by Lee McKenzie
She could see he wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he silently tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. He lifted the pipe back into position and then started to laugh. “Max, you goofy dog. What are you doing?”
“You can see him?”
“Yes. He’s in the bathtub, looking down the drain and probably thinking we’re the crazy ones.”
Leslie laughed, too, and crawled closer. “Let me see.”
Brent inched aside so she could move in and look up through the pipe. Sure enough, there was Max. She could only make out some of his fur and periodic glimpses of his dark, wet nose as it sniffed at the opening. “He’s so funny. And he’d be right about us being the crazy ones.”
She glanced at Brent and stopped laughing. He’d put a supporting arm around her shoulders while she leaned back to look up the drain. His face was only inches from hers, and she wanted to kiss him. Except there was no logical explanation for why she would do that, unless she blamed it on the wine.
Listen to your heart, a voice inside her head said.
No way.
“Leslie?”
“Mmm?”
“You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
She certainly did. Next thing she knew, her lips touched his.
Whose idea had that been? Hers? Was she using him to make herself feel better about being cheated on? No. Maybe.
If he knew, he didn’t seem to mind because he took control and then there was no more thinking.
His mouth was gentle but demanding and she parted her lips, expecting to feel the touch of his tongue. Instead he drew her bottom lip between his teeth, sucked it softly and released it. A few repetitions of that had her thinking about naked bodies and orgasms.
When he stopped, he was holding her face in both of his hands, she was clinging to his shoulders and Max was panting through the drainpipe.
Brent groped for the flashlight and put it in her hands. “Let’s put this thing back together. I have a feeling we’re both going to need a shower when we get out of here.” He muttered something about his being a cold one.
What was wrong with her? She had more sense and self-control than this. “Brent, I’m so sor—”
“Stop.”
“This is all Max’s fault.”
“You’re kidding, right? It was what it was. Can you leave it at that?”
“And what was it?”
“Forget about it, okay?”
Like that was going to happen. If she didn’t figure out why she had done something so impulsive, she might do it again. “I’m not like all the other women who throw themselves at you—”
“Goddamn it, Leslie. Don’t ruin it.”
“Don’t shout at me. And you shouldn’t have made me come down here.”
“Give me a break.” He slammed the pipe into place and started tightening the rings that held it together. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are. You always did have to have the last word.”
“That is totally unfair.”
“No, that is called hitting the nail on the head.” He heaved on the wrench one last time and tossed it into the bucket.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think you have any right to be upset.”
“Under the circumstances? Let’s see, where should I start?”
“I didn’t mean these exact circumstances, per se.”
Even in the dim light it was impossible to miss the exasperation in his eye roll. “Let the record show, Ms. Durrance, that you kissed me.”
“It’s not like you’ve never kissed me.”
“The first time I tried, you punched me.”
“I was eleven.”
Apparently that was no defense because he ignored it and continued. “The next time, you turned around and walked away.”
“Maybe I should have hit you that time, too.”
He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at her. “And what about this time, Leslie? What did you feel like doing?”
More than kissing, that was for sure. Thankfully they’d been in this dark, dingy crawl space, surrounded by tools and spiders and dismantled plumbing. If they’d been upstairs, with him in a towel and her in the skimpy nightgown, she didn’t even want to consider what she might have done. Stopped after one kiss? Not likely.
“Yeah,” he said, as though he’d been reading her mind. “That’s what I thought.”
He went back to work, and she gripped the flashlight, willing herself to stop shaking. Finally he grabbed the bucket and the rest of his tools. “That’s it,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Max’s boisterous greeting at the back door did nothing to break the iciness between them. Inside the kitchen, Brent looked at her, quickly glanced at his hands and then back at her face. “We both need a shower,” he said. “You go ahead.”
His hands were grimy with grease and sludge from the drain. She touched her cheek where he’d touched her.
“I should have kept my hands to myself,” he said softly.
Me, too. “I—” She wanted to apologize again, this time for blaming him for the kiss, but she didn’t want to start another argument.
“Oh, before I forget.” He dug the ring out of his jeans. “Better put this in a safe place.”
“Thanks.” For the first time since Gerald had given it to her, the diamonds seemed ridiculously large, almost obscene, and there were way too many of them. They had represented everything the two of them had wanted the rest of the world to believe about them, but absolutely nothing about their feelings for each other. She curled her fingers around it so neither of them had to look at it. The ring was warm from being in his pocket, and the warmth seeped into her palm.
She backed away, pointing over her shoulder. “I’d better go, um, have a shower and go to bed. To sleep.”
In the bedroom she opened the top drawer of the dresser, set the ring inside with the other jewelry, and quickly shut it again. As soon as she was back at home, her first priority would be to return these things to Gerald.
She slipped off the sandals and picked up her nightgown. On her way from the bedroom to the bathroom, she heard Brent in the kitchen talking to Max.
“Leslie says it’s your fault she kissed me,” he said. “Good dog.”
He must have thought she was already in the bathroom. She slipped inside, careful to close the door without making a sound. She didn’t want him to know she’d heard him, but she was glad she had. Did he still have feelings for her?
Blaming the kiss on Max had been beyond silly, and it certainly hadn’t been Brent’s fault. None of this would have happened if the ring had stayed in the soap dish, or if Gerald had never given it to her in the first place.
She looked at herself in the mirror and ran the tip of a finger over the black smudges on her face. Grow up, she told herself. She’d never forgotten the way he’d kissed her on prom night. A girl never forgot her first kiss, and she remembered that one as though it were yesterday. It had been a teenage kiss with just a hint of tongue. She knew her inexperience had to be obvious and walking away had been the only way she knew to save face.
Tonight’s kiss had been the grown-up kind that melted a woman’s bones. “Admit it,” she said to her reflection. “You loved it.” If it ever happened again, she wouldn’t make a scene. Except there couldn’t be a next time. It wouldn’t be fair to Brent.
LESLIE WOKE to the smell of coffee and bacon. After a few seconds of disorientation, she remembered where she was. Brent was already up and making breakfast.
She groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. She had made a complete fool of herself last night, first kissing him and then trying to make it his fault, Max’s fault, anybody’s fault but hers. He probably thought she was as crazy as a loon.
She shoved the pillow aside and stared up at the ceiling. So why had she kissed him last night? It was a good question with no logical answer. All she knew for sure was that if she
tried it again, she had better be prepared for the consequences.
How she was going to face him over breakfast was the more urgent question, and there was no way to avoid it. “You can’t stay in here all day,” she said to herself. “The sooner you deal with this, the better.”
She pushed back the covers and stretched. The bacon smelled wonderful, and she hadn’t eaten it in years. Probably not since she’d lived at home. Hannah, their housekeeper, had always had time to make Leslie a plate of bacon and eggs over easy.
These days Leslie was more concerned about calories and cholesterol. Apparently Brent wasn’t. She inhaled the heavenly scent again and smiled at the little teddy bear sitting on the nightstand.
“One piece isn’t going to kill me.” Even she didn’t equate eating bacon with living dangerously, but a person didn’t change overnight. “Baby steps,” she told herself. “You’ll get there.”
She slipped out of bed, pulled the nightgown over her head and opened the closet. Before going to bed last night she’d washed her bra and panties in the bathroom and hung them in there to dry. Luckily, they were. She pulled on the jeans and the pink T-shirt Brent had brought for her. It was her favorite color and although it was probably a coincidence, she was glad he had chosen it for her. She slipped her feet into the sandals and opened the bedroom door.
Max bounded into the room and dropped his teddy bear at her feet.
“I don’t want your silly old bear.” But she made a playful grab for it, and as expected he snatched it away from her and sped out of the room. She laughed at his antics and headed for the bathroom.
A few minutes later she made her way to the kitchen where Brent stood at the stove, a tall glass of orange juice in one hand and a spatula in the other. He was flipping bacon in a large cast-iron pan. He was in jeans and bare feet. His red T-shirt was just snug enough to draw her attention to the strength in his upper body.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Good morning. I hope Max didn’t wake you.”
“The bacon did. It smells great.”
“It’s supposed to be a scorcher today. Humid, too, so I thought I’d get ahead of the heat. I hope you like bacon and eggs.”
“I love them. It was my favorite breakfast when I was growing up.”
“Good, because it’s one of the only things I know how to make.” He forked the last piece out of the pan and onto a plate, then took a carton of eggs out of the fridge.
“How do you like yours?” he asked.
“Over easy,” she said without hesitation, fighting the temptation to sneak a piece of bacon. It looked nice and crisp, just the way she liked it.
“One egg or two?”
“Just one. Can I help?”
“Everything’s under control. Coffee’s ready, though. Help yourself.”
Apparently they were going to ignore what had happened last night, and that was fine with her. She watched him pour bacon fat from the pan into an empty soup can and tried not to think about her arteries. She poured herself a cup of coffee and a glass of juice, set them on the raised counter and climbed onto a stool. She usually made herself a latte in the morning.
A sip of Brent’s coffee had her sputtering.
“Too strong?” he asked.
Too strong was an understatement. “A little stronger than I’m used to,” she said, adding another generous splash of milk.
He laughed. “That’s what everyone says.”
Was everyone a reference to the other women who woke up here and ate Brent’s bacon and eggs for breakfast? She glanced at the phone and saw that the message light was no longer blinking, which meant he’d listened to the messages from Cathy, or whoever C. Girling might be. Which was none of her business, she reminded herself.
She wondered how many more messages had accumulated since she’d checked hers last night.
“You okay?” Brent asked. He cracked an egg and sent it sputtering into the pan.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“I thought you might be worried about last night—”
So they were going to talk about it. “I’m not. I’m more worried about the number of people who keep trying to call me. Allison said she’d sent John over three times. I’m not ready to deal with them yet.”
“Then don’t.” He made it sound easy.
“I hate to think what people must be saying about me.”
He cracked three more eggs into the frying pan and concentrated on those while he spoke. “People are always going to talk and you can’t do anything to stop them, so why worry about it?”
“Because they probably think this is my fault.”
He looked at her then, intently and with purpose. “But you know it isn’t, and the people who care about you will know it isn’t. No one else is worth worrying about.”
She watched him slide her egg onto a plate along with half the bacon and a slice of warm, buttered toast, and set it in front of her. He put three eggs, the rest of the bacon and three slices of toast on his plate.
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she said, eyeing his plate. “Are you really going to eat all that?”
“Every bite,” he said with a satisfied grin, setting the plate on the counter next to hers. “You know you’ve done the right thing and that’s all that really matters.”
“In my head, I know that.”
“But you’re supposed to listen to your heart, remember?”
His reference to Maggie’s advice made her smile. And he was right, of course. She knew Nick and Allison would support her, but she didn’t even want to consider her mother’s reaction. Would Lydia Durrance understand why she’d bolted from the church instead of going through with the wedding? Leslie was in no hurry to learn the answer to that question.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Do you mind if I stay another day or so?”
“You can stay as long as you like.” He reached for the coffeepot and refilled their cups, then sat on the stool next to her. “So you think this is too strong?” he asked after he took a mouthful. “Tomorrow I’ll let you make it.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll even make breakfast.”
“I’m guessing it’ll be something better than bacon and eggs.”
“Nothing’s better than bacon and eggs.” And he’d made hers just the way she liked them. “But my French toast is excellent.”
“Sounds like another trip to the grocery store.”
“Do you mind?”
“Are you kidding? I’d do more than that for a home-cooked breakfast. But you don’t have to cook, you know.”
“Since you’ve given me a place to stay, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I love to cook.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Does that surprise you?”
“No. Well, sort of. I mean, you and Nick grew up with cooks and housekeepers doing all that stuff for you.”
“We did, but I left home years ago.”
“I know you did.”
“But you think I still have people looking after me?”
He tore a piece of toast in half and used it to mop up the egg yolk on his plate. He didn’t answer, but she could tell what he was thinking. That she was still the spoiled little rich girl.
“FYI, I can look after myself. If I had to, I could even learn how to take apart plumbing.”
Brent tipped his head back and laughed. “I was out of line. I’ll bet you do an amazing job of everything, and I totally had that coming.”
No, he hadn’t, not this time, but with him she had always been on the defensive. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said.
“At least it seemed to cheer you up.”
But when she caught a glimmer of the look he’d given her last night just before she kissed him, she stopped smiling. She quickly picked up her glass and drank the rest of the orange juice. When she glanced at him again, the look was gone. Maybe she’d imagined it.
The phone rang, startling both of them and breaking whatever spell had started t
o weave itself in the narrow space between them.
Brent grabbed the phone and glanced at the call display, then looked at Leslie as he answered. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
Chapter Six
Not wanting to listen in on their conversation, Leslie slid off her stool and stepped through the open French doors onto the porch. The backyard was nicely secluded by a tall fence and several large trees. Max was romping across the lawn in a vain attempt to catch a butterfly. She’d been there less than twenty-four hours and already she’d fallen completely in love with Max and his crazy antics. And while Brent was on the phone with his mother, Max provided an entertaining distraction.
Brent’s mother knew she was here. Was she calling to check up on them?
Because Colleen Borden doesn’t like you. Leslie had never been able to figure out why, but since she was no longer on the redevelopment committee, it hadn’t mattered. Until now.
She was debating whether or not to join Max in the yard when Brent appeared.
“There’s a flooding problem in the basement of the shelter. My mother doesn’t know what’s wrong, but I’m guessing it could be from all the rain yesterday. I should run over and take a look.”
“That’s fine. I’ll stay here and wash the breakfast dishes.”
“Sure. Or…” He hesitated. “You’re welcome to come with me, if you feel like an outing. Sunday mornings are quiet, and we’re only going to the shelter.”
His unspoken meaning was clear. She didn’t need to worry about running into anyone she knew at the homeless shelter. He was right about that, and she was feeling restless. Besides, she liked spending time with him and when she did, she hardly thought about Gerald. Ha. When she was with Brent, she didn’t think about Gerald at all.
“It would be nice to get out for a while,” she said.
“Good. If it turns out to be a plumbing problem, you can start your apprenticeship.” His face had that characteristic flash of mischief that she remembered from when they were teenagers.
“You just need someone to hold your flashlight.”
“You’re pretty good at it.”