Sympathy for the Devil (International Bad Boys Book 4) by Kelly Hunter

gutting knife. She knew that Caleb was no saint. She knew he had history with a lot of women, but this one . . . Gemma . . .
    “Bree.” Cutter’s voice came at her low and insistent. “Caleb’s no angel when it comes to women; never has been. You’ll find old flames aplenty if you go looking for them, but Gemma Brucker’s not one of them. She’s a friend of Caleb’s—occasionally she’s a friend in need, and she doesn’t have a lot of people to turn to, so just . . . let her go and talk to him, okay? Wait this one out for a while.”
    God.
    Yeah, she could wait. Provided she could get her rampant insecurity and jealousy under control. “Okay.”
    “Go find Zoey. Get her to show you some of her costumes.”
    “Okay.”
    She turned to go.
    Home.
    She couldn’t do this. She’d already had enough conflict and uncertainty for one day.
    And then Zoey was there with eyes that were too understanding, her coronet of twigs now tipped with silver and harboring something that looked a lot like tiny, painted gum-nut babies. “I, er, like your hat.”
    “It’s a work in progress,” offered Zoey. “I’m not sure where I’m going with it yet.”
    Straight to the asylum was one guess. “Are you going to model your costumes for me too?” asked Bree, by way of distraction.
    “Me? No.” Zoey looked startled. “Can’t we find someone pretty?”
    “Pretty’s boring. I can make you look stunning.”
    “I have a sister. She’s stunning.”
    “Bring her along, I’ll do you both.”
    “Come and I’ll show you the gowns I want photographed.”
    “I’ll tell Caleb where you are,” offered Cutter.
    “I’m being railroaded, aren’t I?” This family, and the way they covered for each other, wove in and out of each other’s lives, it was really something. “You do know that collectively you Jacksons are kind of intimidating?”
    Zoey laughed and grabbed her hand and together they wove through the crowd and past a yacht that was up on the slipway getting its barnacles scraped and then to the stairs that Bree knew very well. Eli and Zoey’s apartment was up there. So was a crowded little store-room full of bells.
    Or maybe that had changed.
    Bree didn’t see Caleb or the fragile Gemma along the way. If she had, she wasn’t sure she’d have stayed.
    “You can not be insecure around Caleb,” Zoey told her when they reached the top of the stairs. “He’s beautiful. Women look and then they want.”
    “I know.”
    “They see the devil in him and they think they want to walk on the dark side. Gemma Brucker got to see his honorable side, which makes her kind of special, but not in the way you’re thinking. Caleb got drawn into the Brucker mess through Gemma’s eight-year-old, Toby, when he started hanging around with some of the surf-lifesaving kids Caleb was teaching. Caleb noticed his bruises. There were always new ones before the old ones faded.”
    “White knight.” Bree took a deep breath. “I hear what you’re saying, and I—thank you. I just—sometimes around Caleb I’m not all that resilient when it comes to our past. And it could be that I’m more than a little worried about our present. And my place in it.”
    Zoey patted her arm. “You want me to show you some costumes now or should I keep talking resilience and staying confident when it comes to Caleb?”
    “Keep talking.” Zoey Jackson was rapidly becoming her favorite person. She had a warmth about her, a zest for life that was contagious. “And show me your work. I can multitask.”
    “Can you, really?”
    “Put it this way, if I don’t have something to distract me in the next, oh, five seconds, I’m going to flee.”
    “Leave it to me.” Zoey dragged her past the open-plan living room with the little galley kitchenette, past the big bed with all the pillows and on to a work area containing a sewing machine, two large tables, several dressmaker’s dummies and dozens and dozens of bolts of all different kinds of