Unbuttoning his shirt was the next logical step. It was easier now to touch him, easier than it had been the first time, or even the second. She was beginning to know what he liked, what brushes of her fingertips made him groan.
He had undressed her down to her bikini underwear. She straddled him and leaned forward to stroke the planes of his chest. His skin was hot. The place where his heart thudded beneath her fingertips beckoned. She kissed him there, lingering to absorb his strength, his wildly beating life force.
“I won’t regret this,” she whispered. “I won’t regret you.” She hoped it was a vow she could keep.
Austin lifted her aside and rolled to his feet...just long enough to strip off his remaining clothes. He was magnificent in his nudity. Not even the scar on his left thigh from a childhood injury could detract from his power and virile beauty.
He came back to her, scooted her up in the bed and settled between her thighs. “I can’t wait,” he growled. He took her in one forceful thrust, stealing her breath. The connection was electric, the moment cataclysmic.
For a panicked instant, Brooke saw the folly of her plan. Doggedly, she shoved the painful vision aside. She had Austin in this moment. Nothing could ruin that.
The condo faded away. Not even the smell of fresh paint nor the faint sounds of laughter and traffic on the street outside could impinge on her consciousness. Nothing existed but the feel of Austin’s big, warm body loving hers.
Emotion rose in her chest, hectic and sweet. She wanted to call out his name, to tell him how much he gave her, how much she wanted still.
But she bit her tongue. She kept silent. She would not offer what he did not want or need.
Perhaps pregnancy made her body more receptive, more attuned to the give and take between them. She felt as if she had climbed inside his skin...as though the air in his lungs was hers and the beat of her heart was his.
They moved together slowly, all urgency gone. It was as if they had been lovers for a hundred years. Because despite the differences that kept them apart, she knew him. Intimately. And in that moment, she fell all the way into the deep. She loved Austin Bradshaw.
The knowledge was neither sweet nor comforting. It was a raw, jagged blade that ripped at her serenity, severing her hope for the future.
Her arms tightened around his neck. “Don’t stop,” she groaned. “Please don’t stop.” She concentrated on the physical bliss, shoving aside all else that would have to be dealt with later.
This was Austin, her Austin. And she loved him.
Her climax was explosive and deeply satisfying. Austin groaned and found his release. Seconds later, he reached for a corner of the bedspread and pulled it over their naked bodies. Rolling onto his back, he tucked her against his right side. In moments, she heard the gentle sound of his breathing as he slid into sleep.
Presumably he had been up early for the drive to Joplin. Chances were, he had gone by the club to check on his big project before arranging this surprise. The man worked hard.
His left hand rested flat on his chest. She lifted it and played with his fingers, twining hers with his. Then she saw something that somehow she had never noticed before—perhaps because it was the kind of thing a person could only see if they were staring closely.
On the third finger of Austin’s left hand, there was a white indentation where his wedding ring had resided. The sight shocked her. She rubbed the shallow groove. Austin never moved. His hand was lax in hers, trusting.
Pain like she had never known strangled her. She swallowed a moan. The night she had met him was the first time he had been without that ring. She had coaxed him into bed that night. Or maybe he had coaxed her. The lines were fuzzy. If they were to marry this week, would he be expecting a wedding band from Brooke?
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t replace a man’s devotion to the love of his life with an empty symbol of a convenient union.
Stricken and confused, she climbed out of bed and dressed. Ironically, despite her emotional upheaval, her stomach now cooperated and announced its displeasure by growling loudly.
The sparsely outfitted kitchen did have a microwave. She fixed a plate of leftover food, nuked it and sat at the table.
Austin found her minutes later. He had dressed, but his shirt was still unbuttoned, giving her glimpses of his hard chest. He yawned and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Sorry. I’ve had a few late nights recently. This project is one snag after the other.”
She murmured something noncommittal.
He grabbed seconds for himself as well and joined her. “You okay, honey?”
“Yes.” It was a humongous lie, but under the circumstances, perhaps the Almighty would forgive her.
Austin wiped his mouth. “I don’t see any point in postponing our wedding. Does Wednesday work for you? I thought I’d tell my crew I have personal business that day. I happen to know that Audra is free. Do you think Alexis can join us?”
Brooke’s throat was so tight it was difficult to speak. “I’ll ask her. But I’m sure her schedule is flexible.”
He frowned, staring off into space. “I know there will be gossip. Can’t be helped. People will wonder why we’re not taking a honeymoon. We’ll simply say that the club-addition project is under a tight deadline so we’re waiting until after Thanksgiving.”
“That makes sense.”
“What about your parents? I don’t want you to have regrets, Brooke.”
Too late for that. Hysteria bubbled in her throat. “The old me would have invited them. Even knowing what I know, I would have invited them because it’s the proper thing to do. But they don’t want to come, and even worse, they would almost definitely give us grief.”
“Your brothers?”
She shook her head. “They won’t have any interest in this, believe me. Alexis is all I need.”
“Okay, then.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “What kind of flowers do you like? I want you to have a bouquet.” His gaze was open, warm...nothing at all to suggest that this wedding ceremony—modest though it was to be—might bring back memories of another, happier day.
“That’s not necessary.”
He squeezed her fingers, his smile teasing and intimate. “You’ll be my bride, Brooke. Despite the circumstances, that’s a fact. If you don’t tell me, I’ll get something atrociously gaudy, like purple carnations.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Oh, heck, no. Make it white roses.” She paused. “And maybe white heather.” Once upon a time she had researched flower meanings for an art project in college. White heather symbolized protection and a promise that wishes do come true. If any of that nonsense were real, she needed all the good karma and mojo she could summon.
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
They gathered up the remains of the dinner. Darkness had fallen.
“We should go,” Brooke muttered. “I have a few more things to pack.” She didn’t really want to leave, but the longer she stayed, the more she felt the pull of that bed and this man and those impossible dreams.
“How ’bout I come with you now and load up the boxes you already have finished?”
“You wouldn’t rather do that tomorrow?”
“No. I plan to spend most of the day at the club. Since I’m missing work Wednesday, I want to get a jump on this week’s schedule. Things are moving fast now.”
They were moving fast...too fast. “That makes sense,” she said.
“And what about you?”
“Me? Um...”
He grinned. “Sorry. Didn’t know it was a hard question.”
“Alexis and I usually go to early mass and then have brunch. But she’s not available this Sunday. I thought I’d finish the last of my packing and then maybe call my parents. I won’t be there when they get home Monday night. Might as well break the news to them now.
”
“That won’t be pleasant.” He sobered, his jaw tightening.
“No. But it has to be done.”
He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “They should be proud of you, Brooke. I’m sorry your mom and dad haven’t been there to support you. I wish things were different.”
The painful irony of his statement mocked her. I wish things were different. So did she. A million times over. No matter how much she told herself she was making the best of a difficult situation, she couldn’t escape the gut-clenching certainty that she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
Fourteen
Sunday felt like the equivalent of a condemned man’s last meal. Tomorrow Brooke would move into a new home with Austin. Wednesday she would legally become his wife.
These last peaceful hours in her childhood house constituted one final chance to make a run for it...to change the course of her destiny. Had it not been for a broken condom and a forgotten birth-control pill, perhaps she would have done just that. Maybe she would have found other businesspeople in Royal besides Alexis who were willing to stand up to Margaret Goodman and give Brooke a job. Maybe Brooke could have then found a roommate and a simple, inexpensive apartment.
Maybe she could have been free.
Her dream of an art studio would have been majorly postponed, but that was the case with a lot of people’s dreams. And then some just never came true.
Now she faced the prospect of being trapped in a loveless marriage with the one man she wanted more than life itself. Her body craved his lovemaking. She yearned for his smiles, his teasing touch. But she was very much afraid that she had no future with Austin. How could she compete with the memory of his dead wife?
She slept fitfully and woke up sick. The routine was becoming familiar to her now—lukewarm tea and plain crackers after she emptied her stomach. The doctor had told her the nausea might subside in another few weeks as she entered her second trimester. Then again, it might not.
Eventually, her energy returned, at least enough to finish cleaning out the last of her bedroom closets and bathroom drawers. Though the housekeeper would return tomorrow, Brooke did all the vacuuming anyway. By two o’clock, her presence in the Goodman mansion was virtually erased. All that remained were her toiletries and one small overnight case.
Because Austin had loaded her boxes and large suitcases into his truck last night, tomorrow morning would be almost anticlimactic. All she would have to do on her way to work would be to walk out and shut the door.
She was putting the vacuum away in the utility closet off the kitchen when she heard a commotion in the garage. Her heart jumped. The alarm beeped, signaling that someone had shut it off.
Moments later Brooke’s parents walked into the kitchen.
She gaped at them, glanced at the calendar and frowned. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.” Her stomach clenched. That last awful meal with her parents and Austin had been a dreadful experience. She didn’t want a repeat. The one saving grace was that her mother’s temper usually burned hot and quick, and then she moved on to her next victim.
Either that or her parents were biding their time, preparing for their next military offensive. Brooke would be on her guard, just in case.
Margaret Goodman waved a hand and dumped her purse and tote on the island, her expression harried. “Your father wasn’t feeling well. We managed to book an earlier flight. I’m going to call Henrietta immediately and have her come fix dinner.”
Brooke winced inwardly. Her mother was essentially helpless in the domestic arena. “I don’t mind cooking for you, Mama. Something simple, anyway. Baked chicken? A nice salad?”
Her father’s face brightened, but her mother was already shaking her head. “I pay for the privilege of having my staff on call. It’s not like I’m dragging her out of bed at midnight. Henrietta won’t mind at all.”
Maybe she would and maybe she wouldn’t. It was a moot point. When Margaret Goodman delivered an edict, everyone jumped.
Despite what Brooke had told Austin about making a phone call to her parents today, she changed her mind. She had been preparing herself mentally to come over at dinnertime tomorrow before going to the condo. She had concluded that the conversation was one she needed to have face-to-face. Now fate, or her father’s indigestion, had offered a much quicker and easier solution.
But it also meant delaying the inevitable for several hours, a nerve-inducing span of time in which she rehearsed her speech a dozen times. She had to wait for her mother to take a shower and change out of her nasty travel clothes. The Goodmans always flew first-class, so it was hard to imagine how much nastiness there could be on Margaret’s powder-blue Chanel pantsuit. Still...
And her father had to catch up on sporting events he had missed while he was gone. He holed up in his man cave immediately.
Brooke was left to hide out in her room with her laptop researching baby furniture online. It was a delightful pastime. Even so, it wasn’t enough of a distraction to calm her nerves.
Too bad she couldn’t be over at the new condo handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. That would be fun. The Goodman home was in a gated community where the houses were spread far apart. No little ghosts and goblins would be ringing the doorbell here tonight.
The minutes on the clock crept by. Henrietta arrived. Brooke saw the cook’s car out her window. Soon afterward, appetizing smells began wafting upstairs. Dinner was almost invariably served at six thirty. Margaret’s doctor had told her that eating too late would make her gain weight.
At last, the three Goodmans sat down together in the formal dining room, and the first course was served. Brooke would have far preferred eating at the cozy kitchen table in the breakfast nook. Her mother, however, believed in keeping up appearances. Brooke’s father didn’t have a dog in the fight, but he had given up caring about such things years ago.
Because Brooke was uncomfortable talking about very personal subjects in front of staff, she waited until dessert was served. Fresh apple tarts with cream. The timing meant Henrietta would be in the kitchen for at least the next half hour cleaning up the dishes.
Brooke took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad... I wanted to let you know that I’m moving out tomorrow.”
Her father never lifted his head. He continued to eat his dessert as if afraid someone was going to snatch it away from him. Since it was definitely not on his approved diet, perhaps that was a valid fear.
Margaret, however, swallowed a bite, took a sip of wine and sat back in her chair. “Where on earth would you go, Brooke? You haven’t a dollar to your name.”
“And whose fault is that, Mama? You’ve deliberately sabotaged every attempt I’ve made to be independent.”
Her mother didn’t deny the charge. “Perhaps I’m afraid of the empty-nest syndrome.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
Her mother lifted a shoulder. “I’m told that’s a thing.”
“Not for you. You’re too busy conquering the world. And that’s not bad,” Brooke said quickly. “You’ve always set a good example for me as a woman who can do anything she sets her mind to...”
“I sense your compliment is wrapped around a piece of rotting fish.”
Margaret Goodman had always been a drama queen, a larger-than-life figure. She ruled her world by the sheer force of her personality—along with fear and intimidation.
“The compliment is sincere, Mother. But I’m telling you it’s time for me to find my own way in the world.”
“With this handyman?”
“Austin is a highly trained architect. He’s brilliant, in fact.”
“He hasn’t held down a job in over six years. Your father and I had him investigated.”
Brooke swallowed her anger with difficulty. “He nursed his dying wife. He told you that.”
Her fat
her looked up. “People say a lot of things, Brooke. Don’t be naive. We won’t apologize for being concerned.”
Margaret nodded. “Besides, the wife has been gone a long time.”
“My God, Mama. Have some compassion. He loved her. I think he still does.”
For once, a tinge of genuine concern flickered in her mother’s expression. “Then why, in God’s name, Brooke, are you so hell-bent on throwing in your lot with this cowboy? He’ll break your heart. Tell her, Simon.”
Brooke’s father grimaced. “Your mother may sometimes be prone to overstating the facts, but in this instance, I happen to agree with her. The man got you pregnant, Brooke, fully aware that you’re an heiress. It looks bad, baby. And I know you. You’ve got romance in your soul. You want the happily-ever-after. But this architect isn’t it. Give it time, Brooke. Someone else will come along.”
The fact that they weren’t yelling was actually worse. To have her parents speak to her as an adult was such an anomaly she felt as if the universe had tilted. “I appreciate everything you both have done for me. And even now, I appreciate the fact that you want me to be happy. I do. But I have to stand on my own feet. I’m going to be a mother.”
“You could put the baby up for adoption,” Margaret said. “Privately. In Dallas. This will change your whole life, Brooke.”
“Yes, Mama. You’re right. I didn’t want to get pregnant. I didn’t plan to have a baby so soon. Still, that’s where I am. Despite the circumstances, I do want this child. He or she will be the next in a new line of Goodmans. Doesn’t that excite you even a little bit?”
Both of her parents stared at her. Her father’s expression was conflicted. With Brooke gone, there would be no one around to deflect Margaret’s crazy train.
Brooke’s mother’s seemed to age suddenly. “I’ve never seen you like this, Brooke. So calm. So grown-up.”
“Well, Mom, it had to happen sometime. I don’t want to fight with either of you. I love you. But I have new priorities now. If you can respect those, I think we’ll all be happier.”
Million Dollar Baby Page 13