by Jade Kerrion
“It’s amazing,” she murmured.
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?”
“I’m a lawyer. For all intents and purposes, I have a degree in profiling. Something’s not quite right, and it’s not the food.”
She set the spoon down. “How can you tell?”
“Your eyes. Your voice. Our ungraceful meeting yesterday set a baseline for stress. Everything since then adjusted for a more normal you. So, what’s wrong?”
“You said yesterday that you thought we’d met before.”
“Yes, your frown seemed familiar.”
“It’s not surprising. I figured out where we met when I saw the photograph of your sister over the fireplace. She’s somewhat more memorable than you.”
“It has to do with being a supermodel.”
“There’s that.” Shannon bit her lower lip. “I’ve met you and your sister only once, at the Phelps Memorial Hospital in Westchester, about a year and a half ago.”
Brandon’s eyes widened, and his breath caught. His jaw was tense as he forced out a single word. “Dad.”
Shannon nodded. “I was on duty at the ER the day he was brought in. I’m sorry.”
Brandon’s shoulders slumped. “He passed away later that day.”
“Yeah, I’d heard.”
He chuckled unexpectedly. “You came by the ICU to see him before you left. We spoke briefly; I think I gave you a negative seven for bedside manners.”
“Yes, you were polite enough to do it after I turned to leave but before I was out of earshot.”
“Sorry, it was a rough day.”
“For me too. I was coming off the end of a second shift, not that it’s a good excuse. How have you been doing since?”
“Well, Maggie married a great guy, Drew Jackson. You may have seen him that day at the hospital. They moved to Milan to launch her career as a fashion designer and bought a farmhouse-villa in Tuscany for their weekend getaways. My mother’s back in Venice with her latest boyfriend, or she might be in between boyfriends—it’s too hard to keep track. And I’m still in Manhattan.”
“When you’re not housesitting for your sister.”
“Right.” Brandon grinned, but his smile faded. “It’s funny, coming all the way here, only to run into you again.”
“You sound like you were trying to get away from the past.”
“I am, or at least I was.”
“Why?”
He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It’s not important.” He glanced at her empty soup bowl. “Are you ready for the roast quail? I have an excellent chardonnay to go with it.”
“I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
He looked aghast. “Really? That’s…depraved. How can you visit the heart of Italian wine country and tell me you’re not a wine drinker?”
“I was on a bike tour. I didn’t think alcohol and biking would mix.”
“Well, you didn’t need alcohol to screw up your sense of direction yesterday.”
“You see!” She laughed. “Imagine how much worse it might have been if I’d had alcohol.”
He chuckled. “Do you mind if I drink?”
“Oh, no. Please, go ahead.” With relish, she sliced her roast quail and brought a tender morsel up to her mouth. The delicate balance of herbs infused her senses. “It’s amazing. Have you ever considered opening a restaurant?”
He shook his head. “Cooking for money would take all the joy out of it, although I’ll admit that cooking for one isn’t as fun as cooking for an appreciative audience.” A slight frown crossed his face. “Would you consider hanging out here for the rest of your vacation?”
Her gaze jerked up, and their eyes met. “Hanging out?”
“I have a car. I could take you around—do the touristy things, introduce you to fine wine and fine dining.”
Her heart thudding in her chest, she set down her fork. “What changed in the past five minutes to inspire this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Brandon. You may be the profiler, but I’m not completely clueless. Our previous contact was for less than five minutes under pretty miserable circumstances, and you suddenly ask me to stay?”
“It’s hard to put into words—”
“And you’re a lawyer?”
“Touché.” He laughed. His eyes focused on a distant point before returning to her face. “You’re the perfect blend between something familiar and something new. Maybe it’s what I need right now.”
“Uh…”
He held up his hands. “No sexual favors. I’m not that desperate, and I’m sure, neither are you. Just think of me as someone to tour Italy with. You can pay for gas and our meals on the road, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Not that desperate? Wow, you certainly know how to flatter a woman.”
“If I’m trying to get your clothes off, you’ll know it. Right now, I’m looking for great conversation and someone to cook for.”
“I’m surprised some woman didn’t already snag you. Most women just want a halfway decent conversation and a meal they didn’t have to cook.”
His eyes hardened. “The woman I was engaged to wanted something else.”
The sharp edge of his tone sliced into her. “Oh.” She looked away. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. It worked out for the best.”
Unlikely; he sounded intensely bitter. “Can you tell me what other sensitive topics to avoid?”
Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but his expression transformed from irritated to hopeful. “Does that mean you’ve decided to stay the week?”
“I’m…thinking about it.”
“Well, that’s an improvement on ‘um.’”
She laughed. “I confess, I’m tempted, especially if you’re cooking. What are the other terms, beyond ‘no sexual favors’?”
“I don’t have any other terms. Do you?”
“You’re a lawyer. Where’s the fifty-page contract?”
“I’m on vacation, and my paralegal’s back in New York. You’re just going to have to take the verbal contract on good faith.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me what my terms are?”
“What are they?”
She stared at him. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?”
“Your mouth has a wicked streak, but notwithstanding all the snappy comments, you’ve been kind and generous to a stranger. I’ll go on faith that what I’ve seen is real, and we can negotiate everything else from there.”
He shook his head. “You’re definitely not from New York City.”
“Ah, no. And maybe that’s a good thing.”
“Time will tell as to whether your optimism trumps my cynicism.” He grinned. “So, should I call Mr. Castillo and let him know you won’t be traveling to Siena tonight?”
“Yes.” Shannon nodded. “This could either be the absolute craziest thing I’ve done, or the absolute stupidest, but either way, I’m sure it’ll give me something to talk about when I get home.”
Brandon raised his wineglass, and Shannon tapped the rim of her water glass against his. His grin widened. “I promise you’ll have the best vacation of your life.”
Chapter 4
“So this is Montalcino,” Shannon mused. She sipped from a mug of coffee and tapped her feet against the stone steps leading down into the central plaza. The sun peeked over the massive city walls as shopkeepers bustled through the town square, opening their stores to display their wares. The aroma drifting from the surrounding bakeries tempted her into another bite of her croissant.
“It’s a pity you’re not into wine,” Brandon said. He inhaled from his matching coffee mug. “The Brunello from Montalcino is especially good.”
“How can you think only of wine when the surroundings are just so…” She drew a deep breath. As she exhaled, her lips curved into a smile. “So ama
zing. Olive groves. Vineyards. Rolling hills all around.”
“Did you know that in 2008, Italian authorities confiscated four producers’ 2003 Brunello di Montalcino on charges that they had included Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot.”
Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “And this is important because…?”
“The charges were falsified; the confiscated wines were indeed Burnello.” He winked at her. “It’s my backup career plan. It’s a sweet job confiscating wines for a living.”
She laughed and reached into her backpack to pull out her guidebook. “According to this book, there are two abbeys in the area.”
“Sant Antimo and Monte Oliveto Maggiore.”
Shannon arched an eyebrow. “You really do know your way around.”
“They’re quaint. Quite a bit of walking, though, and on uneven surfaces.” He frowned. “Are you sure your knee can handle it?”
“I can, if you’ll lend me a hand.”
The abbeys were charming as he had promised, but the picnic lunch on the hills overlooking Sant Antimo was the highlight of her day. “You certainly believe in frequent breaks for meals,” she teased.
“It’s Italy. What else is there to do here?” He popped the cork on the bottle of sparkling white grape juice and poured her a glass.
“Museums. Abbeys. Cathedrals.” She sipped, touched that he had provided her with a non-alcoholic alternative. Setting the glass aside, she reclined on the large blanket he had spread out on the grass and stretched out her legs. She gently massaged her left knee. Even with his hand, steady around her waist, the uneven stone steps of the abbey had been more challenging than she would admit. “I don’t think I would have done this.”
“Done what?”
“Just stopped and taken a break.”
“The abbeys have been standing for hundreds of years. They’re not going anywhere in the next half hour it takes for us to chill out and do nothing.”
She laughed. “You’re just not what I would have expected in a lawyer.”
“You keep referring to my profession like it’s a bad thing.”
“Sorry, I got burnt once before.”
“Oh?”
“My ex-boyfriend was a lawyer.”
“Was he an asshole because he was a lawyer, or was he an asshole who just happened to be a lawyer?”
Shannon shrugged. “I was never any good at chicken-and-egg questions.” She shook her head sharply. “Anyway, isn’t it supposed to be against the rules to talk about former relationships on a first date?”
“Is this a date?” he asked.
“Do you want it to be?”
He did not reply immediately.
“You did say you wanted someone to talk to and feed,” she prompted him.
He snorted. “If all I wanted was someone to talk to and feed, I’d have bought a puppy. Less emotional effort. More emotional return.”
“Ouch, that certainly put me in my place.” She tilted her head to study him. “You don’t know what you want, do you?”
“I think I’ve done a better job of figuring out what I don’t want than what I want.”
“That’s half the battle.” She slid a slice of cheese onto a cracker and bit into it. “I have, too.”
He spread a peach fruit paste over his cracker. “What is it?”
“A guilt-free career. It was tough at the hospital. Being a rookie doctor, I landed up with the worst shifts, some of them back-to-back.”
“Exhausted, sleep-deprived doctors in the ER? It could be grounds for a class-action lawsuit.”
“Fortunately, it didn’t turn out that way, but Jerry didn’t like it.”
“Your ex-boyfriend.”
Shannon nodded. “He wanted more of my time. I didn’t have more time.” She shrugged. “He had…things—events and big client shindigs—that he wanted me to attend with him, but when I got home, it was almost more than I could do to shower and change before rolling into bed. Dressing up and going out, even if I didn’t have a conflicting shift, was more than I could manage.”
“Why didn’t you quit your job at the hospital earlier?”
“I didn’t quit because of the hours. I loved the work; I love it still. I just want to do my own thing and be my own boss.”
“Even if it results in more hours,” Brandon pointed out with a smile.
“Yes, that’s right.” Shannon laughed, but her smile faded quickly. “Jerry never actually said it—perhaps I just imagined it—but I think he resented the fact that my job was more important to me than he was.”
“Was his job more important to him than you were?”
“Of course.”
Brandon shrugged. “Well, then it’s fair play. What’s his problem?”
“I think he wanted to know he mattered more to me. It’s not unreasonable to ask for that.”
A muscle twitched in Brandon’s smooth cheek. “It depends.”
Shannon rolled onto her side so that she could better study his face. “Depends on what?”
“Depends on what he or she demands as evidence of your love.”
“What did your ex-fiancée ask of you?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. All in the past.” He topped up her sparkling grape juice and held out a bowl filled with something of questionable appearance. “Have you tried pâté?”
“You’re good at changing the topic,” she said, but played along by sampling the pâté on a cracker. She smacked her lips and licked a morsel off her lips. “Looks scary, tastes scary good.”
“Much better with wine. Won’t you try any wine at all while you’re here in Italy?”
“I never really developed a taste for it.”
“But you like sparkling grape juice.”
“Because it’s sweet. If you add enough sugar to anything, it’ll taste good.”
Brandon winced. “No self-respecting chef would ever say that. It’s about the blend of flavors, perfectly balanced as not to overpower each other.”
“An apt analogy for two professionals pursuing careers.”
His gaze darkened for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So why didn’t you compromise?” she asked.
“What?”
Shannon’s forehead furrowed on a frown. “You seem like a reasonable guy. You even know how to stop and enjoy the moments in life like this.” She raised her glass to him. “If you and your fiancée couldn’t come to an agreement on how to balance your careers, then maybe it really is a lost cause. Maybe I shouldn’t waste my time thinking that any man out there would be able to deal with my commitment to my career.”
“Relationships between two career-driven people can fall apart for many reasons, and sometimes, it’s not because they couldn’t balance their time commitments.”
“What else could possibly be the problem?”
He said nothing.
She leaned over to peer up at his sculptured profile. He did not possess the stunning and immediate impact of his sister’s breathtaking beauty, but he had beautiful bone structure and dark, expressive eyes. He was obviously an intelligent man—witty if a bit too blunt—with a career that paid well. And he could cook.
What was there not to like? Why would his fiancée have left him?
What was his fatal flaw?
“Well?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s in the past; it should stay there.”
“You realize you’ve piqued my interest.”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing interesting about my former relationship with Cynthia.”
“Will you ever tell me?”
“Not unless I think it matters in some way. It’s not that important.”
She stared at him. She supposed he was right. How could it possibly matter? It wasn’t as if she were in the market for a relationship, and even if she were, he was not the one—not when he had made it clear he wasn’t mentally interested or emotionally available.
She wasn
’t available either. She had a new job to look forward to when she returned to the United States—one that would consume all her time and energy.
Darn shame, she mused. But there was no reason to regret what she did not know, was there?
The next morning, Brandon and Shannon embarked on a slow stroll to the medieval Tuscan town of Montepulciano, which lay a mile north of Maggie’s villa. He glanced at her as she raised her face and a smile to the gentle breeze, fragrant with the smell of grapes.
“I think I’m beginning to understand why you spend your vacations here,” Shannon said. “It’s one long perfect day after another.”
“It’s easy to step out of time in a place like this.” His gaze flowed over a landscape as familiar to him as the skyscrapers of Manhattan. “No past. No future. Just today.”
“It’s difficult, but I’m taking my cues from you not to rush it.”
“And I’ll confess that sightseeing with you is a bit more interesting than soaking up the sun by Maggie’s pool.”
“Just a bit?” Her smile was teasing. “Did you ever come here with Cynthia?”
“Last year, while we were engaged.” Brandon frowned. “Maggie didn’t like her.”
“Why not?”
“Cynthia was subtly disparaging of Maggie, never to her face, and I never told my sister, but I guess Maggie suspected it or felt it somehow.”
“What kinds of things did Cynthia say?”
“Oh, the usual snide comments about blonds, beauty, and brains. Maggie doesn’t have a Ph.D. in nuclear physics, but she’s not stupid. She’s a savvy business woman with an amazing personal brand.”
“You’re really proud of your sister.”
“She’s done all right.”
Shannon laughed. “Wow, the compliments. Don’t hold them back now.”
“Maggie doesn’t need them from me, any more than she needs to be told she’s beautiful. The only jolt she ever took to her confidence was when she didn’t know if Drew returned her affections.”
“How could a man not fall in love with her?”
“When it’s Drew.” Brandon chuckled. “Actually, he was madly in love with her—he had been for years—but he didn’t want to get in the way of her high-flying career.”
