by Rachel Cross
“I wouldn’t really know.”
“Oh, come on,” Clarissa pleaded hopefully. “Are you sure you don’t know any juicy stories?”
“Sorry.”
The blonde sighed with disappointment before returning to her desk.
It was funny, Shannon thought as she started typing. You would think two men who were brothers would have a little more in common, but these two hardly even looked alike. There were some similarities, she supposed. The noses, the chins . . . But Drew’s hair was straight where Michael’s was curly. Drew’s eyes were a warm shade of blue while Michael’s were—She struggled to remember. Brown, maybe. Almost black. Definitely dark.
The note she had written to remind herself to make dinner reservations for Drew and a date caught her attention, and she decided the smart thing to do was to stop thinking about Drew’s eyes.
• • •
Michael peeled off his much-scuffed leather jacket and tossed it onto the ground beneath a large oak tree using more force than was necessary. Taking a seat on the shady grass beneath its overhanging branches, he turned stony eyes to the door of the building in which his brother worked.
That could have gone better. Well, it was hardly the first time he managed to screw things up, and it was a safe bet that it wouldn’t be the last time, either. He ought to know better than to let his emotions plot the course instead of his head, but knowing and doing were two very different things, weren’t they?
The security guard was ever so helpful in making sure he did indeed find the exit all right and even took the time to explain in no uncertain terms that Michael would not be seeing the inside of Drew’s building again anytime soon. So now not only could he not get Drew to take his calls at home—and the doorman at his brother’s high-rise apartment complex was about as helpful as that carrot-topped battle axe in the office—but now his work was closed off to him, too. Wonderful. He was fast running out of options through which to reach Drew and fix this mess that the younger Kingston was in the process of creating.
Michael sank back against the trunk of the tree and rubbed eyes that were weary from too many hours on the road and not enough caffeine. He had lost his temper in there, a stupid thing to do. It was hardly the best way to get Drew to see his point of view. Granted, the exchange with the secretary hadn’t exactly helped his frame of mind, but that was only a small part of it. His head hadn’t been right ever since he stumbled onto that article about the family home and the highly touted youth center Drew planned to make out of it. Drew must have been astonished that Michael had seen it. He would probably be even more shocked if he knew that his older black sheep of a brother actually checked up on his former hometown every once in a great while. It wouldn’t occur to him that Michael would care. But there were a lot of things that Drew didn’t know about him anymore and probably wouldn’t believe. Like the regrets.
If he could just get Drew to listen to him with an open mind for two minutes . . .
Not likely. Michael chuckled bitterly under his breath, startling a matronly passerby. He flashed her a quick smile of apology, and she blushed before smiling back and ducking her head to continue past him.
Now she would have let him in to his brother’s office, no doubt about it. Too bad she hadn’t been the one to intercept him in there.
But what was done was done. If he couldn’t get his brother to listen to him, maybe he could get through to someone else to make them reconsider things. Now if there happened to be a female on the committee involved in this project, he might stand a chance. Desperate times, and all that. A man used whatever weapons he had in his arsenal.
He remained in the shade of the tree for quite awhile as he mused over possible strategies, maybe even hoping to catch his brother coming outside, when the doors to the building opened and a familiar figure emerged. His jaw tightened.
The battle axe.
She looked deceptively mild at the moment, from her plain, thick braid to the tips of her sensible shoes. Even the purse slung over her arm looked mild, a simple and unembellished brown thing. Just went to show you, Michael thought, appearances really can be deceiving. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman spoke to him the way she did. Maybe not since grade school. Give her a ruler, and she would probably rap his knuckles.
He wondered if she really would have kicked him.
If he’d kept his head instead of arguing with her, laid on a little charm, things would have gone very differently, he was sure. She might have swung the office door open wide instead of growling at him like a mama bear protecting her cub. This was obviously not a woman who cared to hear anything negative about the perfect Drew Kingston.
He remembered then the blush that came to her cheeks when his brother appeared. The way she clammed up, suddenly shy. One side of Michael’s mouth curved up in a smile of dawning comprehension. Ah, that explained quite a bit. The battle axe had a thing for his brother. Michael might not be the classically educated university man that Drew was, but women were his favorite subject, after all, and he knew them very well. This woman clearly had a crush on Drew. He knew his brother well, too, and it was equally obvious to him that Drew had no clue about her feelings for him.
An idea began to take shape in his mind, and Michael leaned forward to watch the secretary—no, she preferred to be called assistant, didn’t she?—walk down the sidewalk. Sure, it would take some sweet-talking at first after what happened this morning, but he was good at that. He had never met a woman yet who wasn’t at least partially susceptible to his charms, especially when he turned them on full force. They had gotten him out of more than one bind in the past. An apology for this morning, some mild flirtation, and once she warmed to him, he would make a proposition he doubted she would refuse.
Hope flickered to life. Getting to his feet, Michael slung his jacket over one shoulder and followed her.
• • •
Eleven o’clock was a little early to be taking her lunch break, but Shannon’s stomach had been growling since about five minutes after finishing that sad, little breakfast bar. There were a number of cozy coffee shops and undiscovered little eatery gems within easy walking distance of the office, and today she headed for one of her favorites, a charming little Italian place whose warm and rustic colors had done much to inspire her kitchen remodel. Brown-bagging it would have been more practical and definitely cheaper, but since she planned to finish the tiling tonight, it seemed fitting to celebrate by eating at the same place where it all began, inspiration-wise at least.
Her favorite table was available, a secluded corner spot beneath a lovely fresco. She let her purse fall gently onto the table and then sat down. “Iced tea and minestrone, please,” she called out as a familiar waitress waved in greeting.
“Make that two,” said a voice that made her stiffen, and she looked up to see Michael Kingston sliding into the chair across from her. “Hi.”
She stared at him with wide eyes, bewildered first and then annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
“Eating lunch. And trying to apologize.” He smiled at her, a slow, boyish smile that invited her to join in his good humor. She chose not to but only stared at him in cool silence. “Look,” he continued when it became clear she was not going to thaw out that quickly, “clearly we got off on the wrong foot back there, and I know that was largely my fault.” He paused and looked at her as if waiting for her to reassure him that was not the case.
Then he would be waiting a very long time, she thought, still staring at him with undisguised hostility.
Apparently he realized that because he finally shrugged and went on. “I was upset with my brother, and I took it out on you. But family can make everyone a little crazy sometimes, right? That’s just the nature of—”
“What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
He raised his eyebrows. “Direct, aren’t you?”
The waitress appeared with their soup and iced tea, and she bestowed a particularly sunny smile on Michael. He favored her with one in retur
n before giving his attention back to Shannon. Probably can’t even help himself, she thought, unimpressed.
“I want your help,” he said finally.
“My help?” Was he kidding?
“You’re Drew’s sec—personal assistant,” he corrected himself before she could. He paused to taste his soup and possibly consider his next words. “And I’m sure you have his ear, at least to some degree. You’re like the gatekeeper between him and everyone on the outside. I need your help in getting through to him.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No joke. Drew’s about to make a big mistake, and I want you to help me stop him—Hey, this is really good soup. Aren’t you going to try yours?”
Shannon left her food untouched, incredulous. “What makes you think I would stab Drew in the back like that? Particularly for you?”
For a moment he looked annoyed. “It’s not stabbing him in the back. All I want you to do is talk to him. You’d be saving him from himself, actually.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that because you say so?”
“I’m his brother. I wouldn’t do something that might hurt him.”
“Right. Because you two are so close.”
“We’re family. Blood means something.”
Blood meant something to sharks, too, she thought. “Forget it. Get lost and let me eat my lunch, please.”
“You can at least think about it. You help me, and I’ll help you.”
Now she was really confused. Where was he going with this? “Help me? What are you talking about?”
“I saw the way you looked at my brother.”
Shannon blinked, and then her face grew hot. “What?”
“Look—it’s Shannon, right? There’s no reason why we can’t both get what we want here.” Michael leaned back and flashed her another very attractive smile. Across the room, their waitress sighed audibly. “So can we talk?”
Shannon slowly pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.
“At least think about it?” Michael urged her.
“Oh, believe me, I will think about this.” Picking up her bowl of minestrone, Shannon dumped it in his lap before slinging her purse over her shoulder and storming toward the door. “Lunch is on him today,” she called to the open-mouthed waitress over her shoulder as she left.
• • •
On the plus side, the soup was not as hot as it could have been, Michael thought as he tried to wipe off the worst of it with his napkin. “Towel, please?” he asked the shocked waitress politely through gritted teeth, and she hastened to get him one.
That could have gone better, too.
Chapter Three
If she thought he would give up that easily, she was in for a surprise. Thanks to the soup, Michael had sacrificed a favorite pair of jeans and a little of his dignity, but that was hardly enough to scare him off. Humble him, maybe, but not scare him. Cockiness would not impress this woman. Neither would charm. Maybe honesty would. If that didn’t work, perhaps he would give groveling a try.
It wasn’t hard to find out her last name. He might not be allowed inside the building, but that didn’t stop him from striking up a conversation outside with a giggly young thing who worked there and who loved to chat. After that it was a simple matter of looking one Shannon Mahoney up in the phone book.
He decided two things before he went to pay her a visit. First, it would be best to wait a couple of days until the weekend so she would have time to cool off. Second, it would be wiser not to call ahead, given their history on the phone together. A peace offering of some sort might not be a bad idea, either, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be impressed by the typical bouquet of flowers. Besides, some flowers had thorns, and he didn’t want to give her anything she might be able to use as a weapon against him.
This time he didn’t bother trying to rehearse strategy or practice speeches in advance. He had a feeling doing so would only cause more harm than good. Shannon Mahoney didn’t seem to fit the mold of other women he had known in his life, so everything he thought he knew about the opposite sex was out the window in her case. Which meant he was essentially going in blind, but few options were open to him at this point. He would have to gamble on earning her goodwill.
He tried not to let that thought discourage him.
Her address lay well outside of the city limits, and the area here was unfamiliar to him. As a teenager, he preferred to see what trouble could be found in town. And then the moment he turned eighteen, he had walked out the door and left it all behind him. Or at least he thought he had.
He missed the turnoff for her road at first and had to double back to find it. She must really like the country, he decided. The only signs of civilization he saw on this particular road were the telephone poles and wires that bordered it. Somehow it didn’t come as a shock to him that she might possibly be a bit of a hermit who preferred to stay as far away from other people as possible. He was a little surprised not to see No Trespassing signs up when he turned his truck onto her winding gravel driveway.
The house was a very old one, but it was obvious someone had been restoring it. The white paint on the exterior looked new, as did the railings on the front porch. A couple of ceramic flowerpots sat on either end of the top step, new additions by the looks of them. The bright crimson petunia plants in them looked too small to have been in the pots for very long. Somehow the cheerful color they lent to the porch came as a surprise to him. There was something so . . . he struggled to think of the right word. Hopeful, he thought finally. There was something happy and hopeful about them that he had not expected from Miss Mahoney.
There was another truck parked there already, so he assumed she was home. Excellent. He pulled up next to it and got out, one hand around the Styrofoam container that held his peace offering. He had taken only three steps when a large shaggy dog of mixed heritage came trotting around from the back of the house. Michael froze. Of course she would have a dog, and it was probably trained to take a bite out of strangers who were foolish enough to stop by without calling first. He glanced back at his truck, trying to decide if his best option was to dive for the truck bed or simply stand still and hope for the best.
But the dog only wagged his tail and tried to sniff at the Styrofoam container in Michael’s hand.
Michael let out the breath he was holding and sheepishly rubbed the dog behind the ears with his free hand. Some shining example of masculinity he was, nearly treed by Snoopy. “Sorry, this isn’t for you, pal. Where’s the lady of the house?”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the serene silence of the morning air was broken by what sounded like the buzz of a power saw. It seemed to come from behind the house. The dog trotted in the direction of the noise, and Michael followed.
He rounded the back of the old house and saw a pile of lumber, a half-finished deck, and Shannon with a pair of safety goggles on and a hefty circular saw in one hand. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face, but it was so thick and full that she kept having to flip the ends of it back over her shoulder. The plain but functional office work clothes from before had been replaced by plain but functional denim overalls and an oversized t-shirt.
Unaware of his presence, she finished trimming off the end of a piece of wood that was suspended on two sawhorses, then held up the saw as she let the power cut out. The spinning blade glinted in the sunlight as it slowly lost speed. He stared at it uneasily.
This might have been a very bad idea.
• • •
It was too early in the morning for her to feel this hot already. Chalk it up to a little manual labor, she supposed. Shannon pulled off her safety goggles and raised her arm to wipe the sweat from her forehead.
Bo barked at her.
“What is it this time, Bo? Squirrel or rabbit?” Then she glanced up and saw that it was neither. Her mouth fell open at the sight of Michael Kingston standing in her backyard with some sort of package in one hand and
the other resting on her “loyal” companion’s furry head. His observation about the way she looked at Drew immediately popped back into her head, and she felt a fresh burst of humiliation wash over her. She decided anger was preferable to humiliation and let it help her find her voice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What are you doing here?”
Michael took off his sunglasses and tucked them over the collar of his plain black t-shirt, his expression serious. “I’m sorry about the other day, but I need to talk to you. Please.”
“No. Go away.”
“I will if you just promise to hear me out first.”
“You’re lousy at taking a hint, you know that? Am I being too subtle? Because I could take it up a notch.”
He remained where he was, despite eyeing her power tools with noticeable unease. “Five minutes is all I’m asking. Look, I know I acted like a jerk when we first met, and I am sorry. I was frustrated and having a bad day—bad week, really. Are you going to tell me that’s never happened to you?”
Sure, it had. She’d had plenty of bad days, including the day he showed up. “Okay, fine. If I forgive you, will you leave?”
The corner of his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. “I have to say, I’ve never met a woman as eager to get rid of me as you are.”
No doubt. He made a very pretty picture in the sunlight, and his t-shirt did a nice job of showing off the fine physique he had beneath it. Even the trace of stubble on his face couldn’t have been more perfect. He probably couldn’t look ugly if he tried. “I can believe that,” she muttered under her breath, trying to hold on to her anger but finding it harder to do the longer he stood there looking all humble and contrite like that. Probably just an act, she cautioned herself, so don’t let your guard down.
He took a cautious step forward, his free hand held up in a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable before. I didn’t mean to embarrass or offend you with what I said about you and Drew, I swear. And your secret’s safe with me, if that’s the way you want it.” He looked rueful. “Come on, he won’t talk to me anyway. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”