"I brewed some hot tea," she said over her shoulder. "That's traditional for Chinese food, but if you'd like something else, I'll get it for you."
"Wouldn't want to break tradition now, would we?" he grimaced. "What is all this stuff?" He stared at the conglomeration on his plate.
Brandy told him the names of the various dishes she had selected: subgum chicken, wontons and spareribs.
"Not bad." He crunched down on a water chestnut. "Not as exotic as it sounds."
Brandy half-smiled, and ate in silence. "More tea?" She filled his cup, wondering what her fate would be.
Shaw got up for a second helping before she could even offer, refilling his plate and asking if he could do the same for her.
"We'll have to have this more often," he said, chasing a snow pea onto his fork.
"We?" Brandy looked up.
Shaw shrugged. "You might not be so bad to have around—for awhile."
Brandy held her breath. Could he mean that?
Chapter Three
Brandy sat across from Shaw Janus, watching as he ate his second helping of Chinese food. He looked so domestic, so very much the part she had gambled he could play. Had she glimpsed this side of him during those nights she watched him in the restaurant? Was this why she had been so determined to "trap" him? Had she married him for her own selfish reasons? No, that wasn't quite true. She had done it all for Eric's sake.
Shaw looked so different now: shirt unbuttoned, tie askew, shoes off under the table, a lock of recalcitrant hair at his forehead—all signs of his being comfortable at home. He could be comfortable, she reminded herself, since he was home. She was the one who was the stranger, even if she was married to him.
She wondered why she had pursued him so relentlessly the previous week. What had made her think she could make him care about a perfect stranger—two strangers for that matter? Why had she clung to the hope of salvation with him against all odds? He was right. If she had simply needed a husband, there were other men she could have asked outright to marry her and not have to play this charade.
She couldn't have married any of them. Barry was too boring. She would never be able to adjust to his interest in mechanics. She hated drag racing, and couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life, or at least the next few weeks, listening to him talk about "souped up" cars and "fast changes in the pits."
Eugene? He cared—about her body, and that was all. His heart, if he had one, was in the wrong place.
But hadn't she used her body, her looks, to trap Shaw? Hadn't she counted on her sex appeal to trap him into marrying her? Was there a difference?
Compassion had made the difference. It was in his eyes, in those tiny lines around the corners that spoke of laughter, loving, caring. She must have seen it to have pursued him so relentlessly.
Eugene's eyes had no other look but desire.
And there was Carl. He would have married her, but she couldn't even begin to ask him. It would be too much of a burden for him. He was just beginning to establish himself in the business world. The expense of a wife and instant child would have been a strain on him. Besides, he had never been able to accept her wanting Eric, and would eventually resent her for interfering with his career plans.
Yet, she had thrust herself into Shaw's life and interrupted whatever plans he might have for the future.
Compassion, she thought, smiling briefly as he caught her staring at him. She returned her attention to the food on her plate, thinking, it's in his eyes. It's what I need from him, and what I'm counting on.
But all too late she was realizing she didn't have the right to manipulate his life. She had to let go and let fate work out her future and Eric's without involving Shaw. It would be worse for her to try to keep Eric if fate had something better in mind for them.
"Shaw," she whispered, "I really am sorry I forced myself on you, into your life. It was wrong, and you have every right to feel angry."
"I'll get used to it." He continued eating.
Brandy looked across at him, searching for the truth in his eyes, but he kept them averted.
"I—I guess I was just desperate. I felt so alone and helpless, and somehow you popped up on the scene and the more I thought of you, the more it made sense to reach out to you. But I went about it all the wrong way. I should have approached you directly."
"Wouldn't have worked," he munched, swallowing his words.
"No, not anymore than it is now."
"Now that's where you're wrong." He held out his cup for more tea.
Brandy poured in silence. She'd missed something in the exchange.
"How?"
"If you had approached me openly, appealing to me with your problem of being fatherless, I would have thought, 'Hey, this kid's in trouble. She really needs help. But not from me. No sir, not me.' Instead, you sized me up, however correctly or incorrectly, decided I was the answer to your problem, and you involved me," he explained, "and now I am part of your problem, like it or not."
"Yes, but it was wrong, what I did. It can be undone."
Shaw set his tea cup on the saucer, placed his fork on his plate, and turned to Brandy. "Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Kismet?"
Brandy shrugged. "I suppose so."
"Then you have to believe that this was meant to be, this psuedo-marriage between us. Even if I'd known what you were planning, I couldn't have gotten out of it. It was destined. I don't know why—I know why you needed to get married," he clarified his statement, "but I haven't figured out why I was supposed to be the one you married. I guess that will come in time, but for right now, like it or not, I accept it."
"You do?"
"Obviously not very gracefully. I'm still trying to adjust to the idea. But yes, I do accept it. We were meant to be together, for that child's sake, if for nothing else."
"You really think so?"
He lifted his eyes heavenward. "I hope so. Otherwise, none of this makes the slightest bit of sense."
"But—"
"But what?"
"You—you don't mind?"
"Mind?" He raised his voice and shoved back his plate. "I mind like hell! But that's my problem. I'll deal with it. Give me a chance, will you? I'm still trying to accept the fact that I'm married. That's a real mind-bender."
Brandy sat silently, wondering what to say and what to do. Shaw had the upper hand; she was at his mercy.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"I don't know." He shook his head. "I'm still trying to think the whole thing through. We need to backtrack a little, to go back to square one. I still hardly know who you are. Yet you're married to me."
"Well, my name is—"
"I know, Brandy Logan. You're thinking of keeping your maiden name for professional reasons. You're a model, and you're eighteen. I do remember that from this morning."
"Then what would you like to know?"
"I don't know right now. I need some space. I still have a lot of thinking to do."
Shaw thrust back his chair and stalked away from the table. Brandy opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. His anger seemed to be simmering just below the surface and she didn't want to do anything to provoke him into a violent eruption. He paced up and down in the small space of the kitchen. Brandy chewed at her fingernails, but not hard enough to break them. She needed to keep them long and shapely for photographs.
"Maybe it would be better for you if Eric and I left now," she mumbled.
"What?"
"I said, I think Eric and I will go home… to let you think."
"Home?" He chuckled. "You are home. Or didn't you mean it when you said you needed a husband? Most husbands and wives—loving ones, that is—live under the same roof."
"Yes, of course, but—"
"We might as well go all the way with this little picture of suburban existence so the judge believes it, don't you agree?"
Brandy sighed knowing he was right, but not certain what actually living with Shaw Janus would i
nvolve. "I'll have to go home tonight, though," she said.
"Why?"
"I didn't bring anything with us," she explained. "I wasn't certain you were going to let us stay."
"If I'm going to have a wife," Shaw smiled, pausing long enough to think about the specifics of the arrangement, "she's going to live in. It wasn't so bad coming home tonight to a meal all laid out on the table. I could get used to that… and other things."
Brandy quickly caught on to his line of thinking, speaking hastily to avoid the issue that was really bothering her—how to keep him out of her bed. "I love to cook, when I have time. I'll be glad to have meals ready for you, when I can, but I work, too, you know, sometimes until very late at night, and often don't even have time for more than a nutrition bar during the day."
"No wonder you're so thin." His eyes roamed over her body.
"But you don't come home for meals every night, do you? I mean, I didn't think you ever ate at home."
His brows went up. "I could be tempted to change some of my habits. Not all, mind you, but some. And let's get one thing straight right now. Just because you got me to be your husband for however long that might be, don't think you can make me into the model husband. I don't expect to change my whole life because of you."
Brandy blushed. She already had some idea of the number of women he must have listed in his little black book. "I know." She buried her face beneath the fall of her dark curls. She couldn't understand how a man could juggle several women at once. She never would. It would always be one man for her, even now. They might not be a true couple, but they were married, and she intended to be faithful to that position.
"Well," Shaw said, disconcerted that she hadn't given him the argument he had been expecting, "as long as we have that clear, we might as well move you in here."
Brandy still hadn't adjusted to the idea of actually living with a man. She had maintained her virginity on their wedding night, but he wasn't aware of that. Worse was the question of whether or not she would be able to maintain that position tonight, when he was thinking clearly, and standing tall and strong in front of her. Yet, could she deny him that right without getting into an argument with him? She had to think of something, some way to keep him out of her bed. It would not be easy with only two bedrooms in the apartment, and Eric sleeping in one of them. After she had demanded so much of Shaw, he was in a position to make his own demands on her.
"I—I'll wash the dishes when we come back," she mumbled. That would at least give her some time to stall, she thought, and maybe she would think of something by then. If only they could be civil about the whole thing—he take one room, she and Eric the other. But somehow Shaw didn't look the type to ignore a woman physically, particularly when he could rightfully claim her as his wife.
"Right, let's go then," Shaw said.
"Eric and I can manage on our own," she offered, "if you have something else you'd like to do. I don't want to change your life any more than you say you'll allow it changed."
"I'm not a total heel, you know," he said with annoyance, "and I don't like the idea of someone like you out alone on the streets at night."
"What do you mean, someone like me?"
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "You are naive. You must know how beautiful you are, and driving alone with a little boy at this hour of the night could be dangerous."
"It's not late."
"It's dark."
"But it's only dark because there's a storm brewing. I do it all the time."
"Not anymore, if I can help it."
"Why not?"
"Because a lot can happen in this city—in any city, for that matter. And I don't like to see any woman out alone, if that makes you feel any better," he retorted.
She didn't think it did, but she nodded anyway. They'd be having a real argument soon enough. No sense in precipitating it over whether or not he would accompany her to her apartment. She would like some help carrying things, and had to admit she'd never liked being out alone at night even back in Bainbridge. "I'll get my purse," she assented.
She was silent on the drive to her apartment, speaking just to give him directions. Eric, sensing the tension, clutched her hand as he sat in the seat between the two of them. An unsettling frown marred his forehead, but he was either too shy or frightened of Shaw to ask Brandy questions in front of him. Brandy would try to explain it all to him later as well as she could.
"The house on the hill," Brandy directed.
Shaw pulled up to the curb. "Nice neighborhood, but expensive. I didn't realize models made so much money," he commented.
"They don't. I have a little apartment in one part of the house. It was the cheapest thing I could find in a convenient location." She hoped he wouldn't make much comment about the sparsity of her furnishings. It took nearly all she had just to keep up the rent.
Brandy handed him the key and held her breath to wait for his reaction.
The front room was practically wall-to-wall with plants surrounding two beanbag chairs Brandy had made herself. It looked comfortable, but quite a contrast to Shaw's living room.
"If I were a grasshopper I'd feel right at home here," he muttered, moving through to the next room where stood Brandy's bed, which consisted of a mattress and box spring on a frame. She couldn't afford matching furniture or a headboard, but the sheets were colorful.
She had found an old bureau in a secondhand furniture store. The leg was loose and she had to be careful whenever she moved it, but she had stripped it and antiqued it in a cream color to blend with the earth tones of the sheets. A brick and board bookcase stood against the opposite wall.
"Read a lot, do you?" Shaw raised his brows, somewhat skeptically.
"Yes, I do," Brandy stated, unwilling to admit she was also hoping to go back to night school to earn a college degree as soon as she had enough money.
He didn't look into the bathroom, which contained more plants. It was the only "furniture" she had acquired with little expense, people giving her cuttings and chipped pots, and had become a hobby for her.
There was no furniture in the kitchen, but she had plenty of dishes.
"I was wondering," Brandy began.
"Yes?"
"If I should keep my apartment during our, uh, temporary arrangement. It was so hard to find. There were three people standing on the doorstep waiting to snatch it up right after me."
"That would be a stupid waste of money," Shaw said, surveying the kitchen with his hands on his hips, "and from the looks of things, you could use the money more wisely elsewhere."
"But it would be somewhere I could go to get out of your hair, if you want the apartment free." She blushed.
"It might not be a bad idea for me to keep your apartment." He pursed his lips.
"Oh, no, I don't think so," she hesitated. The idea of her apartment, her furnishings, her bed being used by someone else disturbed her. "Maybe I should get rid of it. I was wondering how I'd explain my absence to my landlady anyway."
"Right. Let's get started then. Just take what you think you'll need tonight and I'll get the rest this weekend. We can probably store the bed somewhere at the office. That looks like the biggest problem. And do you have to keep all these plants?"
"Oh, yes!" She almost cried at the thought of losing them, then realized what an inconvenience this veritable plant shop was going to be for him, imposed in with his sophisticated decor. "Please?"
Shaw nodded, not even attempting to talk her out of it. He seemed to realize these few plants and possessions were all she owned in the world. "Why don't I start packing up your dishes while you get the things you need? Do you have any cardboard cartons?"
"No, but my landlady probably does. Shall I go ask her for some?"
"I'll go," Eric piped up.
The sound of his small voice when he had been so silent on the drive over, even when asked questions about his age and his school, caused Shaw to turn and stare. "Oh, so you do have a voice after all?" Shaw grinned.
Eric hung his head and ran to Brandy, clutching at her hand.
"A momma's boy, too," commented Shaw under his breath, then a bit more loudly, "rather an auntie's boy."
"He's just shy around strangers." Brandy glared. "You would be too if you'd been through all he has in the last few weeks. And now having to leave here and move in with you. You have to admit that's unsettling for anyone. I'm not exactly looking forward to it myself."
"Nor am I." Shaw's eyes glowered at her.
Brandy hung her head. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't. But it's no reason to take out your frustrations on Eric. Can't you give him a chance? Give us both a chance? You might find we're not such bad company."
"I suppose I'll have to." His lips were set in an uncompromising slit. "Now, about those boxes."
"I'll go," Eric said again.
"My, but you are eager to get those cartons, aren't you?" Shaw grinned for Eric's benefit, but Brandy could tell he was still angry.
"He likes to play with Mrs. McGinty's dog," Brandy explained.
"She has a dog?" Shaw encouraged Eric to talk. "What's his name?"
"It's a she dog," Eric replied, "and she's a dachshund, and her name is Pepper. Pepper's fun, unless you pull her tail. She doesn't like that at all. She snapped at me the time I did it, and I wouldn't ever do it again. Mrs. McGinty said I shouldn't."
"Smart man." Shaw smiled, and this time Brandy felt it was more genuine. He walked over to where Eric stood clutching Brandy's hand and stooped down to his level. "But don't you think that if Mrs. McGinty has some cartons we can borrow that they might be too big for you to carry?"
"I suppose so," Eric replied, hanging his head again as if he had just been reprimanded for pulling Pepper's tail.
"Then why don't we both go?" Shaw suggested. "I might need someone to play with Pepper so that she doesn't accidentally get underfoot when I carry out those boxes."
"That's a good idea." Eric's face lit up and he held out his hand to Shaw. "I'll show you the way."
For Eric's Sake Page 4