by Inara Scott
“I am not your father,” Brit said.
“I know that,” Ross replied, “but sometimes I wonder if you do.” He turned back to Tori, who was pulling her hair back from her face and laughing at something Joe was saying. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Brit snapped, louder and angrier than he had intended.
“That’s what I thought,” Ross said.
“Wipe that smug look off your face. You’ve got three kids and an ex-wife to deal with. You don’t need complications.”
“She doesn’t look complicated.”
“Oh, she’s complicated all right,” Brit said. “This morning she jumped down my throat when I even suggested that we were dating. And I had to practically beg her to stay in New York overnight, even though it was perfectly obvious she wanted me.” He was still mystified by her reluctance the day before. “I think she’s a workaholic, on top of it. Checks her cell phone every ten minutes, even when we’re at dinner. It’s like a tic or something. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it.”
“That sounds terrible,” Ross said with a straight face. “You’re obviously sacrificing a lot for our sister. You should be proud of yourself.”
Brit fought with the urge to deck his brother, as he had so many times when they were boys. Instead, he contented himself with slapping him on the side of his head. “Shut up, will you?”
Ross grinned as he rubbed his head. “All right, tough guy. But when you get tired of dealing with all her complications, let me know. That’s what family is for.”
…
Brit rejoined Tori on the bench, wedging himself between her and a balding, middle-aged man who stood up and screamed at his son at regular intervals. Tori ignored him, moving her leg farther and farther away until she was sitting at an angle, her back almost completely to him. She seemed to be making a point of enjoying herself. With everyone but him. In fact, she seemed to have taken a sudden and complete dislike to the man who had brought her to this happy family gathering.
He told himself it was a positive development. She and Melissa were hitting it off and there was no chance she expected more from him than he was interested in giving. His plan was working. Yet for some reason, after an hour or so of the silent treatment, he was becoming annoyed. When Tori and Melissa wandered away to get a drink from a water fountain and Tori shot him a look of downright loathing, his irritation peaked. What had he done to deserve her distaste?
When they returned around the side of the bleachers, Tori and Melissa looked at each other and giggled. In case he hadn’t understood that they were laughing at him, Melissa shot a sideways glance at Brit, and the two of them erupted into peals of laughter.
Ross elbowed him and whispered, “I think your plan is working.”
“I can see that,” Brit said. He bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile and asked Joe about his latest project—a mixed-use housing development in New Jersey. As Joe began rambling about the challenges of securing funding for affordable units, his attention turned back to Tori. When she sat down on the other side of Melissa, as far away from him as possible, and sent one more withering look his direction, he’d had enough.
He excused himself to Joe, apologized to the Balding Screamer, and jumped out of the stands. “Tori, we’ve got that thing at four.” He nodded at Joe. “Tell Luke I thought he did a great job today.”
Delia rush out of the stands and caught him around the knee. “Don’t go!”
Brit threw her up in the air and gave her a last tickle before handing her back to Ross. Matt and Julia started to protest until he said, “I’ll see you two for dinner next week, remember? Grandma and Grandpa are coming to town.”
All three kids appeared mollified by the thought of seeing Grandma and Grandpa. Probably because Grandma and Grandpa usually brought presents whenever they returned from one of their trips.
Ever since his parents had retired, they’d been living the life they’d always wanted. Brit’s dad, John, spent time every day painting and drawing, while Brit’s mom, Phoebe, read through most of the great Russian authors. They sold the old brick house in Queens where Brit had grown up and moved to a tiny condo in SoHo. They went to gallery openings of obscure artists. His father’s uniform now consisted of a pair of paint-stained khaki pants and white T-shirts, while his mother wore flowing skirts, scarves, and caftans. They were happier than he’d ever seen them.
Not that he begrudged them the change. But it would have been a bit easier to swallow if part of their joy hadn’t stemmed from their complete lack of parental duties. They seemed to revel in their lack of responsibility. When Brit told them about what had happened to Melissa, they made worried noises for approximately five minutes before his father asked if Brit had seen his latest effort in watercolor, and his mother wondered out loud if her new oil painting looked better by the kitchen, or in the bedroom.
When it came right down to it, neither of his parents were particularly…well…parental. As long as Brit could remember, John had been hesitant, nervous, and tense. He was by nature an absentminded man with no head for details, and no stomach for the loud and physical antics of three active boys. John had inherited Excorp from his father, and been strong-armed into running it when his father’s health had failed. It was a role that never suited him. By the time he was thirteen, Brit had become the default leader of the family, forced into that role by his father’s refusal to take it.
Yes, John and Phoebe were much happier now. They relished the role of grandparent, where they could swoop down and deliver presents, receive adoration from their grandchildren, and then leave before they were asked to assume any responsibility.
Delia squeezed Brit’s hand. “I wuv Grandma,” she said. “But I like you better.”
He mussed her hair and gave her another hug. “I love you too, pumpkin.”
Tori was standing next to them, her body stiff with some unnamed frustration. Still, she managed to give Delia a friendly grin and say good-bye to Melissa and the others with an easy, genuine manner that was belied by the tense set of her shoulders.
As they began walking back to the car, Brit tamped down his own frustration. He couldn’t afford to alienate her completely, not now, when he was so close to success. He tried for calm. Perhaps she hadn’t liked being left on her own with Melissa. Perhaps she had felt ignored. Women didn’t like feeling ignored.
He used his most soothing, appreciative tone. “Thanks for coming with me. They’re nice kids, aren’t they? They seemed to take to you right away.”
She did not look at him, but her sandals slapped against the sidewalk as her pace increased.
He cleared his throat. Things were worse than he had thought. It was like walking next to a time bomb. “Er, is there something I should know about?”
“I’m not discussing it right now.” She bit out each word with a tight, military precision. “If I discussed it right now, I’d have to kill you with my bare hands. I’d prefer to wait until we get back to your apartment, so I can use a knife, or a blunt instrument.”
“I see.” He nodded, his mind sorting through possible reasons for the fury that shook her narrow shoulders. “That makes sense.”
“I might break a nail.”
“Of course.”
They walked in silence to the car, which was parked a few blocks from the park under the shade of a large linden tree. Brit opened Tori’s door first, before walking around to the driver’s side. He pulled open his door and left it open for a moment to let the heat disperse. Tori sat down on the hot leather seat, her face slowly turning from pink to red.
“Looks like you’re ready to leave.” Brit slid into the car and turned the air-conditioning on full blast. They drove the twenty-five minutes back to his place in silence.
The bomb continued to tick while Brit racked his brain for the reason why.
As they pulled to the curb beside his building, a terrible, sinking feeling settled over him. She
had figured it out. Somehow, in the midst of all that bonding with Melissa, she had figured out his plan. It was the only explanation.
Brit jumped from the car and handed the keys to the valet. Tori stalked up to the front door, gave the doorman a polite nod, and marched inside. Following a few paces behind, Brit grimaced as Seth’s eyes met his.
“Looks like you’ve got trouble, Mr. Bencher,” Seth whispered.
“You don’t know the half of it, Seth.”
They rode the elevator a few steps apart. A soft chime announced the penthouse, and Brit motioned for Tori to precede him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slam the front door. The stained glass is fragile.”
“I’ll slam it if I damn well please,” she growled.
“All right then.” Though it was hardly a good time, his eyes lingered on her backside as she marched up the hall. Tori pissed off was even hotter than Tori not pissed off.
He unlocked the door for her and watched the swing of her hips as she walked through the entryway. Her hair was fast escaping the bonds of her ponytail, and it settled around her shoulders like a cloud of light following an avenging angel. He caught the door that she sent flying back at him, and then entered the apartment behind her.
Her voice lashed out like a whip. “You set me up.”
“What do you mean?” He followed her into the kitchen, putting himself in front of the block of knives.
Better safe than sorry.
“I knew there was a reason you wanted to go out with me.” She threw her hands up in the air. “How could I be so stupid?”
He feigned confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You, me, this whole thing!” She gestured wildly, and more of her halo escaped its confinement. “The suave, debonair Brit Bencher spending his time with a short, frizzy-haired attorney? It never made any sense. Except now it does. You wanted me to help your sister.”
He swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
She marched over and pointed at him, her eyes cold. “You slept with me because I know Garth Solen.”
He sighed with relief. “Now that’s absurd. I slept with you because I wanted you. I still want you.” Here, at least, he could be absolutely honest.
“You’re lying. You didn’t invite me to that baseball game because you enjoy my company. You wanted me to meet your sister. You were hoping we’d hit it off. She told me that you sent her resume to Garth and he wouldn’t meet with her. You wanted an invitation and you thought I could give it to you. Tell me that’s not true.”
He tried to speak, but the words lodged in his throat.
She leaped on his silence. “I knew it. Damn you, and damn me for falling for it.” She turned around and stomped into the living room and picked up a cordless phone. “How do I get a cab?”
He half expected to see tears in her eyes, but they were clear and narrow, sparkling with hate. Hate for him, hate for herself, or perhaps some of both. He couldn’t tell. Either way, it made him sick.
“Tori, slow down. Okay, I admit that I hoped you and Melissa would hit it off. But it’s not like that was the only reason I—”
“A cab,” she cut him off. “All I need is a cab.”
“At least let me explain.”
“What’s to explain? You teased me with The Slayer’s charm and good looks until I was a female idiot, and it was all a game to get what you wanted.”
“Wait a minute.” He started to channel some of his own anger, if only to replace the horrible, guilty feeling building in his gut. “You’re the one who has been falling over backward to tell me we aren’t dating. You wanted a one-night stand. As far as I can tell, you went out of your way to make sure I knew that I was nothing more than a warm body to you. So I slowed you down and forced you to meet my sister. I’m sorry. But it’s not like I engaged in some kind of industrial espionage. I didn’t steal your contact list or hack your computer.”
Brit’s chest rose and fell with the force of his words. Weeks of fear and worry coalesced in a rush. “Yes, I took you out to dinner because I wanted Solen’s number. Can you blame me? Did you see Melissa?” His throat clenched. “She’s my little sister, Tori. I’d do anything for her.”
Tori threw down the phone. “I’m not a monster, Brit. If you had been honest with me, I might have been willing to help. But you weren’t honest. You lied. You used me. You’re exactly like every other charming, lying man, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.”
“What are you talking about?” Brit sensed that Tori’s look of pain went deeper than what he’d done.
“Forget it.” She threw down the phone and grabbed her purse from the rack by the door. Extracting her BlackBerry, she turned her back on him and started down the hall toward the bedroom. “Yes, for Manhattan? I need the number for a taxi service. Any taxi service.”
He snatched the device from her hand and ended the call. “Is this about your ex-fiancé? Is that why you’re so upset? Did he cheat on you or something?”
“I’m not upset about Phil, and no, he didn’t cheat on me.” Tori spoke through lips tight with anger. “I’m upset because you’re an asshole, and because I should have known better.”
As he stared at her, he recalled what she had said at breakfast—something he had barely heard, so focused was he on Melissa and his plan.
“Your father, right? That’s what this is about.”
She gasped, and he could see the pain lance through her. Instantly, he regretted his words.
Smooth, Brit. That really helped. Can you find another emotional scar to rip open?
“Don’t you dare try to psychoanalyze me,” Tori hissed. “This weekend was obviously a huge mistake. Now give me my phone.”
She leaned in to grab the phone. As she did her breasts bounced against his side and a painful jolt of electricity shot through him, from chest to groin. He caught her around the waist with one arm and pulled her closer, moving the phone over his head. Pushing against his chest with both hands, she squirmed to try to break his hold.
“Tori, I screwed up. I’m sorry. But I wasn’t lying about this.”
He leaned into her and she froze, staring at him with eyes as wide and panicked as a doe. Unable to stop himself, he traced the line of her jaw, and then touched her mouth with his own. She did not push away.
He pushed against the seam of her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth and let him explore. His erection hardened. God he wanted her. He dropped the phone to the ground and wrapped both arms around her waist, then lifted her up so the length of her body rubbed against him. He traced the outline of her buttocks, the full curves begging to be cupped. Gently, he butted against her with his hips, until he felt her legs relax and part.
Still holding her against him, he spun around slowly and pushed her against the wall. Rapidly losing control, he lowered his hands to her thighs, pulling them up until she straddled him. Her muscles tightened beneath his fingers, until they surrounded him, gripped him. The moment his groin met the warm, welcoming spot between her legs, he groaned and thrust hard against her.
“I want you,” he said, barely resisting the urge to rip off her pants. “Can’t you see that? Yes, I admit I asked you out because of Solen, but this weekend was more than that. You’ve got to believe me.”
She dropped her head against his shoulder. Somehow his words had hit her like a bucket of cold water. Her legs dropped to the floor and her hands pushed against his chest.
Slowly, she raised her head. Their eyes locked.
“No more, Brit,” she said. “I can’t handle more lies.” Her anger had changed in a heartbeat to something dark. Something sad.
A jolt of pain shot through him.
He had put that look in her eyes. He had hurt her.
“This is not a lie,” he ground out. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s the furthest thing from a lie.”
When he covered her mouth again, she whimpered and gave a tiny, helpless push. “I can’t do this. Please. Don’t make
me do this.”
It was the whimper, like that of a hurt animal, that finally cut through his lust. He loosened his grip and she immediately twisted free and grabbed her BlackBerry from the ground. She flicked it on and studied it for a moment before clicking it into the holster at her waist. When she looked up at him, her eyes were bleak. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again and turned away.
He realized at that moment how tiny she really was. Her spirit was so big—so feisty, moody, sexy—that he forgot she barely came to his shoulder. From behind, her shoulders looked delicate. Fragile.
Brit, you bastard, what have you done?
“Seth will get you a cab,” he said.
She nodded and pushed past him to the hall.
He dropped his head and clenched and unclenched his fists. Fury and guilt mixed in equal measures in his gut.
You manipulated her. You knew exactly what you were doing.
He’d been lying to himself all along in an effort to assuage his guilt. He’d felt Tori’s desire and used it against her. And now he realized that his betrayal went to the very heart of who she was.
He watched her gather her belongings, her back rigid with pride.
The enormity of what he’d done staggered him. He’d been so sure he could fix Melissa, the same way he’d fixed Excorp, that he’d been willing to sacrifice anyone—including Tori—who got in his way.
“There’s no reason for you to keep playing stand-in father.”
Ross’s words rang in his ears. He’d been trying to fix them for years. All of them. And Tori had paid the price.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Without looking at him, Tori opened the front door and headed for the elevator. He watched her go with a feeling that had let something precious slip through his fingers, and he had no idea how to get it back.
…
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Tori started scrolling through e-mail messages, trying to ignore her shaking hands. The words trailed across the tiny screen, but none of them reached her brain.