by Lauren Layne
His eyes narrowed slightly as though he didn’t believe her, but she stared back at him, silently daring him to challenge her so that she could flip it around and ask him if he was still dwelling on the woman, Nadia, who had turned down his marriage proposal.
She was willing to bet money that they were the same in their determination to move forward.
“I don’t know that there’s much to say other than what you already know.” She twisted her glass slowly as she stared at the melting ice. “I thought I was marrying the love of my life, obviously. And he . . . well, he wasn’t the man I thought he was. Literally and figuratively.”
“Have you spoken with him since his arrest?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you should.”
“He’s in prison,” she snapped. “His first phone call was to his lawyer, and I’m sure you can understand why I wasn’t falling all over myself to visit him.”
Seth held up his hands in surrender. “I struck a nerve. Apologies. I just think it could be healthy to get some closure.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Gosh, thanks, I haven’t heard that one before from people who actually know me. And on that note, are you all chatty with your ex? On good terms? Got closure, have you?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “You’re not at all as sweet as you look, are you?”
“Usually I am. You bring out the worst in me.”
He smiled at that. “Perhaps we should steer clear of personal topics, then. It makes you surly.”
“I’m not surly,” she ground out. “I’ll talk about the Clay thing. What do you want to know?”
“Promise not to lose your shit?”
“Nope, I do not promise that,” she said sweetly. “So tread carefully.”
Seth leaned forward and held her gaze. “A man you were in love with—a man you were planning to marry—was lying to you. For years. Using you in the worst possible way, pretending to be something he wasn’t. And deny it all you want, but he hurt you.”
Brooke swallowed and said nothing.
“That’s your business, and I won’t pry,” he said quietly. “As you pointed out, we’re practically strangers. But what I want to know is why you refuse to consider the possibility that Neil Garrett might be just like Clay. Not a con man, per se, but if Clay wasn’t exactly everything that he said he was, what makes you think Garrett is? What makes you believe that Clay’s the only shithead out there and that you’re the only woman who’s been betrayed in the worst kind of way by a man?”
To her utter horror, Brooke felt tears pricking at the back of her eyelids, and she blinked quickly to force them back before lifting her chin and looking at him defiantly.
“Because I want to believe it. My job is putting people on the path toward happily ever after, Mr. Tyler. In order to do my job well, I have to believe it. I have to.”
He stared at her a moment longer before giving a short shake of his head.
“Come on,” she cajoled lightly. “Surely you don’t think that, just because your ex wasn’t the one, happy endings don’t exist.”
Seth tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. “Actually . . . that’s exactly what I think. I also think I’m the only one in this room that has my head on straight.”
Chapter Sixteen
SETH’S HARSH DECLARATION HUNG between them for several seconds.
Brooke itched to argue—to tell him that he was wrong. That happy endings do exist. That just because they hadn’t happened for them yet didn’t mean that they wouldn’t someday.
The angry stubbornness on his face stopped her. If she didn’t want him prying into her life, she couldn’t very well go prying into his.
But she wanted to, and that puzzled her. The man wasn’t even likable. He was uptight and irritable and went from being deadly sexy to outright cold in the blink of an eye. He was also the type of man who took one nasty setback in romance and decided to forgo all hope. Exactly the type of pessimist she’d always abhorred.
However, there was something in his expression beyond the stubbornness that beckoned to her. A pain that he refused to acknowledge. A pain that she felt strongly compelled to fix, even as common sense told her to steer the conversation back to his sister’s wedding and put professional boundaries between them.
Seth’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, breaking the tense silence, but just barely. He picked up. “Yeah . . . Yeah, please send the food up. Thanks, Christian.”
Seth blew out a long breath as he hung up, dropping the phone back on the table, not looking at her. “Food’s here.”
He looked about as happy about it as a man on death row.
Whatever easy mood had settled between them just a few minutes before was long gone.
Brook set her glass aside. “I should go. I think this was a mistake.”
He didn’t argue.
Brooke reached down to put her shoes on. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong about your sister. Neil. All of it.”
Seth snorted. “Because you’re such a good judge of character. And quick to face your demons.”
Brooke gave him a plastic smile as she snatched up her planner and purse and stood. “I think we’re done here. From now on I’ll give my full report of the wedding progress to my boss, and she’ll keep you apprised of the details.”
“That wasn’t our deal,” he snarled.
“Well, I made a mistake when I made that deal,” she said, heading toward the door. Brooke shot him a glance over her shoulder. “And as you so kindly pointed out, I’m clearly not a good judge of character. God knows I misjudged you.”
Brooke reached for the door handle, jerking it open just as a male hand lifted and slammed the door shut again.
“I never lied to you about who I was,” he said, his voice low and angry. “About what I was.”
“And who and what is that, exactly?” she shot back. “A cold, rigid control freak who not only refuses to let himself be happy but doesn’t seem to want it for his sister, either?”
“Cold, am I?” he said, his breath warm against her cheek. “You sure about that?”
Brooke’s heart was thumping now, and she jerked at the door handle again. His big hand stayed where it was, keeping the door closed. Locking her in.
Her hand dropped to her side, and she inhaled. “Let me go.”
She saw his fingers flex slightly, as though wanting to remove his hand but incapable of it.
“I’m trying,” he growled.
“Try harder,” she said, her voice urgent.
“Why?” he shifted slightly closer until the center of his wide chest crowded against her shoulder. “Scared of what might happen if you stayed?”
Brooke opened her mouth to deliver a tart response only to realize that her face was too flush, her mind far too addled to come up with a worthy lie. The truth was she was terrified what was going to happen if she didn’t get out of this room. Terrified that she was going to cross some terrible professional line that she’d never recover from.
Seth’s lips touched her cheek. Not a kiss, exactly. Just an erotic touch that sent fire rippling from the spot his lips touched to lower on her body. Spots she wanted his mouth to touch. And linger.
Brooke ordered her body to move, and when it didn’t obey, Seth pressed even closer, his mouth brushing her cheek once more, but closer to her mouth. Another non-kiss that was sexier than any actual kiss she’d ever received.
She kept her gaze locked on the back of his hand as it continued to hold the door closed, even as she felt his other hand move toward her.
Seth palmed the back of her head, gently turning her face toward him. Their eyes locked, and for a second, neither moved.
He dropped his head and kissed her.
Brooke moaned as his tongue slipped into her mouth, hot and confident, his hand continuing to hold her head as his other hand dropped from the door to her hip, turning her toward him so they were chest to chest, man to woman.
She he
ard a thud, realized it was her purse dropping to the floor. Heard another moan, realized it was her own.
Her hands were on his face, her fingers digging at his hair as she kissed him back. Brooke fought for control of the kiss and failed miserably. He was too big, too controlling, too damn hot in the way he took the kiss from slow and sensual to hot and raunchy and then back to slow again.
She heard a knocking noise, embarrassed to realize it might be her heart. The knock grew louder, and reality crept in, albeit slowly.
He lifted his head, breathing hard.
Another knock. At the door. Someone was knocking at the door, her addled brain finally put together.
She immediately stepped back out of the way of the door—out of sight from whomever was on the other side.
Seth swore under his breath before jerking the door open.
“Good evening, Mr. Tyler. I have your food order here, sir.”
Seth made a noise that might have been a thank-you, might have simply been a grunt as he pulled out his wallet and shoved a fifty-dollar bill at the delivery boy.
“Thanks, let me just get you your change—”
Seth grabbed the plastic bag and shut the door in the kid’s face, then turned back to Brooke.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them even spoke.
The magnitude of what she’d just done was starting to penetrate the haze of want and she slowly bent to retrieve her bag before standing again and forcing herself to meet his eyes.
She tried to figure out what he might be thinking, but as usual there was nothing on the straight, icy planes of his face.
Brooke reached for the door handle, and he stopped her again, but only with words this time.
“You should stay. Eat.”
“I shouldn’t. And we both know it,” she said as she pulled open the door, peeking her head out into the darkened hallway to make sure the delivery guy was already on the elevator.
“I promised you dinner,” he tried again.
“I’m not hungry. Really.”
Well, she was, but not for food.
Brooke stepped out into the hallway.
“Ms. Baldwin. Brooke.”
She paused in her stride but didn’t look back.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry,” he said. “Not in the least.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” she whispered. “That shouldn’t have happened. It was unprofessional, and for what it’s worth, I’m embarrassed and hope you’ll understand that this was a misstep on my part and not a reflection on the Belles.”
“Oh for God’s sake, you really think I care that you’re—”
“Planning your sister’s wedding?” she interrupted, finally forcing herself to look at him. “Because I am. And if sticking your tongue in my mouth was some messed-up attempt to bring me around to your way of thinking about stopping the wedding . . .”
Seth’s expression went from icy to furious in a second. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. That kiss was about a man and a woman who wanted each other, but by all means, keep lying to yourself. You’re good at it.”
His words struck a chord. Big-time.
Brooke turned on her five-inch heel and marched toward the elevator.
She half expected him to call her back. Maybe even follow her.
Instead, she heard the door slam shut a second before a messy-sounding thud hit it, and she knew the expensive takeout had just been hurled against the door.
Had she not been in so much turmoil, she might have smirked at the fact that the ice king had a temper.
Instead she stepped into the elevator, turning to face the closing doors before she slowly lifted a hand to cover her face, as she wondered what the hell she had just done.
Chapter Seventeen
BROOKE HAD BECOME ACCUSTOMED to the Wedding Belles offices being a women-only zone.
Sure, there were the reluctant grooms who stopped by from time to time, and the occasional father of the bride.
Or even more unusual, the brother of the bride.
A brother who had piercing blue eyes and a sharp tongue and was the best damn kisser she’d ever encountered.
Brooke shook her head to banish the thoughts. Nope. No way.
She’d done a hell of a lot of thinking over the weekend and had decided to forgive herself for kissing the guy. Mistakes happened, and beating herself up over it would help no one.
But . . . neither was she going to put herself in the situation where they could have a repeat scenario. Since she was clearly incapable of maintaining professional distance with Seth, she’d have to put actual distance between them.
She wasn’t exactly looking forward to having this conversation with Alexis, but she hoped being up front about the conflict of interests might earn her brownie points with her new boss.
So Brooke had deliberately gotten to the office early, knowing that Alexis started her workday at the ungodly hour of seven and hoping to catch her before the usual bustle of the day started.
Only, it wasn’t her boss who stood in the quiet reception area of the Belles’ office.
It was a man.
She skidded to a halt, blinking in surprise at the dark-haired guy rummaging around in Jessie’s desk. He glanced up, straightening glasses with one hand as the other held a yellow sticky notepad he’d just pulled out of a drawer.
“Oh, hello there,” he said with a slight smile. “You must be Ms. Baldwin.”
Oh yummy. The man was handsome and British.
“That’s me. Although, I’m afraid you’re a step ahead of me,” she said with a cautious smile, still a little unsure who he was or what he was doing here.
“Right. Of course.” He came around the side of the desk, and Brooke was impressed to see that in addition to the sexy glasses, chiseled jaw, and moody brown eyes, he also wore his navy pinstripe suit quite well.
The man had it going on, in a bookish, quiet kind of way.
“I’m Logan Harris. The Belles’ accountant.”
“Oh!” Brooke said, shaking his extended hand. “Somehow I just assumed Alexis handled all of the books herself.”
He smiled rakishly. “That’s what she wants everyone to think.”
Brooke laughed, because it was clear this man knew her boss well. “Where does she keep you, chained up in the basement with one of those old-school visors?”
“Please don’t tell her I’ve escaped. I just wanted a bit of sunlight.”
“And a sticky pad, apparently,” Brooke said, gesturing at his left hand.
“So I can write my SOS message,” he replied.
Brooke giggled. Yes, giggled. She’d always been a sucker for accents. What woman wasn’t?
“Seriously though,” she said, “how come I haven’t seen you around?”
He shrugged. “Alexis and I meet twice a week, but always before eight. It works best for both our schedules.”
“An accountant that does house calls. I’m impressed,” Brooke said, taking a sip of the latte she’d picked up on the way in.
“Most clients come to my office downtown. But Alexis and I go way back.”
“Huh,” Brooke said, studying the man more closely. His tone was completely professional, but there was something there . . . an intensity when he spoke of Alexis.
And speak of the devil . . .
There was the familiar click-click-click of Alexis’s stiletto heels coming down the staircase. “Logan, did you find—Oh! Hi, Brooke.”
“Morning,” Brooke said, drawing out the word and searching her boss for any sign that there’d been hanky-panky with the handsome Brit but finding none. Alexis was every bit as put together as always. Not a strand out of place, no lipstick smudge, no misaligned buttons.
Disappointing. Highly disappointing.
“You’re early this morning,” Alexis observed.
“And a good thing, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known that we have a handsome British accountant working with us.”
She said it c
asually, flirtatiously but harmlessly so, and was doubly intrigued when Logan blushed. God, he was cute.
“A handsome British . . .? Ohhhhhh,” Alexis said. “You mean Logan.”
Logan gave her an exasperated look. “Really? You have more than one accountant?”
Alexis shrugged. “I guess I’m just used to your accent.”
“And his handsomeness—you’re used to that, too?” Brooke teased.
Alexis only blinked at her in semi-confusion. Brooke snorted. For a woman who was so on top of things, sometimes her boss could be strangely obtuse.
Either that or she had a damn good poker face.
Maybe a bit of both.
“Well, much as I’d love to sit and crunch numbers with you two, I should probably get to work,” Brooke said as she lifted her drink in farewell and headed toward the stairs. “But Alexis, whenever you’re done, I was hoping we could chat before the day gets too crazy.”
“Of course,” Alexis said, studying Brooke with that too-sharp gaze. Brooke had the most unsettling feeling that Alexis somehow knew what she wanted to talk about, which made no sense.
But then, that was Alexis for you. One step ahead of everyone.
“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Baldwin,” Logan said.
“Lovely to meet you, too, Mr. Harris. Hope you’re allowed above board long enough to see the sun come up.”
“Above board?” Alexis asked.
“Inside joke,” Brooke said with a wink at Logan.
Alexis’s eyes narrowed, and Brooke hid a smile. Maybe her friend wasn’t quite so unaware of Logan as she was pretending, because she clearly wasn’t loving the fact that there was an inside joke she wasn’t in on.
There was a story there, with Logan and Alexis, but Brooke would bet serious money that Alexis didn’t even know it yet.
Up in her office, Brooke booted up her computer as she sipped her latte and stared out at the chilly New York morning that was just beginning to show the first traces of life as people trudged to work and started on their daily post-weekend grind. She was still struggling like hell to get used to the frigid weather, but Brooke was surprised to realize that she liked having an actual winter.