Falling for the Brother

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Because his grandmother might bad-mouth Harper? Or in case Brianna repeated something Miriam had said that might help them? Or perhaps something about Miriam’s situation, her behavior, upset the little girl. Or confused her. Defending her father, for instance. He could see Miriam doing that, and Brianna having no idea why.

  “I visited several of Miriam’s friends today—all separately, in their homes. I’m questioning her neighbors, too. I’m in a hotel in Santa Raquel tonight because I need to see Gram first thing in the morning. I’ve got an appointment at eleven in Albina.” With Gwen. He’d yet to connect with the woman who’d shown up drunk at his door—and he suspected she’d been avoiding him.

  Not too smart considering he could report her. Her word against his, of course. It wasn’t like he had any wounds to prove that she’d struck him; a slap in the face could be considered assault but he wasn’t pursuing it. And puking in his john wasn’t a crime.

  He wasn’t out to ruin her. Or anyone. But he wanted answers.

  “I also need to speak with you.” His time was limited. Twelve days and ticking. He had to get to the truth. Anything else driving the need to meet with her in person was irrelevant.

  “I turned the third bedroom in our townhome into a minigym so I can keep up with my physical conditioning without taking time from Brianna. I work out several nights a week and I’ve already missed one of them. If you’d like to join me in the gym, you’re welcome to do so.”

  She’d just invited him into her home? To work out?

  “What are the chances Brianna would hear us and wake up?”

  “Slim to none. Her bedroom is upstairs beside mine. The gym is downstairs, in the den. Why?”

  “She’s four. I don’t think it’s a good idea if she knows I’m in town. Just in case she sees or speaks with her father.”

  “I’m thinking it’s best that I find a way to keep them apart,” she said. “She’s going to mention Miriam to him otherwise. But as far as you’re concerned, she’s not going to know who you are, Mason. You never see her.”

  And it wasn’t like his brother kept pictures of him around the place. Even the one his grandmother used have on the mantel in the living room disappeared when Bruce moved in.

  His niece had no idea he was alive. He’d figured as much. Funny how a guy could care so much and be nonexistent at the same time.

  “I put her to bed between seven thirty and eight. Give us until nine, since she might take a while to get to sleep.”

  He had all night. And he had to talk to her.

  If he only had a minute, and no need to meet with her, he’d still go. He wanted to see where she lived. To be in her home. Just so he’d no longer have a reason to wonder where she was and how she was doing.

  “What equipment do you have?” If he was going there, he might as well make use of the gym.

  Or rather, he should definitely make use of the equipment. He needed to spend time with her. To observe. And to ask her some questions. Not to get turned on.

  “I have a dual-cable home gym—up to five hundred pounds, plus an elliptical trainer and a treadmill.”

  “I’ll be there at nine.”

  Starting his vehicle, he backed out of the lot as she hung up. He’d need dinner. And had to stop somewhere to purchase exercise wear. O’Brien had left a message while he was talking to Harper, letting him know Bruce was on the job and accounted for.

  Mason would see Harper that night, Gram in the morning, and head back to Albina with time to spare.

  The investigation was going as planned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HARPER RECOGNIZED TROUBLE the second Mason, in black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt, stepped into her home. She’d thought expending physical energy and mental concentration in the gym would distract her from lusting after him.

  She’d neglected to consider the attire factor—other than to choose baggy sweats and a too-big T-shirt for herself, rather than the leggings and short bra top she usually wore to work out. She’d turned up the air so she didn’t get too hot.

  There was no air conditioner that could dissipate the heat that Mason gave off. It was that way five years ago, too. What had been left of her alcohol-infused brain had known it was wrong to sleep with her fiancé’s brother even though for those hours, she’d considered the engagement over. She’d returned the ring. She’d also been very aware that Bruce had refused to accept her declaration and had said he’d hold on to the ring for her. But her body’s message had been much louder than anything her head was telling her.

  She’d blamed it on the alcohol.

  She’d had nothing but water this evening.

  Her plan to take him straight to the gym room was thwarted when he stopped to look over the easel with painted and colored artwork in a corner of the living room, a corner that was decorated like a children’s playroom. It was neat, but filled with colorful child-sized furniture and a toy box, plus shelves with books and toys. And the easel.

  “Wow,” he said, looking at the picture Brie had drawn while Harper cooked some macaroni and cheese with peas in it for dinner. Her daughter loved peas. “She did this herself?”

  “Yeah.” The colorful drawing of a house and orange trees was impressive—at least in her admittedly biased opinion.

  “That’s pretty incredible for a four-year-old, isn’t it?”

  His words brought home to her how little he knew of his own niece. The lapse seemed suddenly criminal, so she led him into the kitchen to get a look at the refrigerator covered with various art projects. “She’s precocious intellectually, and she’s testing right-brain gifted, as well,” she told him. The whole idea scared her; she had no experience raising any child, let alone a gifted one, but she wasn’t about to reveal that.

  Brianna was her daughter. She’d do what she had to do.

  According to the psychiatrist who’d done the testing recommended by Brie’s teacher at The Lemonade Stand the previous spring, Brianna’s drawings showed an understanding of depth perception that most children didn’t have.

  Harper liked to focus on the shapes that were still babyishly not straight, or true to form. The coloring that was outside the lines. She’d also put Brianna in art lessons at the Stand with Julie Fairbanks, who was getting married next month.

  Julie had just asked Brianna to be her flower girl. Joy Walsh, an eight-year-old Brianna idolized who’d lived at the Stand for a while the previous fall, was going to be junior bridesmaid. The wedding would be a lavishly beautiful society event—another thing Harper had to be nervous about. She loved Julie. She’d never been to a society...anything in her life.

  Mason didn’t make any other comments about Brianna’s work. Didn’t ask any questions about his niece. But he took his time looking at every drawing, every photo of Brianna at different stages and all the toys, even studying book titles.

  His job centered on taking in his environment. He was there because he figured her for a key witness in the case he was working. No other reason. Her insides squirmed anyway.

  Every nerve in her body was on alert.

  She didn’t dare stop him, didn’t want to inadvertently draw him into any conversation except the one he’d come to have with her. About Bruce and Miriam. About whatever Miriam’s friend had told him. Harper would help if she could.

  There just wasn’t much she could do. She really hadn’t seen Miriam in the four years she and Bruce had divorced. She could only attest to the fact that, to her knowledge, Bruce had always been wonderful with his grandmother. He’d made a point of having family dinners with her. Of calling her. Stopping by any chance he got. Anyone could see how much he loved her.

  Brianna had nothing to do with any of it.

  And Mason had nothing to do with Brianna. Messing with the status quo wasn’t a good idea.

  The thought occurred to her that he might ventur
e upstairs, but she quelled that twinge of fear with the denial she could give him without question—she didn’t want to wake her daughter.

  As he neared the end of the room that led down to the gym, Harper was there ahead of him, leading the way as quickly as she could. Her all-in-one gym machine beckoned. She’d do some seated chest flies first. Knowing that as a former FBI agent, Mason would be fully versed in working out, she went straight for the all-in-one gym and left him to look around and determine a course for his own workout.

  “I usually listen to music,” she told him, nodding toward the portable Bluetooth speaker on the small table in the corner. “But since you’re here to ask questions...”

  Sitting, she spread her arms, placing them against the pads. The machine was set at the twenty-five pounds she was doing this week; she wanted to work her muscles, not build them. She wished he’d get on the treadmill. His back would be to her then, and she’d just have to avoid the mirrors. With him just standing there by the watercooler she’d purchased secondhand for a song, watching her, her breasts felt completely exposed. She pulled the pads together with ease. Held them for a count of ten.

  He hadn’t moved. Was still watching her. She had to spread her arms wide again. Slowly. Or the weights would bang down and give away her agitation.

  She could feel her nipples hardening. Thank God she’d had the wherewithal to put on the oversize shirt.

  If he was trying to get a reaction out of her, he was succeeding, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. She did another rep. As she began the third, he crossed the room to the free weights, picking up a set she’d never used due to their size, and started with some curls.

  She’d had mirrors put up on one wall of the room, since she worked out alone, so she could pay attention to her form and know that she wasn’t causing damage by doing an exercise improperly. Unfortunately, that meant that from where she was seated she could see every move he made. Front and back.

  The baggy shorts gave his front some of the same camouflage her shirt provided her. But she didn’t remember him being so well-endowed that he’d fill out the fly of his pants to the extent she was seeing, except when... Pulling away her gaze abruptly, Harper caught him looking at her in the mirror—watching her watch him.

  “Speaking of that night,” he said, sounding as though he was doing nothing more strenuous than sitting on the couch.

  No! That night was exactly what she didn’t want to speak of. Especially not now that things were closing in on her.

  Her sexual attraction to him was a huge mistake. One she’d rectify somehow. And the rest...the aftermath...it did neither of them any good to go there.

  He hadn’t called. That whole day after she’d left his place, he hadn’t called. By the next day, when Bruce had come looking for her at her apartment, she’d never been more ashamed in her life. She’d thrown herself at his brother, and the incident had meant so little to Mason that he hadn’t even called to assure her there were no bad feelings, or that if there were, they’d work through them. She’d given him her number. Asked him to call...

  “I know when Brianna was born, Harper. I’ve left well enough alone, but now...with this...if Bruce is abusive...”

  Her weights clamored and she swore out loud. Could have been a reaction to the way he was maiming the reputation of her daughter’s father, right there in their home.

  “Brianna was born nine months after I married Bruce.” She squeezed again. Holding her count. Released slowly. Another couple of reps and it would be time to move on to leg lifts. A quarter of the way around the machine. Putting her closer to where he was standing.

  “You married Bruce six days after you and I had sex.”

  “You wore a condom.” At least, for the past five years she’d been praying he had. It was one of those details she couldn’t remember. The room had been dark. They’d been under the covers. There’d been a lot of movement. Mostly, there’d been Mason, touching her so expertly. Everywhere. Giving her more pleasure than she’d ever had. Before or since.

  He hadn’t stopped in the process of climbing on top of her. He’d just kept working his magic. What he’d done to himself with his other hand...she’d just assumed...

  Hoped.

  Prayed.

  “No, actually, I didn’t. I didn’t expect to have sex that night. And contrary to popular belief, not all guys carry condoms around in their wallets. You said you were on the Pill.”

  “We were at your house.” In his bed, next to his nightstand. Where else would a guy keep his box of condoms?

  “I don’t ever bring women to my house.” The news made her heady for a second. If only she’d known... All those times over the years that she’d brought herself down by thinking about him in that bed, sharing such a glorious night with another woman.

  She’d wanted it for him. Just not there. Which made no sense whatsoever, as she’d told herself each and every time her mind had strayed.

  “Where do you keep your condoms?” She was done with her reps. She had to move. To keep moving. All those years, she’d prayed he’d used a condom. Had somehow convinced herself she remembered movement under the covers that meant he’d put one on.

  In the middle of butterflies now, Mason didn’t even grunt as he said, “In my glove box.”

  Okay, well.

  “Bruce didn’t use condoms, either.”

  She changed her routine and got on the elliptical, grabbing the hand bars and starting her climb. Refusing to let these thoughts creep in. Refusing to panic.

  “And yes, I was on the Pill.”

  “So you went off the Pill when you got married.”

  She could lie. She had to lie.

  To do anything else would compound the mess they’d made. And yet...lying would be wrong.

  “No, I got pregnant while I was on it.”

  He froze. “You...but...how?”

  “I’d been on an antibiotic. According to my ob-gyn, they sometimes make the pill less effective.”

  “When did you start taking the antibiotic?” He still wasn’t moving. And the look he was giving her was intense enough to burn.

  She took a shaky breath. “The week before you and I...before Bruce...before...”

  They could not be having this conversation! It had been avoided for five years, had been unnecessary all that time. He’d used a condom. She’d needed to believe that.

  The idea of messing with their status quo unhinged her a bit.

  “She’s not yours.” Her gaze met his in the mirror and she was surprised to see a hint of relief on his face. A softening of his features.

  “He had her tested? With brothers, it’s better if you have DNA from both, but as long as you had his, yours and hers, the test should’ve been conclusive.”

  There’d been no test. She’d begged Bruce, completely certain that Brianna was his. She couldn’t have conceived with Mason. She’d only had sex with him once. Bruce had taken her to bed at least once a day back then. Sometimes more.

  But he’d refused to have DNA tests done to prove his paternity, saying the test didn’t matter. Brianna was his. She’d wondered at the time if he’d been afraid of the minute possibility that she wasn’t his and had let it go. They were related by blood in either case. She’d told herself that was all that mattered.

  “You seem relieved.” She certainly hadn’t expected him to worry about the situation. Or even consider the outside possibility. Especially since she’d told him she was on the Pill and she’d been so sure he’d worn a condom.

  “For the past four years I’ve been working hard not to think about the possibility that I could be missing out on every aspect of my daughter’s life.” He was on to reps of lifting the weights straight up from his shoulder. “To go with the fact that you’d said you were on the Pill. To trust that you’d been telling the truth.”

  She
started to say he could have called. Then remembered why he hadn’t. He was a man of his word. A man who’d done what he thought he had to do to keep his family together.

  Still, that first day, or even the next, before she’d told Bruce... There’d been no supposed agreement then.

  Climbing an elliptical mountain, one that threatened to be too high for her to scale, she was reeling at the idea that he’d been mourning the years he might have missed of his child’s life. His possible child. She wouldn’t have wished that on anyone, least of all Mason.

  “I’d have sent you pictures, whatever, if I’d known you were interested. You’re her uncle. She should know you...” It felt like too little too late.

  Putting down the weights, he stood for a couple of minutes, watching in the mirror as she climbed and got nowhere. She’d never had another person in the small gym with her. Mason filled the space, much like he’d filled her entire world that one night—like her own personal dark and very private fairy tale.

  When he bent to pick up the weights again, to begin another rep of curls, she got an eyeful of his backside—and quickly looked away. She couldn’t tell if he’d caught her again. She was too busy pretending it hadn’t happened.

  “So...”

  When no other words followed, she looked over, catching his gaze in the mirror. She raised her eyebrows in question, rather than speaking. He might not be getting winded, but she was. More than normal.

  “You never confirmed. Did you and Bruce have paternity tests run?”

  Harper swallowed. Got off the elliptical. Considered forgoing the rest of the night’s workout. Considered lying to Mason. What would he do if he knew the truth? Keep wondering what he could be missing? Or, God forbid, force a paternity test?

  Panic overwhelmed her at the thought. Bruce would hate it if she allowed the testing. He’d feel threatened and blame her. Not completely without merit. She was the one who’d slept with his older brother. And if she told Mason that there’d been no definitive proof regarding Brianna’s paternity, she’d be partially at fault for any action Mason might take as a result.