Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,33

made him look even taller and broader. I stood up, smoothing my dress with my hands and looking at him like a guilty kid.

“How were the pancakes?” Brennan placed a dry, impersonal kiss on my cheek.

Like he had to. Like I was an annoying aunt. He also seemed to have forgotten (or not noticed) I’d thrown the stack of pancakes in the sink. Wow, what an attentive husband. Lucky me.

“Worth all the sugary crap in them.” I tipped my chin up defiantly, then rethought the attitude. I wanted that job. “Like my dress?”

Brennan frowned, but his expression looked more puzzled than angry. “You picked this dress yourself?” He took a step back, examining me. His frown made him no less easy on the eyes.

In fact, any expression other than his cold shark-gaze made my pulse increase. He wasn’t unattractive, and it bothered me. A lot.

“Shopping wasn’t first priority,” I admitted, making sure there was enough distance between us. Brennan was hot. Not just figuratively, he actually radiated warmth. “Maria was kind enough to call her daughter and ask if I could borrow a dress from her.”

“Her daughter?” He studied my face as we made our way out of the lobby, like he didn’t believe me.

“Yeah, her daughter. Why? Is it too peachy for your taste? Or maybe you were expecting a leather thong like my wedding gift?” I cocked an eyebrow, shivering as we exited into another cold, drizzling night.

He simply pressed his palm possessively into the small of my back and led me out to the awning-covered sidewalk. I tried to ignore the bolt of lust shooting down my belly at his touch. I wanted to move into his heat. Probably just the fact I had little to no experience with the opposite sex, I tried convincing myself. After all, I hated this man. My body, as it turned out, didn’t share the sentiment.

“You look nice,” he offered, though everything about his compliment felt like it had a hidden meaning, as per usual.

“Thank you.”

The street was buzzing with traffic and pedestrians. I recognized his car from his visit to my neighborhood. The white Maserati—a stark contrast to a mob-style black Mercedes, I didn’t fail to note—was double-parked in the middle of the one-way street in front of the building. He’d created an unapologetic traffic jam, blocking the way of a dozen vehicles behind him. People were honking and swearing, waving their fists out of their car windows despite the rain.

But when they saw it was Troy Brennan who approached the shiny GranTurismo, they swiftly tucked their heads back into their cars and rolled their windows up. I actually heard the clicks of the closest doors locking in unison.

Embarrassed beyond words and horrified by my other half’s arrogance, I shook off his touch and picked up my pace to his car. He carried an unopened umbrella, but didn’t increase his speed or spare me a second glance as I rushed to avoid getting wet. I still couldn’t believe it was so rainy and cold in June. It was like the whole world had conspired against Sparrow Raynes. It was bad enough to deal with this guy without nature deciding to taunt me with constant clouds.

“Did you have to block all those people?” I asked as I fastened my seatbelt.

“No.” He met my gaze, unblinking, as he climbed behind the wheel. “Just didn’t care enough not to.”

I stared out the window with pursed lips and thunder in my eyes as the car rolled into Boston’s unforgiving Friday-night traffic, trying to let the chilly leather seat cool my temper. The radio station played “Heavy Is The Head” by the Zac Brown Band and Chris Cornell. Pretty ironic, I thought bitterly.

“You can wipe that satisfied grin off your face,” I said after a steadying breath. I could see his amusement from my peripheral vision. “Rudeness doesn’t impress me. I’ve never seen the appeal of the whole angry-asshole façade, and I’d definitely never fall for someone like you.”

"Troy Brennan. Nice to meet you. There’s always a first time for everything.”

“Maybe this…” I waved my finger between us. “Will be the first time you realize that not all women are the gold-digging, cookie-cutter, cardboard stereotype you’ve been dating so far.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t burn all your bridges to my good graces.” His smirk somehow broke into an even wider smile. “You have something you want from me tonight, Red.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He flashed me a quick glance before training his amused