Her gaze flicked to Dillon’s concerned one. His green eyes had darkened, narrowed on her.
“Don’t look at me that way, Dillon,” she bit out. “I’m not one of your puzzles.”
“You’ve always been a puzzle, darling,” he said softly. “I’ve wondered for years actually, why it hadn’t happened sooner. Brock used an incredible amount of self control to stay away from you until the divorce.”
“God, did everyone know?” She rubbed her brow, trying to fight the tension she could feel gathering there.
“Not everyone, Sarah.” He leaned closer, his elbows resting on the table as he watched her. “A few of us, though. A very few who are part of his circle of friends.”
Fear leapt into her heart. Her eyes widened.
“No, Sarah.” He shook his head slowly. “Just friends. The August men don’t share their women. They are incredibly greedy.”
Hah, that was a good one.
“Not greedy enough,” she muttered.
She looked at him again. He was watching Dillon now, a harsh frown on his face.
“He’s very angry with me.” There was an edge of resignation in his voice. “I hope he doesn’t break my nose too.”
“What?” She looked at him in surprise, her gaze going to the small flaw in an otherwise straight, aristocratic nose.
“Cade broke it over Marly.” He grinned, intercepting her look. “I wrecked the Harley with her on it while trying to make him jealous.”
She kept her mouth closed only by sheer strength of will.
“Why did you wreck the Harley?” That one had always confused her.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. She was on it. When he found us, she was hysterical, crying. Man,
don’t make Marly cry, that guy freaks out.”
She grimaced. She had no desire to hear anymore about the other woman. She knew too much about her the way it was.
“Dillon, your life is too exciting to suit me,” she said.
Glancing at Brock again, their eyes met. She frowned at the anger she saw there, the possessiveness.
Ownership. She gritted her teeth. Turning her head she lifted the wine glass and drained it.
Dillon just looked at the glass when she set it down pointedly.
“You’ve had enough,” he said softly.
“That isn’t your call, Dillon,” she told him firmly. “Pour another one or I’ll do it myself.”
He sighed heavily, reaching for the wine bottle.
“I’m sure glad you’re a classy drunk, Sarah, I have a feeling you have high intentions of tying one on.”
He poured the wine, then sat back and watched as she sipped heavily from it.
“I’m not a classy drunk,” she denied, casting him a hateful look. She sent Brock one for added measure, ignoring his surprised look, and the amusement on Marly’s face as she whispered something to Brock.
Sarah’s fists clenched at the easy familiarity the woman displayed to him. Cade was sitting beside her, his eyes dark, considering, as he watched Sarah. She wanted to ignore the flare of curiosity that look ignited, but she was just drunk enough to admit to it. God, she needed to be committed. She emptied her glass.
“Sarah, let me take you home.” Dillon’s voice was incredibly sympathetic.
“I’m pitiful, huh?” She sighed deeply, avoiding his gaze. “I can’t keep my eyes off him, Dillon.”
She wouldn’t cry, she assured herself. She had known the rules going in, she just hadn’t expected the pain.
“He hasn’t been any better in the last six years, Sarah, he just never let you see it. I remember days I saw him outside the library, watching you leave. There were many times I sat with him, watching him try to drown the need with liquor.”
Surprise filled her. She had never seen him, never knew he watched her, talked about her. What had he said? Why had he even cared?
“You never said anything,” she whispered. “Does he know you’re my brother?” Sarah knew Dillion told few people of their relationship. For reasons Sarah was never certain of, her parents had rarely spoken of the relationship to anyone.
He shrugged. “I never told him. As far as I know, he’s unaware of it. But I didn’t tell you about it because I knew you ran from him. I knew what he wanted from you, Sarah, and I’ve never been certain it was what you wanted. Until now.”
“It’s not what I want.” Her voice lacked the strength she wished she could put into it.
He covered her hand with his. He watched her, sympathy and understanding in his look.
“Sarah, they are tormented men. What they do isn’t out of depravity. It isn’t out of perversion. They’re good men.”
“Then why do they do it?” she whispered, sliding her hand back when she caught Brock’s near violent look at their clasped hands. “Tell me why.”
“That one would get me killed.” He sighed roughly. “But I promise you this, if he doesn’t tell you soon, then I will. You deserve that much. Now, are you ready to go home?”
Self-pity welled inside her. She played with her empty glass, her fingers running slowly up and down the slender base as she watched the motion. She wouldn’t watch him, wouldn’t die to have him. But she was. She knew she was.
“Okay.” She finally nodded. “I’m ready to go anyway. If that woman keeps touching his shoulder I’m going to pull her hair out by her roots.”
She ignored Dillon’s amused chuckle. She stood to her feet as he came behind her, proud of her steady feet as he helped her from her chair. She smoothed her silk dress down her thighs and turned to him with a thankful smile.
“We should have brought the Harley,” he told her with a smile as he put his hand at her back and led her from the room. “We could have gone for a ride.”
“I like the truck more.” She shrugged. “Remember when we used to go up to Uncle Chas’s farm and race?”
Dillon laughed.
“Yeah, I remember.” His reflective voice had her missing those years as she stepped outside the restaurant and felt the warm summer air.
“We need to do that again one night,” she sighed.
“You say that every time you get tipsy, Sarah,” he chided her. “One of these nights, I’m going to hold—“
“Dillon.” Brock was suddenly standing there. Tall, fierce, frowning as he watched Sarah lean against him for support.