The Lawson Boys: Marty Read online

  “Nah.” Marty waggled the coaster at her. “You’re not the sort of woman who cuts and runs.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He studied her consideringly. “I’m generally a pretty good judge of character.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  His smile was slow and oh, so knowing. It made her feel a little flustered and she glanced away, fiddling with the clutch in her lap. When she glanced back at him, he was still watching her.

  Really watching her. Studying her. His brilliant blue-eyed gaze slid from her eyes to her lips, lingered, darkened, and trailed lower, stopping on her breasts briefly before lifting once more to meet her gaze head on.

  Her cheeks flamed.

  His lips quirked.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  His eyes darkened even more.

  “I find your lecherous regard of me totally offensive,” she said in a low, angry voice.

  Surprise flickered across his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You should do. Do you look at all women like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re undressing them in your mind?”

  His expression went blank.

  And then she realised of what she’d accused him. Oh crap. No way would a man like Marty be looking at her as though visually undressing her. Not her. Not a woman with an overblown figure that required shopping in the plus-sized section of clothes shops and ordering clothes from a dressmaker.

  Oh no! Mentally cringing, she hurriedly stood up. “I need - I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “You do?” Marty repeated stupidly, his expression confused.

  “Um - I’ll be back.” Maybe. Probably not.

  She fled to the bar, asked directions to the ladies, and almost ran down the stairs and behind them to where the toilet doors were secreted out of sight. Once inside, she was relieved to find it empty and bracing her hands on one of the basins, she sighed and hung her head, her cheeks burning and insides shrivelling at just the thought of what she’d insinuated.

  Of course he wouldn’t look at her like that! Marty was legendary for dating beautiful women, the slender picks of the crop, the high society women who dressed like models with their model figures and expensive clothes and elegant manners.

  No way would he be mentally undressing her, not Belle Broune with her overblown curves, her foolish behaviour and her big mouth.

  Ooohhh, this is so not good. Belle shook her head. She’d made a fool of herself yet again. Marty looking at her as though mentally undressing her, geez, of course he hadn’t! Stupid stupid stupid! She thunked the heel of her hand against her forehead several times.

  “Man troubles,” a sympathetic voice said behind her.

  Glancing into the mirror, Belle saw a woman smiling in commiseration as the door swung shut behind her.

  Grimacing, Belle straightened. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m the problem.”

  “Sweetie, trust me, it’s always the man,” the woman replied cheerfully.

  Belle couldn’t help but give a small laugh.

  “You can either take a taxi home or make him pay exorbitantly for the most expensive drinks in the pub.” The woman flashed a grin over her shoulder as she entered one of the stalls.

  “I’m his guest,” Belle replied. “And unfortunately I’m the big mouth. No one to blame but myself for this one.”

  “Make him pay anyway,” the woman advised right before the door shutting cut her from sight.

  Washing her hands, Belle did a last check of herself. She couldn’t very well skulk in here all night. She had to go back out there, apologise to Marty and try not to make a fool of herself. Again. The only good thing to come out of it was that he’d undoubtedly find a way to drop her back off at the house quickly. Then she’d die of embarrassment in privacy. But first she had to face him.

  Sometimes being a grown up sucked lemons.

  Coming out of the bathroom, she ascended the stairs a lot more slowly than she’d come down them. At the top she glanced around, half expecting Marty to have done a runner, though commonsense told her that a Lawson would never be so crass.

  Sure enough, he was still sitting and talking to a young man who was standing by his table and pointing at a newspaper in front of him.

  A feeling of dread prickled through Belle. Surely not…

  The young man shook his head and Marty laughed. The man picked up the newspaper and started laughing as well. Marty’s gaze lifted and he looked toward the stairs, his smile fading as he saw her.

  Oh great, no doubt remembering of what she’d accused him. Please God, let a big hole open up and swallow me whole right now. Mentally bracing her spine, she force a polite smile and started across the room, only to falter again when Marty tried to take the newspaper from the man talking to him, only to have the man snatch it back and then follow Marty’s gaze with his own when Marty muttered something to him. The man’s gaze fell on Belle before flickering back to the newspaper and once again at her, his eyes widening in his boyishly handsome face.

  “Her?” The shock was clear in his voice even from where he stood half a room away.

  Marty swore.

  The bastard had betrayed her and told his friend!

  Furious and humiliated all over again, Belle swung on her heel and went right back downstairs.

  “Belle!”

  Ignoring Marty’s call, she forged through the throng of people and fronted up to the bar. Perching on a stool, she waved her hand to get the bartender’s attention.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked.

  “Something strong but sweet tasting.”

  “You got it.”

  Belle hardly drank, but right now she felt like she needed something to steady her nerves right before she killed Mrs Lawson’s beloved son.

  The beloved son who was now right behind her. “Belle?”

  “Go away.”

  “Come on, Belle, it’s not what you think.”

  “Come on, Marty, try another cliché,” she mocked.

  “It was nothing. Alan doesn’t know anything.”

  Belle swivelled around on the barstool to glare at him. “Oh, really?”

  “Okay.” Marty sighed. “He guessed.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I didn’t tell him. He saw you and put two and two together.”

  “Oh, really.”

  Marty’s face was serious. “Belle, I wouldn’t betray you.”

  “Funny, that’s what I thought about Trevor.” Turning back to the bar, Belle retrieved the money from her clutch and handed it to the bartender. “Thanks.”

  “Belle-”

  “Look, I’m in no mood for men right now. Do me a favour and just go away.” Picking up the drink, she took a sip. Mmmm, nice. And with a kick like a mule. She blinked the tears from her eyes and slouched against the bar with her arms folded.

  The man beside her moved away. Marty perched on the stool and places one big, warm hand on her arm. “Belle, I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” She looked pointedly at his hand. “Move it or lose it.”

  “Be reasonable-”

  “Reasonable?” She glared at him. “Seriously? Look, Martin, take a hike, all right? I won’t tell your mummy about your bad behaviour and I’ll get myself home. But I’m warning you right now, if you think I made a scene at the church, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  It was a bluff but he didn’t know her well enough to call it. The scene at the church had been born from shock, fury, humiliation, hurt, and acting without thinking as soon as she’d heard the news. Right now she was just angry, hurt and humiliated. If he insisted on staying she’d simply leave the pub, but he didn’t know that, either.

  Regarding her steadily, Marty finally let out another sigh and nodded. “Okay. But I’ll be over there when you need me.”

  “About as much as I need a hole in the head.”

  Getting up, he hesitated before shaking his head and heading back into the
crowded room.

  Good riddance to him. Good riddance to all men.

  Draining the glass, Belle motioned for another.

  “Men,” said a familiar voice beside her.

  Glancing up, Belle saw the woman from the bathroom. “Men,” she agreed.

  “We girls have to stick together.” The woman placed a cocktail of some kind on the bar and settled onto the recently vacated barstool. “I’m Carrie.”

  “Belle.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Belle. Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then let’s just rubbish all men in general.” Grinning, Carrie held her glass up.

  Belle eyed it before lifting her glass and clinking it against Carrie’s. “Let’s.”

  “Men,” Carrie began, “are all cheats.”

  “And lying bastards,” Belle added.

  “Amen, sister.”

  They clinked glasses once more, drained their drinks and called for more.

  Yes, this was just what she needed. A few harmless drinks with a like-minded female, and to forget about the lying, betraying, male of the species.

  ~*~

  Sitting at a back table nursing a Coke, Marty kept watch on Belle. Whatever she was drinking was pretty potent, going by the way she and her new friend were talking more and more animatedly. He just hoped she wasn’t spilling secrets to Carrie, who had the biggest nose in the pub for gossip. The daughter of the pub owner, she was fun, vivacious, and currently nursing a broken heart of her own.

  No doubt they were verbally ripping apart the very idea and image of men.

  “Wow.” Alan sat down in the opposite chair. “The big chick is certainly putting those drinks away.”

  Marty scowled at him. “For a cop, Alan, you can’t keep a poker face worth shit.”

  “Hey, man, I’m off duty.” Alan crunched happily from a packet of BBQ flavoured chips and proffered it to Marty. “Want one?”

  “No.”

  “Aw, come on, Marty. She’ll get over it.”

  “Not that easily. First she was made a fool of by Trevor, and now she thinks I made a fool of her.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I know that. Jesus, how did you ever pass your cop exams?”

  “Intelligence.” Alan winked at a pretty little blonde with perky boobs, who giggled right before turning back to her hulking boyfriend.

  “Oops,” said Alan, completely unconcerned.

  “You’ll get your ugly mug smashed in one day,” Marty warned.

  “Nah. You’re with me. You lift weights and shit. You’ll protect me.” Alan grinned.

  “You’d want to hope so.”

  “I know so. You, however.” Alan munched thoughtfully on the chips. “Who is going to protect you?”

  “From who?”

  “The big chick.”

  Marty looked across at the crowded room to where Belle sat on the barstool, the flowing skirt of the maxi dress caressing her legs, her deliciously rounded rump plumping out on the cushion of the bar stool. Curly brown hair fell in riotous curls around her shoulders. “I don’t need protecting.”

  “Huh.”

  “She does.”

  Alan’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You ignorant bastard,” Marty observed mildly. “Have you got any brains rattling around in that big cavern of a head?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then use them. She’s hurt. I’m here to protect her.”

  “Seriously? You think she needs protecting?” Alan angled the chip bag in Belle’s direction. “After she nearly smacked ol’ Trev’s lights out, you think she needs protecting?”

  “Yeah,” said Marty. “I do.” Seriously, he did think that exactly. He’d seen the hurt in those brilliant green eyes both in the church and again when she’d realised that Alan had known her identity.

  And he’d sure noticed the sadness in her eyes several times during lunch, both times of which he’d sought to divert her attention by making her annoyed. There was something beguiling about her, so fresh and wholesome and innocent.

  Glancing over, he saw Belle and Carrie clink their glasses together, laughing, a touch of derision in their eyes as they glanced around at the men.

  Nope, she still retained that innocence, even if she was probably talking about drawing and quartering all men in the world. Because deep underneath, he doubted she could hurt a flea.

  Apart from slapping Trevor silly, of course. There was that.

  Her cheeks were a little flushed now, but they’d been redder when she’d accused him of mentally undressing her. To be truthful, he hadn’t known what to say, inwardly shocked at the realisation that he had been undressing her mentally, wondering how much those luscious breasts would overflow his hands and if her hips would cradle him sweetly while he sank deep-

  Jesus. Shifting on the chair, he willed his rising boner to subside. What the hell was the matter with him? Belle was the daughter of his mother’s old friend, and he’d promised his mother that he’d look after her. Instead, what had he done? Mentally undressed her, embarrassed her, and was now watching her get tipsy.

  Not cool. Not at all.

  Sighing, he took a mouthful of Coke. He could only hope that Belle would keep her tongue between her teeth when it came to the subject of Trevor. Short of tossing her over his shoulder and leaving the pub caveman style, all he could do was sit and wait for the right moment to approach her and take her home.

  Somehow he doubted the caveman action would win her approval. It certainly would make her the subject of gossip and speculation. But something inside him stirred just a little at the thought of that sweetly rounded body over his shoulder, helpless to do anything against his nefarious intentions and-

  The crumpled, empty chip packet hit him on the forehead. Scowling, he picked it up from where it had fallen into his lap and tossed it onto the table.

  “Earth to Marty,” Alan drawled.

  “What?”

  “You’re making a spectacle of yourself, man.”

  “What?”

  “You’re staring at the big chick like you want to lick her like an ice cream.”

  Not a bad idea. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Someone to arrest?”

  “Are you kidding? And miss this?” Alan’s eyes gleamed.

  “Miss what?”

  “You’re interested in her.”

  “Of course. She’s my mother’s guest.”

  “No, I mean interested in her.” Alan’s eyebrows went up and down suggestively.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Making a doughnut shape with the finger and thumb of one hand, Alan thrust the forefinger of his other hand lewdly through it and leered.

  “I can’t believe Mike has you as his partner,” Marty said, “and hasn’t yet killed you.”

  “He loves me. I’m the little brother he never had.”

  “Or wanted.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Relieved.”

  Alan winked at a shapely brunette who eyed him back frostily before turning away. “Wow, cold in here, isn’t it?”

  Marty shook his head.

  Alan was completely unperturbed. “So what are you going to do about the big chick?”

  “Stop calling her ‘the big chick’. Her name is Belle.”

  “Fine. Belle. What are you going to do about her? Because I can tell you right now, man, you’re not getting any from her.”

  “I don’t want anything from her. I’m trying to protect her.”

  “I have a feeling we’ve just circled the park and are back where we started.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Heard that before, too.”

  Marty drained the rest of the Coke. “I’m waiting for her to decide she’s had enough of this place so I can take her back to Mum’s house.” Catching the gleam in Alan’s eyes, he added, “Unmolested.”

&n
bsp; “Losing your touch, man.” Alan caught the eye of a buxom redhead, who returned his smile with an even wider one. His eyes lit up and he shoved to his feet. “Gotta go.”

  “At last.”

  “Let me know if you need a hand with Belle.” He clapped a hand on Marty’s shoulder.

  “Seriously? You’d leave a hot redhead to help me?”

  “No. I just said let me know. On your way out. With Belle. I’m going to be busy.” Alan took off after the redhead and within seconds they were seated at a table talking, the redhead flirting and Alan more than up to the challenge.

  Shaking his head, Marty looked back to where Belle sat at the bar. Carrie had disappeared and Belle was now sitting and looking mournfully into her empty glass. The bartender came forward and pointed at the glass, but she shook her head and slipped off the barstool to stand unsteadily beside it, bracing her hands on the bar to regain her balance.

  Seeing as she’d drunk quite a few glasses of potent drink, Marty was fairly certain that steadiness was going to be a bit of a problem but he was prepared. For the last two hours, in fact.

  Leaving the table, he strode over to the bar and put a hand in the small of her back, bracing her easily just as she swayed backwards. “Need a hand?”

  Belle looked up at him. “I think I’m tipsy.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “I think I may need some help getting home.”

  “I think you’re right again.”

  “I don’t drink much.”

  “You broke that record tonight.” He couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “Always a first time.” Manoeuvring around, he slid his arm around her waist and tucked her into his side before picking up her little clutch and nudging it under her arm. “Hold this, honey. We’re going home.”

  Leaning into him, she sadly shook her head. “Since I came into the city, I’ve crashed a wedding, slapped a groom, made the bride cry, lied to my Mum’s best friend, and gotten drunk.”

  “You’ve had a busy time of it,” he agreed, barely hiding his amusement when she sighed heavily.

  “My mum and dad will be so ashamed of me.”

  Steering her through the throng, Marty couldn’t resist giving her a little squeeze of comfort. “They don’t need to know.”

  “They know Trevor.”

  “Oh.” Of course.