by Mary Campisi
“Look at me, Sara.” It was a command, a departure from his usual soft-spoken manner.
She looked up and met his gaze. His expression was one of sheer determination. No wonder he had such success in the corporate arena. In his own quiet way, he could be as forceful as his brother.
He smiled then, a warm boyish grin that wiped away his earlier sternness and reminded her of the first time they'd met. This was the Adam she knew and liked. Easygoing, with a ready smile and a quick wit. Fun. Free. Undemanding. Unlike his older brother.
“Is it me? Have I moved too fast?” His tone was gentle, concerned.
She shook her head. “Of course not. You've been nothing but kind to me.”
“Kind?” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “Kind is reserved for friends. I think you know I want to be more than your friend.”
She swallowed. “I don't know what to say.”
“Say you'll think about it. Say I have a shot. Say you're thrilled, but not quite ready.” His lips twitched. “Say anything, but don't say no.”
“Adam—”
He put a finger to his lips. “Don't say anything right now. Just think about it. Okay?”
What was there to think about? What was there to say? I've fallen for a jerk. Again. And this one's your brother. She couldn't do that, not to Adam. There had to be another way without stripping him of his pride. Sara opened her mouth and spoke the words she hadn't said in over three years. “I was married before.”
It all spilled out after that, the pitiful tale of the cheating husband, the lost child, the weeks of lying in a bed where hours stretched into infinity and day ran into night with no hopes, no dreams, no possibilities. And the recovery, one step at a time, leading to a pledge to help all women survive similar abuse and go on to carve out healthy, productive lives.
“I had no idea,” Adam said when she finished.
“Not many people do. Just Jeff and a few close friends. And my clients of course. They're all women who have been in battered relationships, like me. That's why they come to me.” She toyed with her spoon. “I guess you could call me a work in progress.”
“Do you have family?”
“Just an older brother in the military. I see him once or twice a year when he's on leave.”
“1 see.”
“Please don't feel sorry for me,” she said when she saw the sympathy and compassion on his face. “I believe in destiny, no matter how painful, and it was beyond painful. I couldn't have lived that kind of life, never knowing if my husband would come home at night and if he did, where he'd been.”
“The bastard,” Adam said under his breath.
“Yes, he certainly was. But I've gotten on with my life and I've even forgiven him.” Her eyes misted. “As for Rebecca…it wasn't meant to be. But not a day goes by that I don't think of her.”
“I'm so sorry.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I really am.”
She sniffed, swiped at her eyes. “Thank you.”
His grip tightened. “I would never do that to you.” His gray eyes softened. “Never.”
She remained silent, watching the open honesty on his face. He wouldn't hurt her. Most likely, given the opportunity, he would spend his life trying to make her happy. There was just one little problem…she wasn't in love with him.
“All I'm asking for is a chance to show you that love doesn't have to turn out that way. It could be good between us.” He stroked her hand. “Once you learn to trust me, you'll realize I'd never hurt you. Never,” he whispered. “And then you'll be able to open up and care again.”
“Adam—” she started, determined to steer him away from seeing them as a couple.
“Just think about it,” he said. “I've got a long list of credentials.” He held up five fingers, ticking them off as he spoke. “Dependable. Trustworthy. Honorable. Good sense of humor. Picks up after himself.” Laughing, he said, “That's my whole hand, and I've got a lot more. Let's see. Generous. Likes good restaurants. Knows how to cook. Will clean, on occasion.”
Sara stifled a laugh. “You're crazy.”
“Thank you. That's another quality. Crazy when needed.” Scratching his head, he pretended confusion. “That's all? I know there are at least two hundred more.”
“Make sure you add modest to that list.”
“Ah, yes, modesty.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me smile. I needed it. Especially tonight.”
“It's all part of the package.” He winked at her.
“Crazy and persistent,” she said, laughing again.
“Hey, it could be worse. You could be considering Matt's attributes.” Adam closed his eyes and placed a hand on his forehead. “Let me think a minute. Attributes…attributes. Hmm. He's a little light in that area. How about plain old character traits? Or should we say flaws?” He chuckled. “Let's see. Moody, forceful, opinionated, gruff. Actually, it's all just an act. Underneath, he's a big teddy bear, with a soft spot where his brain should be when it comes to the less fortunate.” He shook his head. “That's why he hires help he doesn't need. He can't say no.”
“He doesn't let many people see that side of him,” Sara said. She'd glimpsed the real Matthew Brandon beneath layers of arrogance and disinterest, and liked what she'd seen.
“Women would attack him if they knew he was such a nice guy. The tabloids paint him as a crazed, self-absorbed womanizer. Yet, would you believe women still flock to him, desperate for a crumb of affection or a scrap of acknowledgement?”
It was a rhetorical question, spoken as a matter of course, but his words hit her as though he'd looked into her heart and dug out the truth.
“Who would be foolish enough ...” His words hung in the air, suspended, threatening to drop right in the middle of her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get past his words. When she opened them, he was staring at her. “... to fall in love…with that miserable…tyrant?” His voice drifted off, over the brink of recognition, into silence.
Had he guessed? He was staring at her with an odd sort of light in his eyes. His fingers moved from her hand to cup his chin in a pensive sort of way. “I see,” he said. “Does Matt know?” Three little words that told her Adam knew. She shook her head, unable to tell him how sorry she was. He blew out a long breath. “I see.”
She hated herself for hurting this kind, gentle man. Hated herself for not loving someone as noble and good as he was. And she hated Matthew Brandon, too, for not playing by the rules, for not being kind and noble, like his brother. But most of all, she hated him for not loving her back.
Adam steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at a space behind her left ear. “Guess this makes me the number one fool of the century.” He tried to laugh but it ended as a flat rumble.
“I'm so sorry, Adam. You're a wonderful man and I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world.”
“But I'm not my brother, am I?” His words were tight, filled with traces of bitterness and something that sounded an awful lot like resignation. Adam shrugged. “As you said before, everything happens for a reason.” He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “But you were so different. So real. So unlike his other women.”
“I'm not his woman. At least not the way you mean.”
He ignored her denial, swatting it away like a bothersome fly. “I've never wanted any of Matt's women before.” His eyes were filled with hurt and sadness. “And if I didn't love him so much, I'd hate him.”
Sara swallowed. “I think I know the feeling.”
“He's never had a woman like you before.”
“He doesn't have me, Adam. And I don't think he really wants me. Not the me who would expect a commitment, require absolute fidelity… and love.” She shook her head as the reality of her own words filtered through her brain. “That's not his style. We both know that.”
“He's a damn fool if he lets you get away.”
“Only if he's look
ing for the same thing I am.”
“I don't want to see you get hurt again.”
“I'm already hurting. The minute I opened myself up to care about him, I started hurting. I guess that's why I refused to get involved with anyone for so long.” She picked up a spoon and stirred her coffee, watching the dark liquid lap the sides of the cup. “I liked living in my own little world. There were bars on the windows and an iron gate protecting my heart. Nobody could get in and no feelings could get out.” A splash of coffee sloshed over the sides of her cup. “Until Matt.”
“God, what a mess.”
“Life usually is.”
“So, now what? Are you going to let him know how you feel?”
“Of course not. Things could never work between us.”
“I see,” he said, using that little phrase she was beginning to recognize. It really meant, I see more than you think I do. He rubbed his jaw. “So you're not going to say anything to him. And you plan on working beside him every day, guarding your emotions like a mother hen so he'll never guess your true feelings. And then, when your job is done, you'll run back to Pittsburgh with your broken heart leaving a bloody trail behind.”
“Well, kind of. I hadn't really thought about the incidentals, or the analogies, but, yes. I guess that about sums it up.”
“Not that I would venture to advise you, seeing as I haven't been too successful in my own love life, but don't you think he deserves to know how you feel?”
“No! No,” she repeated, in a calmer tone.
“Mind if I ask why?”
“Because he made his feelings toward me very clear the last time I saw him.” I don't care what you do or who you do it with… The words still stabbed at her, tearing at the wound, ripping it open for a fresh bleed. “There's no hope for us. None at all.”
***
Where the hell was she? And what the hell was she doing at this hour in the morning? Matt whisked his fingers over the watch on his left wrist, calculating the hour for the tenth time in as many minutes. One-thirty. He couldn’t wait to tell her that her silly schoolgirl attempt to make him jealous hadn't worked.
How dare she try to trap him into admitting he cared. Of course, that's what she was doing. Why else would she be out with Adam half the night? It wasn't as though she was interested in him. Was it? That thought hadn't even entered his mind until this second. Could Sara be interested in Adam? Of course not. He and Sara had an understanding. Sort of. Didn't they?
He was so damned tired of her games. All of that psychology mumbo jumbo she plied him with was making him think about his feelings instead of just acting on them, like he usually did. He'd survived on gut instinct for thirty-seven years, so why all of a sudden did one woman have him second-guessing himself?
Hell if he knew, but it was going to stop. Tonight. As soon as she walked through that door. His fingers flew over his watch again. One thirty-five. He cursed under his breath. Just as soon as she walked through that door…He'd wait here, in her room, for as long as it took. All night if necessary, but he would have answers. Matt slouched down, resting his head on the back of the overstuffed chair and kicked his feet out in front of him. He closed his eyes and crossed his hands over his stomach, trying to concentrate on his breathing. Relax. Just breathe.
The familiar scent of orange and lemon tormented him. He'd smelled it the second he sneaked into her room, but now it was stronger, more powerful. He turned toward the scent and brushed against the swatch of material draped on the back of the chair. There wasn't much to it but it was bathed in oranges and lemons. He gathered the fabric and inhaled. Mesmerizing. Like the woman. He traced two thin straps and a scant edging of lace. Sara's nightgown.
He cursed and sat up, wadding the nightgown into a ball. Witch! He heaved it across the room and vowed to show her she had no control over him or his feelings. None. He couldn't even smell her citrus scent in the room anymore. And he wasn't going to spend one more second analyzing his recent, semi-irrational behavior. He didn't want to try to figure out why he was really sitting in Sara's bedroom waiting for her to come home. Nor did he want to delve into the intricacies of his agitation over her being out with his brother. Or why the mere whiff of her scent tripled his pulse rate.
And there was no way he'd even think about the gnawing twist in the pit of his stomach. So what if it had manifested itself after his blowup with Sara? It didn't mean he cared about her. Or that he was sorry for blasting her. It didn't mean anything. Did it?
He must be losing his mind. He couldn't formulate a single thought without doubt casting a finger on him. Sara Hamilton was doing this. She was making him crazy and he was going to put an end to it. Just as soon as she walked through that door…
At ten minutes after two, the low hum of Adam's Mercedes pulled into the driveway. A year ago he wouldn't have noticed it, but the loss of his sight had kicked his other senses into overdrive, enabling him to experience everything with much greater clarity.
That's why he heard the back door open and the subsequent murmur of hushed voices moving down the hall. Two pair of footsteps…stopping in front of Sara's room. Matt strained to hear the whispered words but they were too faint. The click of the doorknob pricked his nerves, sent his pulse racing. He heard the flick of a light switch and a second click. She was in the room. Any second now she'd turn around and…
She gasped.
Matt forced his lips into a wide smile and said, “Miss me, sweetheart?”
Chapter 15
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“You know what I mean. What are you doing here, in my bedroom?”
He gave a short hard laugh and muttered something under his breath. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
Sara moved a few steps closer, sensing the anger in his words. “Well, here I am. You can leave now.”
“I could,” he agreed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Or I could wait and tuck you in”—he paused—“or get in with you.”
“Get out.”
“Would you say that to Adam?”
“That's sick.” What was wrong with him? Why was he playing the jealous lover when he'd made it very clear he wasn't capable of such an emotion?
“Where were you?” Sara clamped her mouth shut. She'd had about enough of his high-handed manner. “I said where were you?” he repeated, loud enough to be heard down the hall.
“Shh. Everyone will hear you.”
He dropped his voice several octaves to a menacing growl. “You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me what you were doing tonight.”
She took two small steps backward, and then two more. Just to make certain he couldn't reach her if he decided to lunge. He looked half crazy with his dark hair sticking out on all sides, his silver eyes staring at her as though he could see her.
“Adam and I went to dinner.” One more step back.
“And?” A tiny muscle on the side of his jaw twitched.
“We talked.”
“You talked. For seven hours?”
“We had a lot to say.”
“I'll bet.” Pause. “Do you realize you could have traveled to Pittsburgh in less time than that?”
“I hadn't thought of that, but yes, I guess I could have done that.”
“Yes, you could have.”
She waited for him to elaborate, to draw a parallel or two, but he didn't. “Why are you here, Matt? What are you after?” She was bone-weary from lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. Matt Brandon could do that to a person.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped before him, and blew out a long breath. “Hell if I know.”
“Exactly. You don't know.” Her heart ached for a man who couldn't even tell her why he was in the same room with her. “Please. Just go.”
“I can't,” he said, his voice hoarse, unnatural. He unfolded himself from the overstuffed chair and stood. “I've been sitting in this chair for two and a half hours asking myself why,
at least two hundred times. Why I was in that ridiculous chair, counting the seconds until you walked through that door.” He raked both hands through his rumpled hair and shook his head. “I cursed you, swore I was going to lay into you the minute you walked through that door.” He let out a harsh little laugh. “And I tried. But now all I can think about is touching you.”
“What are you saying?”
He moved toward her. Slow. Cautious. As though he feared she might bolt. He ventured another two steps, and then one more. “I'm saying I didn't like how I felt when you were out with Adam.” He reached out, found her shoulder, ran his fingers down her bare arm. “I'm saying I was jealous, knee-deep in the green stuff and hating every minute of it.”
She swallowed. “You? Jealous?”
His lopsided grin made her stomach flip-flop. “I guess there's a first for everything.”
“I guess there is,” she said, watching his fingers stroke her skin.
“Sara?”
“Yes?” She dragged her gaze from his fingers.
“I'm sorry for the things I said earlier today. I was trying to punish you instead of dealing with the situation.”
That got her attention. “What situation?”
His fingers trailed up her arm, brushed her cheek, settled on her shoulder.
“Me. You. Us. The fact that I was half out of my mind thinking I'd driven you right into my brother's arms.”
She reached up to stroke his stubbled cheek. “You didn't.”
He crushed her against him, his large hands wrapping around her, pulling her into his warmth. “I care about you, Sara,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. “Very much.”
“And I care about you. So much it hurts,” she whispered, blinking the tears from her eyes.
He pulled back and found her lips, claiming her mouth in a kiss that promised what words could not. His tongue stroked and mated with hers, pleading, asking, demanding that she respond in kind.