by Beth Andrews
“Not long ago, the paper ran an article about him,” she said. “About his job and all the awards he’s won and how one of his wines made it onto some sort of top one hundred list—”
“Wine Spectator’s annual Top 100,” Brady said, unable to stop staring at her mouth now. “He’s doing well for himself.”
Giving him a half smile, as if unsure if he deserved a full one, she used the back of her hand to brush her hair back. “I’ll say. Funny that he works for wineries all over the world when his family owns one right here.”
No, what was funny was how at ease she was now that they were talking about his brother. How, sitting this close to her, he could smell the soap she’d used in the shower. See the tiny freckles dotting her nose. And that with her eyes bright and those few loose curls framing her face, J.C. looked fresh and soft and…pretty.
“If you want,” he said mildly, “I can tell Matt to call you next time he’s in town. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to get together with you.”
J.C. blanched. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. So far my experience with the Sheppard men has sucked.” Though her words were cold, he detected a slight tremor in her voice. “I’ll get the chocolates. I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”
This time when she walked away, he studied the wall in front of him. Once she disappeared into the kitchen, he tipped his head back, hitting the chair. Then he did it again.
And because his hands were twitching, because he felt unsettled and edgy, because panic was there, right there at the back of his mind, he pulled a bottle out of the case. Merlot. Not his favorite—and a far cry from the whiskey he preferred—but it would do. He just needed it to get him back on an even keel. With that promise, he took the wine and the corkscrew he’d brought and headed to the bathroom.
Where he could have one drink without worrying about J.C. and her disappointment in him.
LIZ COULD THINK OF NOTHING better than coming home after a grueling twelve-hour night shift to the smell of bacon and Carter’s special buttermilk pancakes. Unless it was the sight of him standing at the stove wearing nothing but a pair of red and green checked pajama pants.
“Hi,” she said cautiously. He may be making her breakfast and, she glanced at the set table, bought her a dozen red roses, but that didn’t mean either of them had forgotten the tension between them was still as strong as it’d been on Thanksgiving. “What’s all this?”
A cup of coffee in one hand, a spatula in the other, he said, “It’s breakfast.” Liz’s heart did one slow roll.
“I can see that,” she said, tracing her fingertip over a silky rose petal. “But…why?”
On the Saturday mornings when Carter didn’t have to make rounds at the hospital, he was usually still in bed when she got home from work. She’d slide under the covers and, more often than not, they’d make love before she drifted off to sleep.
After shutting off the stove, he transferred the pancakes to a tray and carried them to the table. “Because I wanted to do something for you.” He took both of her hands in his, brought them up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “And because I hate this distance between us.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Me, too.”
“I’ve missed you.”
She nodded. Though they’d been together the past week, they’d barely spoken. And when they did, their conversations were stilted. Overly polite. The only time they touched was when they slept. They’d wake up wrapped in each other, but it never went any further.
It’d been torture.
He sat and pulled her onto his lap. “I blew it all out of proportion, what happened on Thanksgiving. I was…” He exhaled and shook his head, his hair tickling her cheek. “I was jealous.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. That wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want Carter to be jealous. Didn’t want him to doubt her love, not even for a second.
But she couldn’t tell him the truth, either. How betrayed she felt. The thought of Brady and J.C. together infuriated her. She couldn’t even face her own sister. Couldn’t forgive her.
Worse was that she’d dreamt of Brady, of the way they used to be together. The way he’d kissed her. Touched her. Made love to her.
“You have nothing to be jealous of,” she promised. “Brady and I are over. We’ve been over a long time.”
He slid one hand up to her rib cage, his thumb brushing the side of her breast through her long-sleeved T-shirt. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose you,” Carter said, his eyes searching hers.
“Never.” She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, inhaled his familiar scent. Caressed the warm skin of his shoulders.
And thought of how Brady had looked the other day when she’d gone to return his ring. Angry. Lonely.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. No. She wouldn’t think of him. Not when she was in her husband’s arms. Not ever again. She needed to get Brady out of her system. Before she lost everything. Her sister. Her husband. Herself.
“You’ll never lose me,” she repeated firmly.
Shifting so that she straddled him, she trailed biting kisses up his neck. He moaned, his hands going under her shirt to smooth her back, down her stomach. She trembled and pressed against him. Kissed him hungrily, loving how solid he was beneath her. How hard. How he was all hers.
“Liz,” he said, cupping her breasts. “I love you, baby.”
She arched into his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders. “I want you, Carter,” she told him, gasping when he grazed her nipple with his thumbnail. “Only you.”
His eyes flashed and then he kissed her again. Grasping her under her rear, he stood and swept one arm over the table. Plates and food crashed to the floor, the vase of roses shattered. And as her husband laid her among the ruins of their breakfast, Liz had one man in her thoughts. In her heart.
Him.
“HAS HELL FROZEN OVER?”
Brady glanced at Aidan sitting behind their dad’s large mahogany desk, his cell phone up to his ear, one hand covering the mouthpiece.
“Why?” he asked as he entered his dad’s—now his brother’s—office. “Did you get laid?”
Aidan grinned as he leaned back in his leather, ergonomic chair. “It’s not even eight—”
“Don’t remind me.” Brady slouched in one of the matching checked armchairs facing the desk.
“It’s just…unusual…for you to be lurking outside your hovel before— Zachary,” he said, turning back to his phone conversation. “It’s Aidan Sheppard. Sorry to call you so early on a Saturday but…”
Zoning his brother out, Brady tipped his head back. Aidan’s Irish setter, Lily, padded over and nudged his hand until he scratched behind her ears.
Aidan needed to redecorate. The room was the same as when his father had been alive. Sunlight shone in the large window to his right, splashing light on the cream area rug and the wide board oak floor. The built-in bookcases on either side of the window still held his father’s books—everything from his favorite author’s political thrillers to biographies to books on horticulture and winemaking techniques. Interspersed among them were framed family photos, a few knickknacks and Tom’s prized baseball trophy.
Even the bronze statue of a frog, standing on two legs, dressed in knee-high boots and tunic playing a guitar—the statue their mother had claimed too ugly to be seen in any other room—stood in the spot Tom had proudly picked out for it.
And people accused Brady of not being able to let go of the past.
With Aidan’s voice no more than a soft murmur in the background, Brady let his eyes drift shut. When he’d come out of the bathroom last night, he’d been steadier. Ready to deal with J.C. and, more importantly, ready to ignore the feelings she evoked.
He wasn’t sure if she realized what he’d been doing in the bathroom, how he’d gulped down one glass worth from the bottle of merlot as some sort of anesthetic. But she didn’t kick his ass to the curb.
By the time he got home, he
was trembling with the need for a drink. After his first shot, he poured himself another and…hadn’t been able to drink it. Because he’d had too much to do to get ready for this impromptu meeting with Aidan, he reminded himself. Not because he kept seeing J.C.’s face. Not because every time he lifted his glass he felt as if he was failing himself.
His body relaxed, the constant tension that tightened his shoulders finally eased. Until the first memory hit him, hard and fast like a bullet. Thad’s laughter as they drove down the dirt road. The cloud of dust kicked up from the tires. The old man who’d stood on the side of the road, his face lined and weary.
The images came faster, flashing through his mind. The explosion. The sharp pain in his knee, his head smashing against the pavement. Coming to, his leg mangled. Through the thick echoing in his ears, women and children were screaming and comrades shouting, crying out for help. Smoke. Burning bodies.
His buddy lying in the street, his eyes sightless.
Lily whimpered. Brady was clutching the dog’s fur. Breathing hard, he forced his fingers open and the dog slunk over to Aidan. He gulped in air, his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.
“You okay?” Aidan asked quietly.
Damn. How long had his brother been off the phone? Resting his elbows on his knees, his head lowered, Brady nodded.
“Here.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the coffee Aidan offered and downing half of it. Lukewarm.
“Want to talk about it?”
Talk? Hell, all he wanted was to forget it. “I’m good.”
Aidan studied him, his hands clasped together on top of his desk. “All right,” he said slowly. “But if you ever do—”
“Yeah. Thanks,” he forced himself to add before finishing off the coffee. He set the cup down and tossed the folder in front of Aidan.
“What’s this?”
“It’s all the reasons you should reconsider J.C.’s chocolates.”
Aidan took off his reading glasses. “As much as I’d like to help J.C. out, I already told you we don’t have the money in this year’s budget. Besides, I’m not so sure chocolates would sell well, especially with the economy being the way it is.”
“Sales of gourmet chocolates have been rising steadily for the past few years,” he said. “Plus, twenty-five percent of annual candy sales are made between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Aidan raised his eyebrows. “You learn about candy in the Marines?”
“In boot camp, right after I learned how to take apart and reassemble my M16.” He shifted. “I did some research.”
God bless the internet.
“That what this is?” Aidan gestured to the folder. “Your research on chocolate sales?”
“Among other things,” he mumbled. He loosened his neck muscles, moving his head from side to side. “Just read it.”
Aidan put his glasses back on, opened the folder and began to read the top sheet. It was a far cry from a real business proposal but it was the best he could do without experience.
Brady stretched his leg out and whistled softly for Lily. She hesitated, but when he held out his hand and snapped his fingers, she walked over, her ears back, her head down.
“Sorry, girl,” he murmured, rubbing her head. She wagged her tail and dropped beside him. And as easy as that, she forgave him.
If only humans were that easy to placate.
After what seemed like an eternity, Aidan set the papers down and studied Brady over his glasses. “You did all of this?”
“J.C. came up with her projected costs. My pairings.”
Aidan tapped a mechanical pencil against his desk blotter. “Expensive candy. I can go to the convenience store and pick up a candy bar for under a buck.”
“She’s making a quality product with high-end ingredients.” According to J.C., anyway. Brady had been impressed with her refusal to use cheaper ingredients. “Don’t you appreciate her high standards?”
“I do. I even agree with them. But that doesn’t mean I want to do business with her. What if we agree to a deal and she can’t hold up her end of the bargain? Or decides she’s bored and would rather move on to something else?”
“She won’t.” Although for all he knew, those were very real possibilities. And if Aidan didn’t stop tapping that damn pencil, Brady was going to shove it up his—
“You haven’t been back long,” Aidan said, dropping the pencil, “so you may not realize that as sweet as J.C. is, she also has a reputation for being unreliable.”
“Is that where you get all your information? Local gossip?”
“Does it matter if it’s gossip if it’s the truth? I don’t want to take a chance on conducting business with a vendor who may or may not provide her product.”
“She’ll provide it,” Brady said, pushing himself to his feet. He’d make sure of it. “Make one of those consignment deals. That way you’re not out cash and she still gets to sell her candy in the gift shop.”
Aidan closed the folder. “Not interested.”
Brady linked his hands together on top of his head. Blew out a breath. “What do I have to do?”
“For what?”
He dropped his arms. “To make this happen.”
Aidan smiled—never a good sign. “Work for the Diamond Dust.”
“That’s it?” He’d figured it’d be something…bigger. Stop drinking. Or go back to physical therapy.
Bare his soul to some shrink.
He almost wished it had been one of those stipulations. Then he could’ve walked away.
“There are a few provisions—”
“Of course there are.”
“—such as you, and you alone, are in charge of getting J.C.’s chocolates in the gift shop. I don’t care what type of agreement you make with her as long as we don’t lose any money.”
Brady pinched the bridge of his nose. “No pressure there.”
But Aidan wasn’t done. “You have to put in eight solid hours of work a day, five days a week. And the first time you show up for work drunk, the deal is off.”
“You realize this is blackmail.”
“Funny. In business, we call this negotiating. Take it or leave it.”
Brady ground his teeth. He couldn’t imagine working for his father’s company after all these years. Or worse, having Aidan as a boss. And what if he had another panic attack or whatever that had been? He couldn’t control when the flashbacks came. Couldn’t control how he’d react.
Besides, J.C. told him she didn’t need this. And he’d set up that savings account for the baby. She could dip into that anytime she needed. Except she wouldn’t.
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“When do you want me to start?”
CHAPTER NINE
“JANE MONTGOMERY? Is that you?”
J.C.—along with the rest of the people attending the Diamond Dust’s Holiday Open House that Saturday—looked toward the sound of the high-pitched voice. A short, busty brunette in dark skinny jeans and killer red leather boots elbowed her way through the crowd.
“If she’s not careful,” Brady murmured from behind J.C., causing her to jump, “she’s going to jiggle right out of that shirt.”
“I can see where that would bother a guy,” she said, her heart thumping against her ribs.
What was he doing here? She hadn’t spoken to him since a week ago when he’d called and told her she could sell chocolates at the Diamond Dust’s open houses on consignment.
“I didn’t say it would bother me.”
She looked up at him so quickly she almost wrenched her neck. “Holy cow. Did you make a joke?”
“I never joke about women and jiggling.”
Before she could decide that yes, Brady Sheppard had indeed shown some humor, the brunette reached them. With a squeal guaranteed to ring every eardrum within a five-mile radius, she threw her arms around J.C.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” the brunette said, rocking her side to side.
“You look fabulous! I hardly recognized you.”
Rounding her shoulders and sticking her hips back in an attempt to keep her baby bump from touching the other woman, J.C. met Brady’s eyes over the other woman’s head. But he held up his hands. The universal signal for, “You’re on your own.”
“Uh…thank you,” J.C. told her new hug-buddy. “Who are you?”
The woman pulled back, squeezing J.C.’s hands. “It’s me! Tina Harris.”
J.C. blinked. “Tina?”
Last she’d heard, Tina worked in real estate up in Richmond, having lived there since high school. J.C. scanned the other woman head to toe. No wonder she hadn’t recognized her. While she could now see Tina in the pert nose and dimpled smile, her hair was shorter and a far cry from the brassy blond she’d dyed it to in high school.
And those boobs? Totally new.
“Wow. It’s nice to see you,” J.C. said. “You look terrific.”
“Forget about me.” Tina held their hands out to the sides as if to better showcase J.C. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you. Do you remember Brady Sheppard?” She stepped back to include him.
“Of course. You went out with J.C.’s sister, didn’t you? You two were such a dream couple. I imagine you’re married with a few kids by now, am I right?”
Though nothing in Brady’s expression changed, J.C. could feel his tension.
“Brady and Liz broke up over a year ago,” she mumbled.
Tina’s dimples disappeared. “That’s such a shame. The same thing happened to me and Mike…you remember Mike Nivens, don’t you?” she asked J.C. before turning to Brady. “Mike and I were high-school sweethearts like you and Liz except we dated a few months, not years and years like you two. But after graduation, we went our separate ways. Which worked out for the best,” she said with a giggle, holding her left hand out.
Good God, how did she even lift her hand with that rock on her finger?
“Congratulations,” J.C. said.
