Page 96 of Family Affair
“There’s one method.” He reached for her and pulled her closer. She smelled good and her body was round in all the right places.
She’ll do, he thought as they locked lips, his tongue plunging deep inside her mouth.
They went at it right there, in the corner of a showroom. She expertly massaged his privates, and even in his sickly, limp hungover, it felt good. She knew what she was doing.
“Will you please stop fucking around?” his brother’s furious voice cut through the beginning of his arousal. “Abe has a full house. Does nothing matter to you?”
Reluctantly, Frank let go of the chick with eager fingers. So much for an escape.
“No, some things matter to me very much,” he said calmly. “Popular opinion is not one of them.”
“You’re an embarrassment.”
“And?”
Cade bristled. “How much did you have to drink?”
Frank smiled. “I’ll let you guess.”
How unfair was it that he’d become the family’s resident drunk. Cade, with his put-together front and always-on-time punctuality could load up on whiskey until he was practically embalmed, and no one batted an eye. Yes, Cade hid it better. But more importantly, Cade’s drinking didn’t interfere with their money-making machine. So no one cared.
His brother’s brown eyes, so much like his own, never strayed away from his face.
“Let the lady go,” he said. “This is neither time nor place.”
With a sigh, Frank complied. The mood was ruined anyway.
“My brother is such a bore. Run along, love. Till we meet again.”
A smart lady that she was, she read the clues and understood that her chances of bagging Frank tonight were zil. She tossed her pretty hair and stalked away on her four-inch heels.
“Who was that rubber doll with squeaky parts?” Cade asked.
“Don’t know.”
“She have a name?”
“Probably.”
“Fantastic.”
“Careful, Cade. You pass any more judgement, you’ll turn into Ward. Leave the preaching to the preachers.”
“I’m not judging,” Cade said tightly. “But can you keep your pants zipped until you get a room? And clean up, you look like a slob.”
“I’m sorry my appearance offends you. We’ve got bigger problems tonight.”
“Like what?”
Frank looked around making sure that iffy Stevie reporter wasn't lurking nearby. “You done attracted too much attention. People have taken notice.”
“That’s the point. To act normal. To look like we’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Nothing to hide? You shitting me? Why do we havereporterssniffing around? One guy approached me asking how many paintings I’ve done, which ones are mine. He named some, Cade. And he got them right.”
Cade’s finely carved brows snapped low. “Well, shit. Somebody talked. Who was the guy?”
“Name’s Stevie Stark. A freelance investigative reporter.”
