by Sabrina York
He held it up so she could see. So stubborn she cuts off her nose to spite her face.
Porsche put out a lip. “Well, that’s hardly accurate.”
“You wanted to come home, but you didn’t, because you’d left in a huff. Did I miss anything?”
She frowned at him. “You don’t understand.”
“I think I do.” He set his hand on hers. It was warm. “I was the same way.”
She stared at him, sucked in by a heart-wrenching regret on his features. “What happened?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not now. We’re talking about you. So how did you finally move back home?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he seemed unaffected by her stubborn stare.
“Well?”
It surprised her that he seemed to really want to know. She sighed. “It was kismet, I guess.”
His brow rumpled adorably. “Kismet?”
She leaned in and said, “My boss fell in love with my brother.”
“Nice.” It had been, actually. The perfect excuse for her to do what she’d really wanted to do all along—come home. Not that she would tell Crystal or Ford something like that. It would make her brother far too smug.
“She moved the company here. It was only logical that I move back as well.”
“So you live with your brother and his wife?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s not awkward at all?”
She thought back to a couple of incidents where she’d nearly walked in on something. Sometimes Ford and Crystal forgot to hie off to the bedroom when they got romantic. “It can be trying.” Especially watching them when they got all syrupy. “They’re very much in love.”
He chuckled at her grimace. “Why don’t you get your own place?”
She snorted. “I tried. But Ford likes me close. Whenever I bring it up, his face goes a funny shade of red. He raised me, you understand. I was just a kid when our parents died. And he takes his responsibilities very seriously.”
“I see that.”
“I can’t be too angry. He acts that way because he loves me.”
Brandon stilled and then fiddled with the shreds of paper towel on the table. “Am I going to have a problem with him?”
She blinked. “Oh no. Absolutely not.”
The look he sent her was one of disbelief, but all he said was, “Okay. What else should I know about you? What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.” His eyes were blue. Probably a coincidence.
“Your favorite food?”
“Cheesecake.” Definitely.
“Favorite flower?”
That one she had to think over. She wasn’t a flower kind of girl. Orchids made her sneeze and dandelions were nice until they shat their fluff all over the place. “Peonies.”
“Peonies?” He gaped at her. She had no idea why he gaped at her. “What kind of favorite flower is that?”
She glowered at him. “A pretty one.” They were. Colorful, simple and unassuming. Nothing wrong with that, was there? “What did you expect me to say?”
“Roses.” At her snort, he added, “Women love roses.”
She wrinkled her nose. “They smell.”
“Yeah. Like roses.”
“I. Like. Peonies.” She waved at his paper. “Write that down.”
“All right,” he grumbled and complied. “And I know you like dogs . . .”
“I like cats too. All animals, really.”
“And jewelry.” He glanced at her necklace.
“Anything with bling.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I have a tiara,” she confessed.
“Really?” He didn’t seem as fascinated by this as he should have been. “How did you win it?”
She blinked and tipped her head to the side. “Win it?”
“Were you a beauty queen?”
She stared at him. Was he a loon? Who would ever crown her as a beauty queen? “I bought it for myself.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Wait. I thought you were supposed to win tiaras.”
“Nonsense. No woman in her right mind waits for someone else to give her a tiara. The universe is rarely so cooperative.” You had to go out and grab what you wanted.
“Ain’t that the truth? So you like animals and buy yourself tiaras—”
“Just the one.”
“And are in love with a man who doesn’t know you exist.” Sadly, that was true. “What else do I need to know?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Claire is my best friend.”
“Cody’s sister? That Claire?”
“None other. We’ve been close since kindergarten. Since we’ve been little we always knew that one day we’d be sisters. She would marry Ford or I would marry Cody. But then Ford went and met Crystal . . . so it’s up to me, I guess.”
His expression went all serious and somber. “Which brings us around to the real core of our conversation.”
Yes. Yes it did. “Cody.”
“Right.” He leaned in and she felt the huff of his breath on her cheek. “Cody. Tell me, Porsche,” he said in a low rumble. “What is it about him you find so fascinating?”
She sat back as his question buffeted her. It was a funny thing that at the moment, staring into Brandon’s eyes, she couldn’t seem to bring Cody’s face to mind. And, worse than that, she couldn’t seem to come up with any good answers.
“I-I told you. I fell in love with him when I was a girl.”
“Right. But why? What is it about him you love?”
“He’s . . . Cody.” Surely that was enough? Apparently not, for Brandon. He remained silent, watching her with a steady gaze as he waited for more.
“He’s . . . handsome.” He was. “Physically perfect.”
Brandon’s brow quirked. “Physically perfect? Is that on your list?”
“My list?”
“You know. Your list of qualities for a mate. Everyone has one.”
Did they? She’d never really thought about it. But then, she’d been in love with Cody her whole life. She really hadn’t needed to think about it.
“So, for example, if Cody was in a car accident and, say, lost his leg, would you still love him?”
“Of course I would.” This, in something of an outraged bleat.
“How about if he lost his hair?”
She tried to imagine Cody bereft of his moppish hair and wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“Absolutely.” His glance was far too innocent. “I need to know what I’m up against here. You know. As your boyfriend.”
“Yes,” she said with a grimace. “I would . . . still love him if he lost his hair.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
She shrugged. “I like hair. Does that make me shallow?” Besides, the thought of Cody bald was . . . off-putting.
Brandon was gracious enough to say, “Of course not. He can always wear a toupee.”
“Oh my God. Toupees are worse.”
After he finished laughing, he said, “Okay. Let’s move on. Does Cody agree with your political beliefs?”
Porsche blinked. She opened her mouth to respond then closed it again. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“We’ve never discussed it.” Why on earth would they talk about politics?
“What do you believe?” he asked.
“I believe politics are boring.”
He snorted a laugh. “No. I mean, are you conservative or liberal?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Moderate?”
“So nice to meet a woman of conviction.”
That was hardly fair. “I believe I mentioned politics are boring.”
With a sigh, he let that topic drop. The next
wasn’t much better. “How about religion?”
“Oh, religion is not boring at all.” Because if she told the truth about that, she would probably go to hell.
“Do you and Cody agree on religion?” Dear God. The man was relentless.
She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “We’ve never discussed it.”
His lips quirked. “What have you discussed?”
She searched her memory for a meaningful conversation she’d had with Cody. There were shockingly few. “Football?”
“And?”
“He definitely likes football.”
Brandon shook his head and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like tut-tut. “Porsche.” He waited until she met his gaze before he continued. “Why do you love Cody?”
Because I always have, a little voice whispered. But to Brandon, she sputtered, “Why-why does anyone love anyone? It’s chemistry. It’s attraction. It’s . . .”
“Kismet?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“But he hasn’t ever given you any encouragement?”
She frowned. “I believe I mentioned the ice-cream cone.”
“Something a little more recent?”
Damn, this was depressing. She picked at a nail. “No. Not really.”
He covered her hands with his once more. “Is that really what you want for yourself? A guy who doesn’t see your beauty? Who has no clue of how brightly you shine?”
She blinked. “I shine?” He thought she shone?
“You totally shine.”
What a lovely thing to say. “Thank you.”
“You deserve better. You deserve a man who loves you for yourself. A man who doesn’t need to be tricked into noticing you.”
Another lovely thing to say.
And in that moment, she believed him.
Chapter Six
God, she was beautiful. It was all Brandon could do not to sweep her in his arms and kiss her.
But there was the table between them, which made things awkward.
Also, the fact that she was still blindly in love with a man who wasn’t interested in her. Though he’d asked her, point-blank, why she loved Cody, she hadn’t been able to answer him. That was hardly proof that what she had was only a crush—who knew why women decided they loved a man anyway—but it gave him a smidgen of hope.
He knew hope could be a dangerous thing, but he was willing to risk it.
“Okay,” she said, tipping her head to hide her blush at his compliment. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”
“I believe we established I am boring.”
Her smile was mischievous. “I told you mine. Now you tell me yours.”
What a horrifying prospect. There was so much he would decidedly not share. Not this soon. “Okay. What do you want to hear?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Who is Brandon Stewart?”
Well hell. “What kind of question is that?”
“Start with the basics.”
The basics was all there was. “Army brat. Joined the navy at eighteen. Became a SEAL. Rotated to Iraq—”
“Is that where you met Cade?”
“Yeah.” Though they’d been in different branches, over there all of the usual rivalries tended to fade—especially when a man stepped up and had your back. And Cade had. His unit had supported Brandon’s more than once. Pulled them out of the fire more often than he cared to remember. “He’s a good man.”
She nodded. “He is.”
“So, I, ah, had a couple tours and then I was injured and they rotated me out.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“What kind of injury?”
Well, fuck. “A bad one. It took me a couple years to get back on my feet.” He forced a smile, though it wasn’t funny. He decided to turn the topic. “My parents are both dead, my brother and I are estranged. After they released me from Walter Reed, the Wounded Warrior Project set me up with a physical therapist in Austin. When that ended, I found myself with no place to go and no one to answer to, so I bought this camper, and the dog, and started traveling.”
“How far did you get?”
He grinned. “Snake Gully.”
He loved her laugh, though it was laced with cynicism. “Lucky you.”
“It’s a nice little town.” The kind of place he’d always dreamed of settling down in. White picket fences. Friendly people. Good pie.
“There’s a great big world out there.”
“Thanks. I’ve seen it.” Been there, done that, blew up the T-shirt.
She leaned closer. The scent of her perfume danced to him. “Do you really like it here?”
“I really do.” He laughed at the shock on her face. “I know. It’s hard for me to believe too, but when I drove through town, it just felt . . .”
“What?”
“Right.” An unfamiliar sense of peace had enfolded him. And then, when he’d arrived at the Double Stud and Cade and his family had embraced him, he suddenly hadn’t felt all alone in the world.
And then, of course, he’d seen her.
He had a hard time trying to reconcile the feelings he had for her because he’d never felt like this before. Oh sure, he’d been attracted to women at first glance. Lots of them. But with Porsche, it was something more. She made him feel alive. She made him dare to be a better man. He enjoyed spending time with her.
He wasn’t sure it was a forever he was looking for with her, but by damn, he was enjoying the exploration.
“You mentioned a brother?”
His pulse surged. “I did.” He should not have mentioned that.
“And you’re estranged?”
“Yup.”
She stared at him, as though she were waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t intend to. Maybe his reticence was clear on his face, because she said, “No other siblings?”
“Nope.”
“What did you fight about?”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t so good at picking up subtle clues. “He said something I didn’t like.”
She rumpled her brow. “What did he say?”
“I’d rather not talk about Mark.”
“His name is Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Was it something horrible?”
Horrible was hardly the word for it. “Why don’t you ask me my favorite color?”
It took her a moment to shake off the hold of her ravening curiosity, but he knew the instant she relented. “All right. What’s your favorite color?”
“I don’t have one.”
She spurted a laugh. “Then why did you ask me to ask you? And honestly, who doesn’t have a favorite color?”
“Okay. Khaki.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Olive drab?”
“Be serious.”
“I am. Never forget, I’m a SEAL at heart.”
“I suppose you don’t have any favorite flowers either.”
He offered a bright grin, probably in thanks that she’d allowed the topic of his brother to lapse. “I do like football.”
She rolled her eyes. “All men like football.”
“Not all of them.”
“What else do you like?”
“I like dogs.”
She nodded to Dougal, who had given up on the disemboweled hedgehog and was diligently trying to rip the carpet from its moorings. She picked him up and kissed his face and murmured, “A given.”
“I like horses. Like to cook. Love good movies.”
“Define good movies.”
He rattled off some classics, many that she loved as well.
“What else do you love?”
He thought for a moment. “I love to dance.”
“Ah yes. The dancing. The reason you’re here.”
Tec
hnically, the reason he was here was because Cade had asked him, and he’d been lonely. The chance to dance professionally was only a small part of it. But he nodded.
“Are you any good?”
He couldn’t hold back his grin. “They tell me I am.”
“They?”
“The ladies who came to the club I was working at in Austin.”
“Ah. So this isn’t your first rodeo?”
“Not hardly. I started dancing as physical therapy for my leg . . .” He broke off before he said any more, but she didn’t seem to notice his reticence.
“Your injury?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it?”
“An IED.” He deliberately misunderstood her question. “My physical therapist was also a dance instructor, and got me moving. I liked it, and apparently I was good at it, so she introduced me to a friend who had a club. I auditioned and they invited me to perform. And then, who should walk in the door one night, but Cade Silver, looking for new performers.”
“That must have been a shock.”
“For him. He laughed his ass off at first, but then, when he saw how the ladies went nuts . . . Well, he asked me to come here.”
Her eyes glowed with humor. “I’m dying to see you dance now.”
“The party starts Friday night.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to ask Claire if I can sneak in.”
He liked the idea. If she were there, he’d perform just for her.
As though they had summoned Claire by calling her name—like some kind of demon from the bowels of hell—she rapped on the door to the camper just then. “Hallo,” she warbled. “Are you decent? Can I come in?” And then, in an afterthought, “It’s Claire.”
“Come on in,” Brandon called, though he was hardly certain he was decent. He was dressed, however.
It was clear Claire was surprised to find them sitting on opposite sides of the table like decent people, having a decent conversation. Decently. She frowned at Porsche. “Cody said you were here.”
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you come to the house?”
“She’s here to help me,” Brandon said, not expecting Claire to turn her gimlet gaze on him.
“Help you? Help you what?”
