But he’d be damned before he’d ever say it out loud.

“Estelle said you were here,” Kane said, his expression closed, his eyes hooded. “I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from your desk.”

Not as surprised as C.J. had been to hear about his brother’s engagement. He hadn’t known Kane and the redheaded ER nurse he’d gotten involved with last year were that serious, until Estelle had told him they were engaged as she’d hand delivered his invitation to this little soiree.

Kane had spent the past twelve years doing his best to avoid any ties whatsoever to anyone—except Estelle. What the hell made him think he was ready to commit to one woman?

“I wouldn’t have disappointed Estelle,” C.J. said, eating the second quiche. “Or miss the chance to get to know your fiancée better.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and crumpled it in his hand as he scanned the ballroom. Spotting his future sister-in-law across the room, laughing at something a pretty, very pregnant blonde said, he sent Kane a grin. “Charlotte seems like a nice woman. A smart woman. Too good for the likes of you. I’ll have to do my best to make sure she realizes that before she makes the biggest mistake of her life and goes through with this marriage.”

“I think you’re safe,” the waitress told Kane. “I mean, look at you.” She swept her hand up and down in front of him. “You’re gorgeous. And you have that whole bad-boy vibe going on, which most women find irresistible but, personally, I don’t get. No offense or anything.”

“None taken,” Kane said, looking torn between amusement and horror at the girl’s assessment of him.

“Yes, my brother sure is a fine catch.” As long as a woman didn’t mind being tied to an ex-addict with a bad attitude and a ton of emotional baggage. “He’s a real prince among men. All the women fall for that pretty face. Want to smooth out those rough edges.”

Kane’s mouth thinned. He made a show of looking around. “Couldn’t find a date, Junior? All the big-haired, big-breasted debutantes in Texas busy this weekend?”

“Between Mom and Carrie, I’d say there are two too many here now. I’m not sure this party could handle another one.” He nodded toward Oakes, who was valiantly trying to hold a conversation with an older man while Carrie clung to his arm, her hand caressing his bicep. “You try to put a stop to that?”

Kane followed C.J.’s gaze and shrugged. “Oakes is a big boy. He can handle himself. He’ll give Carrie a gentle brush-off, something that will save her from being embarrassed.”

Kane’s way of dealing with problems was to avoid them until they went away on their own. Or someone else took care of them. Oakes’s was to be patient, to pick and choose his words and actions carefully and hope for the best.

“She’s humiliating Dad,” C.J. said. “And getting more than her fair share of attention for it. You need to go over there and tell her to back off.”

“Not my job. Being in charge of everyone and everything, being a huge pain in the ass, is your thing.”

C.J.’s fingers tightened on his hat. Kane could give lessons in being a pain in the ass. “I take charge,” he said, “because no one else ever steps up.”

“Why don’t you just beat the crap out of each other and get it over with?” the waitress asked. Why was she still there? “That’s what my brothers do when they’re mad at each other. Then, while the blood is drying, they’re suddenly best friends again.”

“We’re not friends,” C.J. assured her, not taking his eyes off Kane.

But at one point they had been. Less than two years apart in age, they’d spent every moment together. Had been playmates. Confidantes. And as close as two brothers could be.

Those days were long gone. No sense wishing them back.

Or regretting the distance between them now.

“Guys are so weird,” the waitress murmured while C.J. and Kane continued to glare at each other. “This is what’s wrong with the world, by the way. Too much testosterone. Especially in leadership positions. I’m seriously considering forming a society consisting solely of women. Sort of like the Amazons but not as bloodthirsty. I wonder how much my own island would cost?” she asked in a thoughtful tone as she walked away.

“I’d buy her an island,” C.J. muttered, “if we could convince Estelle to live there with her.”

“A society with no hormonal teenage boys?” Kane asked. “Or horny adult drummers? I’d pitch in for that.”

They shared a grin. Too bad their moment of brotherly bonding was interrupted by another of their mother’s enthusiastic “whoop-whoops,” this one accompanied by a fist pump.

“That’s your cue, Junior,” Kane said, his grin turning into a knowing smirk. “Go save the day.”

C.J. wished the waitress hadn’t taken off. He could use more food. And a drink. A strong one.

He’d need one to deal with his mother.

With nowhere to leave his hat, he stuck it back on his head, then crossed the dance floor, weaving his way through the jostling bodies. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping Gwen’s date on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

“C.J.!” Gwen trilled, her voice somehow carrying over the blaring guitar riff, the pounding bass. Tottering on her four-inch heels, she flung herself into his arms. “You’re late.”

C.J. wrapped an arm around his mother’s waist so she didn’t do a face-plant on the floor. Looked like someone had had a few too many dirty martinis. “So I’ve been told.”

Linking her hands behind his neck, she leaned back, studying him with none-too-clear eyes. “Darling, you look absolutely horrid.”

C.J.’s left eye twitched. He’d come to save her from herself and all he got was grief. No good deed went unpunished. Not in his life anyway.

He took in her black leather minidress and matching thigh-high boots. “You look...” Like you’re trying way too hard. Desperate. Needy. “...beautiful as ever.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “Such a charmer. Just like your father.”

“Not quite the same.”

His father had spent his entire life making promises to women. Vows of love and fidelity that he’d broken, over and over again, without a second thought.

C.J. didn’t make promises he couldn’t—or in his father’s case, wouldn’t—keep.

“Oh, you have to meet Javier,” Gwen said, craning her head to seek out her date with such determination, C.J. was surprised she didn’t twist it clean off. “Javier.” She held out her hand. “Darling, come here. C.J.,” she continued when her date joined them, “this is my dear, dear friend Javier Ramirez. Javier, my eldest son, Clinton Jr.”

Tucking Gwen to his side, Javier flipped his hair from his eyes. “Dude,” he said, offering C.J. a fist bump.

C.J. stared at Javier’s hand until he slowly lowered it. “My mother needs some coffee,” he told the younger man. His mother was dating a man younger than her own sons. Then again, his father’s last two wives had also been younger than him. Maybe he could fix Javier up with Carrie. Get them both of out his hair. “Black. And plenty of it.”

Before Javier could respond, C.J. gently tugged his mother away from him and escorted her to a table in the corner. Helped her into a chair.

She frowned at him the best she could with a forehead full of Botox. “Are we done dancing?”

“We’re taking a break,” he told his mother, sitting next to her. “Your dear, dear friend is going to get us some coffee.”

She patted his knee. “Javier is such a sweetheart. He’s an aspiring model, you know. Though his true love is the theater.”

A model. That explained the thick neck, gelled hair and blindingly white teeth. “I hadn’t realized you were seeing anyone,” C.J. said casually. “Or that you’d be bringing a date.”

“Javier and I met weeks ago at a yoga class,” she said with a wave of her hand, her red, talon-like nails almost taking out C.J.’s eye. “I enjoy spending time with him. He’s attractive and attentive. I hadn’t realized how advantageous it was for a man to be so limber until we made love in the backseat of the Bentley. Of course I’m referring to his limbs being flexible,” she said, leaning forward and patting C.J.’s hand reassuringly, “not his penis, which is quite straight, thank goodness.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though, just between us, it could use another inch or two.”