“And not family,” he added drily.
I looked down where our fingers were entwined. “More so the reporter bit. You seem to have the biting and scratching bit down.”
He smirked, lifting my hand to his lips, then laying a fat, wet kiss in my palm.
Bran let out a low whistle as we crossed the street. We could walk all the way home if we wanted.
I suspect we wanted.
“You ever wonder how much our parents dictate what and who we become?” Bran kicked at a lonely stone on the sidewalk. It skittered into an alley and clanged against something metal. “They choose what toys we play with, what schools we go to, what people we date.” He cocked his head to one side and watched me. “Do you ever worry about what your parents would think of you, the woman you’ve become?”
“I am the way I am because of who I am.” I felt the cold scars on my back begin to ache. “If they’d survived the crash I might still have my, ah, disability.”
I didn’t like this line of thinking. I’d gone through the what-ifs for years after being cast out at the tender age of fifteen. Too many nights spent trying to figure out why I couldn’t Change, what reason there could be for my deficiency.
Too many tears.
I took a deep breath before answering. “I think we are who we choose to be because of, or despite, our parents.”
“Good answer.” Another gentle kiss on the back of my hand. “Ever the peacemaker.”
A cool breeze came up from the lake, buffeting us. I stopped and slipped off my shoes. My toes cried with relief as I wriggled and flexed them on the cold sidewalk.
Bran lifted his hand to flag down a lone cab cruising down the street. We’d passed out of the chic section of Toronto and were edging into an industrial wasteland of warehouses and overpriced artist lofts.
“I’m good,” I protested.
“No, you’re not. Your feet are sore and I won’t have you cutting your foot on broken glass because you don’t want to put shoes back on.” He pointed at the waiting taxi. “Get in.”
I resisted the urge to growl at his commanding tone. Instead I slid in over the faux leather, holding my shoes in one hand.
“My place or yours?” He kneaded my bare leg, skimming his hand up to the hem of my black dress.
“Mine.”
The ride back was fast and silent. Bran paid the driver off and led the way up to my front door before unlocking it with his key.
“Am I staying the night?” He smiled the same disarming grin I’d first seen in a dive bar months ago.
I feigned a yawn. We played this game every few days, pretending to try to avoid the inevitable. “I guess you can sleep on the couch. If you’re too tired to go home. You’ll have to share it with Jazz though.”
He pursed his lips for a second, forehead furrowed with thought.
“Nah.” Bran grinned, a lustful smile raising goose bumps on my skin. He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it on the couch. “No room.”
Jazz looked up from her spot on the cushions and padded over to make a new nest atop the jacket.
Before I could react he swept me up into his arms and over his shoulder. One hand held my legs in place while the other pushed the door shut.
“Let’s see how fast I can get you out of this dress.”
“Again,” I squeaked, dizzy from the combination of wine and the sudden movement.
“Practice makes perfect.” He slapped my butt hard, enough to send my pulse racing. “I’m working on improving in some areas.” His hand crept up under the black fabric.
I tugged at a wayward lock of red hair. “Only if I get to play with that tie again. I haven’t practiced my knot tying for months.”
That earned me a cough and a chuckle as he headed for the stairs.
The clock read 6:30 a.m., an ungodly hour for the most part but even more when you’re in bed with a hot, sexy man.
I rolled away from Bran, who was snoring lightly and buried in three out of four pillows, and headed for the shower. The faster I got out and did this “favor” the faster I could forget it ever happened.
Not to mention getting back in bed.
“Whattadoing?” The sleepy mumble came as I turned off the hot water and stepped out onto the shaggy blue bath mat.
“Got a quick job I need to do—checking a company’s security system for flaws. Only be a few hours and a fast couple of bucks.” I dried off quickly and tossed the bath towel into the corner of the bathroom. “Go back to sleep and I’ll meet you for lunch.”
Bran mumbled into the sheets as I dressed, stretching and flexing his limbs. He smacked his lips, tempting me to jump back into bed and ravish him while he was half-asleep and more open to certain suggestions. His bare back showed countless scratches, courtesy of yours truly.
I grabbed my running shoes and cursed under my breath. I needed to get this job done and over as soon as possible. I hated keeping secrets from Bran but I hated morning fights even more, and if he figured out I was working for his father, there’d be hell to pay.
According to the address on the card David Brayton worked in the middle of Toronto’s financial district. Hanover Investments was ensconced on prime real estate at the intersections of King and Bay Street. I hopped the streetcar and rode in with the rest of the business commuters. I stuck out in my leather duster and jeans when everyone else had on power suits and power dresses.
My uniform was a bit more useful.
I sniffed the collar of the duster. It still held a trace of the Pennsylvanian forest, the rich earthy scent chasing away the gas fumes and cologne/perfume.
It didn’t take much to push me back to the wilderness. If I closed my eyes I could see the lush forest near the farm where I’d gone on my first hunt. Another whiff of my duster and I envisioned the clearing where Bran faced down a wild Felis and declared his love for me.
A foul-smelling diesel truck rolled by, smearing black smoke over the streetcar windows. I wrinkled my nose and pulled back to the present. I got off at the next stop and walked the last block trying to purge my lungs of the oily pollution.
It didn’t escape my attention that the first twenty floors of the building belonged to Hanover Investments. I stood on the sidewalk and watched worker drones rush in and out of the various business hives.
A long black limousine pulled up halfway down the block from me. Car after car came to a screeching stop with the one lane now clogged. A single horn bleated out its annoyance but fell silent as everyone noticed the reason for the delay.
I craned my neck to see who warranted blocking traffic on a major street in the middle of rush hour.
Michael and Bernadette Hanover exited the rear of the car, the driver tipping his cap as the couple strode toward the building in front of me. Michael was carrying a briefcase and wearing a black business suit while Bernadette trotted beside him with her own version of a briefcase, a large pink-and-purple purse that could have hidden a small child. Her light blue dress, tied at the waist with a flashy silver chain, clung to her as she tried to keep up with her husband. A few seconds later the limo drove off, followed by a long line of delayed and annoyed commuters.
I spun away before they could see me, ending up behind a hot dog cart strategically set up on the sidewalk to take advantage of starving travelers looking for a fast nitrate fix. The smell of grilling onions had me drooling even as I watched the pair exchange cheek kisses and split up, Michael heading into the main tower through the front revolving doors and Bernadette off through another door to a smaller, less congested part of the triple-armed complex.
The hot dog vendor waved a pair of tongs at me as I moved away from the cart and headed for the entrance. I made a mental note to grab a dog or two on the way out—there’s nothing better than street food if you know where and when to buy it.