Brock groaned. “Seriously, why are you both here? Did you miss the part where this is my last vacation before I get tossed into a pit of rich women with fake tits and trust funds?”
“Commitment.” Bentley winced. “I’ll move to Canada before that becomes my fate.”
“He’ll find you anywhere,” Brant said in an annoyed tone. “Believe me. One time I was taking a piss in Costa Rica, and naturally Grandfather walks in with a prostitute and—”
Brock held up his hand. “I don’t think I need to hear the rest of that story.”
“Yeah, man, not in front of Sheldon,” Bentley snapped.
“Who the ever-loving hell is Sheldon?” Brock glanced around the room until his eyes settled on the open door, where the donkey he’d been calling Fred was hanging out casually in front of it. “Something’s not right with that donkey.”
“Sheldon!” Bentley charged the poor ass and started patting its head. Sheldon, clearly confused that he was a donkey and not a dog, cuddled closer to Bentley. “How are you, old boy?”
The donkey made a noise.
Brock’s mouth dropped open. “It talks?”
Bentley shrugged. “Sheldon used to be a magician’s assistant, he was part of the disappearing act. He can basically escape or break into anything. But he was too old to keep doing tricks. I won him.”
“Yes, Grandfather mentioned.”
“He’s very valuable. You have no idea how expensive it is to train a donkey.” He nodded seriously. “Hunh, Sheldon? What’s that, boy? You want to fetch?”
“Donkeys don’t fetch.” Brant sighed. “Though I wager ten bucks Sheldon has his own Frisbee.”
“Go home.” Brock opened the screen door. “Both of you, damn it.”
Bentley’s eyes narrowed. “Cursing a lot, I see. Under some stress?”
“He has bloodshot eyes,” Brant added in a cool calculating tone.
“Out,” Brock repeated himself. “Seriously, go torture someone else.”
“Grandfather wants to introduce Brant to a woman. He said I was next. I had both our asses packed before he micromanaged yet another one of us.” He smiled widely.
“The point is this.” Bentley pushed against Brock’s chest, moving him from the screen door and farther into the house. “We need to lay low for a while, and what better place to have some family bonding than here?”
“I can name at least ten.” Brock clenched his teeth, his hangover suddenly coming back with a vengeance. “Twenty. Hell, go out of the country!”
“Brock,” Jane’s voice carried through the house. “Brock!”
Bentley and Brant both stared.
“Are you hiding a woman?” Bentley shoved Brock aside and headed toward the sound of Jane’s voice. Brant followed.
He stomped after them, ready to use any means necessary to get them the hell out of the house.
He knew was fucked when Bentley opened his mouth.
“Look who we have here,” Bentley said in a husky voice. “Shoe girl…I’d recognize that arch anywhere.” His challenging glare to Brock said it all. It wasn’t playful and it sure as hell wasn’t welcome.
Bentley loved a challenge.
He loved taking what wasn’t his.
And Jane.
Jane was his.
Well, under his roof.
Damn it.
“What are you doing here?” Bentley continued his assault, moving casually around her, his eyes lingering on her ass before he finally locked eyes with her and smiled.
“Well…” Jane blinked over at Brock, then stared back at the floor. “Your grandfather hired me to clean the house and get it ready for…” Her eyes flashed. “For Brock, so I’m just going through all the rooms.”
Brant whistled then offered her a wink. “That’s a huge job. Do you want us to help you?”
The twins didn’t even know how to do their own laundry, let alone clean a toilet.
“Bentley,” Brock snapped. “A word?”
His brother’s response was a grin. “Go ahead; I’m waiting.”
“Alone.”
“Anything you say to me in private can be said in front of Jane. After all, she’s your friend, right?”
Brock had never hated a word more in his life. “Yes,” he managed to choke out as he took in her nearly see-through white T-shirt and ass-hugging jeans. “Friends.”
“You look frustrated,” Brant muttered aloud. “I wonder if it’s the pressure of running the company, the auction, no sex…”
“I knew he would crack one day,” Bentley added. “Good thing we came when we did, right, Brock?”
“A good intervention is hard to accomplish, but we’ll do what we can.” Brant smirked and then offered a wink in Jane’s direction.
They needed to go.
Both of them.
He rubbed a hand over his injured chest, which had gone from a stinging pain to a dull, roaring throb.
Jane eyed his hand, then her eyes narrowed as a sly smile spread across her mouth. “How’s your damaged nipple, Brock? I hope the clamp didn’t tear it completely off.”
Bentley’s eyes widened with shock while Brant started to slowly clap.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” Brock said defensively.