by Liz Talley
“I don’t mean to.”
“But you do.” He regarded the same crack in the same planter, hating himself for caring what Mary Paige thought, for opening himself to pain.
“I don’t think you’re bad, Brennan, but I don’t want to be treated as a plaything.”
“Really? That’s what you think? I’m some martini-swilling bachelor who sticks my Johnson in anything that moves with little regard for a woman’s feelings? You have a damn bad opinion of me, don’t you?”
“No,” she said, her eyes dark in the shadows, but defensive. She didn’t care for his words? Fine. He didn’t care for being treated like some lothario who jumped from bed to bed with no consequence.
“Doesn’t show,” he said, turning from her.
“Wanna know the truth, Brennan?”
“Hmm, let’s see… I’m a Scrooge. I have no soul. I—”
“I’m afraid of what I feel for you.” Her words were soft and brutally honest, and they soothed the injury done to his pride, reined in the sarcasm before he let loose.
“Why? What do you think I’ll do to you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t you know? Can’t you feel how attracted I am to you? Don’t you think I know I’m not the kind of girl you date?”
“That’s a lot of don’ts and can’ts.” He took her hand. “Look, I’m just a guy trying to figure out what’s going on between us, too. I’m not using you.”
“But we’re so different. Our views on life are so polar opposite I’m surprised I can even see you. And I can feel myself sliding toward you. It’s like my house is shifting and I can’t get any footing. Soon, I’ll slam into love with you. I don’t think either of us should flirt with disaster.”
Love? The sound of that word on her lips clicked like handcuffs. Sobering. He’d never thought about love. It had always seemed like a word guys used to get what they wanted, and then regretted when they had to spend Saturday at Home Depot looking at pansies rather than watching the Masters. Love had always been a trap, so he couldn’t account for that particular feeling.
“Say something,” she said.
“I don’t know what to say.”
So for several seconds they simply looked at one another.
“I want to go home with you, but there will be consequences to making love. You have to understand because I don’t want to show up at your office in several weeks only to be sidelined like a naughty puppy, pushed aside because I’m bothersome. If that’s what’s going to happen, it’s better that I go inside and tack on my smiley face.”
He didn’t know what the hell to say. Is that how she thought he’d treated Creighton? Like a naughty puppy? Because on the surface it might look as such, but underneath there had been stalkerlike overtones to Creighton’s pursuit of him. She called several times a day, showed up unannounced and told friends they’d be married by the following year. He’d dated her for only a month before he found the Bride magazines. If he’d been callous, it was only as defense against her relentless hounding even after he’d out-and-out told her he wasn’t interested in a future with her.
“I can’t make promises about anything other than I highly doubt you’d come to my office as anything less than the woman you are—passionate, proud and not likely to be pushed aside.”
She tilted her head. “You think I refuse to be pushed aside?”
“Not in my experience.”
Mary Paige’s lips tipped up. “That’s a first. In fact, this whole thing—” she swirled a hand between them “—is atypical for me. I’m usually a marshmallow, a total easy pushover. But somehow I’m not with you.”
“And that’s good?” He snorted, allowing lightness to emerge between them again. They needed to ease out from beneath the heaviness of the words spoken earlier. They needed a reprieve. “’Cause I really wanted to see what you’re wearing beneath that blue satin. Why’d you have to get all staunch and guarded now?”
Her smile looked so much better than her frown. “Oh, you know me, I’m either falling down or denying you sex. I like to keep you off-kilter.”
Yeah, Mary Paige had him spinning in circles, and he didn’t know whether he loved that…or might throw up. It was disconcerting.
But he wanted more.
Mary Paige tilted her head. “On the upside, you’re bringing out something good in me—my backbone.”
“I’d rather see your backbone and what lies below it…along with other choice parts of you.” He offered her a flirty smile as the acid in his stomach quieted and a sense of rightness settled in his veins.
Slow down. Don’t force. Deep breath.
He exhaled and acknowledged this woman had been sent to move him from the prison in which he’d been enclosed. When he’d climbed off that tilt-a-whirl hours ago, he’d essentially broken through the padlock he’d placed over his soul. Now he emerged blinking and uncertain. Better to go slow. Get his bearings. Where he stood with Mary Paige wasn’t comfortable, but it was necessary. She was part of his journey to something more in life.
Didn’t know how or if she’d stay with him.
But he needed more.
Mary Paige was his something more.
“So this thing between us. Maybe you’re right. Sleeping together might be too much too fast, so let’s not rush that,” he said.
“Brennan Henry, New Orleans’s notorious playboy, agreeing to forego the horizontal mambo?”
“Well, said like that…” he teased, glad to find steady ground again even though he knew the journey ahead would be more of a carnival ride, whipping left then right, looping hard, spinning almost out of control.
“How about dinner this weekend?” she asked.
“Like a date?”
“Like something we’re not forced to do together as part of this Henry’s Spirit of Christmas thing.”
Perhaps seeing Mary Paige on those terms would bring him clarity. “Sunday afternoon?”
“Brunch?”
He nodded. “I’ll pick you up.”
Mary Paige’s smile reminded him of a child on Christmas morning, and he felt something inside the shell of his heart ping. He figured he liked making Mary Paige smile as much as he liked making her angry.
“I haven’t been out to brunch in New Orleans.”
“Then it will have to be Commander’s Palace Jazz Brunch.”
She clasped her hands together with a delighted smile, and suddenly he was okay with not relieving her of her gown. He didn’t quite understand why going slow with Mary Paige seemed so right, but he was glad they’d tapped the brakes.
He jerked his head toward the double glass doors. “I want to dance with you.”
“How did I go from wanting to punch you to wanting to kiss you…almost in the same breath?” She moved toward him.
He picked up her hand, which was cold from the night air. In fact she looked a little chilled all over. He pulled her against him, enjoying the way she fit perfectly beneath his arm. “I wish I knew.”
Before they entered the room where the band played “Moon River,” Mary Paige stilled him with a hand on his arm. “Brennan?”
“Yeah?” He looked at her, finding her amber eyes soft with apology. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I really don’t. I think you have some hard corners and a few dings here and there, but none of us is perfect, are we?”
He shook his head.
“I think you have more potential than any man I’ve ever known.”
Their gazes met and in that moment, something sincere bloomed between them. No words for it. A mere knowing between two people who didn’t know what the future held, but did know they’d always hold each other in an honest regard.
“Dance with me, Mary Paige?”
She tightened her grip on his hand and nodded.
At that moment, dancing was enough.
* * *
MITZI PULLED OUT a glittery, bright orange shrug and waggled it. “Now, this came from a boutique where the chichi shop. What do you think?�
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“That I’d look like a deranged tangerine,” Mary Paige said, sitting on the edge of her bed as Mitzi, wearing a curly red wig reminiscent of Annie, pawed through the bundle of clothes she’d brought over to help Mary Paige find the “most awesome” of outfits to wear on her date with Brennan.
“Well, he’s rich.”
“And thanks to his grandfather, so am I.”
Mitzi cocked her head. “Dude. You so are. So why are we going through all this crap when we could be buying you something that would make his jaw drop to the floor?”
Because I have no idea what to do with that kind of cash and just the thought of it terrifies me. “Because I don’t like wasting money. Besides, I haven’t even deposited the check.”
“Are you nuts? You don’t have an alarm system. Put it in the bank already.” Mitzi flung the orange shrug on top of the stack and put her hands on her hips. “What’s the deal?”
Mary Paige wished she knew. It was lame that an accountant, someone who had lifelong history of being so careful with money that it leaned toward frugality, would be so intimidated by the money. She should put it in the bank and trust that she’d figure out how to invest it and disperse it thoughtfully. But something held her back. “I will. Soon. Just have to figure out what I want to do with it.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Mitzi said, an unholy gleam entering her eyes. “Let’s go shopping, darling.”
Mary Paige looked over at her poorly stocked closet and sighed. “I guess we could go to the mall.”
“The mall? Uh-uh. We’re going to Saks or Henry’s and buying something worthy of a millionaire.” Mitzi sat beside her and picked up Mary Paige’s hand, examining it closely. “You could stand a manicure, too. Oh, and maybe a Brazilian wax. Lots of guys love when you’re all bare down there.”
“Crap on a cracker, Mitzi.” Mary Paige pulled her hand away and reared back against her extra fluffy pillows. “I’m not waxing down there.”
“Well, at least give him a landing strip.”
Mary Paige threw a cross-stitched throw pillow at her crazy friend.
Mitzi ducked. “Hey, don’t get mad because I know what guys like.”
“I know what guys like, too,” Mary Paige groused, looking around for her tennis shoes.
“What?”
“Girls who know the difference between a holding penalty and an offside penalty. Girls who cook like their mamas. Girls who—”
“Go down on them.”
“You are so bad.” Mary Paige grabbed her favorite fuzzy hoodie and pulled it over her head.
“All part of my charm,” her friend said. “Let me grab my boots and wallet, and I’ll make sure you knock this man’s socks off.”
“I don’t really want to knock his socks off.”
“Of course. His pants, then?”
“I think you’re the one who needs some action. Seriously, you’re obsessed with sex.”
“I know. It’s been too damn long.” Mitzi’s cheerful expression shuttered for a moment, and Mary Paige could feel her friend’s deep sorrow.
Since her diagnosis, Mitzi hadn’t dated or hung out with her regular friends at the pub down the street. For some reason, though she remained positive about her prognosis, she wouldn’t resume the unfettered, carefree life she’d once embraced, electing instead to hang out with Mary Paige and watch movies or help her mother with the catering business. Mary Paige suspected the loss of both her friend’s breasts had affected her more than she’d let on, causing her to narrow her world as much as possible. Mary Paige couldn’t seem to budge Mitzi from the street where they lived, so she was surprised to have an accomplice for her shopping spree.
“Meet you on the stoop in five,” Mary Paige said.
Forty-five minutes later after spending ten whole minutes looking for a parking spot downtown, they browsed through Saks eyeing the sale racks.
“I feel guilty not shopping at Henry’s.”
“Why?” Mitzi asked, raking through the mismatching pants, sweaters and skirts on the fifty-percent-off rack. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Mary Paige shrugged as she pulled out a sweater in a nice shade of cranberry and held it up. “Guess not. But I’m spending their money on a competitor’s wares.”
“Then spend your money. You have a job, don’t you?” Mitzi grabbed the sweater from her hand. “Screw this sale crap. Let’s go over there.” She pointed to the couture section, where a mannequin wore a tight electric-yellow dress with strategically placed cutouts.
“That’s a little much.”
“Come on, M.P. Don’t you wanna look like a total Betty?”
“You’ve been watching Clueless again, haven’t you?”
Mitzi laughed. “Stop changing the subject. You need to look hot. Scorching. Babelicious.”
“Why? I’ve never fit any of those descriptions. I’d rather look like me.” Mary Paige sighed, returning the sweater to the rack.
“Okay, enough of the I’m-so-plain-and-simple-I-make-my-own-soap routine. Every girl likes to feel hot. So let’s move in that direction,” Mitzi said, pointing a finger toward the section that likely contained not a single garment for less than a hundred bucks. “Because this is your opportunity to wash the taste of that bum Simon out of your mouth with a guy who will treat you right.”
Mary Paige stopped between a stand of bathing suits and one of business suits. “Who says he’ll treat me nice? What’s so great about being an afternoon amusement for Brennan Henry?”
“Negativity from Mary Paige Gentry?” Mitzi spread her hands out and looked around as if she didn’t know where she was.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out the parallel universe I got sucked into,” her friend joked. “Come on, stop being negative. What’s wrong with a little afternoon entertainment? You’re a big girl. Maybe you need to use him and not let it be the other way around. Sex could lead to friendship, friendship could lead to love. Whatever.”
Mary Paige ignored the idea of using anyone for anything but she couldn’t ignore the last part. Her heart throbbed with the mere thought of a happily ever after with Brennan. It wouldn’t happen. There was no alternate universe. Just reality.
“Here’s the deal. He has a fascination with me because I’m a regular girl. I have a fascination with him because he’s gorgeous and rich and all that our mothers told us to chase after with a leash. But he won’t fall in love with me, ask me to have his babies or take me to live in his mansion on the hill.”
“New Orleans doesn’t really have hills, you know,” Mitzi said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Besides, why can’t he take you off to have his babies? It’s not like he’s freakin’ royalty and you’re some tavern wench. You act like he’s special.”
“No, but gazillionaires don’t fall in love with prostitutes and marry them like they do in movies.”
“Pretty Woman? Really? That’s why you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face? Besides you’re not a prostitute.”
“Okay, maybe basing my reasons on a movie isn’t so valid, but if you play with fire, you get burned.”
“Or light a torch that will burn forever.”
Mary Paige started moving across the polished aisle toward the section with the vibrant yellow dress. “Never knew you were such a romantic under all that acerbic wit and blustery bravado.”
“I don’t even know what those words mean. I went to public school.” Mitzi unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it in her mouth. “And if you’re going to play with fire, you might as well look ah-mazing doing it.”
“But only if you let me buy you something, too.”
Mitzi stopped in front of a mannequin wearing a full-length faux fur and looked down at her thin body clad in a bulky jean jacket and leggings. An expression of infinite sadness flitted across her face before she said, “In the children’s section?”
“If you’d wear the prosthetics, no one would know.” Mary Paige slid her arm through M
itzi’s then tucked a red curl behind her friend’s ear.
Mitzi swatted her hand away. “I know.”
“Mitz, lots of women have breast cancer and have surgery like yours. Why don’t you go to the support group and talk—”
“Stop trying to fix me. I’m trying to fix you,” Mitzi growled, her eyes almost feral.
So it was too early for her friend to greet the reality of life without that part of herself. “Fine, but I’m buying you something. At least a manicure.”
“Deal. We need to go to the spa anyway.” Mitzi turned toward the section where Mary Paige would drop a lot of coin. No doubt about it.
Mary Paige could do a new dress, but she was absolutely not getting any unmentionable areas waxed. A gal had to draw a line somewhere…and it wouldn’t be a landing strip.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MALCOLM ROLLED OVER and looked at Judy sleeping in the morning light that streamed through the sheer fabric hanging in the oversize windows of his room. She looked like an angel, and his heart swelled with love.
Last night had been the best night of his life. He’d laughed, loved and fallen hard for the small woman with the huge heart. It felt incredible.
Why had he waited so long to ask her out? Why had he waited so long to fall in love again?
He knew that answer.
He’d made MBH Industries his life, ignoring anyone with a heartbeat, including his only grandson.
“Morning,” Judy whispered, her lovely gaze finding his, caressing him with the softest of looks.
“Morning, beautiful.” He lifted a strand of brown hair from the pristine whiteness of the down pillow.
Judy rolled over and stretched, her shoulders bare, her face relaxed. “I can’t believe I slept so late.”
“It’s not late. Only eight-thirty.”
“Late for me.” She glanced down at her body covered by the sheet. “I can’t believe I slept naked.”
Malcolm laughed and tugged the sheet down so that one of her small breasts was exposed. “Let me see.”
“Malcolm Henry,” she shrieked, jerking the sheet to her chin, but laughing. “Oh, no. It’s morning.”
Her gaze found his, and in it he saw the tiniest flicker of regret. Not something he wanted to see, not when the night before he’d found such beauty in her arms. There had been nothing tawdry about the way they’d loved each other. “And why?”
