Even though it was too dark to make out her face once they were driving, he could feel Irena’s smile as it curved her mouth.
“I’d forgotten that this looked more like a Swiss chalet than a house,” Irena said, standing just inside the threshold as he turned on the lights in his house.
The ceilings were two stories tall, melding into the second floor. There was an open staircase off to one side leading to the bedrooms. The kitchen, dining and living areas were all downstairs, forming one giant communal room.
The last time she’d been here was ten years ago. The memory was not a good one.
“It’s really too big for one person,” Brody commented, checking the door to make sure it was closed. Turning around he faced her again. “I’ve been thinking of selling it and building something smaller.”
She couldn’t picture those words coming out of the mouth of any of the people she knew in Seattle. “Most people aspire to move up, not move down.”
“A house doesn’t define you,” he replied. Going over to the large bay window that looked out on the town, he closed the curtains. There was no point in fueling any gossip. “Besides,” he turned back to look at her, “I’m not most people.”
“No,” she agreed, glancing at the books he had displayed on his bookcase. A wide variety of subjects were covered. She recalled that he’d always had an inquisitive mind. “You certainly aren’t.”
Brody came up behind her, placing his hands on the sides of her shoulders. Breathing in the light scent of her vanilla and jasmine shampoo.
“So where do we go from here?” he heard himself asking, even though he’d sworn that he wouldn’t project past the moment he was in.
“You could light a fire,” she suggested, turning around to face him. There it went again, she thought. Her heart was slipping into double-time. When it wasn’t skipping a beat. If she were cynical, she would have attributed that to arterial fibrillation. But this wasn’t anything that could be found in a medical book. “In the fireplace I mean,” she added, a hint of an amused smile playing on her lips.
“A fire in the fireplace it is,” he agreed.
Crossing to the hearth, he got busy. He already had the correct combination of hard and soft woods to start his fire and keep it going. Taking the sheets of newspaper he had stacked on the side, he inserted strips in between the logs.
He crouched beside the hearth, took a match and lit the strips. He let the wood do the rest. The flame progressed from the newspaper strips to the pine wood and then, finally, to the oak that comprised the core of his wood.
“Anything else?” he asked, turning his head toward her.
Irena crouched down beside him, pushing her hair away from her face. It was a stall tactic. Her heart was racing, even as common sense told her to bid him a good-night and go home. The night was clear; she could make it back to her grandfather’s house without a problem.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Brody wasn’t the only one playing with fire. She was, too. Moreover, she was playing with the most dangerous kind of fire. The kind that could burn her, leaving indelible marks that no one but she would ever see.
Damn it, she knew better than to live in just the moment. What she was doing went against her carefully crafted life.
And yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Couldn’t make herself leave.
“Surprise me,” she told him.
The words, emerging in a soft whisper, seemed to skim along his cheek, enticing him, stealing away his breath.
Taking her hand, Brody rose to his feet, drawing her up with him.
Without a word, he pressed his lips to hers, taking the first step that would lead him to a night of lovemaking, the way he’d thought about, heaven help him, all during the funeral service and even more so throughout the entire evening at Ike and Jean Luc’s saloon.
She was like a fever in his blood and, as with all fevers, he knew there would be a time when the fever would break. But he didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want even to know when she would leave. That way, he could pretend that she would remain with him forever.
Something that he knew he had absolutely no right to ask her.
He wasn’t his brother. And, unlike his brother, he wouldn’t take a moment with her for granted. Because he knew it was a gift.
A gift he was going to make the most of.
Passion exploded between them right from the first moment. Brody made love with her on the wide, comfortable sofa that stood facing the fireplace. Then, in a far more traditional manner, he made love with her in his bedroom. Twice.
He made love with Irena as if there was no tomorrow. Because, to him, tomorrow did not exist. There was only now.
Only her.
And that was more than enough.
It was done.
The papers for both the foundation, which she had insisted bear Brody’s name, and the scholarship, to which she had wisely affixed Eli Farley’s name in order to please the senior lawyer as well as to secure further contributions from the man, were properly filed at the courthouse in Anchorage. Kevin had flown her there and back himself, refusing to allow her to pay for the flight despite the cost of fuel.
“My contribution,” he had told her once they returned to the terminal.
And establishing the two, she thought now, holding copies of the legal papers in her hand, had been hers, along with some of the initial funding. All she had to do was give these copies to Brody and her part in this was done.
Which, she recognized, took away her one concrete excuse for remaining in Hades.
Irena sighed.
She could only put her life in Seattle, her career with the firm, on hold for just so long. Two and a half weeks was really stretching Farley’s patience. She had cases waiting for her, he’d reminded her when she’d last called him.
Of course she’d made sure that all the cases were well covered before she ever left, but they were still hers and the clients deserved to have her attention. That was what they were paying for and it was only right.
Still, if she was being honest with herself, she knew that she’d turn her back on her integrity, her cases, her luxurious apartment. Give up everything in a heartbeat, if Brody asked her to.
She’d shared her feelings with June, who’d commented that she didn’t look very happy for a woman who had managed to do so much for so many so quickly.
“That doesn’t sound very liberated, does it?” she concluded.
June, who’d listened without comment, continued to look at her thoughtfully. “That all depends.”
From where she stood, there were no shadings in the situation. “On what?”
“On your game plan,” June told her. “On whether or not you want to walk through life alone or beside a good man.”
“Before I came back here, I thought it was the former. Now…” Irena’s voice trailed off for a moment as she searched her heart—which was in definite conflict with her mind. “I don’t know anymore.”
June nodded, as if she could see right through her. As if, once upon a time, she’d gone through the same thing herself.
“Does Brody know how you feel?”
Irena laughed softly to herself. “Unless he’s completely dense, I’d say yes, he probably knows.”
That should have settled it. Ursula had maintained more than once that Brody was smitten with Irena and she knew better than to doubt her grandmother’s powers of observation and ability to eavesdrop.
“Then I don’t understand,” June said. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem is he hasn’t said anything.” It hurt to even say that, to talk about it. “Hasn’t asked me to stay. Not really,” she emphasized. Irena began to pace. “I’ve been the one who made all the first moves and I guess I don’t mind that. But there comes a time when a woman wants to know she’s wanted. Wants to know that she’s not just fooling herself into believing something that isn’t true.”
“Brody’s not R
yan. I really don’t remember seeing Brody with another woman—except when he was picking up the pieces that Ryan left behind.”
Irena put the legal papers aside before she wound up twisting them apart. “That’s just it. I don’t want to be just another woman whose pieces he’s picking up out of the goodness of his heart.”
June turned a chair around and sat down, facing Irena. “Well, as an outside observer, I don’t think you are.”
Irena stopped pacing. “Then why hasn’t he come right out and asked me to stay?”
“I don’t know. Hey, here’s a novel idea. Why don’t you ask him?”
Definitely a bad idea. Irena shook her head. “No, I can’t just put myself out there like that.”
“But—”
On this she was firm. He had to come to her, say something to her. She couldn’t be the one who spoke up first. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if he tells me that he doesn’t care one way or the other.”
“And if he says he does care? If he asks you to stay?” June pressed.
“I still won’t know if he means it, or if he just said that because he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.” She sighed, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I guess it’s a no-win situation.”
“Do you love him, Irena?” June asked quietly.
Irena didn’t want to say the words out loud. Because then she couldn’t take them back. What she was feeling would have a name, a label. It would be real.
She shrugged, looking off. “I don’t know. Maybe I just think I do. Maybe coming back here for Ryan’s funeral just raised too many memories, stirred up too many old feelings to deal with. Maybe—”
“Maybe you’ve been a lawyer too long,” June interjected, “and you’ve forgotten how to give a straight answer. Do you love him?” she repeated. “C’mon, Irena. Yes or no?”
Irena took in a breath and then let it out again. It sounded shaky to her ear. As was she.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “I do. And it doesn’t change a damn thing.” And then she suddenly turned around and looked at June. “And you’re not to say anything to him, do you hear me? You have to promise me that you won’t tell Brody—or Ursula—what I just said.”
“All right,” June replied, rolling her eyes. “I promise I won’t tell Brody—or my grandmother,” she added as Irena pinned her with a look, “what you just said.”
June never lied, Irena thought. She knew that. But for some reason, she still didn’t feel comforted by her promise.
Chapter Fourteen
Irena watched as Brody walked into the Salty Dog Saloon and sat down at the bar beside her. Even then, after exchanging a few words in greeting, she searched for the right way to tell him. She hoped he would say what she wanted him to say.
But there were no magical words. She just had to spit it out. Looking into her ginger ale, Irena said, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Brody didn’t move a muscle and there was no inflection in his voice, no surprise, no disappointment. Nothing. Only a single word of acknowledgment. “Oh.”
Stung, she couldn’t help but ask, “Don’t you have anything to say?”
He half turned to look at her. She was ripping out his heart. What more did she want from him? “Goodbye?”
“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. “That’s all?”
“Good luck?” he suggested. It was all he could do to hold himself together. He didn’t want her to leave, but if she stayed, he knew it wasn’t because of him she was staying. It was because he reminded her of Ryan. “What is it you want me to say?” he asked.
What did he want? Cue cards? Was he that dense, or was he like Ryan after all?
“Nothing you want to say?” She sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t put words into your mouth.” She replayed the last sentence and amended it. “I don’t want to put words into your mouth.”
And apparently, you can’t think of any on your own that I desperately want to hear.
How many times was she going to have to put herself out there before she learned her lesson? Before she finally surrendered and acknowledged that love just wasn’t for her?
Irena closed her eyes, as if that could somehow contain her pain, keep it under wraps.
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know.” Opening her eyes, she pushed the large manila envelope on the bar toward him. “Here are all the papers for the foundation and the scholarship. They’ve all been properly filed in Anchorage.”
He stared at the envelope, not really seeing it. Seeing, instead, how empty his life was going to be with her gone.
But in these last three weeks that she’d been here, a real, tangible part of his world, he’d discovered something about himself. That he did love her to almost the point of distraction but that, no matter what he’d originally thought, he wasn’t up to accepting Ryan’s table scraps. Certainly not up to competing with his brother’s memory. He didn’t want to be a substitute for Ryan; he wanted Irena to love him for himself.
And that wasn’t about to happen. He looked too much like his brother to delude himself.
Brody drummed his fingers over the envelope. “I don’t know the first thing about what to do with all this,” he told her.
She waited a moment. Waited for more to follow. It didn’t. Disappointment took bitter, sharp chunks out of her. Brody couldn’t even ask her to stay to help him with that.
“I talked to Ike.” She nodded toward the man who was drying glasses on the far end of the bar. Ike nodded back but remained where he was, as if sensing that his absence was preferable. “He’s pretty savvy when it comes to this sort of thing. He’ll help you through it if you run into any stumbling blocks.”
Brody merely nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Good to know,” he murmured.
Ask me to stay, you jerk. Tell me you love me, that you can’t face tomorrow without me. Make me an offer, any kind of offer. I won’t turn you down, she silently pleaded.
But when Brody spoke, it wasn’t anything that she wanted to hear.
“Well, take care of yourself, Irena,” he told her. “Don’t let it be another ten years before you come back for a visit.” Finally turning toward her, he gave her a quick, almost awkward hug, like a boy forced to submit to the ordeal of hugging an overbearing great-aunt.
It left her stunned. This wasn’t her lover. It wasn’t her friend. This was a stranger. “You’re leaving?” she asked shocked.
He picked up the envelope and tucked it under his arm. “Got things to do,” he told her. “And so do you, I imagine. There’s packing and saying your goodbyes,” he added as if she’d asked him what it was that he thought she had to do.
“Right. Packing and saying goodbye,” she repeated, her voice completely devoid of any emotion. It was either that, or exploding at him and she suddenly felt far too drained to do that.
She hadn’t realized until this moment that she could feel so devastated again. Could feel so hurt to discover that her leaving seemed to mean nothing to him. All right, she hadn’t expected Brody to exactly tear up and beg her to stay, but she’d hoped that telling him she’d decided to leave would have gotten a stronger reaction from him than if she’d proposed he’d change his socks.
Numbed, she watched Brody’s back as he walked through the saloon and then out the front door. It swung closed again, shutting out the sunlight.
He was gone, really gone.
Idiot!
Irena wasn’t sure who she was addressing, Brody or herself. All she knew was that she needed to blot out this devastating numbness cascading through her, claiming every last inch of her soul.
She raised her hand to catch Ike’s attention. “Whiskey, please, Ike,” she called out.
In a fluid motion, Ike made his way over to her. He picked up a pint bottle and placed it on the counter before her. “I don’t think it’s whiskey you’ll be needing, darlin’,” he told her.
She looked at what he’d brought her. Orange juice. Terrific. She was miserable, but she�
�d be healthy.
“What I need,” she told him, pausing to open the top and then taking a long sip from the bottle, “is to have my head examined.”
“We all feel like that sometimes,” he allowed amiably.
She raised her eyes to his. There was no judgment in his. “Doesn’t make it any better.”
“No,” he agreed, “it doesn’t.”
She’d had enough of being healthy. Irena placed the bottle back on the counter and dug into the pocket of her jeans. She took out a five-dollar bill, placing it out the counter between them.
Using two fingertips, Ike pushed it back to her. “Your money’s no good here, darlin’.”
Her back stiffened. “I can pay for orange juice,” she retorted.
His manner never changed. “So can I.”
Chagrined at her behavior, Irena pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I didn’t mean to snap.”
“Sure you did. Just not at me,” Ike observed. When she made no comment, he continued cautiously, “Seems to me that you and Brody have been spending a lot of time together these last few weeks.”
She raised her eyes to his, instantly defensive. “So?”
“So,” he went on mildly, “you’d think that with all that time logged in, the two of you could have had at least one intelligent conversation about your feelings.”
Not him, too. First June, now Ike. She was in no state to get into this now. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ike.”
“Have it your way,” he answered, his tone telling her that he took no offense at her tone or her accusation. “But just for the record, I wasn’t born married.”
She looked at him quizzically, confused. “What does that have to do with it?”
“I know what it means to be defensive, to try not to admit to having feelings for someone because you’re so sure it’s all one-sided.”
“I don’t need a father confessor, Ike—or a bartender—this time,” she informed him, then added in a softer voice, “What I need is a friend.”
Loving the Right Brother Page 14