His eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between Ted and Gwen.
No way.
“Gwen, if it’s not safe, your parents are going to understand. And hell, then you can hang out with me.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, and when she turned to look out at the street, he added, “I know it won’t be the same, but I have a party for friends who haven’t got any family in town. I do it every year, and it’s definitely a more-the-merrier event. I swear you’ll have a good time.”
“That’s a nice offer,” Ted said, his body language all but screaming not a fucking chance. “But unnecessary. We’ll be able to get out no problem tomorrow.”
“Guess we’ll have to let Mother Nature decide.”
Twelve hours later, Brody was staring out his front window, grinning at more snow than he’d seen since he was a kid as Gwen’s sleepy voice filtered through the line.
“I told him not to even try it, but he’s so bullheaded. He only made it about a block from the lot where he rents his spot.”
“He’s okay though?” Brody asked, to make sure. He didn’t want Gwen to be worried about anything, and while Ted was a dick, he didn’t really want the guy to get hurt. At least not seriously.
“He’s fine. But it’s going to be a few hours, if that, before they can get a truck to tow him.”
Brody still couldn’t believe the fucker had tried. One look out the window would’ve told any reasonable man he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting out of the city. Ted deserved what he got. He hadn’t just been willing to risk himself; he’d been willing to risk Gwen’s safety too. And that had the skin across Brody’s knuckles straining tight around the fist he couldn’t quite let go.
Pulling the phone back to his ear, he said, “So you’re coming to my party?”
“When do you want me over?”
Now. Last night for the whole night, definitely this morning.
Damn, he needed to shut that thinking down. But he’d been trying for weeks now, and it only seemed to be getting worse. And now Gwen wasn’t going to be driving off with Ted at all. She was going to be with him.
“An hour give you enough time?” he asked, loving the bubbly sound of her laughter. “I’m serious, Gwen. I’ll be over in an hour to walk with you. We can pack a bag with whatever you want to wear tonight.”
Another warm laugh tickled his ear and warmed his chest. “Brody, it’s ten a.m. Your party doesn’t even start until seven, right?”
“Yeah, but you’ve got a VIP pass. Perks of being the girl I’m into,” he explained, keeping his tone joking when deep down, he knew he was serious.
She sighed. “About that. Ted doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to make it tonight. Even though he’s very appreciative of the offer… I think he, umm, has other plans, so you may be off the hook in terms of being into me for the evening.”
If only it were that simple. Brody was pretty sure he was into her whether Ted was there or not. Just as he was pretty sure Ted didn’t have other plans, considering the guy had been trying to drive out of town until twenty minutes ago.
Not that he cared. But because he knew Gwen cared, he added, “In case those plans fall through, let him know the offer stands.”
“I will.” Then after a pause, she asked, “Are you really going to be here in an hour?”
His grin spread wide. “Nah. Make it fifteen minutes. And keep your pajamas on. It’s going to be a cozy, hot-chocolate-in-front-of-the-fireplace kind of day.”
Chapter 8
She hadn’t entirely believed him, but fifteen minutes later, Brody was there, kicking the snow off his gigantic boots and shaking his hair free of it when she opened the door.
Looking like some sexy abominable snowman, he grabbed her bag and said, “Let’s go.”
The snow was thick and deep, crunching first beneath their boots and then beneath just Brody’s after he insisted on giving her a piggyback ride through most of the four-block trek. She’d expected him to wear out fast, but the guy kept chatting, laughing, and threatening to dump her into the snow the whole way. By the time they reached his place, she’d been laughing harder than she could remember.
Brody’s home was amazing. It was an old, converted warehouse with high ceilings and heavy rustic furniture blended with modern accents. It was perfect for him. Everything a bit bigger, a bit sturdier, and a bit more inviting than the norm.
And then there was the kitchen. This guy had it all. Top-of-the-line range. Spacious marble counters, a fridge bigger than her bed, and an enormous island in the center with plenty of space for prep work as well as a buffet.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” She sighed, running her fingers along the marble. “Was it like this when you bought it? Or did you have it remodeled yourself?”
Brody opened one of the upper cabinets and pulled out a couple of handmade mugs. Setting them on the counter, he retrieved a saucepan and then an assortment of ingredients from the fridge and cabinets. “Sam Farrow, this guy out of Wicker Park, did most of it for me. But the space had been partially converted before I moved in. We just fine-tuned it.”
“Well, it’s beautiful. In fact, now that you’ve let me into your secret lair, you may never get me out.”
“Secret lair?” He shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, aside from this party once a year, guess I don’t really have people over too often.”
He poured milk into the saucepan and then added one ingredient after another. “It’s not that I’m a super private guy. Or that I don’t like the company. It’s more that I do most of my entertaining at my second home.”
“Belfast?” she asked as he grated some chocolate into the mix, gave it a stir, and then grated some more.
“I’m there so much. And the only time I’m not is when most people are at work.”
She’d never thought about it before, because Brody was such a social guy. “Does that make you lonely?”
He stopped stirring, seeming to really think before he answered her. “It didn’t use to. But sometimes.” Satisfied, he divided the steaming, fragrant concoction between their mugs. “The good news is, when I find myself getting lonely, I’ve got this friend I call whose laugh always makes me feel like she’s right there with me, filling up all the empty space.”
She smiled. For as hard as it had been to say goodbye to her kindergarten class the day before, a part of her liked the idea that for the next six months at least, she’d be sharing Brody’s backward schedule. Maybe neither of them would have to be lonely.
As promised, they drank their chocolate by the fireplace in a deep leather couch so comfortable, Gwen thought it might swallow her whole. Brody sat at one side while she sat at the other, her feet pulled up beneath her.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said after a sip of the most decadent hot chocolate she’d ever tasted.
Brody’s head dropped back as he looked up to the exposed-beam ceiling, thinking.
His hair had dried into a wild mess of curls, and it took everything she had to stay where she was, to not crawl over and run her fingers through them just once. It was no wonder the women could never stop touching him.
When he looked back at her, he grinned. “I wear a size thirteen shoe.”
This time, it was her turn to laugh. “Okay, somehow I’m not surprised. But that wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. Tell me something about you. About who you are and how you got to be this way.”
Giving her a jut of his chin, he asked, “What way?”
“I don’t know. So personable. From what I’ve seen, you can talk to anyone about anything.”
His jaw shifted to the side, and he was looking at her as if he was trying to decide how much to say. For a man as talkative and open as he was, he kept some parts of himself very private, and she found herself half holding her breath, hoping he would open up to her.
“I like people. I like talking to them, getting to know them. Figuring out what makes them tick and what makes them different. My mother isn’t that way, I don’t think. And I never really knew my father, so it’d be pretty tough to say how much nature played into it. But with sixteen different nannies before I hit prep school, it’d be safe to say nurture had a hand.”
Gwen could only blink.
“I know, kind of a lot of information I just unloaded on you,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Want me to break it down? Or maybe you’re good.”
“I think maybe you could break it down…but, Brody, only if you don’t mind.” Because suddenly, she could see how uncomfortable he was, and being the reason he felt that way was the last thing she wanted. “You don’t have to.”
His eyes cut to hers, and then he shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t talk about my family a lot, so I’m a little rusty. But it’s no state secret. Or maybe it is. I don’t know that much about my father. I only met him once, and I didn’t know for sure who he was until about seven years later after he’d died.”
“You didn’t know?” she asked, suddenly wishing she wasn’t sitting so far away from him.
“My mother is an international corporate lawyer. I believe he was a client. A married client. And she was very serious about protecting his privacy. Probably her career too. It’s important to her.”
“But he knew about you?”
Brody nodded. “I think there just wasn’t a place for me in his life.”
What a sad thing to have to come to terms with. And what a tragedy that his father had missed out on knowing this amazing man!
“You said you met him?”
There was a ghost of a smile on his lips as Brody nodded, his gaze lost in some middle space. “Yeah. My mother wasn’t very accessible. She worked long hours and traveled all the time. But once when I was about ten, she came home from a trip, and instead of closing herself off in the office the way she usually did, she came and found me. Told me to get dressed because we were going out to dinner. I was freaking out, sure she was going to tell me Nina—I think that one was still Nina—was going to be gone when we got home. Replaced with whomever she’d hired to take care of me next. I asked her, but she said no. She just wanted to have dinner with me, and there might be one of her friends there, so if he came by, I should be on my best behavior.”
“Did you know?” she asked, imagining this big, strapping man as a vulnerable boy.
“Not right away. But when he came to the table, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He didn’t have the same hair or eyes… I got the Irish from my mother’s side. But this guy was big, Gwen. And there was something about the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t just someone else’s kid he was being polite about meeting.” He cleared his throat and looked at her. “He was probably only there for five minutes total. Never sat down. But he smiled at me before he left and told me I seemed like an impressive young man, and my mother should be proud.”
“Five minutes,” she whispered. That’s all his father had given him.
He met her eyes, letting her see the acceptance in his. “It was a good five minutes.”
“Do you think your mother loved him?”
Brody let out a short laugh, as though maybe he’d never thought about it before. “I don’t think she loves anyone. I don’t think she’s built that way.”
He didn’t think she loved him.
“Gwen,” he said, that deep voice gentle. “You look like you’re about to cry, and I won’t be able to take it if you do. I didn’t tell you about my parents to break your heart. They didn’t break mine.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “My mother is cold and distant, and she wasn’t around for me. But she made sure I always had someone who was.”
“The nannies?” How many had he said there were…sixteen?
“She always hired girls in their early twenties, younger even than you. And they were without exception adoring. You want to know why I’m such a good listener and I like people so much? It’s because I grew up going to their coffee dates and lunches and friends’ houses, and when they weren’t fawning over me, they were talking like women that age talk.”
“But why so many? Why not just hire one that stayed with you through your youth?”
He shook his head. “She wanted me exposed to as many different people and influences as possible. Honestly, I think she was trying to do the right thing for me. But her brain just doesn’t work that way.”
Gwen was afraid to ask, but she had to know. “Were you happy?”
“I was.” His grin spread. “Now ask me something else.”
Something that wasn’t going to break her heart even if it hadn’t broken his. Something good. “How about the bar. How did you get into that?”
More relaxed, Brody made another of those considering faces before answering. “I grew up wanting my own restaurant. The plans for the bar came later. My grandmother owned this swank place in Manhattan, and I thought there wasn’t anything better.”
“Your grandmother?” Could this guy get any better?
And the answer was a resounding yes, because then he reached back, pushing his big hands through the untamed curls of his hair and making his shirt stretch tight over his chest and arms. Nice. Brody slid the elastic off his wrist to bind the hair that liked to fall in his face. It wouldn’t stay that way for long. Within fifteen to thirty minutes, she’d bet all those wild red-brown curls would be back on the loose.
But for now, he settled back against the cushions. “Yeah, the story goes that my grandfather opened the place before he met her. And one day, she came in with a date who’d done her wrong. Big mistake. She had a temper and apparently wasn’t afraid to show it. So when she finished chewing this date out, Fiona was getting up to leave, and my grandfather stopped her to offer her a job. He thought she could keep the kitchen running with that fiery Irish temper.”
Gwen was getting that warm, swelly feeling in her chest as she leaned forward, eager to hear more. “And then he fell in love with her and taught her to run the whole restaurant?”
Brody coughed out a laugh. “Not quite. She told him what he could do with his offer and suggested if he had a better one, he had until she was out the door to give it to her. So he asked her to marry him instead.”
She was up on her knees, her chocolate set on the table behind the couch so she could clutch her hands over her heart. “Oh my God, no wonder you’re such a romantic!”
“Oh, Gwendolyn. You give me those eyes and tell me I’m the romantic?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Hate to ruin it for you, but Fiona thought her husband had rocks in his head. Remember this is the woman who raised my mother. The happy ending to Fiona’s story was her husband died within a year of marrying her, so she didn’t have to leave him, new baby and all…plus she got the restaurant. Anyway, one summer, I got to stay with her, and she taught me to cook and—”
Gwen’s brows crumpled, that warm, swelly feeling in her chest deflating in a rush. “Wait… What? No.” She leaned forward, poking him in the shoulder. “That’s the worst love story I ever heard!”
And now he was laughing for real, those sea-green eyes flashing at her as he wedged himself farther back into the couch cushions. “Love story? Sorry, but that’s not really how the women in my family are. Hey!” he yelped when she poked him again. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to poke the bear?”
Oh yeah, some bear. She’d heard people call him that before—because he was so big, she guessed—but the only kind of bear this guy could be called was a teddy bear. She poked again and again because… “Yes, love story! You totally set me up.”
Poke. Poke.
“Gwen.”
She was pretty sure that was supposed to be a warning, but no way could she take it seriously when the big guy was literally tryin
g to wiggle away amid those deep, rumbling laughs.
Poke.
But then, lightning fast, the world spun, and Gwen found herself laid out across Brody’s lap, held in place by the strong hand still wrapped around her wrist and the solid arm supporting her back. She blinked up into Brody’s too-green, too-deep, too-soulful eyes, caught there and held. The laughter died between them, and she swore that, even as tightly as he was holding her, the world shifted again.
A furrow dug between Brody’s brows, and that dark stare cleared, going light in a blink. The corner of his mouth kicked up.
“Warned you,” he said, shifting back on the couch and helping her to stand before getting up himself. Then after a wide-armed stretch, he grinned back at her. “Time to get cooking. You want to watch and be awed or help out? I’m happy either way.”
Gwen stood where she was for a moment, watching as Brody headed for the kitchen.
He looked back, an easy smile on his face. “Gwen?”
She shook off the remains of a moment she hadn’t quite been ready to let go and followed after. “I’ll help. I love to cook.”
* * *
It had been a perfect day, spent in the most perfect way. He’d given Gwen his present early, not wanting an audience when he made his excuses about why he’d bought her jewelry as if she were his girlfriend, even though she wasn’t. She’d thrown her arms around his neck, pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek as she thanked him for the heart-shaped ruby earrings he hadn’t been able to resist because they made him think of how sweet she was.
And then she’d tormented him, telling him about the present she had for him but refusing to let him have it, because she wanted him to have something to open on Christmas morning. He might have tried to work her for it, because he wanted to open it when she was with him. Opening presents alone on Christmas morning sucked hard. But this year, he thought maybe she’d stay. Not in his bed. Or maybe in his bed, but not naked in his bed. And maybe he would have someone to open gifts with in the morning. With that outcome in mind, he hadn’t pushed.
Decoy Date Page 8
