Demanding His Brother's Heirs

by Michelle Celmer

  “But you healed. You made a full recovery.”

  “More or less. I still ache when it rains, or if I let myself get too cold, and having so little body fat left I chill easily.”

  He’d noticed that last night.

  “It also affected my pregnancy.”

  “In what way?”

  “I fractured my hip in the accident so my OB was concerned about my carrying a child. When we found out it was twins, he worried that my bones couldn’t handle the pressure of all that extra weight. When I went into early labor in my fifth month he put me on mandatory bed rest. For the next three months I had to rely solely on Jeremy.”

  “How did that go?” Jason asked, pulling his shirt back on, robbing her of her eye candy.

  “It was okay at first. But by the time I had the twins I could tell that his patience was wearing thin. Up until then, in the short time that we were together, I had pretty much taken care of him. I did the cooking and the cleaning and all the shopping. He was a bit like a fish out of water.”

  “Jeremy could barely take care of himself, much less a wife and two kids.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted to be home with the twins. I didn’t mind taking care of him. I’ve always supported myself, but the jobs I had never gave me much satisfaction. I love being a mom. The thought of passing the boys off to a sitter while I worked nine-to-five had very little appeal.”

  “I don’t think it’s old-fashioned,” he said. “My mother was a stay-at-home mom. If I had decided to marry, I would want my wife to stay home with the kids. If she wanted to.”

  “You know, I still don’t get why you’re relationship phobic.”

  His look said he thought she was a little left of center. “I’m not exactly husband material.”

  Huh? He would make some lucky woman an amazing husband. Unless he had some hidden horrible trait that scared women off. “You’re kind, and generous, and I’m sorry, but have you looked in a mirror lately? Because, damn. You break the ceiling on the hottie scale.”

  He grinned. “Thanks.”

  “And you’re a good kisser. Who lives in a mansion.”

  “And can never have children without potentially passing on the gene that caused my condition. A long time ago I made a vow to myself to never have a family.”

  “But technically you still can, right?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I knew that at some point I might be tempted to have a child despite the risk. That as I got older I might decide out of sentimentality that I want an heir. So I made sure that I could never change my mind. So...” He make a snip-snip gesture with his fingers.

  She sucked in a quiet breath. “You had a vasectomy?”

  “After my transplant. It was the only way to ensure that I would never pass on the disease. It would be cruel to put a child through that because of my own selfish needs.”

  Wow, talk about taking a radical step. She knew so little about her own family history, but she refused to live her life based on what-ifs. “That must have been a heartbreaking decision to have to make being so young. I honestly don’t know if I could do it.”

  “My feelings are neither here nor there. I know I did the right thing.”

  And she could understand why he did it. It was a selfless and responsible decision, but the right one? She wasn’t so sure about that.

  “Okay, so you can’t have children of your own,” she said. “There are a lot of women out there who wouldn’t care. Not every woman has baby fever.”

  He sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “If you could see into the future when you met Jeremy, and you knew he would die, would you still have married him? Would you have even gotten involved with him?”

  Her first instinct was to say yes, of course she would have, but it was a little more complicated than that.

  “It’s a tough one, isn’t it?” Jason said. “I’m essentially a walking time bomb.”

  “I thought you said you were perfectly healthy.”

  “I am now. But a week from now?” He shrugged, as if they were talking about the weather or sports, or something equally insignificant. “Who knows? The anti-rejection drugs could stop working and my body would reject the heart. Or it could just give out.”

  Just the thought tied her stomach into knots. “How long do transplanted hearts usually last?”

  “It depends on the person. There’s a man in England who has been living with a transplanted heart for over thirty years. Some last only a few years. How can I, in good conscience, knowingly put someone through that kind of loss?”

  “But like you said, it could last you thirty years or more.”

  “Is that a chance you’d be willing to take?”

  “My situation is unique. I already buried a husband.”

  “And that,” he said, “is precisely why we can never be more than friends.”

  As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. The thought of losing a second husband was bad enough. But to lose the twin brother of the first was beyond the scope of her comprehension. Just thinking about the possibility made her stomach clench. No one should have to put two husbands in the ground. But she was so drawn to Jason, so fascinated by everything about him. The thought of never kissing him again, never feeling his hands on her body...

  “What if we agree that it’s just sex,” she said.

  He leveled those piercing eyes on her and she felt their intensity to her very soul. “Holly, I think we both know that you and I together would never be just sex.”

  He was right, of course. She would fall head over heels in love with him. “So we’ll just be friends,” she said, and though it was what he wanted, she saw conflict in his eyes, and even worse, disappointment. It wasn’t fair that she should find a man so wonderful, so perfect in every way.

  Well, almost every way.

  “Are you up to meeting my friends Lewis and Miranda?”

  “Sure. That sounds like fun.”

  “I thought we could have dinner here so they can meet the boys, then go to the yacht club for drinks. Faye already agreed to watch the boys. I’m not sure if you noticed, but she loves having the three of you here.”

  “I noticed. But there might be a slight problem.”

  “What problem?”

  To her, yacht club meant fancy. And she didn’t do fancy these days. “I have a closetful of clothes that are two sizes too big. These jeans are about the only thing I have that fits. And even if I’d had the money to buy a new wardrobe, I haven’t had the time since the boys were born. So I literally have nothing to wear.”

  “That,” Jason said with a grin, “is a problem I can fix.”

  Nine

  When the doorbell rang that evening, Holly, who was still in her room getting ready, got a sudden and severe case of the jitters. What if Jason’s friends didn’t like her? What if she used the wrong fork or slurped her soup and embarrassed Jason? She hadn’t exactly grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, but she was no socialite.

  Although she sort of looked like one.

  Jason had insisted on buying her clothes that actually fit, and after a halfhearted protest, and his insisting that she let him do something nice for her—as if he hadn’t done a whole mess of nice things already—she agreed to let him take her shopping for a dress.

  He kept fixing her problems, and it always seemed to require that he pull out his wallet. But she had to admit that the sundress she chose for tonight looked pretty darned good on her. With a full skirt and halter bodice, it had a distinct retro feel and made her look a little less like a skeleton. She even took the time to use hot rollers in her hair, so it fell in soft waves down her back. She’d never worn much in the way of makeup, but as a final touch she’d brushed on mascara and applied her favorite peppermint-flavored lip gloss
.

  The boutique he had taken her to in town had the most beautiful clothes she’d ever seen. All designer labels fit for royalty. And though she knew it must have been ridiculously expensive, after stealthily checking the price on an eight hundred dollar purse, she’d stopped looking at the tags altogether. The two sales girls had fallen all over themselves catering to her every request, showering her with compliments. It had been almost like a scene out of the movie Pretty Woman. Only she wasn’t a prostitute and, no offense to Richard Gere, but Jason was way sexier.

  Though they had gone into the boutique with the intention of buying one outfit, he’d talked her into half a dozen, and hadn’t even blanched when he’d handed his credit card to the cashier. Holly tried to feel guilty, considering all he’d done for her already, but he just seemed so...happy. Giving to others seemed to give him immense pleasure. And she could see where someone with fewer scruples could easily take advantage of that.

  She would never come right out and ask him for money or clothes, or if she did, it would be out of sheer desperation. But she figured that if he was offering it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him every now and then. And indulge herself.

  The knock on her bedroom door drew her away from her reflections, and the butterflies in her stomach went on a violent rampage.

  She opened the door to find Jason standing there.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed, as his eyes raked over her, was a mumbled “Oh, my God.”

  She cringed. “Good or bad?”

  “Oh, definitely good. You look...” He shook his head, as if grappling for the right thing to say. “I have no words.”

  She smiled. She’d rendered him speechless. That was kind of cool. She knew she looked good, but not that good. Or was it just that while everyone else saw the plain and ordinary woman who stared back at her in the mirror every morning, Jason saw something special in her. Something unique.

  “That dress looked good on you in the store, but with your hair down like that...” He reached over and twisted one silky strand around his finger, then let it slip free. “Just...damn.”

  In a dark shirt and slacks he looked good enough to eat. “You don’t look half bad yourself. Are they here?”

  He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. “Is who here?”

  She really had thrown him for a loop. “Your friends. I heard the doorbell.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, they are,” he said, still looking a little dazed. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready, but nervous.”

  “Don’t be. They’ll love you.”

  She would have to take his word for it.

  She let him lead her down the stairs, and the butterflies went berserk. But the couple holding her sons and sitting on the sofa in the family room were not at all what she had expected. Jason made the introductions. Lewis was considerably older than his wife, who Holly guessed was only a few years older than she was. Miranda was petite, but a little plump, with jet-black hair she wore long and curly. She was exceptionally pretty, with huge brown eyes, a cute button nose and fire-red pouty lips.

  She surprised Holly by pulling her in for a firm hug and saying, in a thick Southern drawl, “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Holly liked her instantly.

  “Your boys are just cute as buttons,” she said, bouncing Devon gently on her shapely hip. “I’ll bet they’re a handful.”

  “They can be, but Faye has been such an incredible help to me.”

  “They look just like you,” Miranda told Jason, then paused, guilt washing over her face. “I’m sorry, Potter. Was that insensitive of me?”

  It took a second for Holly to realize that she was talking to Jason.

  “It’s okay,” Jason answered.

  Miranda shrugged helplessly. “You know me. My mouth moves faster than my brain sometimes.”

  “We were identical,” Jason told her. “It only makes sense that they would look like me. And it’s all right to talk about him.”

  Lewis had executive written all over him, from his styled salt-and-pepper hair, to his Italian leather loafers. He had kind eyes, and held Marshall with the ease of a man who’d had children. “How old are they?” he asked Holly.

  “Almost four months. Do you two have children?”

  “Not yet,” Lewis said, glancing over at his wife, who promptly burst into tears.

  Stunned and horrified, Holly stood there with her jaw hanging, unsure of what to do. She’d known them less than five minutes and had made the poor woman cry. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Honey, don’t you even worry about it,” Miranda said with a sniffle, plucking a cotton handkerchief from, of all places, her bra, which was already busting at the seams with her ample bosom. “It’s these darned fertility drugs. They make me weepy.”

  “In vitro,” Lewis told Holly.

  “One minute I’ll be right as rain, and the next inconsolable.” Miranda smiled through a sheen of tears and squeezed her husband’s hand. “But it will all be worth it when we have our own little angel.”

  “Pardon the interruption,” Faye said from the doorway, sparing Holly the burden of an awkward reply. “Dinner is served.”

  “Oh, good!” Miranda said, brightening instantly. “I’m starved.”

  She led the pack out to the deck. A coral sunset served as a backdrop to a mouthwatering meal and lively conversation. Miranda dissolved into tears three more times, but was able to laugh it off afterward. And Holly could tell that Lewis adored her. They talked briefly about their three-year struggle to conceive, but Holly could see that it was a very touchy subject for Miranda. She also kept calling Jason “Potter,” which Holly thought was a little strange; she assumed it was a nickname from an inside joke they shared. Maybe Jason liked to garden? Or smoke pot?

  After dinner they took the boat across the lake and docked it at the marina. The yacht club was busy, and all heads turned when Jason entered the room. The hostess greeted him by name and led them to a table on the veranda.

  They ordered after-dinner drinks and a tray of gourmet bite-size desserts that were to die for, though it was difficult for Holly to eat feeling so self-conscious. No matter which direction she turned her gaze, she would catch someone watching her. At first she thought maybe they were looking at Jason, because he certainly was easy on the eyes and obviously highly respected. But when he and Lewis stepped away from the table briefly to talk to a friend at the bar, the curious looks didn’t follow them.

  “Why are people staring at me?” she whispered to Miranda, while the men were gone.

  “Because you’re beautiful, and you’re currently shacked up with the hottest catch on the East Coast.”

  Shacked up? “I’m living with Jason, yes, but there’s nothing going on. I mean, he’s my brother-in-law. It’s totally platonic.” Or it was supposed to be. Having feelings for each other didn’t mean they should act on them.

  “Honey, let’s be honest,” Miranda said, sipping a glass of club soda and lime. “There is nothing platonic in the way Potter looks at you.”

  There it was again, that strange nickname. “Why do you call him that?”

  “Potter?”

  Holly nodded and Miranda chuckled. “He’s the villain in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. You know, Mr. Potter. The richest man in town.”

  It took a second to connect the dots, and when the picture was clear, the truth hit Holly like a freight train. “Are you saying that Jason is the richest man in town?”

  “You didn’t notice that his house is by far the largest on the lake? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the median net worth in town is definitely in the millions. As far as I know Jason is the only billionaire.”

  Holly blinked, positive that she’d misheard her. “I’m sorry, did you say billionaire?
”

  “You didn’t know?”

  Holly shook her head, and only because she was so dumbfounded her vocal cords had seized right up.

  Miranda chuckled. “Honey, you should see your face.”

  She’d known Jeremy had money, and a lot of it. Hundreds of thousands at least. Maybe even a million. But never in her wildest dreams had she considered that he could be a billionaire.

  The enormity of it was almost too much to take in. Her breath backed up in her lungs and her brain immediately started to shut down. Her vision began to go dark, her ears started to buzz and the chair swayed underneath her. Or maybe she was the one swaying.

  “Whoa, there,” Miranda said, grasping Holly’s arm, but the other woman’s voice sounded miles away. And she no longer looked amused. “Don’t you go fainting on me now.”

  Jason did seem to have that effect on Holly. She blinked her eyes, willing herself to stay conscious, to get some much needed blood back to her brain. She knew the best way not to pass out was to put her head between her knees, but in the middle of a fancy restaurant?

  Would that be any more humiliating than passing out in a fancy restaurant?

  Miranda slid a glass of water at Holly and said, “Drink this.”

  Holly took a sip, then another, leaning against the table for support. Gradually her vision began to clear, the buzzing in her ears faded into the background noise and her chair found its balance.

  Miranda was frowning, which made her crimson lips look even more like a bow. “You okay, hon?”

  Holly nodded. “I think so. It’s just so...huge.”

  “I take it you don’t come from money.”

  She shook her head. “My parents died when I was ten. I grew up in a foster home.”

  “I grew up in a trailer park in Georgia, so I can relate. I met my first husband when I was working as a waitress at Hooters and living on a friend’s couch. I was only eighteen and he was twenty-seven years older than me with the craggiest mug you’ve ever seen. But he was sweet as honey and he loved me. He was also rich and I was desperate. The marriage lasted less than a year, but we remained good friends until he passed away.”