couldn’t resist the tiny glance over her shoulder, though, for one last glimpse of Bannerman. He’d dropped his hands into his tuxedo pockets and was rocking back on his heels, totally at ease and comfortable, his sleepy, sexy stare tracking her the entire way from the room, that panty-wetting half grin still on his lips.

Jesus.

She needed a drink.

****

A few hours and several glasses of wedding celebration bubbly later, she spotted the object of her lust-filled fantasies slip through the ballroom doors and out onto the terrace.

It never occurred to her not to follow him.

Spring had surfaced two weeks prior, and the fading light between dusk and nightfall was grasping for a few more minutes to shine. Abby found him at the far corner of the balcony, overlooking Central Park. Elbows leaning on the railing, he was staring off into the distance. For a brief moment, she was afforded the opportunity to study him unawares.

The person who invented tuxedos should be sainted. Or at least knighted. There was nothing else that made a gorgeous man even more attractive. If Rick weren’t a private investigator, he could easily pose for a men’s eveningwear line. His physique was model-proportioned perfectly according to Gemma, the professional photographer in the group, and his classic, carved-from-marble features were captivating.

All in all, a hunky, sexy guy. And one she wanted to get closer to—in the purely biblical sense. There was no doubt in Abby’s mind Rick Bannerman was a man who knew what to do with a woman, and please God she wanted to be that woman. Even for one night.

Didn’t your parents ever teach you it was rude to stare?

The quiet pitch in his voice bounced off the tree canopy and vibrated through her body from head to heels. She’d been hidden in the shadows and he hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet he’d known she was standing there, gawking.

Abby walked toward him, her hands clasped in front of her.

Mom was too busy working three jobs, she said, and Dad bolted before he could teach us anything.

Rick turned his head a fraction, his body staying in the same relaxed position, but the second his gaze landed on her, she felt like a deer paralyzed in an oncoming truck’s glaring headlights on a lonely road at two a.m.

Maybe she should have had another glass of fortification before coming out here.

And I’m pretty confident you’re used to people staring at you.

He stayed silent.

Abby’d give anything to know what he was thinking as his gaze trailed from her eyes down to her mouth where it lingered for a moment and then back up again. She couldn’t stop the shiver that jumped through her.

When she ran her hands up her chilled, naked arms, Rick shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket in one fluid motion and flung it around her shoulders. He was close enough for her to stretch up and run her lips along his jaw and finally taste him.

In the time it took her to gather her courage to do it, he moved back and shot his hands into his pants pockets.

You shouldn’t be out here in that slip of a dress, he chided. It’s still cool at night, and you’re not dressed for the weather.

Abby pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders, sighing when she caught a whiff of Rick’s cologne clinging to it. Whether from the heady, spicy scent she’d now and forever equate with him or from the dipping temperature, her nipples shot to bruising points under her soft, strapless, push-up bra.

You should go back inside where it’s warmer, Abigail. I’m sure you’ve got minion duties to perform.

Her back went ramrod straight. I hate being called Abigail. Something I’ve told you more than a few times.

Rick grinned. And still…

Calling a person something you know they don’t like is just plain mean.

It is your name, kiddo. Abigail June Victoria.

Okay, how did he know her full name? She didn’t recall ever telling him because she did everything in her power to forget it. It was so…old lady-ish and made her feel like she lived with seventeen cats and read sweet romances all day and night. Alone.

You’re such a pain. She shook her head and pouted.

Am I?

You know you are. And you’re making me forget the reason I followed you out here in the first place. She almost stomped her foot but thought better of it at the last second.

Something shifted in his eyes. Even in the rapidly fading light, she caught it.

You…followed me…out here?

Good Lord, she didn’t need the jacket at all. One glance at the hotter-than-a-poker glaze in his eyes heated her entire body.

Y-yes.

Why? He leaned a hip against the metal railing, his hands secured inside his pockets again, comfortable, relaxed, and so damn heart-stopping she wanted to scream for him to take her in his arms and make her his for the night.

She wasn’t going to let him sabotage her seduction plan. No. She’d worked out everything she wanted to say, the perfect way to goad him into noticing her. If she could get him to dance with her, get his arms around her, she’d be able to make him see how good it could be between them.

But first she had to get him on the dance floor and from everything she’d observed tonight, he was happy to let his dance card stay empty.

You’re shirking your wedding guest duties, she said with a slight head bob.

There’s no such thing.

"Yes, there is. As a guest, a male guest—she lowered her chin, pinning him with her own intense glare now—it’s your responsibility to dance with the female guests. There are quite a few unattached women at this wedding, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed you’ve danced with no one except for Josh’s mother. That’s bad form. And…rude."

Her eyes narrowed when his laugh, loud and filled with humor, bounced through the trees. Unnoticed by who? The wedding police? Kandy?

Among…others.

With his head cocked, he stood upright and moved into her space. Even in her heels, she had to tip her head back to keep them eye to eye.

Others? he asked, his voice low, so low she had to pitch forward to hear him. Or just you, Abigail?

When he was close enough for her to know her breasts would bounce off his chest if she inhaled, he leaned down, fingered the lapel on his jacket, his knuckle grazing the column of her throat.

Her brain shut down the moment his fingers made contact with her skin. Despite the nippy bite in the air, she was hit with a fireball radiating downward from his touch. It was a wonder she didn’t start sweating.

Abby swallowed.

Then did it again.

His eyes were focused on hers, those half-closed lids doing nothing to shield the heat smoldering under them. If you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do—his gaze dipped down to her lips again—was ask.

Dance? Lord, she wanted to do a whole helluva lot more than simply dance with this man.

I—

She licked her suddenly parched lips, her eyes never wavering from his sharp gaze.

In a move as natural as breathing, she stepped into the minute amount of space separating them and lifted up on her toes until their lips slammed together.

Holy Mother.

The heat from his fingers had been hot enough to singe, but they were an ice cube compared to the incendiary inferno of his mouth fused with hers. It crossed her mind that it was a miracle she didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

As stupefied as she was by what she’d done, a few pertinent details slipped through her consciousness.

One, Rick’s jacket fell from her shoulders when she stretched upward, plunking down on the ground behind her.

Two, her shoulders and arms may have been bare again, but the volcano of heat seeping from Rick’s body inoculated her against the cold air.

Three, the man’s body was as hard as it appeared to be. Without a whisper of space separating their bodies, every solid inch of muscle and sinew molded perfectly against her.

And last, but certainly not least, after a brief still moment, Rick kissed her back.

All the nerve fibers in her body south of his touch, fired. The same wobbling sensation from earlier in the evening flowed through her again, and her hands gripped his shoulders for fear she’d fall.

Rick dragged his knuckles across her cheek, then took her chin between his fingers and lifted her jaw, changing the angle of the kiss and giving him full access to every part of her mouth.

Their tongues danced and twined, mated as if they’d done it every day of their lives. A strange sense of familiarity poured through her.

As the stunning realization of that thought hit home, Rick broke the kiss, tearing his lips from hers so forcefully, a sucking sound whooshed through the air when they separated. He pushed her away and held her at arms’ length. If the frown hugging his forehead was any indication, he was confused about what had just happened.

And unhappy.

Maybe even a little angry.

Abigail. His voice was rough and harsh in the still, quiet surrounding them. You don’t want to do this.

Yes, I do. She winced.

Jesus. Hard-up much, Abby?

Rick shook his head, his hands softening their grip on her arms.

No, really, she said. I do. I’ve…I…I thought…

Whatever you thought, forget it.

Hurt slammed up against mortification and anger.

The anger won.

"Why? If I’m not mistaken you were pretty into it a second ago. That was your tongue sliding down my throat."

The frown deepened into a scowl. He dropped his hands and took a step back. That shouldn’t have happened.

Why the hell not?

His eyes darkened, those drowsy lids pulling tight at the corners. It just shouldn’t have, that’s all.

You say one thing, Bannerman, but your body says another. Abby shook her head and took a step closer, the champagne definitely giving her the courage she needed.

Rick took two back.

Now the hurt rammed to the front of the line.

Yeah, well, when a beautiful woman presses every inch of herself against a man’s body, it’ll react. Pure and simple.

And now the mortification blew forward.

Apparently, her good sense had taken a vacation day, because instead of listening to it as it screamed for her to retreat with the little dignity she still possessed, Abby continued on.

I thought you liked me.

I do. His head bobbed up and down. I do. You’re a great…kid.

Kid? She sucked in a breath and threw her shoulders back. Okay, I’m gonna let that comment slide. Hands on her hips, she nailed him with a piercing glare. Why the brush off, Bannerman? I’ve been dropping hints left and right since we met about getting to know you better.

Another step closer made him retreat again. This time his hip bumped up against the railing.

I’m not repulsive, she said, cocking her head at him. "Am I?’

No. You’re not. You know exactly what you look like, Abigail.

She nodded, her eyes trained on him. I don’t have bad breath, or body odor, or some fatal flesh-eating disease.

Nervous laughter barked through his lips. No. You don’t.

So why the brick wall? I like you. You like me. We’re both more than adults. Both uninvolved—you aren’t involved with anyone, right?

He hesitated a bit before shaking his head. No.

Relief flowed through her. I know you’re attracted to me, she said with a smidgen more certainty than she actually felt. You did kiss me back, after all. I don’t see a problem here. The moment she said it another idea formed, took hold, and rooted.

Wait. You’re straight, right? You flirt with everything with a vagina, so I figured…You don’t give off a gay vibe, and I’m usually attuned to guys who are. You’re not, are you?

Again, he waited a bit before saying, No. I’m not gay.

Before she could utter another word, Rick beat her to it. "Look, everything you’ve said is true. I do like you, and yes, I’m attracted to you. What red-blooded guy with a pulse wouldn’t be? You’re gorgeous and smart and—Christ." He shook his head a few times.

She couldn’t help it: a huge smile pulled at her lips.

But we’re not gonna do this.

Why not? Good Lord, did that whine come from her?

We’re just not, he said, voice firm and resolute. We’ll chalk this whole scene up to getting a little carried away with some harmless flirting fueled by too much to drink. You probably won’t even remember much of it in the morning—

Yes, I will.

The heat rising up her neck and face now competed with the chill sluicing down her spine. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging her upper body against the night air.

Rick shook his head again and dropped his chin. Night had decided to descend, so she couldn’t see his face clearly. Was he trying to stifle a smile?

When he lifted his head a moment later, though, his features were blank.

Go inside, Abigail. Have a slice of cake, a cup of coffee. Get warm. Forget this happened.

She should listen to him, she really should. But for whatever reason, her brain wasn’t receiving the memo.

I could warm up right here, she said, dropping her voice a level and hoping she sounded seductive and not like she was choking on something. If you’d put your arms around me.

This time when she stepped closer, Rick purposefully shot out of her way. He sidestepped, stooped, grabbed his tuxedo jacket from where it’d fallen from her shoulders, and slid it back on.

You know what? He stepped backward. I’ll go in. I could use a cup of coffee, myself. You stay out here all you want.

In the time it took her to register he was running away from her, he was gone, back through the ballroom doors and lost in the wedding guest throng.

Abby fisted her hands on her hips again and blew out a breath heated with frustration.

That had so not gone as planned.

Chapter Two

Present Day

You know, Abs, this room is perfect for you. Kandy’s gaze glided around the space, her discerning eye raking over her sister’s office furnishings.

How so? Abby asked.

It’s smart and sleek and all business. She grinned at her younger sister. Like you.

When she’d opened her family law practice eighteen months ago, Abby had rented a single room in a fourth-floor industrial walk-up in a commercial district of lower Manhattan. The space had been cramped and, according to Gemma, soul-less. But it was affordable. By scrimping on costs and hoarding every available dollar she could squeeze out of her monthly budget, sometimes forgoing breakfast and lunch, Abby had saved enough to move recently to a bigger office in a more prestigious area of town.

The first client to walk through her new door had changed Abby’s professional life for the foreseeable future.

Sixteen-year-old Shalinda Davis wanted to be declared an emancipated teen from her controlling, alcoholic mother. The six-foot, mixed-race teen had graced the cover of Teen Vogue twice and was destined for a spectacular modeling career. The only stumbling block was Calista Davis, who viewed her daughter as her own private ATM. Shalinda’s manager had been a college fringe friend of Abby’s, who’d asked the family lawyer to help them achieve the girl’s emancipation.

Abby had agreed and, after winning, the teen and her agent had publicly lauded Abby’s efforts and included a bonus large enough to pay the rent on her new office space for six months.

Within a week, Abby’s appointment book was filled.

Armed now with a secretary she adored and a paralegal she couldn’t imagine practicing without, for the first time since passing the bar, Abby was content.

Well, maybe content wasn’t the right word. Secure was more accurate.

The monthly rent, payroll, and office expenses were all paid now without the need to skip any meals. At thirty-two, she could sit back and see all the sacrifices she’d made had been worth it.

Kandy laughed. Sweetie, you know it’s true. Her piercing blue eyes—twins to Abby’s—warmed, as she smiled. You did this. All of this. She circled a hand around the room. All by yourself. You should be proud. We all are. I could hear Mom beaming through the phone this morning when I told her I was taking you to lunch. She wanted to tag along but had an appointment she couldn’t change.

Abby rolled her eyes. Of course she couldn’t. She made a display of checking her desk calendar. It’s the beginning of the month. Time for her highlights to be freshened. God forbid she push a hair appointment back a day.

Abs.

Even though she was barely a year older, whenever Kandy used that mothering tone, Abby grew ashamed.

She really is proud of you. Kandy reached across the desk and squeezed her sister’s hand.

I know. I—

A loud, angry voice filtered through the closed office door.

What’s that? Kandy asked. Before they could reach the door to the reception space, it was thrown open.

Irate was too tame a word to describe the man who burst into the office. In his late thirties, with drab blond hair and gray streaks threaded through his temples and several weeks from a needed trim, the guy’s face was a furious jumble of bloated rage and determination. Blue and gray mechanic overalls covered his almost six feet. The full frontal zipper of his grease-covered uniform strained against a bulging gut.

You can’t go in there, Abby’s receptionist, Verna Moren, cried. When she spotted Abby, the woman said, I’m sorry. He bolted right by me.

It’s all right, Verna. Abby took a mental and physical breath. Mr. Genocardi, you shouldn’t be here.

Don’t tell me where I shouldn’t be, you bitch! You know damn well why I’m here.

Kandy’s gasp echoed through the room. Abby ignored it, keeping her eyes trained on her irate intruder.

The man threw a crumbled paper at her head. It bounced off her torso and landed at her feet. "You made my Lila take out a restraining order on me. Me! Her husband. You had no right. No right to come between a man and his family." His hands fisted at his sides, the livid mottling in his face deepening to the color of a fresh eggplant as he bellowed.

Abby’s gaze flicked to Verna’s and, after a subtle nod, trained back

Reviews for A Pride of Brothers

[letitia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A great read. There were so many moments my stomach had the butterflies. I wasn’t a fan of how short the climax of the story was though.