He’d moved away before she could register the feeling of his fingers on her knee, giving her that classic Will Thatcher grin. The one that said I’ve got your number.

She straightened, primly tugging the hem of her robe into place, ignoring the brand his thumb had left on the inside of her leg.

“So, back to the debt,” he said, taking a sip of coffee as though nothing had happened. “Go get showered. The Marilyn Monroe getup won’t do.”

Her nostrils fluttered. “You’re calling it in today? I have plans.”

“What plans? Vacuuming your car? Ironing your sheets? Reading some boring biography?”

It was a little too close to her actual plans, and she kept her mouth shut as she moved to top off her coffee, instinctively topping his off as well just because he was there.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. For some reason this quiet and unexpected bit of manners unnerved her even more than the flirty Will and she felt herself blushing.

“Spit it out already,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Well, actually, I already told you the other day, but you seem to have forgotten. We’re going furniture shopping.”

Brynn’s mug clanked noisily on the counter. “Furniture shopping?”

“Good hearing, Brynny. And yes, furniture shopping. I plan to have lots of female company, and hence I need a female’s opinion. You qualify. Barely. None of this white stuff, though,” he said, gesturing at her clean color scheme.

“Make Sophie do it.”

“She’s busy.”

“So am I,” Brynn ground out.

“Not with anything interesting. And you owe me, remember? Wouldn’t you rather get it over with?”

“I’d rather you’d have just changed my tire as a favor, not as something to lord over me until you could decorate your bachelor pad.”

Will drained his coffee before rinsing his cup and placing it in the dishwasher, in the exact right spot on the top shelf. Upper right corner, handle facing in. How’d he know?

“I’m not shopping with you.”

He shrugged and then moved so quickly she barely had time to swallow her mouthful of coffee. He was on her in a second, his hips pressing into hers.

Don’t move. Do. Not. Move. Why could she never breathe around this guy?

It wouldn’t have mattered if she moved. She could already feel him, hard and hot even through the denim of his jeans, his erection pressing into the flatness of her stomach.

“I can think of another way to return the favor,” he said, his eyes never leaving her. “One you might like better?”

His hips moved ever so slightly and Brynn bit her lip against a moan. It’s just memories of before. That’s all.

“I’ll go shopping with you,” she whispered softly, keeping her gaze locked on a spot over his shoulder.

He moved away as quickly as he moved in, his grin triumphant.

Brynn didn’t know what bothered her more, that he’d won the battle, or that he was apparently more enthused about the idea of furniture shopping than sex with her.

“My driveway in thirty minutes?” he asked.

“An hour,” she said, setting her mug aside in resignation. So much for her quiet, productive Sunday.

He gave her a none-too-soft slap on the ass, like a coach swatting his second-string running back.

“Good girl,” he said, grabbing her elbow and ushering her in the direction of the stairs. “Go shower now, you look like hell.”

She probably did. God knows she was in hell.

CHAPTER NINE

The home is an oasis—it should be treated as such.

—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an

Exemplary Life, #12

Does this little toy car of yours have heated seats?” Brynn asked as she peered at the fancy buttons of his sports car.

Wordlessly, Will punched a button and turned his attention back to the road. Brynn studied him out of the corner of her eye. They might not get along, but she’d known him long enough to know that silence and Will were never a good combination. Her body went on high alert.

“You shouldn’t have offered me a ride if you were going to sulk the entire time,” she said.

“Had I known you were going to chatter the whole way, I probably wouldn’t have offered.”

Brynn straightened her shoulders and gazed out of the passenger window and tried not to let his words sting. He’d never made a secret that he didn’t like her, but she couldn’t quite understand why her company was so repellant to him. And she really couldn’t understand why someone as open, loving, and sweet as her younger sister had befriended such a selfish oaf. His entire existence revolved around casual sex and business ventures. He had zero substance.

“I don’t understand why Sophie loves that bar so much,” Brynn mused as she stared out at the line of red brake lights on either side of them. “It’s so out of the way.”

Will made a sharp turn to take a side-street detour, and Brynn braced her hand against the dash, surprised by the sudden movement. She was about to nag him for driving like a freaking NASCAR driver when his outburst obliterated the sullen silence.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being selfish?” he exploded.

She snapped her head around to look at his clenched profile. “Excuse me?”

“I’d just think you’d get sick of yourself after a while. I know I do.” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

“What—”

But he wasn’t done. His voice took on a whining, high-pitched mimicking tone. “Sophieeee, you need to sit through a hellish double date to make my life more convenient. Why doesn’t everyone pick a bar that’s closer to me? Mommy, Daddy, it’s been ten minutes since you’ve praised all of my superpredictable accomplishments. Gray, why aren’t you adoring me the way I deserve to be adored? Gosh, Will, you’re so mean to me.”

The unprovoked attack sent a river of emotions rolling through her, the anger hitting her hardest. How dare he of all people accuse her of being selfish?

The sharpness of her anger was followed quickly by an automatic denial. Will didn’t even know her, not really. She was a good person. Sure, maybe she’d asked Sophie for an unfair favor, but Sophie was resilient. Nothing bothered her.

But as hard as Brynn tried to hang on to her anger, doubt crept down her spine. Was he right? Was she selfish? Brynn didn’t mean to be. She loved her sister, and would never want to sabotage her happiness. But did Brynn even know what Sophie’s version of happy looked like? Had she really stopped to assess what was going on with her sister, or had she just assumed that her own priorities were more important?

God, she was selfish.

The last emotion was perhaps the worst of all.

Hurt.

Hurt that it had to be Will of all people who’d held up the mirror and forced her to see her own narcissism.

Oh no. Not tears. Not now. She could not let Will Thatcher see her cry.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” she said, the word soggy.

“Shit,” he said softly.

Exactly.

He pulled over to the side of the road, and Brynn was surprised to see through the haze of her tears that they were outside of her condo building. Grabbing her purse, she fumbled at the door, desperate to escape Will and the flood of emotions he’d thrown at her.

“Thanks for the ride,” she muttered tersely.

Again with the damn manners! She should have told him to go screw himself, but even at her most vulnerable, she couldn’t get the words out.

“Brynn,” he said softly, putting a hand on her arm.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, turning to face him, suddenly not caring that he was seeing her with puffy eyes and black rivers of eye makeup running down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare insult me, outline every single flaw I have and then turn around and try to make it better. You wanted to hurt me and you succeeded. At least have the balls to own your victory.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “I just can’t stand the way you were trying to push Sophie down so you could pull yourself up.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t want your poor precious Sophie to suffer,” she said scathingly, hating the words she heard coming out of her mouth.