by Francis Ray
“To know Brooke is to love her, as the saying goes.” He turned onto King Street. “Perhaps you’ll get to meet her or at least visit Bliss and try some of their products.”
The way Patrick said the last word made Brianna think of the “Better Than Sex” claim. Despite herself, her body heated. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that Patrick would rise to the occasion and prove the claim false. She groaned at her choice of word.
“You all right?”
Instead of answering his question she said, “It’s the third house on the right.”
Patrick pulled into the driveway of a three-story yellow-brick mansion surrounded by black wrought-iron grill-work. Directly in front of the house was the ocean. “It’s beautiful. No wonder you like the water so much.”
“Thanks.” Brianna got out of the door he held open and looked across the concrete barrier. A cruise ship was coming into the port located a few blocks away. “For a long time I didn’t think I’d ever want to live anyplace else.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I didn’t want to be daddy’s little girl. I wanted to make my own way.” She answered without thinking about it or guarding her words, something she never did with anyone other than her parents or Justine.
He closed the door. “I don’t have to ask if you succeeded.”
She stared up at him. People usually couldn’t read her. With Patrick she was an open book, which didn’t bode well for her.
At her silence he continued. “You don’t back down, and you can’t be manipulated. You’re your own woman. It takes time for a person to be that way and be comfortable with themselves.”
“Then why can’t I get rid of you?” she asked without heat.
Patrick tilted his head to one side. “You sure you want the answer?”
“No, I just talk to hear myself talk.” She braced her hands on her hips.
He leaned so close she could see her own reflection in his mesmerizing eyes. “Because deep down, you really don’t want to.”
Shock rendered her speechless. How could he have figured it out when she was just beginning to?
“Brianna?”
She whirled to see her parents coming down the street, which was lined with palmetto trees. As usual, they walked hand in hand as if they were newlyweds instead of about to celebrate their forty-second anniversary in a month. They’d almost given up hope of having children when her mother had become pregnant with her. There weren’t better parents in the world.
She quickly closed the distance between them and threw one arm around each. It was easier with her mother, who matched her in height. Her father was several inches taller. Their arms closed securely around her.
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you all right?”
“It’s Andrew.” She stepped back. “He’s all right now, but he arrested again.”
“Do you want us to go to the hospital with you?” her mother asked, smoothing stray ringlets of hair behind her daughter’s ear.
“We just left,” Brianna answered.
Finally their gaze went beyond her to the man standing quietly on the sidewalk in front of their house. Brianna hadn’t thought through what having Patrick meet her parents would infer. “I was out walking when I got the call. Patrick took me.”
Patrick stepped forward and offered his hand. “Patrick Dunlap. We met when Brianna was moving in.”
“I remember. Charles Ireland, and this beautiful woman is my wife, Susan.”
“Brianna takes after her,” Patrick said.
Brianna made a strangling sound. Her father laughed. “Thanks for taking her.”
Before answering, Patrick glanced at Brianna with her arm still around her mother’s waist and blood in her eyes. “I didn’t want her driving alone.”
“Rightly so. Would you like to come inside for coffee? I just baked a lemon cake,” her mother said.
“It’s with artificial and low-fat everything, but it still tastes good,” her father commented. “Maybe if you’re around you’ll distract them while I have a cup of real coffee. They watch what I eat like a hawk.”
“Because we love you,” Mrs. Ireland said. “Please join us.”
“If Brianna doesn’t mind?”
She arched a delicate brow. “Thank you for taking me to the hospital, but don’t get any bright ideas.”
Patrick laughed. “I’m trying to wear her down and get her to go out with me. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m taking unfair advantage.”
Brianna wrinkled her nose. She and her parents had always talked openly about dating. “Mama invited you. But don’t think this will make me change my mind about you.”
Patrick slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Never thought it would.”
Her mother’s mouth twitched. “Now that that’s settled, we can go inside.”
Mr. Ireland opened the gate. “Do you play golf?”
“Not very well, but I have a thirty-foot boat.”
“You do? I had to sell my boat when my wife pointed out I hadn’t been on it in a year.” Unlocking the leaded glass front door, he stepped aside. “That was over five years ago.”
“I’ll take you out anytime you want.” Patrick followed them inside and down the knotty pine hallway. “The other day, I caught a three-pound sea bass.”
“There’s nothing like the taste of fresh fish. That I can have. Baked or broiled, of course.” Mr. Ireland entered the kitchen, which had high ceilings and a breakfast nook that looked out over a fish pond. Mrs. Ireland and Brianna busied themselves preparing a tray for the coffee and cake.
“I’ll bring you some of my next catch,” Patrick said. “Your home is spectacular.”
“Thank you. It’s been in the family for over seventy years.”
Mrs. Ireland picked up the tray from the counter and turned. Three pairs of hands reached for the heavy silver tray. Patrick’s were fastest. “Where should I set this?”
“In the library. I’ll show you,” Mr. Ireland said, walking from the room with Patrick following.
“You know I never interfere, but why won’t you go out with him?” her mother asked when they were alone.
“Because I’ve sworn off men for the time being,” Brianna said. Which was the truth. Dating a man as perceptive and as titillating as Patrick could cause a woman a lot of grief.
“Pity,” her mother said as they left the kitchen to join the men. “I like his honesty. Your father likes him, too.”
Brianna could tell. Her parents didn’t invite just anyone into their home. Her father was downright picky about his golfing buddy. Patrick might have charmed her parents, but she still wasn’t going out with him.
_______
An hour later Brianna and Patrick stepped into the elevator at their condo. “I’ll say good night now.”
“I promised your parents that I’d see you safely to your door.”
Brianna said nothing. Her parents had been very specific. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were trying to matchmake. “They liked you.”
“Most people do.”
If he was asking in a roundabout way why she didn’t, she wasn’t answering. The elevator door opened and she stepped off. She didn’t stop until she stood in front of her unit. Unlocking the door, she turned. “Thank you for—”
Her startled gasp was cut short as he pulled her into his arms, his lips brushing across hers. She stiffened, then the tip of his tongue stroked her lips. Hunger splintered through her. His tongue slid into her mouth.
Pleasure rushed through her, banishing the thought of slugging him. With a helpless whimper, she pressed against his hard length. Heat raced through her veins. Her hands slid up his muscular chest and circled his neck, bringing him closer. She couldn’t get enough of his hot mouth. She didn’t want the kiss to end.
When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing hard. Releasing her, he stepped back. She couldn’t tell if it was because he feared she might ret
aliate or to keep from grabbing her again. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”
She should knee him where it would hurt the most, or at least give him a good tongue-lashing. She would do both—just as soon as her brain started functioning again.
“Justine is lucky to have a friend like you. I hope one day you’ll consider me a friend as well.” Leaning over, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “If you want to stop by for breakfast around eight in the morning and sample my renowned blueberry pancakes, the door will be open. Night, beautiful.” Turning, he walked away.
Still a bit dazed, Brianna finally went inside and closed the door behind her. In her bedroom she happened to glance at the tri-fold mirror over the dresser as she passed. She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were glazed with passion and unquenched need, her lips pouty and moist.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned away. Patrick was more of a threat than she’d imagined. His kiss had left her reeling and in danger of losing herself to a man for the first time. Somehow she had known all along that Patrick would test her on every level and so she had instinctively tried to steer clear of him. He hadn’t let her. He was a man who went after what he wanted. He wanted her and he planned to have her.
The realization was scary, an emotion she’d never experienced regarding a man. But her body grew hot, her breast heavy at the thought of them making love.
If he hadn’t pulled away, she wasn’t sure she would have had the presence of mind to do so. The smart way to handle this was to stick to her original plan and stay away from him.
But could she?
Shortly after midnight the ICCU charge nurse asked Justine and Beverly to leave. Her mother-in-law’s eyelids were drooping. The coffee Justine had gotten for her from the nurse’s station to keep her awake hadn’t helped. The true gauge of how worn out Beverly was came when she didn’t protest too long. Justine wanted to weep with relief. The muscles of her legs cramped from standing so long. Beverly had stood by Andrew’s bedside, so Justine had as well.
“Please call if there is any change,” Beverly told the charge nurse, who followed them to the entrance to ICCU. “We’ll be back first thing, won’t we, Justine?”
“Yes.”
“You know I will, but now his vitals are stable,” Nurse Hopkins said. She was a full-figured woman with a warm smile and a soothing manner. “Get some rest.”
Justine thought she saw pity in the other woman’s eyes. “Thank you.” Pushing open the door, she faltered on seeing Dalton, his dark head bowed, his attention on the Blackberry in his hand.
As if he knew she were there, he lifted his head. For a long moment their gazes clung. Standing, he made a couple of notations in the handheld, then put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. In four long strides, he stood in front of her. “He must be resting.”
“He is, but the charge nurse wouldn’t let us stay,” Beverly told him, glancing back at the closed door.
“When my mother was in ICCU, it was difficult for us to leave, but doing so gave us the strength to come back the next day and be with her,” he told Beverly.
Justine had gone to his parents’ funeral, but didn’t think Dalton had seen her. She’d left as soon as the services were over. “I’m sorry to hear of your mother’s death. She was a wonderful woman.”
“They’re together now. I never thanked you for coming,” he said.
Justine’s brow lifted in surprise. The church had been packed. How had he seen her with all the people there?
“Andrew will come back to us. He’ll live,” Beverly said, her voice unsteady.
Justine put her arm around Andrew’s mother and started toward the elevator. She couldn’t imagine the feeling of helplessness or the pain of losing a child. “You need to go home and get some rest.”
“I’ll drive both of you.” Dalton fished his keys from his pocket.
“My car is here,” Beverly said.
“Not a problem.” Dalton punched the call button of the elevator. “I’ll be happy to pick you up in the morning and bring you back.”
“Thank you. I am rather tired,” Beverly admitted. “What about your car, Justine? If you were dining out, your car is still at the shopping center.”
“I’d forgotten.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “Dalton, if you could drop me off I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. Let me take Mrs. Crandall home, then I’ll take you to your bookstore and follow you home. You’re dead on your feet.” Dalton took Andrew’s mother’s arm, then Justine’s, and stepped on the elevator. “You both must be. Andrew is a lucky man to have you two.”
Justine flinched and hoped he didn’t notice.
“We’re the lucky ones. Andrew is the best there is. Isn’t he, Justine?”
“Yes.” She was discovering that lies became easy after a while. They certainly had for Andrew.
________
Justine pulled into the garage, then went to the front door and opened it. Dalton was almost to the door. The neighborhood was dark except for a few front porch security lights. She didn’t think she’d ever felt as drained.
“Go to bed,” he ordered.
“I wi—” That was as far as she got. Tears clogged her throat. She didn’t want Andrew to die, but neither did she want to keep up the charade.
“Honey, don’t.” Coming inside, Dalton closed the door behind him and took Justine in his arms. “He’ll be all right. Please don’t cry. Please.”
The tears fell faster. Great sobs erupted from her. “Nothing will ever be right again.”
“Shhh. Please.” He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Instead of moving on as he intended, his lips clung. Heat and need built. With a muttered curse, Dalton gathered Justine in his arms, his hungry mouth devouring hers, giving her the reassurance she needed.
With a moan of pure pleasure she went into his arms, her body pressed against his muscled warmth, the hard length of him. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feed off this emotion where she wasn’t hurt, where she wasn’t betrayed, where she was wanted, desired.
Dalton suddenly realized what he was doing. With all his willpower, he broke away. Transfixed, he stared down at her moist trembling lips. There was dazed confusion in her eyes. Had she been kissing him or Andrew? Either way he felt lower than a snake’s belly. “I’m sorry; you’ll never know how sorry.”
Justine realized what she had been doing, her body plastered to Dalton while her husband lay in a coma and fought for his life. Shame hit her like a balled fist. “Please leave.”
“Jus—”
“Please.”
His hands came to his sides. “There’s no excuse for what I did, but I want you to know that it wasn’t easy for me to pull away. This was my fault, not yours. Good night.”
Justine stared at the closed door, then went to her room and lay down on the bed. She could still feel the softness of Dalton’s beard, the heat of his lips, the hunger. She curled tighter. She was as wrong as Andrew had been. If Dalton hadn’t stopped, she wouldn’t have. Worse, she wanted to kiss him again.
Trembling fingers covered her face. “What am I going to do?”
The next morning Dalton picked Beverly up from her home, an elegant house that reminded him of the many antebellum mansions in Atlanta. He’d read up on Andrew after his accident. Brianna’s parents had a mansion as well, but it had been in the family for a number of years. The two-story house with its four stately Doric columns seemed too much space for the small, almost reserved woman sitting beside him.
“Your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Andrew purchased it for me last year. It has twenty rooms.”
His parents had been happy raising three children in six. “You must be proud of him.”
She smiled. “I am. He was building something few men in their lives ever accomplish. Once he’s out of the hospital, he’ll continue.”
Dalton did a double take. He believed in prayer and positive thinking as much
as the next person but, after last night, the chances of Andrew’s recovery weren’t good.
The disbelief must have shown on his face because Mrs. Crandall said, “You are just like the rest that don’t believe. Except Justine, of course.”
“The important thing is that you believe.”
Ten minutes later Dalton pulled into the underground parking garage. They rode the elevator to the sixth floor in silence. He stepped off, but he didn’t follow her down the hallway. Linen and breakfast carts lined the hallway.
Mrs. Crandall stopped and faced him. “You aren’t coming in to say hello to Justine?”
He was positive the question wasn’t an idle one. “No.”
A pleased smile spread across her face. “Justine and Andrew were the perfect loving couple. Nothing could separate them. Andrew will recover and they’ll make me a grandmother.”
She was warning him off. “Justine deserves every happiness.”
“She does, and she’ll have it with Andrew.”
“I want only the best for Justine.”
“On that we both agree. Good-bye.”
Dalton watched her walk off. Had she sensed the undercurrents between him and Justine or was she just being protective? His cop instincts were kicking in again. Something more was going on than met the eye. Andrew’s mother might not know it, but she’d made him even more determined to find out what it was.
Sixteen
Brianna stood in front of Patrick’s door the next morning, her hand clenched around the handle of her attache case, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “It’s just breakfast.”
She closed her eyes. Not only did he have her talking to herself, she was lying to herself as well. How could a man turn her to mush after she’d just gotten out of a relationship? She wasn’t the flighty type. She certainly didn’t sleep around.
She could count the men she’d been intimate with on one hand and have fingers to spare. Intimacy wasn’t something she took lightly. The debacle with Jackson still pissed her off.
Yet, here she stood, knowing that sooner or later she’d be horizontal with Patrick. After that kiss last night he knew it, too. Somehow that galled her the most. That he somehow had known all along that he’d break through her resistance. She could really dislike him for that.
