It had been a small slice of hell, even as he took comfort in having his family around.

While he was grieving for Aliesha, and trying to deal with what was going on with his son, then—and the black hole of memories in the hours that followed after he’d left his family—he also had reporters dogging his every step. Normally, he wasn’t one of the brothers who caught much attention when it came to reporters. Authors weren’t that fascinating when it came to media attention, but nothing brings them out like tragedy.

Yeah, it had become second nature to avoid the media, to avoid having people recognize him period.

And it was time to get over it.

“Yeah, um . . . hi.” He rose and glanced around. “Kind of a surprise to see you here, Ressa.”

“Not as much as you,” she said, arching her brow. “And again, you dodge the question.”

“Ah . . .”

“Trey, it appears you know each other,” Max said, leaning back in his chair, cocking a brow. “Ressa, you never mentioned you’d met this troublemaker.”

“Well . . . we haven’t exactly met. I’ve seen him more than a few times, but I’ve never managed to get his name.” Ressa cocked her head.

She enunciated it this time and Trey winced.

“It’s—”

He never really managed to finished because Max started to laugh, and Max had a laugh that boomed and echoed.

“This is a story I really do need to hear,” Baron said, his voice low and packed with more innuendo than Trey would have thought possible.

Baron leaned forward then, elbows braced on the table as he studied Ressa. “You know, you look familiar to me. Have we met?”

“No,” she said, her voice politely cool, the look in her eyes frosty. Then her gaze zoomed right back in on Trey.

Max chuckled. “Come on, Ressa. Sit down.”

She huffed out a breath and started around the table, her gaze skewering into Trey.

He slumped lower into his seat, feeling both sheepish and disturbingly elated. He shifted uncomfortably to accommodate for his cock as it pulsed, reminding him of dirty dreams and fantasies he’d tried to forget.

Ressa slid into the seat next to him, bringing with her the scent that he’d almost managed to put out of his mind.

“So . . .” she drew out.

“So . . .” Max said, his voice underscored with laughter. “You’ve lived in Norfolk, oh . . . going on ten years now, I think. Been in that general area for most of your life. Am I right?”

Ressa just looked at him.

Max glanced past her to Trey and then asked, “All that time, and you’re a librarian but that boy’s famous face doesn’t look at all familiar to you?”

Trey could feel the rush of blood racing up to flood his face. “Max. I can take you down, old man.”

A laugh boomed out of him. “Yes, you can, Trey. Now shut up and let me have my fun . . . I’m an old man, remember?”

Chapter Seven

“Trey . . .”

She said slowly. Somebody had said it once earlier but it hadn’t registered.

A number of eyes zeroed in on her, but she was only conscious of his—those amazing blue green eyes, that seemed so very familiar now.

And that face—lean, maybe leaner than it should be, now that she thought of it. He’d cut his hair, quite a bit, and the shorter length only served to emphasize how sinfully attractive he was.

That nagging sense of familiarity—

Trey—

Her heart kicked up because she could think of only one Trey who was appearing at the event this weekend.

A rush of other details slammed into her mind, almost too fast for her to process everything.

I’m gonna see Uncle Bastian this time . . . is Aunt Abby making cake?

Sometimes he even makes them up. He gets paid to do that, too.

Bastian.  . . .

Trey Barnes’s younger brother was Sebastian Barnes.

Abby . . . Abigale Applegate? She’d read about the marriage to one of the Barnes brothers. The sexy tattooed one.

Slowly, she said his name, one more time, hoping he’d correct her. “Trey,” she said softly.

He seemed focused on the table now.

“I remember Clayton telling me that you told him stories . . . that you even made them up. You got paid to do it.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s a living.”

“I imagine it is . . . Mr. Barnes.”

He lifted his head now, faced her straight on. “Yeah, well . . . I could try to do something else, but apparently the one thing I’m really good at is making shit up.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Still a little stunned, she looked over at Max, her gaze bouncing off the glass he had sitting in front of him. “I seem to recall that you owe me a drink.” That said, she snatched his mostly untouched whiskey. If she knew Max—and she did, it would be good whiskey and that was just what she needed. “I’m collecting.”

She tossed it back and closed her eyes as it burned its way down her throat.

“You know Trey, if you’re forgetting the basics of civilized society—like how to introduce yourself to a beautiful woman, maybe you should trade me seats.”

Ressa cracked open an eye at that low voice. Smooth, practiced and all but oozing with charm. And so pathetically obvious. His eyes roamed over her in a patently familiar way and she pointedly met his gaze, then looked away.

“Trey’s just fine where he is,” she said. “After all, this will be the perfect time to ask him for a favor . . . considering he’d been loitering in my library all that time.”

She slid him a look as she said it, watched as his eyes widened.

“A favor.”

“Don’t worry.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “It’s almost completely painless.”

“Baron, don’t sulk. Ressa’s not switching seats anyway.” Max tipped an invisible hat toward him. “Ressa is my guest and I’m going to be selfish—you’d talk her ear off and I haven’t seen her in almost two years now. Far too long.”

He patted her shoulder and she shot him a grin.

He wasn’t being selfish. He knew her. He was keeping the peace. She knew far too much about Baron’s type—the sexist, piggish man-whore had never appealed to her.

Shifting more comfortably in her seat, she took another sip of whiskey. Trey Barnes had knocked her off course.

Over the next few minutes, introductions were made and she mentally filed them away, nodding and smiling. All the while, her brain was mentally whirling.

Trey.

Her sexy CD was Trey Barnes.

How was that possible?

Although, really, if she’d looked, she might have seen it.

If Farrah had actually been able to spend five seconds in his presence, she probably would have seen it.

She settled into her seat and listened to the introductions, staying mostly quiet as the conversation flowed. It paused briefly as a server came around and took orders. Next to her, Trey shifted in his seat. She was painfully, acutely aware of the long, lean lines of muscle, tanned skin, elegant hands.

He glanced at her and she felt the rush of heat suffuse her. How she managed to just give him a casual smile, she just didn’t know.

He quirked a brow at her and then glanced up at the server. While he placed his order, Ressa tried to get a grip. So not prepared for this. Not for seeing him here. Had she bumped into him and he was one of the bloggers, that would have been hard enough, but finding out he was the author she was supposed to hunt down?

Shit. He was probably on one of the extra panels Max wanted her to take over.

Which meant she’d be talking to him outside of this dinner, too.

Not prepared for that either!

Or for sitting next to him. He had a heady scent—cologne, very faint, though, mixed in with his soap, and under that, just him—it made her think of grass and the outdoors and sunshine. Sexy and male. She liked. So very much.