He was too perceptive, and she feared he would see the truth of how much he’d affected her. How she’d never felt this level of intensity before, and she wasn’t sure how to handle the feelings he stirred.
Inhaling the scent of lavender that wafted from her oil diffuser, she attempted to bring herself back down to something more grounded. Something less dangerous than the feel of her body pressed to his.
She was in way over her head.
She had gone into this to escape from her confusing feelings about her family, but now she had a whole fresh batch of tender feelings to deal with, and this time those emotions had Ward’s name on them. She didn’t know where to put all of the rawness she felt, but she already wanted to be with him again. And if she wasn’t careful, she would throw caution to the wind, which would leave her defenseless. Something she vowed never to be again.
Sitting on a barstool in Brea’s kitchen, wearing only his boxers, Ward felt like he’d time traveled back to his marriage.
Which was the last thought he wanted to be having right now with the scent of Brea still on him, with the rush of their incredible sex still humming through his veins.
He wanted this affair with her. He deserved it, damn it.
And except for their morning coziness, it was nothing like his marriage.
Through sheer force of will, he shoved back memories of his broken marriage and lost child. The here and now was all that counted for him. His job. This moment with an incredibly sexy woman.
A woman with whom he also needed to keep his wits about him.
Beside him, Brea fluffed her long, dark hair. Slicing through his thoughts with the way his tuxedo shirt rolled up along her thighs, hinting at the curves of her bottom. She’d made a sangria blend from wine and fruit, serving it with avocado slices, shrimp and chips. Working beside her to prepare the snack had been easy and intimate.
A bit too close to domesticity for his peace of mind. And from the looks of her, she was as uncomfortable as he was.
He rested a hand on her knee. “I don’t regret what we did.”
She gave a shaky breath. “I don’t either. It was just more intense than I expected. Apparently, I’m no good at casual sex.”
He hadn’t expected such an honest response from her. “We are fake dating.” Even though they were most definitely having real sex. He squeezed her knee, smiling. “That’s a step beyond casual.”
“Okay, I can see that.” She gave him a wry smile. “Thank you for not taking my words as some kind of request that you get down on one knee and propose.” Brea scooped up an avocado slice and a piece of shrimp onto a blue corn tortilla chip and popped it into her mouth absentmindedly.
Her words chilled him. “Not a chance. Been there. Done that. Bear the battle scars.”
“Because of your daughter?”
Brea’s knee brushed his. The touch brought a mixture of exciting newness and a past that haunted him.
“My stepdaughter,” he reminded her. “I thought a person got married, and the rest fell into place over time. I was in love with my wife. I loved her kid—thought of Paisley as my own child. We were going to be a family.”
“What happened to Paisley’s biological father?” She brought the strawberry to her lips. Bit into it and watched him thoughtfully. Intensely.
He swallowed another swig of wine. “He died before she was born. Paisley thought of me as her dad.” And that stabbed clean through him. “She thinks I abandoned her.”
“Oh, Ward, that’s so sad. Is that what her mom told her?”
Silence pressed on him for a moment. The weight nearly stifled his next words. The reality and truth they spoke.
“She told her she has a new dad, and that I wasn’t her real father.”
“I’m so very sorry—for you and for Paisley.”
“People tell me kids are resilient.” He drew in a shaky breath, his memory echoing with Paisley crying when he said goodbye. He reached for a blue corn tortilla chip. Pressed it into his palm until it broke into two. Then he scooped the avocado and shrimp onto one of the pieces and chewed thoughtfully.
Brea nodded, quiet for so long, he wasn’t sure she’d speak again. He waited, letting her find her pace.
“That may be true. But it wasn’t true for me.” She frowned down into her glass. “Maybe I should have told you otherwise.”
Again, she’d offered more openness than he’d expected.
“I appreciate that you’re honest. I hate being lied to.”
“Me, too. The truth is confusing enough without having to sift through deceit.”
He stroked her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Then let’s agree that no matter what else is going on, we’ll be honest with each other.”
She bit her bottom lip, looking away for a moment before continuing, “You can’t think we’re going to tell each other everything?”
His Spider-Sense went off.
What was she hiding?
Even as he wondered, given how closed off she’d become so fast, he knew his chance of getting her to say it was next to nil. “I don’t think any man wants to talk that much.”
“Okay then.” Brea took a delicate sip of sangria, smiling as the glass touched her lips. The dark red wine deliciously stained her mouth. Drawing him in again.
She gave him the laugh he’d hoped for, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.
But it didn’t do much to quiet his questions; in particular, the need to know what Brea was hiding that made her so wary. And he couldn’t escape the niggling sense that he was focusing on what she was hiding to keep from thinking, from feeling, all the things she made him think and feel.
He damn well wasn’t going to put his heart on the line ever again.
Five
Brea couldn’t sleep.
She didn’t regret having sex with Ward. She did, however, regret that she couldn’t just enjoy the aftermath of lazing next to him in a haze of post-sex bliss. Judging by the pounding of her heart, the window of such utter contentment had firmly closed.
She wanted to be with him again.
Too much. Desire pounded through her. So much, she needed to reestablish her equilibrium before facing him again.
Making love to Ward had set her senses ablaze, made everything more vibrant. Even her mind was firing on all cylinders, which made her think of the past. Or rather, both of her pasts. Her life seemed sliced into two parts—before and after the plane crash that took her mother’s life.
Brea sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of her. She’d been searching the internet for the past few hours. The quest gave her something to distract her from how much she wanted to crawl back under the sheets. Each breath she took drew in the scent of him lingering on his shirt, which she still wore.
Focus, she admonished herself. For so long she’d searched for clues about the accident—about what might have caused it, about who might have been involved—but it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Today’s quest involved looking into aircraft-maintenance records. Her research quest wasn’t exactly a sanctioned one. But she was afraid if the wrong person learned she was still prying, they would destroy any leads to what happened all those years ago.
She studied the aircraft reports in front of her, losing herself in the monotony of page after page that had been scanned into digital files. She knew Tally Benson—soon to be Steele—was related to the mechanic who’d worked on the aircraft. But there had been a number of others who’d worked on the aircraft or had been involved with the flight. Even though Tally had told everyone about her father’s connection, it still seemed surreal for her to now be a part of the family in spite of that connection. Even though the crash wasn’t the woman’s fault, how could the Steeles look at Tally and not think of what her dad had done?
Brea wondered if s
he too was a reminder of what had happened, what the family had lost.
What someone had wanted to destroy but had failed.
And if someone harbored feelings of guilt or vengeance, wouldn’t those feelings be magnified by Brea’s presence?
Scanning her gaze along the photos lining the mantel, she felt something tug at her subconscious. Something she needed to pull into the forefront and examine. But her memories about that day were as clear as mist.
She’d never been able to bring into sharp focus the events of the twenty-four hours surrounding the crash, the terrifying images too laden with her emotions for her to sift down to the facts underneath. Afterward, when she’d gone to her adoptive family for answers, their accounts had swayed her strongly. They’d told her that her Alaskan family was no good, that they had given up on her. That they were corrupt. She was better off without them. And even knowing that the couple who had claimed to love her for her entire teenage life had been lying to her, she still couldn’t bring herself to trust the Steeles.
It was ironic that while she’d been with her adoptive parents, she’d mistrusted her biological family. And now she was finding it tougher to believe in the people who’d taken her in, her perspective tilting completely. It was enough to drive a person mad.
The tingly sense of being watched had her sitting up straight and fast. So fast, she nearly toppled the barstool at the island. She turned to find Ward standing in the bedroom doorway, watching her.
His boxers hung low on his lean hips, drawing her eyes to his washboard abs, then lower. Her mind flooded with memories of the passionate way they’d tangled in the sheets and all the sensual things she still wanted to experience with him. They could find that bliss again, if she let herself.
He combed his fingers through his rumpled hair. “What’re you working on?”
Ice chilled her heated blood. She swiveled on the barstool, back to her computer, rapidly shutting down the screen. How could she have forgotten what she was doing? And why had she allowed herself to be so reckless as to research the Mikkelson and Steele families while Ward was under her roof?
She slammed the lid closed. “Just, um, checking emails and researching articles on relaxation and meditation to see if it can help me sift through the memories of my past. Hearing Delaney talk about childhood memories was really helpful.”
The lies rolled off her tongue with an ease that made her uncomfortable, especially so soon after discussing being honest with each other. But she’d realized she would never find the answers she sought if she didn’t circumvent the truth on occasion. She didn’t enjoy lying, but it was a means to an end.
She also knew those fibs needed to have something with teeth, something with an element of truth. In this scenario, Delaney had been helpful in confirming her confusion and mistrust.
“That’s a good idea.” He strode closer to her, his steps silent, like a lean tiger’s. “Any interesting emails?”
Very. Including one from a lady who’d worked at a local airport around the time of the crash. Not that Brea intended to tell him that. Instead she settled on sharing another email. “My family—the Steeles—want me to come to lunch tomorrow. Delaney told them how well our discussion about the childhood memories went.”
“Are you sure it’s wise to push that hard?” Blue eyes shone as he gave Brea’s hand a squeeze. The touch passed fire between them even now.
There was no rule book for this sort of situation. She hadn’t meant for her life to grow so enmeshed with Ward’s, but what had started as a fake relationship had surprised her by giving her an outlet for the intense stress she’d encountered while digging for answers. Now she could only move forward and try to make the best of her situation.
She was in too deep to turn back now.
“I don’t think it’s wise to bury my head in the sand and assume all will work out.” Which she’d done in the months after her adoptive parents had died. She’d packed up a couple of trunks full of belongings—books they’d read together on long winter nights, crafts they’d made, a dress she’d worn to a high school dance and, of course, that fateful shoebox she’d opened later to find her few surviving belongings from the day of the crash. “The only way to know who to trust is to get to know my family better. So yes, I want to go to lunch.”
To learn more.
Information was power.
“What would your counselor say?”
She appreciated his concern, but his coddling? Not so much. She needed her independence, to learn to trust her instincts again. “That I should trust my instincts more when it comes to taking charge of my life.”
That was easier said than done. She wanted evidence. Tangible truths.
He rested a hand on top of her computer. “What do you think you should do right now?”
Find out if he’d seen anything. But if he had, then she might have to push him away. And she couldn’t scrounge for the will to do that when she wanted more than anything to lean into all that sexy strength and warmth. She couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of spending more time with a man who captivated her so thoroughly. He chased all her muddled memories and confusion away. She might well have to leave this town one day. Before that time came, she intended to make the most of every moment with him. The past would have to stay in the past for a few hours.
“My gut says we should go back into the bedroom, and you should give me a thorough massage before we go back to bed for a few hours.” She stroked the toes of one foot along the side of his calf. “In the interest of relaxing, of course.”
A slow smile spread across his face as he lifted her off the barstool and into his arms. “You should follow those instincts more often.”
* * *
Ward had never given anyone a massage before. But he fully intended to do so again—if the person happened to be Brea.
Their hours of sex had been mind-bending. Even now, the next day and a shower later, his senses were still saturated with the sweet taste and floral scent of her. Not to mention the creamy feel of her skin under his hands.
Of course those were dangerous thoughts to have while standing in the stables with her father. But Ward was here to learn more about the man who’d founded such an impressive oil dynasty.
And of course there was Ward’s affair with Brea. A long-lost daughter Jack might feel overprotective of, with good reason, after all she’d been through.
It was more important than ever that Ward keep his wits around this man. He didn’t know Jack Steele all that well—something that needed to change.
It seemed quite clear that Jack loved his kids, though. But what about his dead wife? Could the man have had something to do with her death, and he’d never meant Brea to be in harm’s way? The man had made a marriage to the business enemy. Some might see that as mighty Machiavellian. And while not so long ago, he would have taken pride in that, now he wasn’t so sure.
Brea was getting to him in more ways than he could count, and although he needed to keep his eyes on her, that proximity also made objectivity tougher.
Ward definitely intended to keep a close eye on Jack Steele, for Brea’s sake.
Leather cowboy boots punching through the hard, packed snow, Ward moved into the barn. Bits of hay were scattered on the ground surrounding an onyx-colored horse that Jack had clipped to the crossties.
Stetson tipped back on his dark head, and Jack crouched down, examining the horse’s back left hoof. The Friesian’s eyes were rimmed with white. Clearly nervous.
Looking over his shoulder, Jack cradled the hoof with his leg and hand. Motioned for Ward to approach. “Meet Flash—our newest rescue. She’s a little skittish. Owners abandoned her in a stall when their ranch got foreclosed on. Bridlebrook Rescue got to her in time. Thankfully. Put some meat back on her bones. We took her in yesterday.”
Ward reached out to touch the mare’s flowing black mane.
As he touched her neck, Flash lowered her head down. Eyes growing soft. A sigh escaped.
Jack smiled. “That’s a good sign. She’s a nervous thing, but we’re going to work on rehabilitating her spirits. And—” Jack glanced down at the semi-swollen hoof “—healing this abscess.”
Nodding absently, Ward was hit between the eyes with a memory. For a moment, a life Ward never got to live flashed through his brain. Once he had imagined getting a horse for Paisley. Teaching her how to ride. How to care for a horse. How to notice the start of an abscess or colic. He could practically hear her crystalline laughter as he imagined her learning to canter and barrel race.
The almost-memory cut him deep and true before Jack’s movement beside him brought him back to the barn.
Jack touched the frog of the horse’s foot, assessing the abscess before bringing his deep blue eyes to meet Ward’s. “What brings you here, Benally?”
With an effort, he breathed out the ache of losing his daughter. Focused instead on why he came.
“Your daughter’s having lunch with the family. I came along with her.” Not exactly a lie. Not exactly the truth. He found himself quickly returning to his night with Brea. He craved that again. A dangerous feeling. Damn it, he was getting too emotionally involved with her, wanting to help her family.
“Brea actually showed up?” Jack straightened, his face surprised and vulnerable in a way that Ward doubted many people had ever seen. “Thank you.”
His hand rested on Flash’s hindquarters. The mare kept weight off her injured hoof.
“She makes her own choices. She’s strong-willed, like her father.”
Jack relaxed into a nostalgic smile. “You should have met her mom.”
He wished he had. What might Brea be like today if her mother hadn’t died in a tragic accident that involved her, too? The crash, her mother’s death and the loss of the rest of her family had all defined her in so many ways.
Ward stayed silent as Jack returned to Flash.
Jack felt the tendons along Flash’s leg. “How’re you liking the new office?”
The Secret Twin Page 7
