by Lee McKenzie
“It always seemed like you had everything you ever wanted,” he said.
“Money isn’t everything. If I ever have children, they won’t spend most of their time with the housekeeper.”
He tweaked the end of her nose with a sudsy finger, leaving a blob of bubbles behind. “I’m sorry. I just never imagined that’s how things were for you. Nick never let on—”
She scrunched her nose and wiped the soap away, flicking it at Brent. She couldn’t believe she’d let down her guard. She had never confessed to anyone that her childhood had been lonely. Not to any of her friends, not to Gerald, not even to her own family. Why now? Why Brent?
“Nick was always better at ignoring those things than I was, but I survived.”
“Money might not be everything,” he said, “but if it’ll help you get Hannah out of the shelter, that’s more than a lot of people could do.”
“It’s not a big deal.” She smiled as she dried the last glass and set it on the counter, then used the towel to wipe the suds from his hair and forehead.
She thought he might smile back, but he didn’t. Instead, his stare was intense, and she suddenly had trouble breathing.
He recovered first. “Well, looks like we’re done here. There’s a ball game on. Do you mind if I turn on the TV?”
“Of course not. Who’s playing?”
“The Yankees and Boston.”
“I’ve always been a Red Sox fan.”
“Since when have you been into baseball?”
“I went to a few games when I was at university.”
“Being a fan involves more than going to a few games. Take the Yankees, for example. Now there’s a team.”
She followed him into the living room.
Brent picked up a remote off the top of a corner cabinet, opened the doors, and turned on the TV.
Max was curled up on one end of the sofa. Brent sat at the other end and Leslie had no choice but to sit between them.
“All right. Bottom of the third, still no runs.”
Leslie leaned forward and looked at the coffee table. It had a recessed top that was filled with baseball memorabilia and covered with glass.
“Did you build this table?” she asked.
“I did,” he said, without taking his eyes off the screen.
The table contained a collection of baseball cards, a battered glove that bore a signature she couldn’t make out and a couple of autographed balls. Interesting.
“Back in high school, weren’t you the star player on the team?” she asked, although she already knew the answer to that question. There had even been talk of him going to college on a full scholarship.
“You could say that.”
“But you didn’t pursue it?”
He tore his gaze away from the TV long enough to answer her question. “I gave it a shot but college wasn’t for me. And it was a lot easier being a big fish in a small pond.”
“Do you miss it?”
He seemed to give that some consideration before he answered. “No, I don’t. Playing ball was fun, but the work I do suits me better.”
And you’re a master at it, she thought, running a hand along the edge of the table. She wondered how he’d happened upon this as a career when playing baseball had seemed like such a sure thing. Her Life List, which was starting to feel more like a dark tunnel than a route map for her life, hadn’t had that kind of flexibility. She had never considered the possibility of not going into law, and she wondered now what she might have done if circumstances had been different. Would she be happier than she was now? She certainly would have had more fun in school.
The game caught his attention and she turned hers back to the table. There was a photograph of the high school team, taken at her place, the day they’d won the state championship. Nick had been the team’s shortstop, and he’d hosted the party.
Brent used to hang out at her place with her brother and they had been easy enough to avoid until Nick had started dating Allison. When it was just the guys, Leslie would make herself scarce. When Allison was there, it was harder to stay out of sight, so Leslie usually invited other people over, as well. Anyone would do, as long as it meant she and Brent and Allison and Nick weren’t a foursome.
That spring she and Allison had gone shopping in the city and they’d bought the skimpiest bikinis they could find. Correction. That Allison could find. They were meant to be worn by girls with a Baywatch figure like Allison’s, not underdeveloped sixteen-year-olds, but Leslie had let herself be talked into it. She’d also let herself be talked into wearing it at that pool party, and it had attracted way more attention than she’d wanted.
Brent glanced at her. “What are you looking at?”
“The picture taken at the pool party.”
Brent laughed. “Nick was the worst shortstop in the history of baseball. We only kept him on the team because he threw the best parties.”
As she recalled, it was one of the worst parties she’d ever been to.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No, I was just remembering something.”
“Something unpleasant, if I had to guess.” He shifted sideways and put an arm across the back of the sofa. The game on TV was forgotten and his full attention was focused on her.
“It was nothing, and I was just a silly teenager in those days.”
He was studying her closely now. “Didn’t you get upset about something?”
Leslie was starting to feel as self-conscious as she had back in those days. She looked down at her hands and wished she’d never mentioned the party.
“Was it something I did?”
“Sort of.”
“Then you might as well get it off your chest. You may never get the chance again.”
“It’s not like I’ve been holding a grudge.” Although that was not entirely true.
“Spill it,” was all he said.
She knew he wouldn’t drop the subject, and she had never been good at making up stories. “A week or so before the party Allison and I were shopping and she talked me into a buying a new bathing suit.”
Brent’s eyes lit up. “Ah, the pink bikini.”
“You remember?”
“Not an easy thing to forget.”
Heat flamed across her face. “I got a bit of a sunburn that day.”
“Like you have now?” he asked.
“This isn’t from too much sun.”
He stroked the tip of his index finger the length of her nose. “I know.”
She brushed his hand away. “Someone told me my nose was getting pink and that I should put on some sunscreen, and you said—”
She couldn’t say it.
“And I said…what?”
“And you said, ‘A little bit of pink can be kind of nice.’”
“Oh-kay.” But it was obvious that he didn’t understand what she was saying.
“When you said it, you weren’t looking at my nose.”
He blinked, apparently still not following. “So what was I…” Then his slow-spreading grin let her know that he got it. “Right.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Come on, Leslie. What was I, sixteen? Seventeen? Guys that age are morons. They always look at girls that way.”
She wanted to point out that using ignorance as a defense never worked on a lawyer, but he’d probably find that funny, too. “It wasn’t that you were looking at me, it was what you said. In front of everyone.”
He was back to looking confused. “What was it I said again?”
“That a little bit of pink was nice.”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds then shook his head. To her satisfaction, a few traces of pink had found a home on his face, too. “And you thought I meant—”
“Exactly what you said.” What else was she supposed to think? The other girls were spilling out of their swimsuits, only too happy to be ogled, while she’d had nothing to spill. Still didn’t.
“I don’t remember saying it
but if it’ll make you feel any better, I can tell you exactly what I was thinking.”
She looked away. Under the present circumstances, that might not be such a good idea.
He seemed to think otherwise. He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her head until their gazes met. Then he slowly, and very deliberately, lowered his eyes until they settled on her breasts. “I would have been thinking the same thing I’m thinking right now. That you are gorgeous and sexy and if you’re going to wear a bikini, you’d better get used to guys looking at you.”
Just as slowly, his gaze made the return trip, and she hoped he’d looked away before her nipples had gone hard. She tried to inch away from him and ended up bumping into Max. The dog sat up, apparently annoyed that his nap had been disturbed, jumped off the sofa, and settled himself on the big green-and-maroon-plaid cushion by the fireplace.
Brent closed the small space she’d managed to open between them and put his hands on her shoulders. “Would you like me to show you what I really wanted to do that day?”
The breathless anticipation of his kiss prevented her from her talking, so she simply shook her head.
“Was that a no?”
She nodded.
“That looked more like a yes.”
Probably because it was.
Chapter Eight
That kiss was everything last night’s wasn’t—demanding, possessive, deeply intimate. His hands were everywhere, and they were just as skilled at making love as they were at everything else he did. Stroking her hair, testing the soft part of her earlobe before his mouth explored it further.
Somehow she’d gone from sitting to lying beneath him, and he was nudging her legs apart with one knee. The anticipation was almost more than she could stand.
And then his mouth was back on hers and his tongue sparked off even more exquisite sensations. One hand worked its way down her rib cage and found the hem of her shirt. His hand hesitated, and she tried to predict which direction it would take. Up or down? Either would work. It just needed to move faster.
When it inched its way upward, she realized she’d been hoping for the opposite. Then her nipple was being rolled between his fingers and direction no longer mattered because every part of her hummed with pleasure.
Her own hands crawled under his shirt and up his back.
She arched against him, no longer able to resist touching him the way he touched her.
“Slow down.”
“No,” she said. All her life she’d taken things slow. Tonight she was in the mood for a little speed.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” That brought her back to reality, or at least the outskirts.
She couldn’t believe it, either. Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe. Yesterday she’d been on her way to the altar to marry one man and now she was breathing heavily with another. And not just any other guy. Brent had always made it clear he was interested in her. Leading him on like this wasn’t right.
He raised his head and looked down at her. “You don’t want to do this, do you?”
She let out a long breath. “The outside me does. The inside me isn’t so sure it’s a good idea.”
He sighed softly. “For now I think we’d better listen to the inside you.”
She still clung to him.
He pulled his hand from under her shirt and moved away. “I hope the inside you changes her mind someday.” He kissed her again, lightly, and she knew it would be the last until she made a decision.
Another few minutes of that hand under her shirt might have tipped the balance. She grasped his wrist and tried to indicate that, but he gently moved her hand and helped her to sit up.
“I’ve waited a long time for this. It won’t kill me to wait until you know what you want.”
“What if I never figure that out?”
“Then I’m seriously going to regret that I stopped.”
So will I, Leslie thought. “Can we still watch the ball game together?”
“That we can do.” He paused, then held out an arm for her. “Come here.”
In spite of what had just happened, or maybe because of it, curling up in the protective circle of his arm seemed like the natural thing to do. She settled in and closed her eyes. “What’s happening with the game?”
“Top of the fourth,” he said. “Yankees are up by two.”
“The Red Sox will even the score.”
“We’ll see about that.” He smoothed the hair on her forehead and she could tell he was looking at her. “I’m really sorry, Leslie. There must’ve been times when I acted like a jerk, but I never meant to hurt you.”
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “I know.”
LESLIE TOSSED and turned most of the night. The room wasn’t equipped with a clock of any kind and she didn’t have a wristwatch with her, so she didn’t know exactly when she’d reached a decision. Once she had, she’d slept fitfully for maybe an hour or two. At the crack of dawn she quietly crawled out of bed and slipped into her jeans and a light-blue T-shirt that Brent had given her.
Max was at her door. “Shh,” she whispered. “I don’t want to wake Brent.”
The clock in the kitchen said it was just before six. She hated to wake Nick, but she wanted to ask him to pick her up this morning, and she needed to talk to him before Brent got up and tried to change her mind.
After four rings, a groggy but familiar voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Nick? It’s me, Leslie.”
“Hey, what time is it?”
“Quarter to six.”
“That explains why I’m not awake.”
“I’m ready to go home. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind picking me up this morning.”
“No problem. Where are you?”
“I’m at Brent’s place.”
Silence.
“Nick?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Surprised, though.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t sound all that surprised. “It’s a long story. I can explain everything later, but if you wouldn’t mind picking me up, maybe on your way to work, that would be great.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I can’t stay here forever.”
“True.”
“Can you do a favor for me? Allison has left about a dozen messages for me and in one of them she said she has my handbag with the keys to my town house. Can you get it from her before you pick me up?”
“Sure. I’ll be there around nine. Will that work?”
“That’s perfect. You won’t tell Allison where I am, will you?”
“Won’t say a thing.”
She was tempted to ask about their mother, but that could wait. “Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
After she hung up, she walked over to the French doors and looked out at the backyard. Max scratched lightly at the door, so she unlocked it and let him out, hoping he wouldn’t start barking.
She opened the fridge and took out the milk, butter and a carton of eggs, and nudged the door shut with her foot. She turned around and there was Brent, standing on the other side of the room.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Not particularly.”
“Me, neither.”
She unloaded her armful of dairy products onto the counter. “I wanted to get up early and make that French toast I promised you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The coolness in his voice told her that he had heard her on the phone with her brother.
“Brent, it’s time for me to go home,” she said. “Nick is coming to pick me up.”
“You didn’t have to call him. I would have taken you.”
“I know, but first you would have tried to talk me out of it.”
“That’s true. I would have. If this is about last night—”
“It isn’t.”
He clearly didn’t believe her, and rightly so. It had everyth
ing to do with last night.
“Let me qualify that,” she said. “It’s not completely about last night. I can’t hide forever. My family’s worried about me and they need to know I’m okay.”
“Do you plan to go back to work right away?”
“No, I arranged to take several weeks off and I’d like to take advantage of the time to do a few things, like rescue Hannah from the shelter.” She looked down at the floor while she searched for the right words. “I also have to get Gerald out of my life for good, and the only way to do that is to confront him.”
Brent looked defeated. “You know what he’s going to say, don’t you? That he’s sorry and he wants you back.”
Did he really think she’d be tempted by anything Gerald could possibly say? “I don’t know what to expect, but this is something I have to do. He and I are over. I don’t have room in my life for a man who cheats on me, and there’s nothing he can say to make me change my mind. But I can’t move forward—either on my own or with someone else—until I’ve ended this with him.”
“So when you say ‘someone else,’ does that mean—”
“No, Brent. It’s too soon for that. But I’m glad you found me on Saturday and brought me here. I needed a friend, and you were there.” She moved toward him and he opened his arms for her. Learning to lean on this man and his quiet strength would be dangerously easy.
“I need to confess something,” he said.
She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “What is it?”
He ran his hand up her neck and over the back of her head, gently bringing her cheek to rest on his chest. “My being there on Saturday morning wasn’t a coincidence.”
She tried to look up again, but he wouldn’t let her. “If it wasn’t a coincidence, then what was it?” she asked.
“Nick told me you were getting married. I guess I needed to know if it was really happening.”
She swung her head up to face him and that time he didn’t try to stop her. “I had no idea it would have mattered to you.”
“Neither did I. And then there I was, driving past the church.”
“And there I was, running down the sidewalk in the pouring rain. I must have looked like a lunatic.”