With a grimace, Brant admitted, “It’s . . . complicated right now.”
Mark swirled the liquid in the bottom of the crystal glass he was holding, looking pensive. “It always is when a woman’s involved. Just a word of friendly advice: If you like the girl, then claim her. The next man might not be as nice as I am.”
“Nice? Give me a break, Mark; you and I both know that’s not a word that describes you where women are concerned.”
Mark raised a brow. “And yet there is never a shortage of willing participants. Do you know why?”
Brant waved a hand. “Do tell.”
“It’s because all of the nice guys like you stay safely on the fence, ensuring that there’s never a shortage for bastards like me.”
Brant turned to face the other man, annoyed enough to take the gloves off. “If you can’t be with the one you love . . . get spanked by the one you’re with? Is that saying about accurate?”
“You have no idea,” Mark drawled.
“Oh, I think I do. You know, small towns, people talk. You’re practically a legend.” Brant knew he was taking things too far, but the stress of the last twenty-four hours, coupled with the threat of losing Emma to Mark, was more than he could take. His frustration was boiling over and Mark was an easy target.
“So how does someone get into that sort of thing? Not spanked enough as a child? Spanked too much? I’ve always been curious, so please enlighten me.”
If Brant was expecting an explosion from the other man, he was sorely disappointed. Far from looking angry, Mark seemed greatly amused. He should have remembered that the guy loved nothing better than a good debate. Mark moved his briefcase unhurriedly off the table before propping his legs on it, crossing his feet at the ankles. “It sounds like you’ve given a lot of thought to my . . . lifestyle. As to how it started, pick your cliché, buddy. I’ve got mommy and daddy issues. Fuck—I’ll even throw in some granddaddy issues just for good measure. I don’t know that that means a damn thing, though. I just love women.”
Brant couldn’t contain his smirk. “You mean, you love to tie up women and whip them, don’t you? That’s a little different from showing a girl a good time, isn’t it?”
Mark gave him an answering smirk before he spoke. “That depends on the woman. I’ll just say, I’ve never had a woman who didn’t want to come back for seconds; I just rarely serve them. It’s not all black and white, my friend. I would think that with a brother like Declan and a sister like Ava, you’d know that better than anyone. It appears that your family keeps just as many secrets as mine.”
“Fuck you,” Brant murmured halfheartedly. He had a bad feeling that it was too late to warn the other man off his sister. The thought of Mark punishing his sister was more than he could bear to think of. Ava was just messed up enough to look for something like that over choosing a man who had loved and looked out for her for years. Damn it, he should have never started this conversation.
Mark chuckled. “This all started with a simple question. It’s not my fault that you choose the hard way around answering. I won’t pursue Emma. In avoiding the question, you told me all I needed to know. Don’t screw around, though, if you care about her. Trust me, even the most faithful people get tired of someone who runs from the truth.”
Brant looked at Mark in confusion, but the other man was back to staring in his drink, almost as if seeking answers to some unknown questions there. Maybe he was completely off base with his assumption that Mark’s family caused him to be the way he was. Maybe it was much more basic, more simple. Could he have loved and lost someone? It happened every day and maybe Mark was no exception. He had been right about one thing, though. It would be so easy to lose Emma, especially with the uncertainty that Alexia had unleashed in his life. Just the thought of it was enough to make a surge of panic race through his system. He just prayed he could keep it all together until he had a clue as to what to do.
“I totally love you, Ella—you know that, right?”
Oh God, was she slurring already? Emma wondered. This was only her second—or was it third—drink? Beth had given them an update on Suzy earlier. The first round had been to ease some of the sadness they all felt for someone who was dear to each of them.
Beside her on the couch, Beth nodded her agreement. “Isn’t she the best? She can’t drink right now and she still fixed us this big-ass pitcher of margaritas. Who does that?”
Ella smiled indulgently at them. “You girls really needed it. You both looked like you were either fixing to cry or have a breakdown. You are much happier drunk.”
Emma held her glass up in the air. “I’ll drink to that. If Brant had never done me with his sexy-ass body, I wouldn’t be in this condition. I would be happily hating him instead of remembering what a big . . .”
“Personality he has?” Beth added before falling over in laughter.
“It must run in the family because Declan has a really big . . . personality.” When both Emma and Beth gaped at her, Ella’s face flamed. “Well, he does,” she murmured under her breath.
Beth took another sip from her glass, then added, “Nick’s no slouch in that area either. When I finally got the release to have sex again after having Henry, I couldn’t walk right for a week. Henry’s staying the night with the grandparents tonight, too, so when I go home . . . oh yeah, baby.”
Emma giggled. “I really should hate you right now. I don’t even have a vibrator to go home to. The Miami airport kept my pink rabbit for evidence. I should have picked those pills off it and taken the damn thing with me. Of course, after the drug dog slobbered all over it, that would have been kind of gross.”
“Did you want to . . . do it more when you were pregnant?” Ella asked Beth.
“Mm-hmm,” Beth laughed. “I was constantly horny. Nick loved it.”
“I’m not pregnant, but I am constantly horny between the hours of eight and five now,” Emma moaned. “When Brant shows up in one of his uptight suits, I almost orgasm. Things were much easier before I knew what was under his clothes.”
“I bet he feels the same way,” Beth offered. “Men can’t get caught in a stiff wind without getting hard. It must be torture for him to see you every day and not throw you down on the desk.”