The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  He glanced at Drake, who was pacing the balcony and smoking. "I think you chose yourself a decent bloke this time. I don't have to look after you anymore."

  "No, but I'd like to keep you around. Mom doesn't like him either."

  "Then we'll definitely get on." He kissed her on the forehead and left a number where she could reach him, then left.

  Cassie immediately took a shower. When she was through, she found Drake sitting on the couch still smoking.

  "What is so wrong that you need to puff away like a ganja man?" she asked.

  He flashed her a glare so fierce she coiled away.

  "I know. Stupid question, but you can't be blaming me for this."

  "I'm not. How do you feel?"

  "I'm fine. Considering." She stood behind him and leaned against the couch. "You know, for such a romantic guy, Glen is a terrible kisser."

  "Cassie," he warned.

  "Please, Drake, don't make me take this seriously," she pleaded softly. "Not tonight. It's too awful."

  It was the tears brimming in her eyes that stopped him. He took her injured hand and kissed the bandage. "Okay, not tonight, but tomorrow."

  She nodded.

  He glanced around as if the very sight of the place offended him. "Don't you have an ashtray?"

  "No, I don't smoke."

  "Of course you don't." He grabbed a saucer from the cabinet and tapped his ashes into it. "If there were no law, I would have snapped his body in two. Unfortunately, your brother is very persuasive."

  "You once said the world was full of rogues, but you forgot about heroes."

  He abruptly laid the saucer down. "Gather some of your stuff, you're staying with me permanently."

  "Well, I—"

  "Don't argue, just do it."

  "I wasn't going to arg—"

  "Why aren't you packing?"

  Cassie quickly gathered her things, no longer feeling indulgent. "You know, you can be such a bully sometimes—stubborn, unyielding. I'm afraid I may have to revoke your hero status."

  He took her bags. "That's okay. I'm not a hero, or a gentleman, or a rogue."

  She grabbed his umbrella from the corner and opened the door. "Then what are you?"

  He began to smile. "A man who loves you."

  "Drake!" She threw her arms around him, her heart overflowing with joy.

  Door 712 opened. "Is everything all right?" Mr. Gianolo asked.

  Cassie sighed, her eyes fixed on the man she loved. "Yes. Everything's perfect."

  * * *

  They walked to his car with the fresh scent of cold in the air and the promise of holiday festivities engaging the city. Miniature white lights draped trees; menorahs, wreaths, and candy canes vied for space in shop windows, and people loaded with packages rushed past. Cassie remembered another night similar to this when wizardry seemed to course through the air and she'd kissed a man with abandon during a warm summer rain. She thought of how she had tried to push him away in an effort to remain free, but in time he'd taught her how to be free of her thoughts and her fears. She felt something cold and wet drop on her nose. She glanced up and saw that it was snowing.

  Drake held out his hand and let a snowflake melt in his palm. "Do you love snow as much as rain?"

  She grabbed his face and kissed him among a few shouts and whistles of a passing Gothic crowd and odd stares of others trying to figure out the odd pair. She didn't care. "No. I only love you. And the answer is yes."

  Drake frowned. "Yes?"

  "Yes, I will marry you."

  He abruptly dropped her bags and spun her around until she pleaded for him to stop. "You'll hurt your back," she scolded.

  He didn't hear her. The happiness he felt was almost terrifying. At last, she would belong to him and he to her. He had succeeded. "My middle name is Marcus," he confessed, lifting her bags.

  She stared at him. "What? You told me you didn't have a middle name."

  He grinned wickedly. "I know."

  She narrowed her eyes. "How many more secrets do you have?"

  Her beloved sorcerer just laughed and together they walked toward a bright and exciting future.

  Epilogue

  "I can't believe my mother is paying for the entire wedding," Cassie said as she, Drake, Clay, Jackie, and Adriana ate lunch at the Golden Diner.

  "She's trying to make up for a lot of years," Adriana said, picking through her chicken salad, too excited to eat.

  "And she can afford it," Clay grumbled.

  Drake stole a grilled shrimp from Cassie's plate and popped it in his mouth.

  "Stop eating my food," she warned.

  "Then stop worrying and eat it yourself," he argued.

  Cassie made a face and took a bite.

  He patted her on the head. "Good girl, and don't forget your vegetables."

  She swatted his hand away. "I can't believe how eager she is for me to marry you after what you said."

  Clay and Drake shared a quick glance. Neither would mention the little chat they had at the Graham house that resulted in Angela's Graham sudden enthusiasm.

  "I told you that your parents love you."

  "I know that, but clothes shopping is a different matter. I don't want to end up looking like a walking marshmallow. "

  "But I like marshmallows." Drake took another shrimp before she could slap his hand away. "Whatever you wear, you're going to look beautiful."

  Cassie moved the dish out of his reach. "Thank you."

  Adriana watched the exchange and sighed happily. "I'm so glad you two worked everything out." She rested her chin in her hand. "If I didn't love you, Cassie, I'd be jealous." She looked at Drake. "You don't happen to have any brothers, do you?"

  Jackie and Clay turned away to hide their smiles. While behind her, Drake and Cassie watched Eric enter the diner, flash a wicked grin at a harried waitress, and point in their direction. They shared a look, then turned to Adriana.

  "Well, as a matter of fact..."

  The End

  Page forward for Book 2 of

  The Henson Brothers

  Gaining Interest

  The Henson Brothers

  Book 2

  by

  Dara Girard

  To Mum and Dad,

  whose spending habits inspired the idea for this book.

  Chapter 1

  Eric Henson listened to the loud crack of a tree snapping, its limb an unfortunate victim of the harsh October weather settling over the city and slapping a crisp wind against his office window. The tree's destruction echoed in his ears. He had to remind himself that the sound wasn't his patience snapping in two.

  He stared at Adriana Travers across the broad mahogany desk. She didn't meet the disbelief reflecting in his serious, speculative gaze. She was too busy buffing her nails, casually tapping her foot. He wasn't angry, he reminded himself, letting his gaze fall to his desk. He didn't let himself get angry. She had obviously misunderstood his suggestions.

  It was perfectly understandable that she be confused about his recommendations regarding her finances. She didn't seem the type to take much interest in financial matters. The dreadful state of her books was a good indicator of that. He wanted to help her, but doubted he had the fortitude to do so. Most times he hoped he would glance up and she would disappear like a bad dream. However, she was real and in his office looking as out of place as two commas in a tax return.

  She had the color and vibrancy of a hummingbird and was completely incongruous with the serene gray of his office. Her curly black hair fell around her face in a crazy array that seemed to suit her carefree personality. A long purple skirt draped her legs while thick-heeled black boots peeked from underneath. A shimmering jacket completed the look, but her silver earrings caught most of his attention. They constantly twirled and he couldn't understand what law of physics allowed their continuous motion.

  He pulled his gaze from them and focused on the problem at hand. He was a professional and needed to handle the situation in a calm a
nd tactful manner. He would not insult her intelligence and put her on the defensive. He was used to her type. He'd met a few in his line of work and knew they required a patience his other clients didn't need. He sat forward and clasped his hands together, ready to address and dismiss any of her concerns.

  "Did you hear what I said?" she asked, clearly annoyed by his silence.

  "Yes. What do you mean by 'no'?" His voice was soft, laden with a hint of steel. Usually his tone gave a person pause. She, however, presented him with a brief, disinterested caramel glare and continued to buff her nails.

  "It means that I disagree with you," she clarified. "It means that I think your suggestions are poorly thought out and most of all illogical."

  Eric adjusted his glasses, a small bit of temper beginning to claw around him. He prided himself on being logical. He was always logical. What did she mean he... He loosened the grip on his pen and took a deep breath. She did this on purpose to provoke him. In the three years he had known her they had never been able to speak without annoying each other. He had thankfully seen her only a few times since her best friend had married his brother. They were usually spared the aggravation of being in each other's company. Until now.

  When he had heard she needed financial counseling, he had wanted to help. So for once in all his practical years he had—in a moment of temporary insanity—done something he never did. He'd been impulsive. He had called her up and offered his services. To his surprise she had accepted. He glanced at her now as she wiggled her fingers in front of her. He was too tired to kick himself for that brief lapse in judgment.

  "What did you find..." He searched for words. "Unacceptable about my suggestions?"

  She leaned forward, took the budget from the desk, and tapped each item. "No, I will not eat regular nameless foods, cut down my visits to the salon, stop my cable, or put my cat to sleep."

  He blinked. "I never suggested that."

  "You probably would if you knew how much I spend on cat food and kitty litter."

  Eric sat back and folded his arms. Patience, he reminded himself. "I think your cat is a necessity, an essential part of your life. You probably consider it a family member as many pet owners do." He paused, thoughtful. "Ultimately, the cat likely serves some purpose. I've read that it's healthy to have a pet. Usually they refer to dogs because they force you out on daily walks, but I'm sure cats offer some sort of healthy regime." He shook his head. "No, I would never suggest you get rid of your cat."

  Adriana crossed her legs and tapped the buffer against her knee. "How generous of you," she said in a dry tone. "I was completely unaware of my cat's many benefits until I met you. She's not just a beautiful, friendly, and furry companion, but she's also a good health investment."

  The brown eyes flickered. "There's no reason to be sarcastic."

  Adriana hid a tiny grin. She was beginning to get to him. She didn't know why the thought cheered her, but it did. It was nice to know the unflappable Eric Henson had a temper. Perhaps he had a heart as well.

  He was eerily too much like his office. Cool, elegant, and intimidating. There were no pictures on the wall, not even a plant to give color to the gray decor. Just a pathetic vase of plastic lilies that sat high on a bookshelf, turning gray from the gathering dust. She measured him in one quick glance, wondering how often he needed dusting. The dark blue of his tie and shirt complemented the brown of his skin. It was an unremarkable light shade with all the dimension and warmth of a piece of cardboard.

  She would not call him handsome. His face was too serious for such a clichéd label. His features were firm, undeniably male in structure with eyes as warm as petrified wood, offset by round, gold-framed glasses. He didn't have a mouth that entertained a smile or laughed very often and his hair was pitch-black and cut almost cruelly short.

  She didn't know why she was here. She inwardly groaned. That was wrong. She did know. She had been impulsive. It was a terrible fault of hers and usually landed her in trouble. She remembered when Eric had called her one late afternoon while she was flipping through a Victoria's Secret catalogue. After overcoming the shock of hearing his voice on the other end, she heard herself saying yes to his seemingly reasonable offer, forgetting whom she was saying yes to.

  The beginning of the meeting had been cordial until he started taking charge of her spending habits like an overzealous hospital nurse. He had angered her by treating her as if she had no common sense. She knew his type—a pulse-free intellectual who thought he had the sole monopoly on brain function. Yes, she liked to tease him. She wanted to show him that he was human and emotional like the rest of the ordinary world.

  "Do you have a pet?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Not even a cold, dull goldfish swimming dizzyingly around in a bowl on your windowsill?"

  "No."

  "Remind me to get you one. A tiny one so that it won't be too much of a bother to you."

  He glanced out the window. "As I was saying, your cat Elena—"

  "Elissa."

  "Right. Elissa is part of regular household expenses. However, the other items I listed are easily dispensable. For example, you could do without going to the salon."

  "No, I could not."

  He met her gaze. "Then go to a cheaper one."

  "Would an owner of a Mercedes send his car to a Saab dealership for repairs?"

  "We are not talking about cars."

  "No, we're talking about me. My skin, my body."

  Ah, hell, now why did she have to mention that? Eric tried to keep his eyes from the satin beauty of her dark coffee skin. He knew she thought of him as an automon, but he was a male automaton.

  "My visits to the salon are part of my monthly maintenance," she continued.

  He waved the receipts. "Only a person with severe physical deformities needs to spend this much money on maintenance." And she had absolutely no physical deformities from where he was sitting. She was not a beautiful woman but her caramel eyes were captivating and she had a full mouth that on more than one occasion occupied his mind with purely male distractions. He put the receipts down, gathering his thoughts, when he found himself staring at her lips.

  "It's part of my job."

  He wanted to laugh. Now how was she going to explain this expenditure as a necessity? He leaned back in his chair instead. "Explain this to me. I can't seem to make the connection."

  She spoke slowly. "I can't sell my merchandise if I look unkempt. I sell a fantasy and I have to look the part."

  "At these prices you'll have to sell a lot more than a fantasy. You spend over a hundred dollars every visit and you go twice a month."

  She ignored the implication. "Going to the spa relaxes me."

  "Find a hobby."

  "It is a hobby."

  "I thought your hobby was club hopping."

  She narrowed her eyes at his tone. "That's under entertainment."

  "Isn't that Keith's role?"

  "That's none of your business." Her voice was ice.

  Eric shook his head, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. He knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but he liked the feeling. A part of him liked the whisper of warning that came with risk. He didn't care if she got angry as long as he made his point. "You have spent nearly three thousand dollars on him. That is my business."

  "Don't make it sound so vulgar," she snapped. "He's an artist and needs supplies."

  He rested his chin in his hand and studied the list of supplies for a moment. He looked up at her and raised one eyebrow, softly mocking. "Seventy-five dollars for one brush?"

  "It's of excellent quality. Haven't you ever wondered why paintings are so expensive?" She glanced around his bare walls. "No, I guess you don't. The fact is Keith is really very good and once he's made his big break he'll pay me back."

  "His big break," Eric murmured. He shut his eyes for a moment. Adriana was more naive than he thought. He hated Keith's ability to capitalize on that. She was flighty and vexing, but she w
as kind and he would not let her get used.

  He softened his tone, trying to sound indulgent. "Has he displayed his work?"

  "Yes." For the first time that afternoon, she actually smiled at him, excited by his interest. "Actually, I'm wearing one of his prints now. Would you like to see it?"

  He nodded. Inside, his gut clenched. He hoped Keith showed some marketable talent.

  She opened her shimmering jacket, displaying a black dress shirt with splatters of red, yellow, and pink—like one would find on a baby's bib—accentuated by white dots.

  He squinted at the design. "What is that supposed to be?"

  "It's not supposed to be anything. Keith says it's just a conveyance of emotion. Anger versus despair versus hope."

  Eric lost his patience."Why don't you get him a paint-by-numbers set and invest in him when he learns how to draw?"

  Adriana glared at him. She shoved the buffer in her handbag and stood. "Thank you for your advice," she said stiffly.

  He silently swore. He had pushed her too far. "Sit down, Adriana," he said. "I'm not finished."

  "Yes, you are." She rested her hands on his desk and leaned forward. "All you've done is waste my time and insult me. I'm not a complete half-wit although you have done your best to make me think so. You've insulted my lifestyle, my job—"

  "I never made fun of your job."

  "No, you just smirked. My lingerie boutiques are excellently run and very profitable."

  He nodded. "Yes, I agree you make a handsome income."

  There it was again, that arrogant, condescending tone that showed his surprise at her fortitude. She'd had enough of him, his unreadable dark eyes and cool, mocking voice. She had made a mistake, but she would not make it again. She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

  Eric was there before she could open it. She gaped up at him, surprised. For his placid, calculating ways she hadn't expected him to be so swift or so large. His size always came as a shock. One wouldn't expect a mathematical robot to tower over six feet with a powerful, intimidating presence. She looked at his pressed shirt, amazed at how it clung to his wide frame. While not overly muscular he was anything but scrawny and moved with a sinewy, catlike grace. He leaned against the door looking mildly regretful. "I apologize."