A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)

by Meghan Quinn

“Well, look at you being a matchmaker. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, though, I thought you were looking for that kind of relationship,” she says. “I was, but she wasn’t what I wanted.” “What do you want?” she asks. You. Everything about you. Your soul. Your mind. Your heart. Your body. I want all of you, every last fucking inch of you. “Still processing that. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“I was feeling really confident.” “He’s a certified troll for saying anything negative. Bet you he thinks you’re too hot now, like you’re out of his league, and he’s worried you might wander off.” “Well, if he keeps acting like an ass, I very well might.” That’s the spirit. Wander off, straight into my arms.

“I don’t think it’s even a question,” Kelsey says. “I’m pretty sure that’s the case. Just look at him. No man can have those eyes and not fuck someone to their deathbed.” Oh. My. God. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Breaker the same.

“Reign is our personal chef, and he spends all afternoon prepping these. He makes sure they’re piping hot in the morning. And his homemade jam is heaven.” “JP is trying to steal Reign, and he asked me to help him,” Kelsey says. “I told him there was no way I was getting in the middle of that fight.” “Smart move, sis,” Lottie says, playfully staring down Kelsey. “You know”—Myla examines her croissant—“I might have to ask Ryot to get in the mix of stealing Reign. I have no problem with some friendly competition.” Lottie glares at Myla. “Need I remind you that I’m feisty, and I don’t mind using my nails as claws.” Myla leans close and says, “Need I remind you that I grew up in a military household where I learned to hold my own. I will destroy you.” “I have secret rage,” Lottie fires back, making us all chuckle. “That means nothing to me,” Myla counters with an evil glare.

“Seemed like you were having fun with the girls. What’s this I hear about a knitting club? And how can I get an invite? I bet Lottie and Kelsey have no idea the skills I have.” His charm soothes the tension I was just feeling. “Your ability to knit barely registers as a skill. You can knit a line, and that’s pretty much it.” “Lies!” he says. “I knitted a scarf.” “Your ‘scarf’ was three lines knitted together, and you said it was for a mouse.” “Yeah, so, mice need to stay warm, too. And maybe if I was invited to the knitting club, I’d grow my skills into something more, like a knitted hat.” “Last time I tried to teach you, you pierced the wall with your knitting needle because you were frustrated.” “The yarn was aggravating me. I’m better now, less temperamental.” “Uh-huh, sure.”

“What else did you guys talk about?” How you’re probably a stallion in bed. How you made a woman come so many times in one night that JP was actually impressed. “Uh . . . things,” I say. “Things? That’s so descriptive. Wow, I never would have thought.”

“Okay, shall we leave, then?” “We don’t have to. I mean, it’s nothing important.” “Yeah, but if we stay any longer, JP will make me drink another Bloody Mary, and I don’t think I can stomach it. I nursed the one he gave me two hours ago and then dumped it in a bush when they weren’t looking.” “No, you didn’t.” He points at a shapely bush off to the right near the fence gate. “That one, right there, if it starts to die, we will know why.”

God, I never would have expected this from him. I mean, sure, I knew there was a dirty side to him—I’ve heard it—but teeth dragging . . . this is what the girls were talking about, this very thing. “I see.” I nod slowly. “Well, that was informative.”

“Dude, didn’t you just leave us?” JP asks when he opens his door. I push past him and head straight to his kitchen. “Uh, come in. Not like I’m doing anything important.”

“What’s going on?” Kelsey asks, walking in with a concerned look. “Breaker apparently needs alcohol but has yet to say why.” “Because I’m in love with my best friend who’s getting married in four weeks. Do I need any other explanation?” “No, I think that will do it,”

Maybe . . . maybe I can fake getting hurt or something.” I perk up. “Yeah, like, I can break a leg or something, and then you guys can call her and tell her I’m in the hospital, and that will drag her away from Brian tonight, and she won’t give him a blow job.” “Are you hearing yourself right now?” “I am.” I stand from my chair now to pace the kitchen. “This is a great idea because it will garner me sympathy, and she’ll want to take care of me of course because that’s who she is, and when she’s taking care of me, I can move in more, steal her from Brian. This is genius.”

“Uh, besides all of that, breaking a leg is not the way to get the girl,” Kelsey says. “God, you guys are such idiots.” “Breaking my leg is the best idea so far. What else should I do? Oh!” I snap my fingers. “I can tell her I got food poisoning from the Bloody Mary.” “The fuck you will,” JP says. “Don’t fucking taint me for your own benefit.” “That’s the only thing I had that she didn’t, and food poisoning will drag her away from Brian.” “Uh-huh, and how do you suppose you throw up in front of her?” JP asks. I glance around the kitchen. “Have any raw chicken?”

“I have four weeks,” I say in desperation. “She will break before that, trust me. Between you and Brian, you have the history, the sex appeal, and the ability to make her happy. She’ll see that quickly. Brian is a blip. You are forever.” “Babe.” JP clutches his chest. “Damn, that was sweet.” “That was sweet,” I say. “You’re making my heart all aflutter,” JP adds. “And naturally, my dick hard.” Jesus.

“Okay.” I nod. “So what do I do now?” “Well, when I was spiraling, I decided to donate money to make me feel better,” JP says. “I know of a great pigeon rescue that could use another donor.” I look him dead in the eyes and say, “I’m not feeding into your pigeon obsession. You can fuck off with that.”

“Does any of this have to do with Breaker?” I pause, the hairs on the back of my neck spring to attention, and I feel my inner rage spike to DEFCON 1 levels.

don’t feel very good,” I say as JP and Huxley walk me to my apartment. “Because you had three shots of Scotch in ten minutes, realized your mistake, tried to counteract with buttery croissants and water, and now your stomach has no idea what to do with itself,” JP says. “If you puke on my shoes, I’ll murder you,” Huxley says. “Why did I have to come home? I don’t want to hear her having sex.” I rest my head on Huxley’s shoulder. “I bet she’s a sweet moaner.” “Can you not speak so closely to my face?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more embarrassing display of a man,” JP says. “If only Kelsey didn’t take my phone away so I couldn’t record anything.” “Kelsey is an angel sent from the heavens above,” I say while clutching JP. “And Lottie, well, she’s funny, and I like that she busts your balls all the time, Huxley. I’ve never seen a woman put you in your place like her. God, the way you grovel around her, talk about embarrassing. But that’s what I’d do with Lia, I would worship the ground she walks on.” “That’s great,” Huxley says as he pushes me back on my bed. I tumble onto it with a plop. I hold my feet up and say, “Shoes. Please take off my shoes.” Huxley points at me, then JP, and says, “Go ahead, remove the shoes.” “Why don’t you remove the shoes?” “Because I’m the older brother, which automatically puts me in the managerial role.” “Are you saying you’ll manage how I take off his shoes?” “Yeah, now take them off.” “How about you both take one off?” I say, wiggling my feet. “I could also use some more water. And maybe a bucket. I don’t want to puke on the floor, and I have a good feeling that might happen.” JP turns to Huxley and says, “Shoes or puke pail and water?” He groans and walks off toward the kitchen.

“I hate you right now, you know that? You interrupted my entire Sunday. Kelsey was supposed to spend the day naked in the house, and now I’ve had to drag your sorry carcass around and take off your goddamn shoes.” “And socks.”

“He’s not that drunk, just stupid drunk. He’ll sleep it off and be fine.” “I can tell there’s a headache in my future.” I pause and then sit up. “Wait . . . did I donate to the pigeons?” JP shakes his head. “I tried to get you to, but Kelsey stopped me.” “Thank fuck for that angel of yours.” I let out a large sigh, then grab the pillow Lia used, pulling it into my chest, where I give it a large squeeze. “Fuck, she smells so good. Like a field of flowers.” “I thought that’s what her pussy tasted like,” JP says. “You need to work on your descriptors.” “She’s just flowers everywhere. One giant flower.” I moan out her name. “Oh, Ophelia.” “Okay, shit’s getting weird,” JP says, taking a step back. “I think we have the right to vacate the premises.” “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Huxley pats my foot. “Call us if you need anything.” “I need you to break up the wedding. Thank you, and have a good day.” “Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” JP says as they both walk away. “Angels, all of you are angels.” And then I pass out into my pillow.

Huxley: Are you going to mention the texts? Breaker: Should I? Or should I just act normal, as if nothing happened? JP: I would go with the nothing happened. Don’t bring attention to your stupidity. She has enough stupid to deal with when it comes to Brian. Huxley: I don’t tend to agree with JP very often, but I would have to say he’s probably right on this one. Just act like everything is normal. Breaker: And what happens when I see her, and all I want to do is reach out and kiss her? JP: Uh, remember consent is a real thing.

“Don’t laugh at me, or The Beave will know we’re in cahoots.”

“Well, then, why don’t you four take a seat, and I’ll get the samples ready for presentation? I’ll be out shortly. In the meantime, can I have my assistant grab anyone champagne?” “Please,” The Beave says. “One for everyone.” More like one for each hand, thanks.

“The only reason the wedding planning is stressful is because we’re being forced to get married in four weeks, your mother is trying to take over, and no one seems to be listening to me besides Breaker.” “Because Breaker wants nothing more than for our relationship to fail,” Brian says. Oh wow, look at that. We finally have something we can agree upon.

“Ophelia, lower your voice,” The Beave chastises. “Why? So people don’t hear that your son would rather spend his nights working on his computer than fucking me in bed?” I’m pretty sure the gasp that escapes The Beave’s mouth can be heard three blocks away. And the clutching of her pearls is the perfect addition to her outrage. Oh, this is good. This is really fucking good. I can’t hold back my smile or stop from wishing there to be more. Keep it coming, Lia.

Brian’s eyes flit to his mom and then back at Lia. “Mother is right. I think we all need to take a deep breath.” “I don’t need a deep breath,” Lia says. “I have never in my life seen anything more clearly.” She stands from the table and pulls her engagement ring off her ring finger and places it on the table. Another expertly placed gasp by The Beave echoes through the bakery. I want to slow clap, encourage this valiant behavior because, God Almighty, seeing Lia fired up like this makes my goddamn nipples hard.

She pushes the ring toward him. “I’m done. I’m done with everything. I’m done feeling like shit when you’re around. I’m done worrying if you’ll actually kiss me or not when you see me. I’m done asking myself if I’m good enough for you, good enough for your family. And I’m done dealing with your psychopath mother. I need more. I want more. And I sure as hell deserve more. Come on, Breaker.” I stand from my chair, ready to be at her beck and call. But because I have manners, I first address the table before I leave. “Always a pleasure.” I’m about to guide Lia out the door when she turns back around and says, “Also, the club is probably one of the ugliest places I’ve ever seen, and nothing about it is elitist other than trying to look elite.” She then reaches toward the table, palms the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, and scoops it into her hand. “I’m taking this with me because it’s the only decent flavor on the platter.”

She’s shaking and pacing as she holds the cake in her palm. “Oh my God, oh my God . . . did I just say all of those things?” I grip her shoulders, stopping her from moving, and bend at the waist to look her in the eyes. “You fucking did and, Jesus Christ, I’m so proud of you.” “You are?” Her lip trembles, and I can see that the adrenaline is starting to wear off. “Yes, Lia. That was so fucking amazing and well-deserved. Jesus, my nipples got hard in there listening to you.” That makes her smile. “Hard nipples, really?” I thrust my chest out at her, and with her non-cake-filled hand, she runs her fingers over the hardened nub. “It is hard.”

JP: Wait, she broke up with him right there in the bakery, ring and all? Holy shit. I type back in a fury just as my phone dings with another message, this one from Huxley. Huxley: Wow. I have nothing to say other than wow. Breaker: Yeah, tell me about it. I was in awe, and my nipples got hard. JP: I appreciate a hard nipple on a man. Shows me that he registers with his emotions. Huxley: You need help. JP: Just telling it like it is.

“But if you take the last of my rum, I won’t have anything. Do you really want to end the game like that?” I ask on a hiccup. “Taking a man’s rum?” “I said hand it over.” She jabs my side with the fake hook she brought over from her apartment. I hold my hands up in defeat. “Fine. Take my rum, but I hope you burn in hell.”

“Watch this excellence.” I put one foot in front of the other and start walking, my legs wobbling while I lose balance and nearly crash into the island chairs, causing Breaker to roar with laughter. “Okay, sure, you’re not drunk.” “That’s not my fault,” I say as I take another deep breath. “It’s not? Then who’s operating your legs?” “Me, but . . . it’s my bra’s fault,” I say. “It’s constricting the blood from reaching my toes, and that’s what makes it hard to walk.” “Wow, that’s quite the scientific reasoning.” “Well, you try walking with a bra,”

“Uh, what are you doing?” “Putting the bra on,” he says as he reaches for it and attempts to fit his arms through the loops. “Fuck, why is this so tight?” “Uh, maybe because you are much larger than me.” He has one arm strung through a strap but is turning in circles, trying to grab the other strap. After a few turns, he props one hand on his hip and turns toward me. “Can you fucking help me instead of just watching me run in circles like a dog trying to catch his tail?” “I’m actually good just watching.”

“Oh my God, you could have taken my eye out.” “Dramatic much?” “I bet I have a red mark.” I grip my cheek and play it up. “Death by bra, that’s a first.”

“Nah.” He blows out. “This is friendly. If you were my girlfriend, my hand would be in an entirely different place.” “Ugh, men, always wanting their hand between a woman’s legs.” “That’s not where I was thinking.” “Oh sorry, boobs.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them. “Not what I was thinking either,” he whispers. “Oh . . . uh . . . butt crack? Not my first choice, seems stifling to a hand, but to each their own.”

“Are you happy?” “Yeah,” I say as I lean back in my chair, clearly not showing the kind of excitement they were expecting. “Are you?” JP asks. “Because it looks like someone ran over your dick, and you’re mourning the loss.”

After a few seconds, Huxley says, “Did you fuck things up yesterday with Lia?” “What?” I ask, playing dumb. “What would make you think that?” “Great observation,” JP says, patting Huxley on the back. “Handsome, smart, and observant. That’s why he’s at the helm.”

“Give me your phone.” “Why?” I ask, sweat starting to form on the back of my neck. “I want to see it.” “Look at your own phone,” I reply. “No, I want to look at yours because if I’m not correct about you fucking up with Lia, then there’s nothing to hide, right?” He wiggles his fingers. “Hand over your phone.” “Yeah, good one,” JP says, now taking a seat next to Huxley. “Hand him your phone.” “No, that’s stupid.” I fold my arms, knowing they’re closing in on me. “What’s stupid is your denial,” Huxley says. “So hand us the fucking phone or admit you fucked things up.” “I didn’t fuck things up,” I shout, and then quietly add, “Just perhaps, made things a touch complicated.”

Jesus, did he have a lot of coffee before he came in? He’s extra fucking annoying. “What the hell did you do?” Huxley asks, looking annoyed. Why is he annoyed? This is my life, not his. I pull my hand through my hair, and JP quickly points at me. “See, anguish. He’s tousling his hair with anguish. We were right all along. Huzzah!” “Don’t fucking say huzzah. It’s bad enough when Breaker does it,” Huxley says.

Kelsey and Lottie nod. “Yup, he’s playing his cards with you,” Lottie says. “So what do I do?” I ask. “Nothing,” Kelsey answers. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do. You can try to fight it, but I don’t think it’ll do much.”

Before he takes a seat, he scoots his chair closer to mine and then sits down, only to place his hand on my bare thigh. I nearly choke on my tortellini. “Problem?” he asks. “Your, uh, your hand is on my thigh.” “And . . .” “Is it supposed to be there?” I ask as I stare at his gorgeous smirk. “As a matter of fact, it is.” He stabs some tortellini with his fork and sticks it in his mouth. Okay . . . I guess his hand is on my thigh then.

Breaker seems to really like my breasts, which is definitely boosting my residual self-doubt from Brian’s lack of interest. Stop thinking about him. You have a hot-as-hell man touching your boobs.

“What’s going on?” Kelsey asks. Getting straight to the point, I say, “You guys were right. He has a plan, and he’s executing it.” Lottie leans over and grabs a mini quiche. Before popping it in her mouth, she says, “The Cane men always have a plan . . . always.” “What happened?” Myla asks. I go into detail about the night and how we shared a nice dinner, and he was all handsy, but conversation was normal. And then when it came to dessert . . . “Wait, he had a dildo with a remote and then put you in the tub?” Lottie asks, blinking. My cheeks are flaming as I nod. “Yes. And let me tell you, never in my life have I ever done anything like that. Not even by myself.” “I knew he was the kinkier one,” Lottie whispers.

“Oh, I know. You can send him a dirty text.” “Yes.” Lottie slaps the armrest of the sofa. “A dirty text. That’s perfect. You can hide behind the keyboard so you don’t have to face the initial awkwardness, but you can also control the conversation.” “That is a great idea,” Kelsey chimes in. “What should it say? Something that will really grab his attention. Like . . . I like your penis.” Lottie rolls her eyes. “Excuse my sister. She’s not that good at dirty talk.”

“Plain and simple . . . I want to sit on your face.” “What?” I ask, my cheeks feeling like they just caught in flames. “Yessss,” Lottie drags out. “God, Huxley goes insane when I say stuff like that.” “JP loves that as well,” Kelsey adds. “You guys would text that to your men?” I ask in disbelief. “Yup.” Lottie pulls out her phone. “Watch. I’ll text him right now and show you his response. We should all do it.” “I have no problem with that,” Myla says and pulls out her phone, and Kelsey does the same. They all send a text. “Seconds, just wait,” Lottie says, and then her phone dings. With a smile, she clears her throat. “I said, I want to sit on your face, and he responded . . .” She wets her lips. “Get home. Now!” Kelsey’s phone dings with a text. “That would be my husband. And he said, ‘babe, you know your pussy has a permanent reservation, party of one on my face.’”

Lia: I’ll be there . . . I really want to sit on your face. I squeeze my eyes shut and press send. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that to him. What if he thinks it’s weird?” “Guaranteed he won’t,” Lottie says. “He’ll love it so much.” “He will,” Myla adds. “Just wait.” I stare down at my phone, and when I see the blue dots indicating that he’s typing, my stomach drops. And then a resounding ding sounds off through the living room. Instead of reading it out loud at first, I read it to myself. Breaker: Good. Your cunt is mine tonight. I’m famished. My eyes widen when I look up at the girls. “Oooo, his response has to be good,” Lottie says. I turn the phone around for all of them to read it together because I can’t say what he texted out loud. “Dear God,” Kelsey says. “Ummm, did Breaker just win?” Lottie asks. Myla nods her head as she sits back. “Yeah, he beat out all the boys with his response.” She then looks at me and says, “Have fun tonight. Looks like it’s going to be one hell of a time.”

“No, she can’t be pregnant. I’m sure I would have been able to tell.” “Do you have uterus X-ray vision I don’t know about?”

“The whole day?” she asks. “Yes. The whole day. I might not make you dress fancy, but I’m still going to make a lasting impression. Consider this your last first date ever.” “Awfully confident, don’t you think?” “It’s not confidence, Ophelia,” I whisper. “It’s facts.”

“And dressing me yourself, was that necessary? Or did you just do that so you could play with my boobs?” “Lia,” he says in a stern voice. “I don’t need to blindfold you and say I need to dress you to cop a feel. I can do that any time I want.” “Oh? And when exactly did my body become your body?” “The moment you came on my tongue,” he answers as his hand lands on my thigh. “Okay, well, that’s an answer.”

“You ready for this?” Breaker whispers into my ear as the bar to our Peter Pan ship falls over our legs. “Yes,” I say as we take off into the darkness of the ride. “Good, now pull down your shorts.” “What?” I ask on a laugh, and then I turn toward him. “It’s a two-minute ride, Lia. If I can’t get you off in two minutes, then I don’t know what I’m doing as a man.” “Stop.” I push at his chest. “You’re not getting me off on Peter Pan.” Whispering, I add, “Children ride these rides.” “But it’s the Peter Pan Challenge.” “Says who?” I ask. “Says the behind-the-scenes sex enthusiasts.” “Yeah, well you can contact your sex enthusiasts and tell them they’re freaks. Disney is sacred!” “Sooo . . . is that going to be a no?” I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s a hard no. My God, Breaker.” He laughs and then loops his arm around me. “You know, I was only kidding.” “For some reason, I don’t believe that.”

“And then, when you’re lying there, restless, your cunt throbbing for release, I’ll make myself come all over your beautiful sloped back just to remind you who owns you.” Well, good God.

“Did you tell her that?” Huxley says. “Fuck no. Not sure she’s ready to hear all of that just yet, but it’s been hard to keep it to myself, that’s for sure. I just want to tell her how much I love her. I mean . . . fuck, I’d propose today if I knew she’d be open to it.” “Well, I’m glad you’re practicing self-control,” JP says. “That’s progress.”