“Vanity did that,” Stack said, unable to contain his smile. “Not me.”
Vanity elbowed him, grumbling under her breath.
Brows going high, Tabby asked, “Why?”
Stabbing Phil with renewed anger, Stack growled, “He tried to kiss her.”
“He...” Tabby’s voice trailed off as she swelled with her own measure of anger. Slowly, she pivoted back to Phil. “You...you...” Then she slugged him, too. Her punch wasn’t as direct, more like a wild haymaker catching Phil in the ear. He cowered, arms up, while Tabby kept swinging.
Pleased with his sister’s reaction, Stack went to her, dodged a few flying fists, and corralled her by hugging her arms down to her sides. “Cops are on the way, sis. You don’t want to be bludgeoning him when they show up.”
Kicking out, Tabby said, “I’ll do more than bludgeon him. I’ll—”
The door opened again, and in stepped Detective Reese Bareden, one of Cannon’s cop friends. At six and a half feet tall, the detective made an imposing figure. But at the moment, he only appeared curious as he looked around at each and every person.
“Armie called,” the detective explained. “Said there was a life-and-death situation. So, tell me, who’s killing whom?”
Vanity rushed into explanations while Tabby slapped away from Stack’s hold. She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and hitched her purse up to her shoulder.
“Okay now?” Stack asked her. He knew his sister could be unpredictable.
“Yes.” She flounced away from Phil and went to stand by Vanity, silently backing her—and in the process, filling Stack with yet more pride.
While still trying to explain to the detective, Vanity also tried comforting Tabby, and damned if that didn’t make Stack smile, too. She kept him on a roller coaster of reactions but always, at the base, was love. He felt that now, an overload of it, settling the panic, soothing the anger, and ramping up the physical need.
He knew what he wanted to do; he knew he needed Vanity forever.
A second later a car pulled up to the curb across the street. Leese, Cannon and Armie all piled out.
Without missing a beat, Vanity gave Tabby one last pat, went to the door to hold it open for the guys, and then flipped over the Open sign to Closed.
To the detective, she said, “I can call my PI right now. I know it’s a bother, and I’m sorry, but I really think you need to pick up Whitney. Especially since she had another attack planned against Stack tonight.”
Phil groaned loudly. “She was going to blame me for that, too. I just know it.”
Tabby threw a paperweight at Phil. “You deserve to rot in jail, you cretin!”
Phil cried out, his arms over his head. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“You idiot, it’s mostly your fault!”
Detective Bareden snatched a stapler from Tabby’s hands. “Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Sighing, Stack said, “Reese, my sister. Tabby, Detective Reese Bareden.”
“Oh, right.” Tabby stopped trying to reach for the pencil cup.
After eyeing her to make sure she didn’t go after another projectile, Reese smiled at Vanity. “You know, I do believe I should make that call. If you could share the PI’s number, I’ll get in touch with him right now.”
While Vanity took care of that, Stack went to stand over Phil, once again slouched down to sit on the floor. He looked cornered, a bloody mess and very afraid. “You’re lucky Vanity hit you before I could.”
One hand to his nose, the other cupped over his junk, Phil said, “Don’t feel all that lucky.”
True. Vanity had held her own, and he was so impressed with her, he couldn’t wait to get her alone. “If I had hit you, it’d be far, far worse.”
“I know.”
“You’re doubly lucky my sister showed up when she did.”
Phil slanted a look at Tabby, his gaze hopeful, speculative.
Not a chance. “You’ll stay away from her.”
“But—”
Squatting down before Phil, Stack repeated low, “You’re done using my family. Stay away from Vanity, stay away from my mother and stay the hell away from my sister.”
Phil quailed, ducking his face to the side.
Tabby touched Stack’s shoulder. “If he crawled on bloody knees, I wouldn’t have him.” She, too, crouched down. “I’m done, Phil. Do you understand me?”
He nodded.
“You’ve cleaned out our accounts. You got your clothes. That’s it. You can keep it all. The only thing I need from you is contact info, so the divorce papers can be delivered.”
Vanity elbowed him, grumbling under her breath.
Brows going high, Tabby asked, “Why?”
Stabbing Phil with renewed anger, Stack growled, “He tried to kiss her.”
“He...” Tabby’s voice trailed off as she swelled with her own measure of anger. Slowly, she pivoted back to Phil. “You...you...” Then she slugged him, too. Her punch wasn’t as direct, more like a wild haymaker catching Phil in the ear. He cowered, arms up, while Tabby kept swinging.
Pleased with his sister’s reaction, Stack went to her, dodged a few flying fists, and corralled her by hugging her arms down to her sides. “Cops are on the way, sis. You don’t want to be bludgeoning him when they show up.”
Kicking out, Tabby said, “I’ll do more than bludgeon him. I’ll—”
The door opened again, and in stepped Detective Reese Bareden, one of Cannon’s cop friends. At six and a half feet tall, the detective made an imposing figure. But at the moment, he only appeared curious as he looked around at each and every person.
“Armie called,” the detective explained. “Said there was a life-and-death situation. So, tell me, who’s killing whom?”
Vanity rushed into explanations while Tabby slapped away from Stack’s hold. She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and hitched her purse up to her shoulder.
“Okay now?” Stack asked her. He knew his sister could be unpredictable.
“Yes.” She flounced away from Phil and went to stand by Vanity, silently backing her—and in the process, filling Stack with yet more pride.
While still trying to explain to the detective, Vanity also tried comforting Tabby, and damned if that didn’t make Stack smile, too. She kept him on a roller coaster of reactions but always, at the base, was love. He felt that now, an overload of it, settling the panic, soothing the anger, and ramping up the physical need.
He knew what he wanted to do; he knew he needed Vanity forever.
A second later a car pulled up to the curb across the street. Leese, Cannon and Armie all piled out.
Without missing a beat, Vanity gave Tabby one last pat, went to the door to hold it open for the guys, and then flipped over the Open sign to Closed.
To the detective, she said, “I can call my PI right now. I know it’s a bother, and I’m sorry, but I really think you need to pick up Whitney. Especially since she had another attack planned against Stack tonight.”
Phil groaned loudly. “She was going to blame me for that, too. I just know it.”
Tabby threw a paperweight at Phil. “You deserve to rot in jail, you cretin!”
Phil cried out, his arms over his head. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“You idiot, it’s mostly your fault!”
Detective Bareden snatched a stapler from Tabby’s hands. “Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Sighing, Stack said, “Reese, my sister. Tabby, Detective Reese Bareden.”
“Oh, right.” Tabby stopped trying to reach for the pencil cup.
After eyeing her to make sure she didn’t go after another projectile, Reese smiled at Vanity. “You know, I do believe I should make that call. If you could share the PI’s number, I’ll get in touch with him right now.”
While Vanity took care of that, Stack went to stand over Phil, once again slouched down to sit on the floor. He looked cornered, a bloody mess and very afraid. “You’re lucky Vanity hit you before I could.”
One hand to his nose, the other cupped over his junk, Phil said, “Don’t feel all that lucky.”
True. Vanity had held her own, and he was so impressed with her, he couldn’t wait to get her alone. “If I had hit you, it’d be far, far worse.”
“I know.”
“You’re doubly lucky my sister showed up when she did.”
Phil slanted a look at Tabby, his gaze hopeful, speculative.
Not a chance. “You’ll stay away from her.”
“But—”
Squatting down before Phil, Stack repeated low, “You’re done using my family. Stay away from Vanity, stay away from my mother and stay the hell away from my sister.”
Phil quailed, ducking his face to the side.
Tabby touched Stack’s shoulder. “If he crawled on bloody knees, I wouldn’t have him.” She, too, crouched down. “I’m done, Phil. Do you understand me?”
He nodded.
“You’ve cleaned out our accounts. You got your clothes. That’s it. You can keep it all. The only thing I need from you is contact info, so the divorce papers can be delivered.”
