BIG: (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (10 page)

Never mind that she was almost double her previous size or that she’d bleached her hair blonde—it was definitely their piano teacher. Mrs. Whelan was exactly the kind of personality that would get Ric going and Annalesa didn’t want him getting worked up before he had a chance to imbibe a great deal more alcohol.

Annalesa took a rapid step back, scraping the side of her shoe down Ric’s ankle, hearing him hiss in pain.

“Leesa!”

“Sorry. Mrs. Whelan’s coming,” she said through a painted-on smile, barely moving her lips, like a ventriloquist. “Run!”

“Huh?”

Annalesa tried speaking his language. “Evil piano teacher at six o-clock!”

“What? Crap. All right, let’s get this over with.” He turned and cast a huge smile down at Mrs. Whelan as she brought her chair to a halt inches from their toes.

“Annalesa? You used to be such a skinny little thing! You really filled out!” Mrs. Whelan’s gaze swept over her, and Annalesa bit her tongue at the woman’s comment so she wouldn’t open her mouth to mention just how much Mrs. Whelan had filled out. “And—Ricard? Oh my
God!
Can that really be you?”

“It’s Ric.” He bent and kissed Mrs. Whelan on the cheek. “How you doing?”

“But you were
sooo
... BIG!” The woman’s hands made a circle like she was trying to hold a beach ball, as if that indicated Ric’s previous shape, and Annalesa felt her hackles starting to rise. But Mrs. Whelan just kept talking. “How was the surgery? You know, I’ve thought about it myself. That much weight—it doesn’t just disappear without help.”

“I did have help,” he agreed amiably and Annalesa stared at him.

“He did it through diet and exercise,” she interjected, furious at the assumption that Ric had cheated somehow. “And he’s worked very hard to keep himself in shape.”

She saw him give her a warning look.

“Well, I’m sure a little female attention will give you plenty of incentive in that department.” Mrs. Whelan looked him up and down with a smirk and a light in her eyes Annalesa really didn’t appreciate. “I can’t believe it... Brad’s boy’s turned into quite the catch.”

“He’s not a bloody fish.” Annalesa’s words were barely audible, even to her, but she just couldn’t keep them inside. Ric raised an eyebrow at her and she managed to smile up at him.

“So, what about you, Annalesa?” Mrs. Whelan sipped her wine, her speculative gaze sweeping up and down, missing nothing. “I heard you went back to England? Not to study music, surely. We both know your musical talents were... shall we say, limited?”

Annalesa had been worried about Ric going off, but now she was the one who felt like a simmering volcano.

I need a drink
, she thought.
Several of them. In a row. In very quick succession.

Her face was beginning to hurt from keeping a smile pasted on. “No, I went back to England to get my degree.”

“You did art, didn’t you?” Mrs. Whelan’s eyebrows drew together, her already narrow eyes almost disappearing as she squinted up at her. “Pity.”

“Actually, I did history of ar—”

“You should be grateful your mother married into money. Now you’re a trust-fund baby.” Mrs. Whelan shook her bleached-blonde up do. “You can afford to be a poor artist now, can’t you? Because Lord knows, artists don’t earn a damn thing. Not even the really talented ones.”

“Spoken like a true bitter artist,” Ric cut in coolly.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Whelan’s already pale, puffy face turned as white as a fluffy cotton ball. Then two little roses bloomed in her cheeks.

“You know, she’s right about starving artists.” Annalesa put her hand on Ric’s forearm in a silent, gentle plea.
Just smile and nod and don’t say anything else,
she told him with the press of her fingers, the look in her eyes.
Let’s not make a scene.

But she could tell, Ric wasn’t going to let it go. He had that look in his eyes, not quite as fiery as the day he punched Ryan in the face, but still. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone disparage Annalesa, and he wasn’t going to make an exception today, that much was clear.

Should’ve gone for that drink,
she thought.
Should’ve stolen a bottle from the bar. We could be hiding in a corner getting drunk together right now.

“Do you always have to say the first thing that pops into your head?” Ric raised a brow at Mrs. Whelan. “You could use a filter, like everyone else. I’m just saying.”

“I’m being honest.” Mrs. Whelan stiffened. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve been such a good teacher all these years. I’m willing to tell the truth. I was just trying to warn your sister that—”

“No, don’t pretend you were looking out for her,” he countered, his voice soft, but his words piercing. “You were trying to make her feel small, and to be
honest
, that’s exactly how you make all your students feel. It’s the reason we stopped taking lessons with you, Mrs. Whelan. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go have our dinner.”

Ric took both their plates and headed for one of the tables, leaving Mrs. Whelan speechless, staring after him, mouth agape.

Annalesa opened her mouth too, ready to make apologies for her stepbrother. Then she remembered how Mrs. Whelan had looked her up and down, how her first comment had been about Annalesa’s weight—and then Ric’s. Ric was already at the table, his back to her, and she looked at him, remembering the way he’d stood up for her.

Now
and
back then.

In the past, she’d felt embarrassed, too paralyzed by confrontation to appreciate the way he never failed to come to her rescue when things like this happened. But now—things were different. The afternoon they’d shared on the range, the things they’d said, she knew they were slowly making things right again. If she apologized to Mrs. Whelan for what Ric had said—no matter how ill-advised it had been—she would be falling into the same old patterns.

So, instead of making any apologies, Annalesa turned and followed Ric toward the long table, not looking back to see Mrs. Whelan’s reaction. When she slid onto the bench beside him and dropped her napkin in her lap, Ric gave her a smile that raised her pulse.

“You came after me?” He frowned. “Or was it because I had your plate?”

“I came after
you
,” she said softly, making sure her eyes never left his. “Not the food.”

“I have to say, this pig’s worth pursuing,” Ric joked, cutting himself another bite of pork.

“Hey.” She put her hand on his arm. “Don’t. I always hated the way you did that.”

“What?” His mouth was full.

“Put yourself down.” She frowned, glancing at the retreating back of Mrs. Whelan in her motorized seat.

“I just did it before anyone else got a chance to. Hurts less that way.”

Annalesa leaned her forehead against his bicep for a moment. The amount of muscle the man had restrained under his suit jacket was impressive. She could feel it, just in the motion he made cutting his meat.

She felt his lips brush the top of her head, briefly.

“Thanks for following me,” he said softly.

“I told you I would.”

“Yeah… I just didn’t know you really meant it.”

“Well, I have to be
honest
.” She wrinkled her nose in Mrs. Whelan’s direction. “I almost apologized to her for you—typical me.”

“But you didn’t?” He cocked a bronze eyebrow at her.

“No, I didn’t.” She squinted at the exit, seeing her mother following Mrs. Whelan. Even from this distance, Annalesa could see her mother’s bewildered, conciliatory body language as the bitchy old teacher zoomed through the double doors.

Is that what I look like?
She wondered, frowning at the thought. It was like watching someone grovel at the feet of something unworthy. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Fuck.” Ric swore, then sighed, seeing the same thing as Annalesa. Her mother was heading their way. “I’m about to get a lecture.”

“Ricard Ryker.” Annalesa’s mother shook a finger at him as she slid onto the bench opposite. “If I was still technically your stepmother right now, I’d box your ears.”

“What?” He blinked, trying to look innocent, but a slow grin came over his face.

“Why do you think we invited her?” She shook her head now instead of her finger. “It certainly wasn’t because she once gave you piano lessons.”

“I do read my business emails, you know.” Ric chuckled, explaining to Annalesa. “She’s an investor.”

“Oh, no.” Annalesa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, yes.” Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at Ric. “And she happens to own a considerable portion of Ryker shares. But now, thanks to your stepbrother, she’s talking about selling.”

“Good.” Ric snorted, piercing a piece of meat with his fork. “If she’s going to talk that way to Leesa? She’s not a shareholder I want on the board.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Annalesa’s mother sighed, relenting a little. “But you know as well as I do, there are people who want Ryker shares who we definitely
don’t
want on the board. And now Mrs. Whelan’s millions are going to be loose on the market.”

Annalesa smirked at the image that conjured in her head. She pictured stacks of dollar bills dashing everywhere.

“I’ll buy them the minute they’re sold. Don’t worry. I’m just going to grab a beer.” Ric stood and kissed his stepmother on the cheek. “Do you ladies want anything?”

“Wine.” Annalesa nodded vehemently as her mother shook her head. “Lots and lots of wine.”

Ric gave her a knowing wink and headed for the bar.

“God, Ryker men are so maddening!” Her mother drew her hands down her face, then raked her fingers through shoulder-length chestnut hair. Just like Annalesa’s own, but with hints of grey. “He couldn’t have been nice to her for five minutes?”

“She really kind of deserved it.”

“That’s not what Mrs. Whelan said.”

“Mother, within minutes, that woman claimed I could never play piano, she said I’d gotten fat, and then she told me I was lucky I was a trust fund baby now, otherwise I’d die a starving artist.”

“She didn’t!” Annalesa’s mother gasped. “Of course, Ric didn’t take well to that...”

“He’s Ric.”

“He didn’t call her any names, did he?”

“No.”

“Well, that means Cathy Whelan was lying.” Her mother sighed. “I guess that’s not a big surprise. Although, at one time, I wouldn’t have put it past your brother to call her a little cunt.”

“What?” Annalesa gaped at her, hiss-whispering her next words so as not to be overheard. “Is that what she said? That he called her a little cunt?”

“Obviously, he didn’t.”

“No.” Annalesa smiled over at Ric’s broad back at the bar. “Actually, he was pretty diplomatic about the whole thing, considering. I think he’s really changed a lot—and I don’t mean just on the outside.”

“Still stubborn like his father, though. And now he’s gotten so fit, he’s like a big Greek god—but I still worry he’s going to turn into one of those bitter, brooding, silent types. You know, all Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights?” Annalesa’s mother stole a strip of pig roast from Ric’s plate. “But I just can’t get over how good he looks. I mean, last year he looked amazing, but
now
—?”