Street Game (GhostWalkers #8)(31)
Author: Christine Feehan

“I asked her to,” Kane admitted, refusing to allow Jaimie to take the brunt of Mack’s anger. He knew Mack, knew his fears for Jaimie, the way he suffered every time she was in pain. He was helpless to stop it, and Mack didn’t like to be helpless.

“I knew you wouldn’t ask her.”

Mack’s eyes went flat and cold. A muscle ticked along his jaw. He kept working on Jaimie’s face, his touch tender. “I’ll be talking to you about this when we’re alone, Kane.”

Jaimie’s heart lurched. She brought up both hands to his wrist and stopped him—

waited until he looked down at her. “Don’t be upset, Mack. He was right and you know he was. If it was anyone but me . . .”

“But it is you.” He stared down at her for a long moment, and then leaned forward to brush a kiss along her forehead. “And at least you know that.”

“I know. Come on, we know we’re all safe. Let’s buy you both a bed.”

There was a moment. A heartbeat she thought he wouldn’t let it go, but the grim reaper in his eyes disappeared and he smiled at her.

“Now you’re talking sense.”

She smiled back. “I usually do. I’m quite a bit smarter than you, you know.”

Instead of taking the bait and teasing her like he usually did, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and nodded. “You always have been. I should have listened to you.”

Everything inside her stilled as Mack followed Kane down the aisle toward kingsized beds, taking Jaimie with him. A capitulation. He’d said it so casually. I should have listened to you. She looked down at her hands as she pretended to be interested in the talk about mattresses. Mack had never apologized. Not in all the time she could remember being around him. Was he beginning to realize the enormity of what Whitney had done to them all? If so, she felt sorry for him. He would lay the blame squarely on his own shoulders. Mack believed in taking responsibility for his own actions.

“What do you think of this?” Mack asked Jaimie, drawing her out of her reverie.

He propelled Jaimie across the room toward a king-sized waterbed.

“Oh, no,” she was very decisive, backing away from the massive polished frame.

“I will not have that monstrosity taking up space in my bedroom. It probably weighs enough to drop through two floors.”

“You’re crazy, woman. You’re living in a former car garage.”

“A warehouse. There’s a difference,” she countered indignantly.

Mack’s answering snort was pure disdain. “I saw a couple of oil stains, Jaimie.”

“Heavy equipment. Forklifts. If you make one more crack about my beloved little home . . .”

“Little?” His eyebrow shot up.

“You’ll be sleeping on the roof with the pigeons, and I’m not kidding you.”

“Oil stains, Jaimie.”

“One more crack, Mack,” she threatened.

He turned his hands palms up in a gesture of surrender. “We’ll compromise, I’ll give up the water if you’ll go with the size.”

“King-sized?” She almost squeaked it. “It would take up all my space. I need wide-open spaces.” She glanced at Kane for help, but he was rolling around on a mattress and moaning in a loud, orgasmic manner. She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh.

“Jaimie,” Mack said patiently, “that third floor is probably five thousand square feet. There’s plenty of space for anyone. A king-sized bed is appropriate for that kind of space.”

“A double bed is perfectly adequate.” Jaimie was snippy about it, one hand on her hip. “Twin beds would be even smarter.”

“Forget it.” Mack was firm. “We’ll settle for the double bed. Find one you like and we’ll have them deliver. We’ll need sheets, blankets, pillows, the whole bit. And not those silly eyelet things you like.”

“We need two beds, unless you plan on sleeping on the couch,” Jaimie pointed out, pinning him with a steely gaze.

Mack smirked, black eyes running over her with male amusement. “You concerned about the sleeping arrangements, honey?”

Her chin lifted. “You could say that.”

“Personally, I thought they were fine.”

“You would.” Jaimie crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “You take up too much room.”

“I wouldn’t in a double,” he protested.

“I’m not sharing my bed, it’s out of the question.”

He grinned at her. “Don’t trust yourself, huh?”

“That’s right, Mack, I’m liable to smother you with a pillow in the middle of the night.”

He circled her waist with his arms, drawing her stiff body against his, laughing openly into her upturned face. “You know you’re crazy about me, Jaimie, you may as well admit it.”

“Crazy’s a good word,” she agreed, leaning away from him, her blue gaze avoiding his. Her heart was pounding, her pulse racing. “I’m considering kicking you very hard right in the shins. I’m giving you fair warning.”

He bent down, his broad shoulders blocking out everything but his teasing grin, his sensuous mouth far too close to hers, his hungry black gaze devouring her face.

“So lucky, honey, saved by the sales clerk.” He whispered it in her ear, his teeth grazing her earlobe, sending a shiver of excitement coursing through her. Mack released her with obvious reluctance, turning to the salesman, stating exactly what he wanted.

Jaimie put her hands on her h*ps and glared at Kane. “Get up. You talk about me being improper in public. You’re engaging in illegal sex acts with that bed.”

“I’m in love. This is the one. I’m keeping her.”

“I don’t want her in my house. Not with you rolling around like that. Sheesh. I won’t be able to go to sleep worried about what you and that bed are doing.”

“Yeah, well, I have to worry about what you and Mack are doing and that’s just plain wrong for any brother to contemplate. You can live with the bed.”

She stuck her nose in the air and gave a little indignant sniff. “I can assure you, you do not have to worry about what’s going to happen between Mack and me.

Absolutely nothing is going to happen.”

“Whoa!” Mack stopped the salesclerk by holding up his hand. “Why does he get this bed? It’s a queen. That’s favor itism, Jaimie. He gets a queen-sized, I get one too.”