Racing Home (Bryant Brothers Book 1)

that’s cool. Did you like what you saw?”
Yes. Well, except for the pictures of you with other women.
She placed the grater on the counter and turned to face him. “Look, we need to get something straight. I’m not interested in you, okay?”
One side of his mouth lifted.
“I’m serious. You’re—you’re one of those guys.”
“What guys?”
She flapped her hand. “Guys who go through girls like, um, like Kleenex.”
“You think I like to blow my nose on women? That’s a weird fetish.”
She gave his shoulder a shove and then pretended she hadn’t felt a bunch of warm, corded muscles under her fingertips. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
His half smile twisted into a frown. “Camila, I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas—”
“From you.”
“Me?” He furrowed his brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know you want to sleep with me. And that you’re just looking for a way to pass the time until you head back out onto the road.” She paused to breathe. “All I’m saying is, I’m not interested. I just want you to know that.”
“You sure are expending a whole lot of effort to convince me of that.”
“What’s your point?” she snapped.
“Well, beyond admiring your body—and, yes, you have a nice body—I haven’t done or said anything to indicate I was hoping you’d go a round before I leave at the end of the week. Not that I’d say no if you asked, but unless you do, I’m pretty confident I can keep my hands—and my dick—away from you.”
She was certain she looked like a fish out of water as she stared at him, speechless, her mouth working but not forming words.
He tapped her under the chin and she snapped her mouth shut. “Now, can we get back to prepping breakfast? I’m hungry and this casserole takes an hour to bake.”
Mouth pinched and gaze fully focused on the task, Camila returned to shredding the remaining potatoes while Tommy turned on the oven to pre-heat and flipped on a burner so he could fry up the bacon.
***
“Where are you going?”
Camila froze in the process of sliding her foot into a flip-flop. She’d put on a gray-and-white striped T-shirt dress and had her bag slung over her shoulder. Blowing out a breath, she turned to face Tommy, who had come around the corner from the direction of the family room. At least he’d managed to put on a shirt. The absence of the visual reminder of his gorgeous abs made it marginally easier for her brain to function.
The rest of the family and her sister were curled up on the couches, relaxing after a hearty meal that they’d all declared was perfection.
She’d taken the opportunity to sneak upstairs to get dressed and stuff her belongings back into her bag. After that exchange over preparing breakfast, Camila needed to get the hell out of here. Embarrassment was not an emotion she wore well. Her first line of defense was to retreat.
Her plan was simple: Hide out in her apartment with all the shades drawn and the lights off until she had to report to work on Friday.
Gritting her teeth, she said, “Going home.”
“Aren’t you here because some guy is stalking you and you were concerned enough not to want to stay in your apartment alone?”
She gritted her teeth. “I made my boss aware of the situation yesterday, so, hopefully, he had the bouncer scare the guy off. I’m sure it’s fine now. In fact, I may even go into work tonight.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?” Did he really think he had any say in her life?
“No way I’m letting you go home alone. If you’re leaving, I’m going with you.” He stuffed his foot into a running shoe.
“That isn’t necessary.” The whole reason she was going home was to put distance between the two of them. She didn’t actually want to leave. In truth, she quite liked it here. The family atmosphere, even the almost non-stop teasing between brothers was fun. Comfortable. She’d yearned to feel comfortable for longer than she realized.
Completely ignoring her statement, he said, “You driving or am I?”
“You aren’t coming with me.”
“Yes, I am.”
They argued back and forth for a few more moments, until Tommy sighed and said, “Look, Camila, just stop. I can’t in good conscience let you put yourself into a potentially dangerous situation. I’ve had stalkers before; I know how tenacious they can be.”
“Stalkers? Is that what you call your fan club?”
He furrowed his brow and frowned. “There’s a big difference between fans and stalkers, and you need to get over this bullshit jealousy you’re feeling over the idea you’ve formed in your head about my lifestyle. Now wait here.”
She did as he said, probably because she was struck momentarily frozen by the idea that she could be jealous over him.
When he returned, he was stuffing his wallet into the front pocket of his warmup pants and clutching a set of keys in his other hand. “Come on, I’ll drive.”
He headed out the door and then, almost as if it were an afterthought, turned around and grabbed it, holding it open so she could walk through.
“Where are you planning to take me?”
“Somewhere where we can talk, without the chance of my family interfering.”
That somewhere turned out to be Pottery Barn.
“Seriously?” She stared at the square building with the logo typed across the top of the entrance.
“Initially, I was going to take you to my apartment, but I knew you’d read into that. And I’ve been thinking about actually purchasing furniture lately, trying to make my life more, well, comfortable. So I figured taking you to a public place would put you at ease, plus bonus that I can look for a living room set. And