Page 11 of Brant
He didn’t disagree but simply picked up his cup and drank his coffee. “Does it matter?”
She shrugged again. “I cannot help but think that this is all a dream and I’m going to open my eyes and see my brother lying in that hospital bed and my failures looming large in front of me.” She met his eyes, those intense tawny eyes that for some reason reminded her of a tiger. “I don’t know how to thank you. I keep wondering if I should make you a cake or do your laundry, something like that.”
He laughed, white teeth flashing. “No need for any of that. Mrs. Holt is paid to take care of those needs. Look.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I did what I did for myself too. I needed this as much as you did.”
“I strongly doubt that,” she told him dryly.
“I was a disappointment to my dad.” His admission startled both of them. He had not meant to say that to her, but as soon as the words came out, he could not take them back.
“I’m the only child of very indulgent parents. I was brought up in a loving home and given all the privileges money can buy.” He took a slow sip of his coffee before putting the cup down. “I took advantage of it. Oh, I got a stellar education. I never had to spend time studying. Brilliance came naturally to me. Everything was easy, so I indulged and, in some cases, overindulged.” He picked up his cup again but did not drink. “They never condemned me or called me out, which, on thinking back, I wished they had.” He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug. “Anyway, I’m determined to prove to myself and others that I can be more than I was.”
She was moved by his speech and grateful that he confided in her. Theirs might not be a real marriage, but right this instant she could almost pretend they were husband and wife in the true sense of the word.
“And you will. I have faith in you.”
He flashed her a grin. “Thank you. And thanks for breakfast. I don’t usually wash up...”
“No.” She shook her head. “I got this. I think this is the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever seen outside of a magazine, and I’m pretty certain that when your housekeeper is in residence, she won’t allow me to set foot inside. So, I’m taking advantage of being here. I’m fine.”
“Another cup of coffee and a few phone calls. I’ll be in the gym if you need me. It’s past the library and the small sitting room. We’ll take in that movie later on.”
“Okay.” She watched him exit the room and felt her blood pressure leveling out. Pouring more of the excellent coffee, she wandered over to the window to stare out at the rain lashing the trees. It was cozy inside the kitchen. Cradling the cup in her hands, she perched on the wide windowsill and curled her feet under her to take in the puddles forming on the ground. She could put up a tree. Christmas was her favorite time of the year, and she always celebrated it, even when things were bad.
Yes, she decided she would put up a tree. A big-ass tree, so that it would not get lost in that huge sunken living room. She had risen early that morning and crept down the stairs to do herown tour. She had been impressed with the furnishings, which were mostly antiques, and with the color scheme, bold but not too outrageous. The artworks on the walls, she imagined, cost a pretty penny.
She was not much for expensive paintings, but she had identified a few of Jackson Colby’s works, the brilliant splash of color that was so uniquely his. She also recalled that the man she was married to was a friend or an acquaintance. They belonged to the same club.
She rose and started cleaning up the kitchen. There was a roast in the fridge that was already seasoned. A note tacked onto the container gave instructions on what to do and how much time to give it. There were also baby potatoes to go along with it. She would whip up a salad as well. This might be the only time they would be spending time together, and she had every intention of making the best of it.
Dropping the weights into the slot, he lifted his aching body off the padded bench and just sat there. Sweat was pouring off his face and into his eyes. Reaching for a towel, he mopped the moisture and slung the towel around his neck. He had gone overboard with the weights, the treadmill, and the punching bag. It had helped him to concentrate fiercely on the workout, so he did not have to think too much about the woman he had left in the kitchen.
She had cooked him breakfast. He had no idea what to do about that. He had put himself in a position to have breakfast with a female the morning after. It felt unreal, and to have an actual conversation without it turning into sexual foreplay was something new to him.
And he was also noticing little things about her. The lovely tilt to her mahogany eyes. And her long lashes. She had hair curling at her temples. And those dimples were a strong turn-on. Not to mention her lips. They were full, and even without artifice as they were now, they were still strongly appealing and bloody sexy.
“No.” He shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Not a damn bit. You’re not going to complicate things by introducing sex into the mix. This was just business and nothing more.” Rising, he headed for the shower, determined to treat her like a friend or a family member.
“I cannot believe you did not enjoy the movie. It’s a classic. Dirty Dancing happens to be one of Patrick Swayze’s best movies, one that highlighted his awesome talent, and the dance moves were phenomenal.”
“I can tell you’re a fan.” He grinned at her as he reached into the huge bucket to grab a handful of popcorn. They had eatenthe delicious meal around the counter as well and had waited a few minutes before coming into the home theater where she was properly impressed.
He had called for lights on low to heighten the impression that they were in an actual movie theater. Now she was sitting on one of the chaises, her legs curled up under her and cushions propped under her head. He felt relaxed and was really enjoying himself.
“Of course, I am. Tell me what you didn’t like about it.”
“It’s a romance movie.”
“Well, yes. But it’s so much more. It’s a musical as well, and the dancing is superb. You wanted to watch something bloody. Men beating on each other, guns blazing, and all that.”
“What can I say? I’m a guy.” He popped the top off the Coke and handed her the can before taking one for himself. “Give me a good Jason Statham or even Rambo any time.” He lifted a brow when she wrinkled her nose. “If you sit there and tell me you’re not a Sylvester Stallone fan, I’m walking out of here right now.”
Her laugh sent shivers up and down his spine and had him forgetting everything he had sternly said to himself while in the gym.
“Okay, I’m not really a fan, but I watched Rambo a couple of times.”
“What about First Blood?” he demanded.
“Well...” She laughed again at the pained expression on his face. “Oh, come on. I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I?”
