by Jan Moran
Well, a wife who knew how to cook might have been another possible solution.
Almost tried that. Didn’t work.
Plus I was the better cook.
He pushed Cynthia out of his mind and turned his attention to breakfast. Given a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry, he could concoct a decent meal with little notice. Fortunately, Maggie had filled the refrigerator, pantry, and spice racks with every possible thing he could want, and several things he did not want but appreciated regardless. It was her way of saying, “I love you.”
Brandon prepared breakfast for two, and scarfed down several bites of his own before taking a tray up for Shannon. He kicked his shoe against the door. “I’ve got food. You decent in there?”
“Yeah, thanks.” The door opened for him, and he carried the tray to the table, carefully setting it down next to the tray he had delivered for her dinner. No leftovers, he thought, with relish. He turned to face her. “How did you—?” His thought evaporated as he stared at Shannon. “Wow, you clean up well.” Where was the mud-streaked female-ish creature he had brought home last night, and who was this young woman who had taken her place? Her tangled ponytail had brushed out into long, wavy brown locks, and beneath the mud, she sported a clean, fresh look that carried well without makeup. Thanks to his sister and her cadre of supermodel friends, he was inured to the lure of extreme beauty, but Shannon’s natural prettiness somehow played a quick rhythm on his heart. It’s probably just been too long—a year since Cynthia, It was the longest he had been without a regular sexual and romantic partner. His ugly breakup with Cynthia at the altar had done a number on him. Burnt—hell, no—Scalded, he had retreated to lick his wounds. As far as he knew, he was still licking them, and they still hurt.
“Thank you.” Shannon laughed as she swept a stray lock of hair away from her face. “I know I shocked myself when I saw my reflection in the mirror last night. Thank you for dinner last night, by the way.”
“Couldn’t let you starve. How are your back and your knee?”
“Just strained, in both cases, and it aches more today than it did yesterday, but there’s no major damage.”
“I wish I could say the same of your bike.”
She winced. “How bad is it?”
“Needs professional help. The alignment’s completely off.”
“Do you have a wrench or something to help fix it?”
“Do you know how to patch tires too?”
“Oh.” Frowning slightly, she followed his gestured instructions to sit and eat. He sat across from her without invitation. She nibbled on her omelet. The tart bite of fresh tomatoes blended with the subtly bitter taste of spinach and the smooth aftertaste of mushrooms, filling her mouth with flavor. “Oh, this is good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Do you have a chef slaving away in a hidden dungeon?”
He laughed. “I learned how to cook. It was that, or live off take-out.”
“Nothing wrong with take-out. I lived off pizza, pasta, and take-out Chinese food, during my four years of medical school.”
“That describes my undergrad years. Got old real fast. I decided to learn how to cook, and it paid off. Got me into law school.”
Shannon’s eyebrows shot up.
“Many law school applicants have 170+ LSAT scores, but how many have 170+ scores and can cook?”
She sliced her omelet. “What did you do? Bribe the law professors with five-course dinners?”
“No, but I invited the people who wrote my references over for a home-cooked meal. I dazzled their palates with my cooking and their minds with my acumen and wit.”
Shannon choked back a snort of laughter before taking another generous bite of her omelet. “I wish I’d had that foresight. The scramble to get into medical school was downright nasty and resulted in all sort of casualties along the way.”
“Yeah, well, you doctors have easier access to all those pointy things.”
“Scalpels? It’s considered bad medical etiquette to stick them into people before they sign consent forms.”
“Ah, covering your ass. Happens everywhere. Keeps lawyers in business. And speaking of which, are you sure you’re all right? The clinic is open right now.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re so eager to get me to the hospital, I wonder if you really were driving on the wrong side of the road last night.”
“Not a chance. I’ve been driving in Italy for years. I know right from left. Cognitively it’s less of a challenge than say…east versus west?”
Shannon giggled. The sound rang like silver bells. “I’m usually better with direction. I’m not sure what happened yesterday. Montepulciano. Montalcino. How do the locals keep them straight?”
“Without too much difficulty, actually. So, you said you’re expected in Montalcino?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore. I had a one-night reservation at a B&B. I was supposed to head northwest to Siena today, continuing on my bike tour.”
He frowned. “You’re on a bike tour?”
“Why is that so hard to imagine?”
“Because those bike tours are usually a dozen cyclists deep, led by a retired Tour de France competitor-turned-tour guide, and accompanied by two large vans that look like retired SWAT vehicles.”
“I didn’t want that kind of tour, so I did my own.”
“Your own?”
“How hard is it to rent a bike and travel through the Tuscan countryside?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one sporting injuries and a wrecked bike.”
She scowled at him, but the motion quickly vanished into an ironic smile.
“Wait. Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“The frown.” His eyebrows drew together as he studied the frown on her face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Unlikely. I think I would have remembered you. And why would you remember a frown instead of a smile? Are you some kind of masochist?”
“Lawyer. Masochist. It doesn’t even compute.” He shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. I usually have a good recollection of faces and names.” He shifted to sit on the window seat, enjoying the sunlight pouring in through the window. “So what are you going to do about your tour?”
“I don’t know. Cycling’s not an option anymore, but my flight back to the States isn’t till next Saturday.”
“So, you’ve a week to kill. Is this your first visit to Italy?”
She nodded. “And my last in a while. I’m venturing out on my own professionally; I left the hospital and bought a partnership in an urgent care clinic.”
“You like doing your own thing, don’t you?”
“You noticed?” She grinned. “Yeah, I like setting my own direction.”
“Even while on vacation.”
“Brand new experiences. You said you’re housesitting for your sister.”
He nodded. “Literally. She stocked the pantry for me, and I don’t have to go anywhere or do anything for a week.”
Her gaze flashed past his shoulder to the view beyond the window. “At least you’ll be surrounded by gorgeous views while doing nothing.”
“I sense sarcasm.”
“You sensed right.” She nodded. “It doesn’t quite fit the overanxious overachiever lawyer image I was building up of you.”
“I save the anxiety and the achievement for work, and the partnership I’ve been working my ass off for. Besides, I’ve traveled through this area multiple times. It’s almost like home.”
“Been there. Seen it all.” She sounded wistful. “You’re lucky.”
“How so?”
“This is my first visit outside the U.S.”
“And you immediately decided to do your own bike tour? Did you know that your Italian sucks? Actually, it’s nonexistent.”
“Oh, and you’re fluent, of course.” Shannon’s tone was sardonic but she wore a smile.
&nbs
p; He grinned. “Of course, although I still have an accent. Maggie’s Italian is indistinguishable from a native’s—right down to the curse words.”
“You’re fond of your sister.”
“She’s not too bratty.”
Shannon laughed, and the sound drew a matching smile to his lips. “Goodness, you’re just overflowing with compliments for women.”
Brandon shrugged. “A woman who has to be flattered into believing in herself doesn’t know her own worth.”
She stared at him, her fork pausing on her way to her mouth.
“What?” he asked, disconcerted by her silence.
“It’s…a little scary how frank you are, and how insightful.”
“I bill by the minute. I don’t have much time for bullshit.”
Shannon’s smile wavered. “So, as not to take up any more of your time, do you have the number of a local cab company that could take me to Siena?”
Damn. He had been enjoying the conversation and hadn’t intended to scare her off or to come across as impatient. “What’s going to become of your Italian tour?”
“I can still tour from Siena. Perhaps hire a car and a driver, and visit a few nearby vineyards.”
“I could take you to Siena. It’s not that far.”
“You’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t want to impose any further.”
If he protested any further, he’d look like an idiot. Besides, he had no reason to protest. He had a “do absolutely nothing” vacation to get started. “All right. What time should I call for the car?”
“Uh…” She stared at him. “Whenever it’s convenient for you. I can be ready with little notice.”
“Okay. Why don’t you just rest for a while longer? I’ll let you know as soon as I arrange for a ride.”
Shannon nodded. “Right.” She bit down on her lower lip, a gesture that made her seem younger and more vulnerable than the woman he knew she was—one who had daringly taken on Italy without any Italian. The brief camaraderie passed into a stiff silence as he turned and walked out of the room.
~*~
Shannon zipped up her backpack and braced her hand against her lower back before slowly straightening. The aches were more intense, not unusual for the day after the injury, but she would be fine within the week.
Of course, within the week, she would be back in the United States.
So much for my Italian vacation.
She walked to the window and gazed out over vineyards and gardens spread upon rolling hills. It was nothing like the town of Westchester, and even less like New York City. She leaned out further, watching Brandon as he walked out of the house, barefoot, and simply dressed in a white shirt and blue denim jeans. He did not even look American. His dark hair was slightly too long for a corporate drone, and his sculptured features and deep-set eyes had a subtly European look to them. He could have passed off as Italian, and judging from the delighted greetings of the neighbors, he was welcomed as one.
An elderly couple passing along the lane stopped to chat with Brandon. The stream of Italian moved too quickly for Shannon to latch on to any word, but friendship did not need translation. Neither did their bright smiles nor the warmth in their eyes. The old woman looked up and waved at Shannon, her face beaming.
Shannon waved back, and the woman said something to Brandon.
His gaze darted up to Shannon before shifting back to the woman, and he murmured something to the old lady. In fact, he looked a little embarrassed. Shannon suppressed a smile; she was probably not the first woman he had brought to Maggie’s villa.
After a few minutes, he wrapped up the conversation and returned to the villa. “Shannon?” he shouted up the stairs. His footsteps thudded on the wooden steps, and he appeared at her bedroom door moments later. “I see you’re packed. I just spoke to Maggie’s neighbors. They’re driving up to Siena later this evening after dinner and would be happy to give you a ride.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“Looks like you’ll be having lunch and dinner with me.”
“If they’re as good as breakfast, it’s not a hardship.”
“Are you up to handling the stairs?”
“Um…”
“How about not a moment sooner than you have to?” Brandon smiled. “I’ll bring lunch up for you in a half hour. If you’re looking for reading material, Maggie’s library is small but eclectic.”
Lunch, as promised, was served in a half hour—a selection of premium cold cut meat, cheeses, and freshly baked bread, with tomato bisque and a mixed green salad on the side. Shannon drew a deep breath as she stared at the feast he had set out on the tray. “Tell me you didn’t actually bake the bread.”
“Would I win extra points if I did?” Brandon grinned. “No, I didn’t bake it. It was a welcome home gift from the neighbors. There’s also a gallon of homemade vanilla ice cream for dessert, whenever you’re ready.”
“So this is your idea of a vacation? Eat well, gain several dozen pounds?”
He shrugged. “Maggie obsesses enough about weight for the two of us, so I try not to think too hard about it. I like experimenting with flavors, and I don’t get much chance to do so when I’m working. There aren’t enough hours in a day to run the rat race and cook a decent meal.”
“Do you like your job?”
“I love it, actually—the challenge, the thrill. Each case is different, each client unique. Do you like yours?”
“I…” Shannon reached for a slice of prosciutto. “I did…and I didn’t.”
Brandon laughed. “That sounds definitive.”
“Loved the people. Hated the administration.”
“And that led to leaving the hospital to do your own thing?”
“Yes, the urgent care clinic.”
“You realize that you’ll have administration there too, right? Insurance. Medicare and Medicaid. Payroll taxes. Income taxes—”
Shannon pressed her hands against her ears. “No, no, no. Keep reality away from me.”
Brandon chuckled. “New business ventures are a bit like having kids. If people knew up front exactly what it would entail, they’d never head down that path.”
“Well, it’s too late for me. My life savings are invested in that urgent care clinic. There’s no turning back.” She nibbled on a slice of cheese. “Nerves aside, I’m really looking forward to this new phase in my life. It’s everything I’ve wanted.”
“That’s great. Congratulations. I hope it goes well.”
She arched an eyebrow. “So you can say nice things.”
He winked. “My quota is one per day. I’m done until tomorrow.”
Shannon laughed. “Your girlfriends must have developed thick skin.”
“The best ones were born with it.” He leaned back in his chair. “You think I’m an asshole, don’t you?”
“I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours. I really don’t think I’m entitled to comment.”
“People form impressions in fifteen seconds.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s just say your first fifteen seconds weren’t stellar. But neither were mine.”
“I don’t really have an excuse.”
“But neither are you apologizing for it.”
He chuckled. “I’m not the only blunt one here.”
“I think you expect honesty, and you respect it. Conversation with you is…jarring. I can’t quite anticipate what you’re going to say.”
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe it’s because you don’t know me.”
It almost sounded like an invitation. Did she want to know him? Brandon was intriguing in a slow-motion-train-wreck kind of way, not because he likely to wreck but because he was the high-speed train—rapid and unstoppable, running down everything in its path.
As a spectator, she would likely be amused, but the danger lay in getting close. She had been run down once before by a man much like Brandon—brilliant and ambitious, minus the blunt honesty. She didn�
��t have the time or energy to be someone else’s collateral damage once again. “I…don’t think the timing’s quite right.”
Their eyes met, and Brandon’s lips tugged into an ironic smirk “I suppose not. You’re leaving after dinner.”
Chapter 3
The scent of rosemary and thyme wafted up the stairs as Shannon, leaning heavily on the polished oak banister made her way down. She had spent the past twenty-four hours cooped up in the guest bedroom, entertained by the gorgeous scenery outside the window and the books from Maggie’s library on the second-floor landing. The inactivity chafed her, but she was realistic enough to pace her progress.
Carrying her heavy backpack down the stairs was an unlikely endeavor, but she suspected she would be able to talk Brandon into it. For all his bluntness, he did have a streak of chivalry. He would not have been as kind to her otherwise.
“Brandon?” she called as she reached the foot of the stairs.
“Here, in the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes.”
She glanced at the framed photograph over the fireplace, her attention immediately drawn to the stunningly attractive blond-haired woman who graced the covers of Cosmopolitan and Vogue. “Maggie…Marguerite Ferrara.” Brandon had mentioned his sister’s name last night but Shannon had been too disoriented by the accident to piece all the details together.
Brandon was right. He did know Shannon, and she did know him, under wretched circumstances.
Her chest aching, Shannon shook her head as she made her way into the kitchen. Brandon had set up two place settings in a cozy dining nook beside the large windows overlooking the terrace and pool. He waved her over to the table before joining her with two bowls of chilled melon-cucumber soup. She took a tentative sip; the first course, topped with cream and sprinkled with lemon rind, was more dessert than soup.
“It’s amazing,” she murmured.
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?”
“I’m a lawyer. For all intents and purposes, I have a degree in profiling. Something’s not quite right, and it’s not the food.”
She set the spoon down. “How can you tell?”