by Lauren Dane
“It’s seven at night. You called her, didn’t you?” Brody looked him up and down and jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Come on. There are leftovers.”
“Where are your fine ladies?”
“They’re out with Erin and Ella. Beer?” Brody put one in front of him before going back to the fridge.
Adrian looked around the room. Drew his knuckles over the same spot on the kitchen table so many times it was smooth there. Sometimes he’d see what his brother had and be filled with a hundred different feelings.
He had a dad growing up. Until he was eleven anyway. But that man hadn’t been around nearly as much as Brody had been. Brody picked him and Erin up from school so much their teachers began to talk to him about any problems. It was Brody who checked homework.
Brody who had bought him his first guitar as a bribe to bring his failing grades up.
Truth was, he could have let himself in, yes, he knew he could. But sometimes he liked to see his brother at the door to feel that welcome and connection he only had with a handful of people.
“So tell me.” Brody made a plate and slid it to Adrian before sitting across from him.
“Not much to tell. I called. You didn’t mention her accent.”
Brody’s left brow rose slightly. “I forgot about it until just now. Nice voice. Got all starchy when I told her to either tell me or call your manager.”
Like a naughty fucking governess. Yeah, that was it. Goddamn, her voice had stirred up all kinds of shit in his gut.
“And?” Brody prompted.
“And nothing. She played coy. Wouldn’t tell me what it was about. I admit it, the voice did things to me. I offered to give my people a heads-up for her call. She got pissed and we hung up.”
Brody looked him over. “Okay. Cut the shit. Professionally you are at the top of your game. I’ve heard you play hundreds of times and you are tighter now than you’ve ever been. This next CD is going to be monstrous for you. But what’s that mean when you only talk to the ten people in the world you trust? You need more than that. You can see it, I know you can. I see how you watch the rest of us with wives and kids and all that shit. I’m not saying this chick is a love connection or anything like that. But there’s a reason you’re unsettled. It could totally be bullshit. Chances are it is. But what about the chance that it could be something extraordinary? Huh?”
Adrian ate and considered the situation. “Chances are, she’s going to want something from me, and man . . . I am just so tired of that.”
“I get that. I don’t know how you do it on a regular basis. Even Erin loses her patience before you do. But you are crispy-fried. And it’s blinding you to your gut.”
He patted his stomach. “Nothing wrong with it. I can’t have the same belly I had at twenty.”
“I’m not playing, Adrian.” Brody used the Dad voice and Adrian straightened his posture automatically, chagrined.
“Fine. You really think this woman is someone I should hear out?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I know I’m not usually in your business this much. But all I know is that I think you need to hear her out. She said she knew I was a good man because of my eyes.” Brody waved away Adrian’s look. “No, not like that. She didn’t say it to flirt. Anyway. Meet with her. What can it hurt? You already think people are assholes. If she is, fuck that. You’re still not one. You used to be adventurous, bro. Why not now? Huh?”
Damn it. The man wasn’t one to ask things from his siblings. Despite their money and their success, Brody made his own way. He and Erin had to sneak attack him with gifts.
So when he actually did ask for something, it meant a great deal.
“Fine.” He picked his phone up again and dialed her number.
“And so he called me sweetheart! Can you imagine that? The cheek of a total stranger to accuse me of trying to thieve from him? I never said any such thing.”
Jules snorted. “Sounds like he’s been in show business too long.”
Miles was out front in Mary’s large driveway, shooting hoops with Cal and Ryan, Mary’s brothers.
She looked out to her son and huffed. “I almost feel sorry for him. Not Miles. Adrian Brown.”
“Don’t. You’re offering him that boy out there and he’s too conceited to even listen to you. It’s his loss, but you tried.” Jules shrugged.
Her phone started ringing and she looked down to see the same private number designation she’d seen before.
“Hello? This is Gillian.”
Jules sent her a raised brow at her tone.
“Upon further reflection, I’ve decided to meet with you.”
She sighed. She would have said no. Wanted to say no. But she caught sight of Miles laughing with Cal and Ryan out front. The place was filled with warmth and love. The family she’d built for herself and her son. This was for Miles, she reminded herself for the two hundredth time. For him she could do anything.
“All right. I can only meet on weekdays during the early part of the day. I need to be back home by two.”
Laughter burst out from where Mary had shown up with a platter of something that smelled like heaven. Gillian smiled, thankful this call happened here, while she was surrounded by her friends.
“Tomorrow at ten. There’s a café next door to my brother’s tattoo shop. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine.” She hung up and slid her phone back into her pocket.
“Was that him?”
“Yes. Turns out he does want to meet after all. Tomorrow at ten.”
Jules did that little head whip she did when she was vexed. The familiar sight eased some of her anxiety. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”
Gillian let out a breath. “No. I’m good.” She called out to Mary. “Where are you guys going to be parked tomorrow?”
“Um, Phinney Ridge from eleven to two. You gonna come see us?” Mary, part owner of Luxe, a mobile gourmet food truck, walked over and popped a little bite of something redolent with roasted pepper and garlic into Gillian’s mouth.
She paused to appreciate the taste. “So good. I may come by after my appointment.”
“He just called right now. Has changed his mind apparently.” Jules rolled her eyes.
“We can park there and kick his ass if he gives you any guff.” Mary winked.
“Thanks for the backup. I think I can kick butt on my own, but I have you on speed dial if I need to.”
“What’d she say?” Brody asked as Adrian put the phone on the table.
“I’m meeting her tomorrow at ten at the café. Wherever she was there was a crowd. Sounded like dinner with friends.” It had sounded warm and friendly as opposed to wild. And it only made him more curious about Gillian Forrester.
He picked the phone up again and called someone else he could count on.
“Yo.”
“Hey, Cope, I have a favor to ask.”
4
He didn’t know why he’d shown up so early. He told himself it was so he could stop in and chat with Brody. But he’d only seen his brother the night before, so it wasn’t as if there was much to catch up on.
He set himself up at his favorite table. In the far corner where he could see anyone coming and going. He had a mocha and bagel, but it was nervousness that brought his knee to bounce, not caffeine.
Adrian knew it was her the moment he caught sight of the dark-haired woman making her way up the sidewalk. What a fucking walk she had. Confident and yet wary.
Her clothes were nice but not showy, he noted when she walked into the café and looked around. The only jewelry he saw were some earrings, tasteful and elegant, a watch and one ring on her right hand.
She locked gazes with him, nodded and made her way over. He may have been suspicious of her motives, but his brother hadn’t raised him not to stand when greeting a woman. So he did, holding his hand out.
She took it and shook. Not overlong. Not too soft or too hard. “I take it you’re Ms. Forrester?”
After a qui
ck nod, she turned just slightly to put her sweater over the back of her chair. Enough for him to catch sight of the neat knot of hair at the back of her neck. Thick. It would have been thick, and with the mass of it he wagered it hung to her ass. He got a vivid flash of the way it would look, dark and smoky against her pale, creamy, naked skin.
“Gillian Forrester. You’re Adrian Brown then?”
She said it seriously and for a moment he believed it. Believed that she really was just making sure instead of knowing it was him without a doubt because she stalked his website or whatever. But he’d been through some type of this scenario more than once, so by that point, he wasn’t much up to trusting anyone but himself.
“Yes. Please, sit.” He indicated the table and she sat. Her voice was perfect. Smooth. Soothing even.
“I appreciate your time, Mr. Brown. I know you’re a busy man.”
And suddenly none of that mattered. Because he wanted a whole heaping helping of whatever the hell it was Gillian had on under those clothes. Sure, they covered every part of her, but fabric couldn’t begin to hide what had to be a hot fucking body underneath it all.
He let his breath out and leaned in closer. “I was far more annoyed five minutes ago than I am now.” He smiled and she returned it, not quite willingly. For some reason that appealed to him too. If she was playing him, she was a fuckin’ master, which could work too. But he preferred to think she was genuine.
The server came over. “Can I get anything for you two? A refill on that mocha, Adrian?”
He held his cup out. “Great. Thanks.”
Gillian frowned slightly, her lips, lush and juicy, turning just a bit. “I’ve already had two coffees today. Can I get a cup of tea, please? Just something black?”
“Earl Grey all right?”
Gillian nodded before looking back at him. She hadn’t expected to be charmed. The man had been such a cad on the phone, she figured he’d be snotty. Instead, he was fabulously charismatic. Charming. His speech had a cadence to it, slow and honeyed. Not southern, but something similar. As if he liked to roll his words over his palate before he gave them up.
And, she had to admit after sneaking a few looks at his hands and forearms, he had lovely arms. She had a thing about a man’s hands. When a man pushed his sleeves up, she looked. And she liked what she saw.
Sun-kissed, but not fake-tan orange, a dusting of dark hair. Firm, muscular flesh. Big hands. He had calluses. She knew from the handshake. Where he strummed his guitar she assumed. Strength but not a showy type.
His hair was a dark chocolate tousle. Tumbled around his face and shoulders, taunting her fingers. It would be soft and cool against her skin. A neat beard and mustache only framed lips she had a feeling knew their way around a kiss.
And none of this was anything she should be thinking! She should especially stop looking at his arms. Her fingertips itched to slide along the tattoo she could see. Musical notes. On the other arm . . . she paused. “Woody Guthrie,” she murmured, not meaning to.
His smile was surprised and pleased. “You know the quote?” He turned his arm out so she could see it better.
“My grandmother used to listen to Woody Guthrie when I was younger. She liked to tell this terribly lurid story about how she had a wild and passionate affair with him back in the day.” Oh and wasn’t that an appropriate story.
He laughed though, and she liked it on him so much she didn’t ruin the moment.
When her tea arrived, she put her file on the table and decided to just say it.
“Thirteen years ago my sister gave up her newborn son for adoption. To me.” She licked her lips. “I’ve asked her several times a year since she got pregnant just who the father was and until several days ago, she always refused.”
The teasing warmth in his eyes was gone in a second as he physically sat back, away from her.
“No.”
She sighed and tapped the folder. “Yes. My sister, Tina, died last week of congestive heart failure, and for whatever reason, she finally decided to tell me who the father was on her way out. Miles and I live on Bainbridge Island.” She passed Adrian a card. “This is my attorney. I have other things here. Pic—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Adrian burst out, interrupting her. “Christ. There are easier ways to get money out of me. You’ve got a nice enough body, a pretty face. This is bullshit. I’ve heard this tune before. Didn’t work for her either.”
She blinked several times, her face noticeably paler than it was before.
But her back was ramrod straight as she let out a long breath. “You continue to return to this theme, no matter that I’ve not asked you for a single thing but your time. Miles is your son. I promised my sister to find you and now I have. Fat lot of good that’s done.” She had the nerve to look him up and down, finding him wanting.
He stood, the chair clattering behind him, so angry he barely registered the way she flinched before she recovered her composure. “I don’t give in to blackmail. I’ve dealt with whores and gold diggers plenty of times. You played me wrong, baby. We could have burned things up between the sheets. I’d have tossed some money your way. A lot easier than this bullshit.”
That’s when she stood as well, grabbed her things, tucking the folder into her bag. Her jaw was tight, her gaze narrowed. Every movement was totally precise. Sharp. “You, my son, are a piece of work. No one calls me a whore and walks without a limp. So if you want to keep walking you’ll stay behind that table. Bugger it all, you’re a sullen little boy. You don’t deserve Miles.”
She headed out, pausing to put a few ones on the counter for the tea she’d never drink.
“You’d better go! If I see your face again or you contact any of my family, I’ll have you arrested for attempted blackmail.”
Gillian Forrester paused at the door and sneered. “You’re a pathetic little man. Never you worry, I’m done with you and it’s all your loss.”
Adrian did have to admire the way she sniffed at him and flounced out.
“Shall I call the police?” the server asked.
Brody spoke from where he’d been standing at the doorway. “No. It’s fine. Adrian, with me.” He indicated the tattoo shop and Adrian headed after his brother, ready to punch something.
She sat in her car, her hands shaking. Impotent anger, a familiar, bitter cocktail, sliding through her system as she fought tears of frustration.
What on earth was his problem? She’d given him Miles. What gift on the entire planet could mean that much? Surely the man had stuck his dick in more than one woman over the years. And yet he had the nerve to attack her?
Humiliation burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. How many times had she had to face such a thing? Public ridicule had been something she’d dealt with on a regular basis back in Newham.
He hadn’t taken one second to think about what she’d told him. He didn’t know her and yet he’d judged her. How dare he? Adrian Brown with his carefully constructed wardrobe of clothes that probably cost more than her couch. He found her wanting? Oh ho! Who the fuck was he?
He’d shown his true colors, the spoiled idiot. And now she’d kept her promise and could go on with her life. Just as she had before.
Taking a long, steadying breath, she headed toward Phinney Ridge. Mary said they’d have Cuban sandwiches today and that sounded very good.
She’d tried. She really had. But she’d done her duty and there was nothing that would make her take any more abuse because the person was too blind to see the greatest gift life ever gave you.
He was a git. A bloody idjit and to hell with him and his pretty, sexy eyes and that drawl.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brody pushed him into a chair.
“Did you hear that?” Adrian surged out of the chair to pace.
“I heard her tell you you had a thirteen-year-old son. I didn’t hear her ask you for money. Not once. I heard you call her a whore though. I’m sure everyone i
n the café did.”
“What the fuck is wrong with people, Brody? Huh? What did I ever do but be nice to people and look what it gets me.”
Anger burned in his belly that this woman could get under his skin so deep and then use it to hurt him with what he wanted so much.
“What if she’s telling the truth? Have you thought of that for one second? My god, Adrian, are you going to try to tell me you never fucked random women you don’t remember?”
“I think I’d remember if I had a kid, for fuck’s sake! You remember the last one. It was a baby then. We were just lucky I was on tour in Europe for six months and couldn’t have been the father. All the money I had to throw at lawyers and then the fucking label was all up in my face about publicity and media this and that to make me look nice. I was hung out to dry on all the gossip sites. People called me a deadbeat, for fuck’s sake. All because some stranger needed some cash and decided to pretend some other guy’s kid is mine.”
Brody sighed heavily and sat on the edge of his desk. “Shut up. Just stop talking for a second and listen.”
He did stop because he rarely heard that tone in his brother’s voice. Displeasure and disappointment. In Adrian.
“You can’t look at the world like this. You can’t just suspect everyone because of what some people did. I’m not saying you should automatically believe her. But you’re not even paying attention to what happened.”
Adrian tapped his thumb and then his pinky to his thigh, over and over, faster and faster.
“She came here to tell you the details and you didn’t let her speak. No, you flirted with her and all. She’s lovely so I get that. But then she tries to explain and instead of getting more detail from her you yell insults at her in a crowded café.
“She said—and I heard because I was listening—that her sister didn’t tell her for the boy’s whole life who the father was. She found out a week ago and she came to you pretty quickly.”
“How the fuck can I believe her? Huh?”