As much as he wanted to tunnel his hands under her dress for unfettered access to her, he limited himself to stroking no higher than her knees. Two minutes into the massage, she still hadn’t relaxed.
What the hell? “All right, I’m stumped. What gives?”
“It’s all this.” She swept her hand to encompass the stacks of wallpaper books and paint samples.
“Baby preparations? I told the contractor and interior designer to let you pick whatever you want.”
She swung her feet off his lap. “But you’re picking decorators and knocking out walls and trying to take over my life.”
Okay. At least she’d been honest, not that he understood her in the least. What was he supposed to do? Back away?
However, he couldn’t fight with her, even if the doctor had reassured them she was rapidly improving. Her blood pressure was already down to normal. A few more days with her feet up, just to be safe, and she would be cleared in time for Brittany’s wedding.
Still, he wasn’t taking any chances by arguing with her. “Regardless of whether or not you live here, I need to set up a place for the baby. I would like your input. If you end up living here, great. Regardless, it will give you something to do while you sit around. I know you’ve decreased your workload, and I thought this would fill the gap with something lighter.”
“I figured I could still help with my sister’s wedding through phone calls.”
“I’m cool with whatever doesn’t stress you out.”
Her brown eyes snapped with irritation. “You’re not the one with the final say in that.”
Damn. He wanted her to quit veiling her thoughts from him, and he’d sure gotten his wish today. No doubt about where she stood on that issue.
Unfortunately, he’d been having the final say on most everything in his life for a long time. He took a deep breath and tried to be patient.
“I worry you don’t know when to stop pushing yourself. I know you’re bored.”
“Bored is too mild a word. If my family didn’t visit, I would go nuts.” Her head fell back with a heavy sigh. “Although I’m starting to wonder if you’ve locked Mother out of the front gate. I really expected she would show up by now, not that I’m complaining about her absence after our last encounter.”
He started to lead the conversation in another, less stressful direction, then changed his mind. Bottled-up stress was worse, according to her doctor. “How long has she been an alcoholic?”
“For as long as I can remember. Even when she painted on the beach, the jug of sangria went along with her.” She looked down from the ceiling to meet his eyes. “It’s not like we were neglected. We always had round-the-clock nannies—and each other.”
“That doesn’t negate what your mother put you through.”
“I know.”
He stared in her eyes and saw the milky-brown darken with frustration, pain, then helplessness. Her siblings had wanted to keep the news of Bonita entering rehab from Brooke. Jordan realized now that she should know. He would face the wrath of the Garrisons, if need be.
Jordan thought about reaching for her hand, but she still had those stand-back vibes going. “Your brothers met with your mother to discuss her problem.”
“They did what?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise, before slamming down again. “Wait…You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“Do you really think you could have participated in an intervention in your condition right now?”
“Okay, fair enough.” Her stiff spine eased. “What happened?”
“They checked your mother into a rehab center the day you were released from the hospital.” How would Brooke feel about that? He couldn’t get a read off her. “Are you okay with this?”
“Of course. It’s a good thing. I just can’t help but feel I should have been there.” She took his hand, the distance between them fading for the moment. “Thank you for telling me, though. I understand you’re trying to pamper me, but I can’t take your keeping things from me. There have been too many secrets in my family. If I found out you were lying to me…”
He felt her slender fingers curl around his, understood the gesture she’d made in reaching out to him. Now he faced another dilemma. Tell her the truth about what he’d done with the newspaper leak and risk everything. Or roll the dice that she would never find out.
Damn it. He knew what he had to do. “I need to tell you something.”
“Hey, why the scowl? It can’t be worse than having to think about my mother in rehab.”
“This honesty stuff, I want to be straight up with you.”
Her delicately arched eyebrows pinched together. “You’re starting to scare me, and that’s not good.”
“Then I’ll just spill it. The newspaper leak about our relationship wasn’t an accident.”
Her hand went ice-cold in his.
She eased her fingers free. “You started the media frenzy?”
He hadn’t meant to stir all the gossip about her family, but that was beside the point. It was his fault, and he took full responsibility for the strain he could now see it had placed on Brooke. “I’m not going to make excuses for my behavior. All I can say is that I would do things differently now, and I’m sorry.”
Brooke hugged her stomach protectively for another long stretch of time before nodding. “You wanted to get the announcement over with all at once.”
“What makes you think that?” He’d expected anger, tears even, but not an understanding of his motives. He’d always prided himself on playing things close to the vest. What people didn’t know they couldn’t use against him.
Having someone see through him so thoroughly was uncomfortable.
She shrugged. “That’s what Parker would do, and you two are a lot alike.”
Well that bit. Hard. “You’re that mad at me, are you?”
“I’m disappointed, but I understand. But you have to realize that when you make unilateral decisions that affect both of us—without telling me—you’re not easing stress for me. You’re increasing it, especially after the passive way I’ve handled family relationships for too long. Whether I sense something’s off or find out later, it tears at me.”
Guilt hammered at him, made all the worse by how easily she’d let him off the hook, even going so far as to take some responsibility by mentioning how she’d dealt with her family in the past. I’m sorry seemed too little to offer.
“I won’t excuse what you did, Jordan, but I can see where you came to your decision and forgive what happened.” Her spine straightened with unmistakable steel. “As long as you promise never to lie to me again.”
“That, I can do.” And he meant it. He was ambitious, even had a reputation for being ruthless—which he wouldn’t deny—but he prided himself on honesty. No question, the newspaper thing hadn’t been one of his wiser moves, hindsight. “Are you ready for supper?”
She inched away from him and stood in an unmistakable back-off message. “As long as we’re being open with each other, I need some space tonight.”
She hesitated and he thought—hoped—she might relent. She reached toward him…
And snagged the carryout bag of food before turning back to her bedroom.
Not bothering to stifle his grin at her accepting at least one of his gifts, he watched Brooke walk away and disappear behind her door. He wanted to follow her, but would leave her alone and let her sleep. Rest was the best thing for her and the baby. For tonight, he figured he’d wrangled more forgiveness than expected.
However, he hadn’t figured on being so damn disappointed at the missed opportunity to share chili and a movie with Brooke.
Brooke wrestled with sleep and the covers, the confrontation with Jordan leaving her frustrated and restless.
She stared at the clock—2:00 a.m. She’d seen midnight, as well, but must have drifted off.
God, she hated this helpless feeling of losing control of her life. Her family had staged an intervention with her mother, a huge, life-changing moment.<
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While Brooke sat around with her feet propped up, unable to handle stress. No wonder Brittany had been so edgy when she’d come to visit after Brooke left the hospital. The whole family must have gone through hell, and yet they’d all continued to tiptoe around her. Doing the right thing wasn’t necessarily easy.
Why couldn’t Jordan have told her sooner? Her mother seeking help was a good thing, the right thing. Hope warred with skepticism.
And therein lay her main problem, trusting that her mother would make it through the program successfully. Trusting, after a lifetime of mixed signals from her parents.
Trusting Jordan.
Even with their dates and living together this past week, it still seemed like too little time to know each other before committing to marriage. Her parents had dated for two years before marrying and look how that had turned out.
If only she could recapture—and trust—that intense sense of rightness she’d felt the night she’d decided to sleep with him for the first time.
The night they’d made this baby…
She’d seen him many times. She’d always wanted him.
Tonight, her family be damned, she would have him.
The decision echoed in her mind all the way up the elevator to the room she’d secured for herself and Jordan Jefferies.
Her head spun more from the touch of his hands on her body than from any effects of alcohol. She’d felt the attraction between them for years, but never imagined the sparks would combust through her with such intensity.
His palms, sweeping down her back during their frantic kiss down the hall.
His palms, cupping her bottom to pull her closer as they stumbled through the door.
His fingers, making fast work of her clothes in order to torment her.
And even when she demanded her place on top, still those talented hands teased her senses to the edge of fulfillment. Stopping short. Taking her to the brink and back again until they both tumbled over in a tangle of arms and legs and uncontained cries…
Brooke woke with the sheet twisted around her ankles, her body achy with want for what she’d experienced with him, an intense completion remembered in her dream.
Yet she hadn’t found the same relief tonight.
She reached to click on her bedside lamp. As always, there waited a pitcher of water along with fresh fruit for a late-night snack. She snagged a pear and crunched. If she couldn’t satisfy her sexual hunger, she would settle for feeding another appetite.
What was it about that time with Jordan that haunted her so? A sense of control in that moment, of equality. Except by the morning after she’d felt so out of control, she’d run from him, was running still.
Her eyes gravitated to the open door. Jordan must have checked on her after she went to sleep and then left the door open. She stared through at the books of fabric samples resting by the small sofa in the sitting room. He’d given her choices, but that didn’t stop her from feeling smothered.
She glanced away only to see a blue wrapped package propped along the edge of the couch. Vaguely, she recalled Jordan had been carrying something—that—when he’d entered the room. So he’d bought her a present to win her over.
She munched on the pear and studied the gift with trepidation. With the dream having left her pensive and vulnerable, she wasn’t sure she could take more of Jordan tonight.
But curiosity nipped and nibbled.
Tossing the rest of the pear into the trash can, she kicked free of the sheet and swung her feet to the floor. Her satiny nightshirt slithered over her skin in a sensual caress that reminded her all too well of her dream, of the real-life night that had been anything but a dream, yet most definitely fantasy material.
She padded across the room and sat on the edge of the sofa. Her fingers fell to rest on the top of the gift and tapped restlessly. If only she had her impulsive twin here to help her decide what to do next.
Memories of childhood Christmases shuffled through, of Brittany picking up each wrapped present, touching it, shaking it, then confidently proclaiming what she suspected it contained. Fifty percent of the time, Brittany was right. The other half, her guesses were so deliberately outrageous, no one bothered to tease her over being wrong.
Brooke stared at the package. Not jewelry. Not clothes. Too big to be a photo album. Too small to be furniture, even unassembled.
Finally, curiosity won out over caution. She tugged the present around and began tearing the blue-striped paper away to find—bubble wrap. Lots and lots of bubble wrap protecting something underneath. No wonder she’d been unable to hazard a guess.
She ripped at the tape securing the covering. She slowly realized some kind of framed artwork was inside. He’d bought her a picture? Or a painting?
Without question, he was showering her with attention. He was trying. But she didn’t want to start off their relationship with the notion that she could be purchased. A last swipe cleared away the plastic…
And stole her breath.
He hadn’t bought her some exotic piece of art. Instead he’d chosen a watercolor—obviously meant for a nursery—of two little girls playing on the beach, making sand castles.
Jordan remembered her telling him about the happy memory from her childhood.
The thoughtfulness of his gift touched her as firmly as his hands ever had. This side of Jordan she simply couldn’t resist. Not tonight with the dream still teasing at the corners of her mind, not with an ache of loneliness and yearning for more stirring inside her.
Resting the painting carefully along the sofa, Brooke stood, her eyes and intentions firmly planted on the connecting door leading to Jordan’s bedroom.
Nine
J ordan woke the moment he heard his door hinges creak.
He held still, watching through narrowly open eyes as Brooke made her way across the room toward him. Even in the near pitch-dark he could see she was not in any distress, so he kept his silence, biding his time to discover what she had in mind. He never knew anymore around her, and that bothered him.
She stopped by his bed, seemingly unaware that he continued to study her through the veil of his eyelashes. She plucked at the edge of the covers.
Holy crap. She couldn’t be about to…
Brooke slid in beside him. He couldn’t stop the rush of air gusting from his lungs any more than he could contain himself from reaching to wrap an arm around her. The flowery scent of her hair teased his nose as she snuggled against him.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked. His hand slid to her stomach and began rubbing soothing circles. “Is the future soccer star kicking you awake?”
Bad idea, touching her. Especially when this could lead nowhere.
She settled alongside him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Something woke me up. Not the baby though.”
“Can I get you anything?” He smoothed his hand from her belly to her back. He’d noticed she’d begun pressing a hand to her lower spine over the past week.
“I needed to be with you.” She flattened her palm to his chest.
His body tightened in response to her cool fingers on his overheated flesh. The rasp from the ring on her thumb seared along his skin, and what a time to think of how he could envision the vine pattern etched on the ring. He’d come to know her that well.
He clenched his jaw and started counting backward from one hundred. By seventy-eight, he gave up and accepted that he would simply have to live with the pain. “Okay, if you want to sleep in here, no way am I going to object.”
He continued the back massage, a mix of heaven and hell to have her in his arms, feel her soft curves against him, under his hands. He reminded himself that if he kept himself in check and won her over, he could be with her again. The opportunity to have his child raised by the two of them together was worth any wait.
And the idea of a life with Brooke grew more appealing the longer they spent together.
She stroked along his ear. “I don’t feel much like sleeping.”
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Neither did he, but for a different reason. He focused on the click of the ceiling fan overhead, the white noise helping keep him grounded. “Then we’ll talk.” She’d said something earlier about resenting feeling controlled, so he opted for a more neutral question. “What would you like to do tomorrow after I get home from work?”
“I wish we could go to all the parties for Brittany and Emilio this week.”
No wonder she was restless. “I’m so damn sorry. Being stuck in the house must be boring. What do you say we check with the doctor about going for a drive along the shore? As long as we don’t travel far and you’re not walking around, I’ll bet it’s all right. We can take a limo so you can prop your feet.”
“That would be nice,” she answered with zilch in the way of enthusiasm.
Ah, damn. He remembered she wanted to make decisions, too…“Any other ideas?”
She sighed. “I don’t mean to sound cranky. That really is thoughtful, like the beautiful present you bought.”
So she’d finally opened it. He had to admit he’d been disappointed when their argument had forestalled him giving it to her. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing she appreciated the gift. After purchasing it, he’d wondered if perhaps she might prefer a chunky diamond bracelet instead—as the other women he’d dated would have. Without question, his last ex would have preferred diamonds over any painting.
He needed to remember Brooke wasn’t even similar to any other woman.
“I’m glad you liked it. When I saw it in the gallery window, I had a feeling you might.” And how strange that he found himself seeing Brooke in any number of things he came across in the course of a day.
“I unwrapped it after I woke up.” She cuddled nearer, her knee nestling too damn close between his legs. “I was dreaming of you.”
“I’m glad.” He dreamed about her every night, a notion that sent him throbbing against the gentle pressure of her thigh.
Hey, wait. She couldn’t mean her dream in the same way as his…?
Her hand skimmed over his hip.
Damn.
He grasped her wrist. “Brooke, honey, as much as I enjoy touching you and you touching me, we can’t have sex. Not until your doctor clears you.”
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