Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

their funerals, and taking care of everything with their estate. I’m talking about being a pain in the ass kid with a chip on his shoulder who liked to stir up shit.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I would have gotten my ass beaten way more times than actually happened if you hadn’t had my back.”

Read: we’d both gotten our asses kicked a shit-ton until I’d figured out how to fight back then had taught Luc.

Good times.

Also, the best times. Everything was so much simpler then—stupid kids doing stupid shit, stealing our parents’ booze, hiding out in the field behind our house getting drunk (being stupid), smoking pot, and bringing whatever group of friends and girls we’d managed to convince to hang out with us.

Mostly because we’d had alcohol.

Also because my brother was funny as hell.

But at the foundation of all of that had always been Lucas and me. The two of us, and I wouldn’t give up that time for anything.

“So what I’m saying” —Luc’s voice was a little hoarse, the emotion in his voice making my eyes burn— “is that I will always be there for you.” He cleared his throat, the mischief returning. “Even if it’s just playing best man at another wedding.”

I sighed. “We’ve been over this,” I said. “I just got divorced.”

My brother smirked and reclined on the couch. “Just saying, if I were you and in love with a woman like Niki, I’d lock it in as soon as possible.”

Love.

In love.

My heart thudded in my chest, my fingers convulsed, sinking into Niki’s soft curves as that thought flowed over me, as I poked and prodded it, just for good measure. Did I love her?

How . . . could I not?

I let the truth flow over me, settle over my brain like a warm blanket, comfort sinking into me as reality struck home.

I loved her.

Of course I did.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” I grumbled.

“And damned proud of it.”

I tossed another pillow, my aim this time true.

It flew through the air and . . . smacked him right across the face.

“Hey!” he muttered, snatching it and winding up like he was going to throw it back. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky I don’t want to hit Niki.”

“I love you, too, Luc,” I said.

Those eyes stayed narrowed. Then he stuck the pillow behind his head and curled his legs underneath him. “Shut up so we can watch the show.”

I shut up.

He hit play on the show.

And just as it began rolling again, my brother said, “I love you, too.”

My heart did some more of that somersaulting.

Because, damn, the fucker was good.

Chapter Eighteen

Niki

I heard the door click closed downstairs and hurried to finish my email.

I’d just met with a new client, and I like to summarize the tasks contracted, especially when I had a feeling said client would be a pain in the ass.

Contrary to any pseudo-legal researching like I did with KTS, this client was fully legitimate—although maybe legitimate wasn’t the right term because KTS was a real patron of mine, and they paid in real money. It was just that the organization didn’t always operate under strictly legal means, even though several governments had sanctioned the project.

So anyway, this research would be less hacking and more actual research. Although, I would get to place a tracing program, and hopefully I’d worked out any kinks that had enabled it to be detected before.

The research, however, would be secret. The email going to an untraceable inbox that only the CEO and I could access.

The Fortune 500 company had contracted me after having received a tip that the CFO was embezzling. It was my job to track down the proof of that, to deliver it to the CEO and only the CEO. They’d handle the CFO in whatever way they handled him, although—and I’d made this very clear—if I found that innocent people’s money or assets were affected in any way and the company didn’t make that right, then I would make it right.

And they wouldn’t like my solution.

Smiling, I finished the email and hit send, shutting everything down before I left my office, stopping in the hall to check that I had indeed put on pants that morning. (For the record, I had). Then I made my way into the kitchen to find Archer putting groceries away.

It had been a month since I’d met Lucas, and we’d fallen into a routine. The nights he wasn’t working, he came here and cooked dinner. The nights he was, and if I didn’t need to stay glued to my computer all evening, I went to the bar and stuffed myself full of yummy, fried food.

So basically, I was eating better than I ever had in my life.

Though, I did occasionally sneak a can of tiny ravioli if I managed to surface from work at lunchtime.

Also, I was going to have to buy new jeans if I continued this way, either that or go pants-less, and I found that I didn’t care because . . . Archer had unpacked the grocery bags and pulled out ingredients for . . . Bolognese!

“Bolognese! Bolognese!” I said, doing a little happy dance, which had him glancing up and smiling then hooking his arm around my waist and drawing me close.

“How was your day?” he asked, nuzzling my throat.

“Mmm,” was the only response I could muster, especially when his hands began to wander, slipping down to cup my ass then drifting up to brush the outsides of my breasts.

I wanted them to touch the insides.

I wanted them on my bare skin.

Which was why I pushed him back, reached for the hem of my shirt and tugged it over my head.

“But what about the Bolognese?” he asked, his fingers gripping the bottom of his tee, yanking it up and over his head. “I know how hungry you get.”

I was hungry all right. For his cock. For rough, warm hands on bare skin. For his mouth on mine, on my nipples, my pussy.