"When in reality, you were much, much more than that."
Brianna stiffened. He was probing for information. Apparently he hadn't known from her letter that Evan and she had never made love. She wasn't about to tell him.
He frowned. A tiny muscle flexed in his jaw. "I won't play hermit the whole time I'm in town. Make up your mind, Brianna. Either I'm Evan or I'm not. Either we're a couple or we're not. And if we are," his gaze grew somehow intimate, "then come with me after work for supper."
"Chloe, I know your Monday night football buffet attracts a crowd, but can you reserve a table for Evan and me this evening?"
"Of course."
"One close to the big-screen television, if possible."
"Your table will be waiting. How are things going with you two?"
"The same." She wished she could relieve some of the pressure building up inside of her by openly talking to Chloe, but she couldn't compromise the impersonation.
"Bri, you've got to loosen up with Evan if you don't want to lose him. He's a man, and men need—"
"Can't talk now, Chloe. Thanks for reserving us a table." Hanging up before Chloe could ask more questions, Brianna fell back in her chair with a sigh of relief. A table surrounded by shouting football fans seemed the perfect place to dine with Jake. They'd be out in public, yet everyone's attention would be on football instead of on "Evan" and Brianna.
Jake would have no way of knowing that she and Evan rarely went to restaurants during the week.
Usually on weekdays they ate at either her place or his, if he wasn't working on business projects or she on charity events. Supper at home with Evan had always been pleasant—a time to discuss the day's events, share viewpoints and generally unwind.
She didn't think supper alone with Jake at her place or his would lead to discussion at all. She certainly wouldn't unwind. She'd be worried about what might happen after dinner.
With Evan she had often snuggled up on the couch to watch television. Although he sometimes kissed her, trying to further their physical relationship, she'd always known she was in control. She'd felt safe knowing that this strong, powerful man wanted to please her, wanted to make her happy, even if it meant temporarily sacrificing his own pleasure. She'd longed to reward him for that—to make love to him, as he'd deserved.
She hated disappointing him. Yet, the situation was perfect for her. Evan played by her rules, advanced at her pace and behaved as she expected. His kisses never made her rational thought melt away; never made her want to forget tomorrow just to revel in the pleasure of the moment.
Jake's kisses had.
As much as she'd dreamt of being swept away to another dimension by a man's kiss, the reality of it terrified her. She'd seen what mindless attraction could do to a woman. She'd watched her stepfather emotionally abuse her mother, yet her mother always forgave. After every verbal onslaught, he would offer her a chance to appease him, taking her to their bedroom with her face still pale and wet with tears. It had sickened Brianna, although she'd been too young at the time to fully understand why.
By the time her mother's love for her second husband had burned out, she'd been stripped of all self-esteem, as well as the assets from her first marriage. She had no career, no home, no car, no credit cards in her name. She couldn't afford an attorney to fight against his powerful connections. She fled for sanity's sake, without a way to support herself or her eight-year-old daughter.
Brianna didn't want to think about her mother, who now felt safe in a new marriage, indentured to some new but kindly master.
And she didn't want to think about Jake's kisses. Mindless attraction was a dangerous thing, and she had to avoid it at all costs.
So why had she accepted his invitation to dinner? She should be angry with him for reading her letter. She didn't believe for one moment that he hadn't known it was from her. But she found herself unable to stay angry. Good thing. You can keep an eye on him after work … for the sake of the impersonation.
That was why she was glad he'd asked her to dinner, glad that he apparently intended to spend his off time with her. Her gladness had nothing to do with any mindless desire to be with him, to be close to him, maybe even in his arms…
"Give us a good table, Chloe," she whispered to herself, her eyes shut tight, her fist pressed to her forehead. "Right in the middle of the football crowd."
"There must be some mistake." Brianna halted in the doorway of the private chamber to which the teenage hostess had led them. "I asked for a table near the television."
"Sorry, Ms. Devon, but this is the table reserved for you." The soft-spoken blond hostess, granddaughter of a co-worker, stood beside an elegant table set for two—the only table in the room. "The tables downstairs are all taken, in both the restaurant and the lounge."
"We're not very big on football anyway," Jake assured her from close behind Brianna. "This'll do fine."
"No, it won't," she insisted. The hostess had led them up a flight of stairs and unlocked the door to this cozy room with its piped-in music and flickering candlelight. Much too secluded. Much too romantic. "Amber, please get Chloe. Tell her—"
"Did you call, Bri?" Chloe appeared in the doorway, waving the hostess away and confronting Brianna with an innocent lift to her auburn brows. Dressed in a short black dress with diamonds sparkling at her ears, she was obviously ready for a date.
"This table isn't at all what I asked for," Brianna admonished. Chloe glanced past her toward Jake, and Brianna suddenly wondered if she would recognize him. Chloe had always been mildly infatuated with Jake. Evan, on the other hand, had never appealed to her on a personal level.
"Evan!" Chloe greeted enthusiastically, dodging Brianna's complaint. "Long time no see. How the hell have you been?"
"Super." He patted her briefly on the shoulder in a pseudopaternal kind of way, as if he were a minister or a well-respected community leader. "How about you, Chloe? All your ducks in a row?"
She responded with a droll anecdote about how busy the inn had been keeping her, and Brianna studied Jake in surprised approval. His reply was exactly what Evan's would have been—in content, tone and gesture—and she hadn't even coached him on it. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. They were, after all, twin brothers, born and raised together.
"Chloe," she cut in when the talk reached a lull, "I asked for a table near the television."
"Sorry. I did the best I could on such short notice. To make it up to you, I had the waiter ice down a bottle of my best chardonnay." She nodded toward a wine bucket beside the table. "And you won't have to go downstairs to the buffet. You'll be served a sampling of everything."
"But—"
"You'll have complete privacy so you can talk." She sent Brianna a meaningful look. Holding up a pager, Chloe instructed, "When you want service, just call with this."
"No, Chloe, we can't—"
"Sounds perfect." Jake took the pager with a smile so charming that Brianna felt sure Chloe would see through the impersonation immediately. "Chloe obviously went to a lot of trouble to make us happy," he said as Chloe studied him with new interest. "Let's not be ungrateful."
"Chloe, may I talk to you in private?" Brianna urged, mild panic setting in at the thought of spending time alone with Jake in this charming romantic room, which had probably once been a Victorian bedchamber.
"I don't have time, Bri. I'm already late for a date."
"Just out of curiosity, Chloe," said Jake, the devilish sparkle back in his eyes as he surveyed her sexy black dress with male appreciation, "where in Pleasantville are you going dressed like that?"
"Not the football buffet." With a wink and a measuring glance at him, she left them alone.
"But the game is an important one for my team!" Brianna called after her, feeling petty even as she said it.
Slipping an arm around her shoulders as if to comfort her, Jake swept her toward the table. "Which team is that?"
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She ha
d no idea which teams were playing tonight. "Miami."
"You're in luck." He pulled out a chair for her at the round candlelit table. "Miami's not playing until Sunday." With hands firm and warm at her shoulders, he guided her down into the chair. "Besides, you hate football, remember?"
She salvaged some of her dignity by arranging her slim tweed skirt around her knees and settling gracefully into her seat. Evan never would have maneuvered her to a table against her liking. He never would have overruled her preference in favor of his own. She should be missing him dreadfully. She really should.
"You used to say football was too violent," Jake reminded her.
"I'm trying to appreciate the subtleties of the sport."
"Broadening your horizons. I like that." He settled into the other chair, his eyes warm with humor. "We'll have to catch the Miami game Sunday. I'm not sure if it'll be broadcast here, but I have a satellite dish that should pick it up." In a deliberately provocative tone, he added, "At, uh, my place."
She suppressed a traitorous upturn of her lips. He obviously knew she didn't want to be closeted in this private room with him or committed to spending an evening at his place. Planting her elbows insolently on the table, she rested her chin on her interlocked fingers and raised a brow. "Did I say Miami? I meant Ohio State."
"Ah, so you're into college football." Devils danced in his deep blue eyes, thoroughly captivating her. "Maybe I can help you in your quest to appreciate the game. Show you a few moves from my quarterback days."
An involuntary laugh escaped her. "No thanks. I remember your tackle all too well."
Silence followed her lighthearted quip. Surprise had entered his gaze. She realized she'd broached a subject they hadn't discussed in the entire ten years since he'd tackled her behind the bleachers and doused her with salt water—a subject she'd never intended to mention. The same subject had sent her running from the conference room less than a week ago. She did indeed remember his tackle.
"And I remember your defensive moves," he said, his voice soft, his gaze unexpectedly sober. She sensed no teasing spirit in him now, no mockery. "Just to give you fair warning, ma'am—I'm still going for that touchdown." His sensuality warmed her like potent brandy. "In fact, I intend to win the game."
She strove to resist the heady effect of his gaze and words. "That's something you've never understood. I'm not playing a game."
"You're not? Then talk to me openly, Brianna. Let's say what's on our minds."
She frowned, trying to mask her alarm. She couldn't possibly tell him what was on her mind, what had been on her mind since he'd carried her to his bed. "Regarding what?"
"Us."
"There is no 'us,' unless you mean Evan and me."
"No, I mean Jake and you. But if you can't bring yourself to tackle that subject, let's start with your sudden need to watch football."
The beginning of a smile softened her mouth, and Jake felt an immediate tug of response. She was just so damn beautiful. He wanted her with a need that made him ache. "You're afraid to be alone with me."
Their eyes locked and the same tension that had sparked years ago arched between them. He sensed a slow shift taking place somewhere within her.
"Maybe I am afraid." Her voice had gone all soft and throaty, reminding him of when he'd had her beneath him in bed, her silken hair free from its upsweep and glimmering across his pillows, her body his for the taking.
"Why?" he demanded, his own voice too hoarse and hard. "I'd never force you into anything, Brianna. I think I proved that the night you called me Evan. I stopped before you even knew you wanted me to."
Color warmed her face. "I know you'd never force me."
"Then why are you afraid to be alone with me?"
"Because you confuse me," she whispered, her eyes luminous with accusation. "You twist things around, Jake! Make right seem wrong and wrong seem right."
"Like making love?"
"Yes."
"You think it's wrong?"
"With you."
Her reply set his heart on edge, precariously balancing above a dark precipice. He grasped at a straw of hope. "But I make it seem right?"
She looked away from him, fixed her gaze on the swaying candle flame.
He had to restrain himself from taking her face in his hands and forcing her to maintain their connection. He wanted to know her answer. Needed to know it.
"Brianna." He clenched his teeth in frustration. "Damn it, you don't belong to Evan."
That seemed to hit a nerve. Her gaze jerked back up to his. "I know that better than anyone. I don't belong to any man, and I never will."
He regarded her in surprise. He hadn't expected such a vehement reaction. He wanted to know what had generated it, wanted to peek through the sudden crack in her armor.
"I belong to myself," she swore with quiet passion. "Even if I marry someday, I'll still belong only to myself. When I'm faithful to a man, it's not because he owns me or because I owe him my loyalty. It's only because I don't want anyone else." Golden green fire flashed from her eyes.
"If you belong to yourself, Brianna," he replied, leaning forward to gaze even deeper into those eyes, maybe deep enough to see through the flames, "then be faithful to yourself when you answer this question."
Her attention centered fully on him. He had no doubt that she'd strive to answer with absolute honesty, even if she didn't answer aloud.
"Do you want only Evan?"
She went perfectly still—a stillness so profound he felt it in his bones. His chest tightened as he envisioned her leaving the table—the ultimate answer to his question.
But she didn't rise. She didn't seem to even breathe. "If you mean physically," she finally whispered, her eyes wide, her vulnerability clearly evident, "then I suppose I'd have to answer 'no.'"
A groundswell of emotion rose in Jake, robbing him of his voice, of his breath. Did she mean she wanted him, or was he jumping to the conclusion he hoped for?
Their stares intensified; each heartbeat peeled away another layer of the barrier between them.
A knock sounded at the door, disrupting the odd moment, startling Brianna into a realization of what she'd admitted. Evan wasn't the only man she physically desired. In fact, she wasn't sure she physically desired Evan at all, no matter how much she wanted to.
A waiter entered with a tray and set steaming aromatic plates of Amish-style Swiss steak, potatoes, vegetables and rolls in front of them. Brianna busied herself by opening her napkin on her lap. She smiled politely at the slender waiter as he uncorked their bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. All the while, her thoughts chased themselves in a dizzying whirl around her heart.
Why should she physically desire one man when she logically wanted another? It wasn't fair. It wasn't wise. It wasn't in her blueprint for her future. And admitting her weakness to Jake had been the pinnacle of foolishness. The tension between them had been strong enough since he'd read her personal letter. He shouldn't know these sexual secrets of hers, shouldn't have such inside knowledge.
And yet, he did.
The moment the waiter left them alone with only the background music to break the silence, Jake interrupted her first taste of supper with a quiet, yet fierce question. "If you're saying what I hope you are—that you want me the way I want you—then what's stopping us?"
She washed a bite of steak down with the dry, fragrant wine and barely escaped choking. As she touched her lips with her linen napkin, she reflected that choking might have been better than surrendering herself once again to his seductive stare. "The only reason I ever thought of you in that way at all," she said, her voice weak and tremulous as she reasoned through this madness, "is because of what happened between us that night. It was wrong. A mistake."
"The only mistake I made was stopping too soon."
She stared at him, struggling against a realization. She, too, wished he hadn't stopped. What was happening to her? In a bemused whisper, she asked, "Is that why we can't forget? B
ecause we … didn't finish?"
He looked oddly hesitant to accept that explanation. "I guess there's only one way to find out." He leaned forward. "We've got to finish."
He was doing it again, she realized—making wrong seem so right. Decisively she shook her head.
"Why not, Brianna?" he probed with a quiet fierceness. When she offered no explanation, his jaw hardened. "Does it have to do with the problem you mentioned in your letter?"
"Of course not!" she cried, mortified. "My personal problems with Evan have nothing whatsoever to do with—"
"Are you sure those inhibitions you wrote about aren't keeping you from my bed?"
She lapsed into a stunned silence. Relentlessly he searched her eyes for an answer. She didn't want to give him one; at least, not the true one. The inhibitions that kept her from making love to Evan hadn't come into play at all with him. Quite the opposite. Even rightful inhibitions dissolved all too easily when Jake touched her.
Why, then, had the mere thought of him ruined her intimacy with Evan?
"I can help you, Brianna." The earnestness in his gaze left her no doubt of his sincerity. "Whatever kind of problem you're having, I swear I'll help you overcome it."
The irony wasn't lost on her. Here he was, offering to help her overcome her problem, when he was her problem!
It was then that the answer became obvious. He could help overcome it. He was probably the only one who would ever be able to help her.
When a person falls off a horse, how does conventional wisdom say to overcome a fear of horses? To climb back up into the saddle. When a person is afraid of water, he needs to swim. When a person is afraid of the dark, he needs to learn how to appreciate that darkness.
Why wouldn't the same kind of confrontational therapy work for her? Some deep emotional conflict must have formed in her adolescence because of her repressed sexual attraction to Jake. She obviously needed to resolve that conflict before she could move on to a truly fulfilling relationship. She needed to confront the problem by making love to Jake! Prove to herself that nothing traumatic would come of it.
HIS DOUBLE, HER TROUBLE Page 9
