Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) by Suzanne Halliday Page A

subjects was when he asked why she didn’t put up a Christmas tree.
    Her answer was short, sweet, and left very little wiggle room for a discussion. “I don’t feel a part of all that while it’s happening.”
    What could he say to that? If he pressed further, the evening would become a therapy session, and he wasn’t about that, so he let it go. He half wondered if she’d ask him anything personal and was about to give up on the hopeful notion when she blindsided him with a series of questions.
    “All right you. What’s with the charm offensive, huh? And what the hell with the Christmas card? From Arizona?”
    He snorted at the apt description. Charm offensive.
    “I wasn’t born yesterday. All of this,” she pithily commented with a wave of her hand, “has been carefully constructed in your head. You’re not a fly by the seat of your pants kind of guy. And since I seem to be involved, how about you let me in on whatever’s going on?”
    It was cute how she punctuated her inquisition with a snarky eyebrow arch and a long, slow sip of champagne. She clearly didn’t know it yet, but just by asking, by acknowledging that yeah, there was something going on, she was signing on for whatever came next. This complicated, slightly damaged woman was so worth the effort.
    He took a healthy gulp of the bubbly and returned her expression. “I thought we already covered this.”
    “How do you figure?”
    He sat back in his seat and flat-out leered at her. “You understood perfectly when I said I missed you.” Without missing a beat, he continued despite her stifled hiss. “And if memory serves, you admitted to feeling the same.”
    He watched her struggle to find a response. “Oh, yeah. Right.” Heather’s eyes darted around the room. Brody waited to see where her thoughts led. “But how does that explain Arizona?”
    Fair enough. Since she took the ‘miss you’ thing at face value and didn’t argue the point to death, he’d start explaining his other life. Slowly. In bits and pieces. She was opening up to him and being receptive, but her breakdown earlier reminded him that she was human. Like him. And could only take so much at one time.
    “If you’re going to press for the third degree, let’s take this into the living room,” he suggested rising from the table. “You take our glasses, and I’ll clear the table then bring in the champagne. Deal?”
    She frowned at him. Adorably. He’d learned a lot by observing how the Justice Brothers handled things. Ending a command statement with a taunt disguised as agreement was damn effective. It was one of Draegyn’s signature moves. That guy could get both sides of the fucking aisle to agree on the most outrageous points just by manipulating the shit out of them with a few well-placed phrases.
    Challenging her with his expression, he waited while she made up her mind. The lady didn’t like taking orders. In her mind, even a placid demand could trigger a loss of control. And that wasn’t okay with her.
    Two things connected them. It didn’t matter that they worked for the same school. It was their therapy group and the fact that they lost their clothes with ease whenever they were together that mattered. In bed, she took what she wanted with no apologies, and up till now, he’d been okay with that.
    But not anymore. That rigid self-control and inability to let anyone else in was a protective mechanism. A coping skill and a shitty one. They had crazy sex but never, ever, ever were they not face-to-face. Heather wouldn’t allow anything that she couldn’t ultimately control and that started with being able to see what was coming at her. It was time for her to break free from all the crap holding her back.
    He didn’t make any effort to disguise the grin that spread across his face when she abruptly stood, tossing her napkin onto the table, and shoved the chair across the wood floor. Her every action came off with a decidedly diva-esque quality that turned