“It’s just a bit of lace. There’s nothing daring about that. And it’s totally lined, so no one is going to see anything but the fabric underneath. Just try it, okay?”
“All right.” Mary slipped on the dress and stood in front of her mirrored closet doors to get the full effect. “Oh, wow. This is nice.”
“Told ya.” Alice went into Mary’s closet for a pair of nude pumps. “You can wear these with it.”
“What purse do you think I should carry?” She might as well let her sister choose the whole ensemble.
“Let’s see.” Alice rummaged through the closet and uncovered a black evening bag with a gold chain strap. “This will do. You should add some hoop earrings, too. I have a pair that will sparkle through your hair.”
Soon Mary was ready, with every accessory in place.
A second later, Alice said, “You’re going to knock him dead.”
Mary didn’t reply. She just needed to get in her car and go, before she lost her nerve.
* * *
From the moment Mary entered the restaurant, Brandon couldn’t take his eyes off her. And now, as they sat across from each other in a scarlet booth with a gold velvet curtain dividing them from the rest of the patrons, he was still staring at her. He thought she looked fresh and radiant, an unpretentious woman striking a complicated chord inside him.
Was his attraction to her primarily sexual? Was that what was driving him? Or was it something more? In the past, he always knew what he wanted from a woman. But with Mary, he was conflicted.
The orchid-and-candle centerpiece cast a soft glow, making the table seem like a gentle barrier, even if the wood was polished to a slick, hard shine.
While they drank hot tea and sampled appetizers, he waited to see if she was going to mention his father’s book. So far, she hadn’t brought it up. But they were still in the preliminary stages of their date. The small talk, he thought. The stuff he would prefer to get past.
He decided to broach the subject himself. He finished the pot sticker he’d been eating and said, “I’m dying to know if you read Kirbyville.” That was the title of the biography, as well as the nickname for the luxurious compound where his dad still lived and where Brandon and Tommy had been raised.
“Yes, I read it. I devoured it, in fact.” She hesitated, as if she was summoning her thoughts. “I’m fascinated that the author is Matt’s fiancée. That they met while she was researching the book. I liked that she included a bit about her relationship with Matt in it and how they became a couple. It was nice that Tommy’s relationship with Sophie was highlighted, too.” She paused once again. “But the parts about you were the most interesting.”
He studied her in the pale light. “Because I’m depicted as the levelheaded one? The glue that holds my family together?”
She reached for her tea, the jasmine brew steaming in its cup. “Is that what you are, Brandon?”
“It’s who I’ve always been, I suppose.” But at the moment, he didn’t feel very levelheaded. Would she let him kiss her tonight? Would he be able to tangle his hands in her hair? She’d worn it long and loose, just as he’d hoped she would.
“There were portions of the book that I found unsettling,” she said. “But I...”
He gauged her hesitation. “If you’re concerned about bringing up sensitive subjects, don’t be. Everything in Dad’s biography is fair game. He’s the one who put it out there, and as far as I’m concerned, you can say whatever you think.”
“It’s about your parents and their relationship.” She scrunched up her freckled nose. “In the sections where your mom was interviewed, she said that she would have preferred a monogamous husband. But she allowed your dad to have mistresses because she knew he would have cheated anyway. I don’t see where that benefited her.”
“I know.” He admitted how it affected him. “That was always hard for us kids to comprehend, too. I think it’s what made Tommy into a playboy when he got older, and why it took him so long to realize that he loved Sophie. We didn’t have conventional guidelines to follow. I’m still not sure if I’ll ever settle down. Marriage has always scared me. But maybe I’ll get over that someday.” For now, he was just trying to come to terms with his attraction to Mary.
After another brief pause, she said, “The other part about your parents’ relationship that troubled me was that the only thing your mom ever asked your dad not to do, he still did.”
“Having a baby with someone else? Then being a crummy father to that kid, besides?” Brandon couldn’t deny how selfishly his father had behaved in that regard. Matt had been born to Kirby’s longest-lasting mistress—a woman in Texas who’d more or less raised Matt alone.
“I don’t know if I could have forgiven your father if I was Matt.”
“You seem like a forgiving person to me.” He couldn’t imagine her holding a grudge.
She glanced away, and there was an awkward lull between them. A second later, she returned her gaze to his and said, “In the book, I was rooting for your mom when she divorced your dad. She seems like a good person.”
“She is. But deep down, I think my father is, too. He’s genuinely sorry for all the pain he caused.”
“That’s what he kept saying in the book, but it’s still a lot of hurt. Not just to your mom and Matt and his mom, but to you and Tommy, too.”
“Actually, it wasn’t as bad for me. He wasn’t an ideal parent, that’s for sure. But he didn’t back me into an emotional corner the way he did with Tommy.”
She frowned. “Why would he, as loyal as you’ve always been to him?”
Brandon frowned, too. “You don’t approve of the way I support him?”
“I didn’t mean...” She seemed flustered, as if she feared she’d said too much.
“It’s okay.” He let her off the hook. He’d told her to be honest with her feelings. “Maybe you can meet my dad sometime and see what you think of him in person.”
Her teacup rattled when she picked it up. “Maybe we should just stick to the here and now.”
Yeah, he thought, maybe they should. This was only their first date and already he was thinking of introducing her to his dad? “I guess that would be a little soon, especially after you just read his book. Tommy is interested in meeting you, though.”
She blinked at him. “You told your brother about me?”
“I mentioned that I was going out with someone new.” He couldn’t tell her the rest of what he’d said about her. About how it might only be sexual. About how mixed up he was about her. If he had his way, he would take her back to his place tonight and strip her beautifully bare.
“Is Tommy interested in every new person you date?”
“No. But I told him how different you are from the women I usually go out with.”
“Different how?”
“I described you as sweet and unassuming.” He pictured her in his bed, wrapped in a sheet with her hair strewn across his pillow. He had all sorts of wayward images of her rattling around in his mind. “I hope you don’t mind being described that way.”
She studied him over the rim of her cup. “You can describe me however you want. But the way you look at me makes me feel wilder than I am.”
Her admission went straight to his zipper. “Maybe you’ve just been tempering that side of yourself before now.”
“But I’ve never noticed feeling this way before.” She lowered her voice. “I think it’s coming from you.”
Brandon could’ve batted this subject around all night, but the waiter arrived with their entrées, putting an end to it.
After their server left, they settled into their meals. They’d both ordered spicy dishes.
Neither of them spoke. They’d gone from an intimate conversation to nothing at all. He couldn’t stop staring at her and wondering about the wild feelings she’d mentioned. But he didn’
t think it would be polite to bring it up again, not while they were struggling for something to say.
He gestured to her paper-wrapped chopsticks and asked, “Don’t you like using those?” He noticed that she’d opted for a fork.
She quickly replied, “I’ve never gotten the hang of chopsticks.”
“I can teach you. But it would be easier if I sat next to you.” It was a good excuse to move over to her side of the booth, to sit beside her, to breathe her in. “Do you want to give it a try?”
“Okay. But if I drop some food on my lap, don’t laugh at me.”
“Don’t worry.” He got up from his seat. “I’d never do that.” He scooted next to her, and they turned to face each other. In the next oddly romantic moment, he moved a strand of her hair away from her face. Then, feeling the need to explain, he said, “I was just trying to keep it from getting in the way.”
“Maybe I should do it.” She tucked both sides of her hair behind her ears. With an audible breath, she opened her chopsticks and broke them apart. Then she asked, “What’s the right way to hold these?”
“Just do it lightly. If you grip them too hard, that’s when you might drop your food or send something flying.” He demonstrated with his chopsticks, placing them where they were supposed to go. He explained that the bottom chopstick remained stationary, while the index and middle finger did the lifting with the second one. “See?” He raised a piece of chicken from her plate and put it back down. “Now you try it.”
She kept fumbling and losing her grip. He suspected that her nerves were coming into play, with him sitting so close to her. The sexual energy between them was palpable, as thick and spicy as the sauce on their food.
She said, “Your meal is going to get cold if you stay here and try to help me eat mine.”
He leaned a little closer. “But you’ve almost got it.”
“I do?” She locked gazes with him instead of glancing down at her food.
He stared at her, too. “Just try it one more time.”
She gave it another go, lifting a piece of diced bell pepper to her mouth. He watched her. She tried for another bite and missed her mark.
She shook her head. “At this rate, we’ll be here all night.”
That would be one way of spending the night with her, he supposed. “Just keep practicing when you can.”
“I will. And thank you for trying to teach me.” She swapped the chopsticks for her fork. “But I think I’d better go back to this.”
“No problem.” He returned to his seat. The lesson was fun while it lasted.
“Where were we?” she asked.
He resumed eating. “What do you mean?”
“In my review of your father’s biography.”
“Maybe we should cover that another time.” He wanted to learn more about her. “Why don’t you tell me what the future holds for you?” He’d already admitted that he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to settle down. “Do you plan on getting married someday?”
“I don’t know.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m probably as uncertain about it as you are.”
“Really?” He expected a more conventional answer from her. “Why?”
“It just seems counterproductive to be waiting around for happily-ever-after.”
Happily-ever-after aside, he still wanted to kiss her. That desire hadn’t gone away. No matter how conflicted he was about her, he kept coming back to that damnable kiss. “Are your parents divorced, too? Is that why you’re not any more marriage-minded than I am?” It seemed like a possibility to him, but he was still eager to see what her reasoning was.
She stirred the rest of the kung pao chicken on her plate. “My parents passed away, and I’d prefer not to talk about them. My grandmother is gone, too. Alice is my only family.”
“I’m so sorry.” He met her fractured gaze. Her eyes were big and brown and sad. He could see her vulnerability from where he sat. “I had no idea it was just you and your sister.” His family was quite literally an open book. But hers wasn’t, and he needed to respect that. But the less he knew, the less she shared, the more of a mystery she became.
A mystery he didn’t have a clue how to solve.
* * *
After Mary and Brandon finished their entrées, they ordered fried ice cream for dessert. While they waited for it to be served, she wished this were just a normal date where she didn’t have to keep so much of herself hidden.
But still, what about the things she had told him? Like the wild way he made her feel? She shouldn’t have said that, even if it was true. Everything about him sent her into a tailspin. When he’d sat next to her to help with the chopsticks, she’d barely been able to breathe. And now they were trapped in another of those strangely silent moments.
Their desserts finally arrived, giving them both something to do.
He picked up his spoon and broke into the crispy shell that surrounded the ice cream. “Have you ever made this?”
“No, but I always wanted to experiment with different recipes. In Asian cuisine, it’s common to fry the ice cream in a tempura batter. But it can be made with cornflakes, nuts and cookie crumbles, too.” She tasted the dollop on her spoon and let it melt in her mouth. Hers was covered in caramel sauce. He’d gotten his doused in chocolate.
“Dessert is always my favorite part of a meal. I snacked on all of the leftover pastries you sent home with me. I had to hit the gym a little harder this week, though.”
She imagined him glistening with hard-earned sweat. “Why do the things that are so bad for us have to be so good?”
“That does seem to be the case. But indulging in the forbidden can be fun.”
Or dangerous, she thought. If she indulged with him, heaven only knew what might happen. She still hadn’t decided if she should let him kiss her tonight.
“Do you want to trade?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“You can taste my ice cream, and I’ll taste yours.”
It was a common suggestion, she thought. People routinely shared desserts, but with him it struck her as sensual.
He slid his bowl toward her. “Here you go. Have some.”
She followed his lead and nudged her bowl in his direction. She wished that he wasn’t Kirby Talbot’s son. If he was just a regular guy, she could let herself enjoy his company without guilt or fear.
They dipped into each other’s ice cream at the same time. They even swallowed in unison.
“What do you think of mine?” he asked.
“It’s just as good as mine.” Sweet and crunchy and filled with flavor.
“Do you want to switch back or have another bite?”
“I’ll take one more.” Mary sucked down another spoonful of his ice cream and nearly moaned from the pleasure. The way he was watching her was making her feel sexual again.
After they returned to their own bowls, he asked, “Did you study art? Is it a requirement for becoming a pastry chef?”
She tried to act normal, to respond as if her body hadn’t been betraying her. “No, it’s not required. But pastry chefs need to be naturally creative and make their work look as appealing as it tastes.” She added, “I took a few drawing classes in high school. I was always pretty good at it.”
“I can’t draw or paint worth a damn. But I’m a collector. I love going to museums and galleries and acquiring new pieces.”
“I appreciate how art makes me feel. The emotion it can evoke. I hardly ever go to galleries or museums, though.” That just wasn’t part of her world.
“Maybe you can go with me.”
Was he asking her out again already? He was definitely the most aggressive man she’d ever dated, but her experiences were limited. “So you can teach me how to be a connoisseur?”
“Sure, why not? My favorite is contemporary. But I collect modern, too.
”
“I always thought they were the same thing.” Which proved how little she knew. “My high school art classes didn’t cover that.”
“Modern begins in the ninetieth century and ends around the 1970s. Contemporary is anything after that period and up to now, where it’s forever changing.” He leaned into the table. “I have collections in both of my houses.”
“Both?”
“I have a city loft and an estate in the country. I don’t spend as much time there. Sometimes I’m not even sure why I bought it, other than its proximity to Kirbyville.”
The luxurious compound where he’d been raised, she thought, where his father still resided. She’d seen pictures of Kirbyville in the book. Mama hadn’t been there, as Kirby had never brought her to his home. Their affair had taken place at a hotel, where Mama had been hidden away from Kirby’s private life. But Brandon wasn’t trying to keep Mary hidden. He’d already invited her to meet his family. For now, she just couldn’t fathom it.
Continuing their conversation, she asked, “Why don’t you spend more time at your country estate? And what was wrong with you buying it?”
“I just feel weird, sometimes, rattling around there alone. I have caretakers who run things, but it just seems like a waste of space for one person. I keep telling myself that I should offer it up for charity events, but I never do.”
Mary used to help out at a soup kitchen back home, but that wasn’t the same as what he was talking about. She wouldn’t know his types of charities if they jumped out of a dozen cupcakes and bit her on the nose. “You could sell it.”
“True. But then I’d have to relocate all of the art I have stored there.”
“You do like your art.”
“Yeah, I do. I even bought some paintings that you inspired.”
She angled her head. “Do they have pastries in them? Are they hanging in your kitchen?”
He sat back in his seat. He’d already finished his ice cream. “They’re in my bedroom at my loft.”
Nashville Secrets Page 4
