by Jill Winters
"Mom, I am holding still; it's just too heavy." She knew her mother wasn't really listening, though. She was too busy digging her fingers into Reese's scalp, while struggling to manipulate the thick, immutable wire of the wreath.
"Ow!" Reese yelped at her mother's obliviously barbarous touch.
"Wait, Mom, turn her head toward me," Ally said. "Maybe it's not so bad."
"Okay, great," Joanna said airily, and forcibly twisted Reese's head.
"Ow," Reese repeated to no avail, grimacing in discomfort.
"Well, what do you think?" Joanna asked the room.
"Ooh, I think that's just so different!" Lane cheered with such high-pitched enthusiasm Reese almost lurched for her. Her aim would've been off, though, because some of the berries were drooping down into her line of vision.
Just then Ben and Drew came back into the family room, and they stopped immediately in their tracks.
"What the—" Ben started to say before Ally shot him a look. "Uh, where's Mr. Brock?" he asked, inching backward, toward the kitchen again.
"He went to go smoke in his office," Ally said.
"Oh, well, maybe I'll go join him—"
"Forget it," she ordered. So he crossed the carpet and sat down next to her.
Under its own power the wreath slipped a little lower, until it was falling in Reese's face. Joanna snatched it back up. "Here, let me just fix this," she said, absently yanking on Reese's hair and jerking her head backward in the process. "Hold still," Joanna said.
"I am."
"Honey, do you have hair spray on?" she said suddenly, as if she'd just identified the root of the problem.
And Reese did the only thing she could: She scoffed and lied like crazy. "No, of course I don't. Why would I put hair spray in my hair?" Heat crept into her cheeks. Damn her futile attempts to be a seductress!
"Well, there's something in here," Joanna persisted loudly, fingering roughly through Reese's mass of waves.
"No, there isn't," Reese said forcefully. "I didn't put anything in my hair—not a thing." All right, shut up before you just look crusty.
Just then Michael reappeared in the archway between the kitchen and the family room. Reese dreaded whatever Poor Richard's truism was coming next. Whatever he was going to say, she was not in the mood. But her father must have sensed as much because all he said was, "Hmm, that's an unusual headpiece. Is that for the wedding? It's actually quite festive."
"Yes!" Joanna piped up, smiling at him, grateful for his endorsement. "That's what I've been trying to tell them!"
He said, "Yes, that looks good. I like it a lot." Okay, nobody saw that coming. In fact, Reese wondered if he really liked it, or if he was just helping Joanna out. It didn't really matter either way. She and Angela were wearing that wreath, and they both knew it.
Reese looked around for her wineglass, and then decided to opt instead for food. Might as well salvage something of this night. Not that she was really sad—just unfulfilled, disappointed, and bored. She could deal with that, but she'd like the aid of something fattening, as well.
So she shook the cumbersome wreath off her head and escaped into the kitchen.
She was definitely in the mood for something sweet. Opening the fridge, she thought, Do I know my mother, or what? Three trays of pastries were already chilling.
Just then the doorbell rang. Lane called out, "Ooh, that must be Deb; I'll get it!" She darted out of the family room through the kitchen and down the hall to answer the door.
Meanwhile, Reese resumed her position, hunched over, with her head halfway in the refrigerator, searching for the richest, creamiest, most chocolaty thing she could find. Finally she zeroed in on a particularly luscious-looking napoleon. She reached in and took it, careful not to get any frosting on her sleeve, and shut the refrigerator with her hip.
But as she opened her mouth wide, hoping to slide the pastry right in, she heard Lane's voice from the front door, "Ooh, hi. I remember you!"
"Hi, how are you?"
Reese froze.
"Am I too late for the meeting?" she heard Brian say, as the napoleon hit the floor.
Chapter 10
She had about ten seconds to snap to attention and straighten herself out. Thank God she'd stopped just short of stuffing her face with a napoleon. Somehow she doubted that chocolate running around her lips and pastry flakes lodged in between her teeth would do much for her sex appeal.
She ducked down quickly to check her reflection in the oven. Okay, her hair was a wavy mass that haphazardly descended several inches past her shoulders. Good. That was how it normally looked, so the wreath's damage had been minimal. Then she jumped up, tugged on her tight pant legs, and hurriedly crossed the kitchen to pose herself ultra casually against the sink. Well, hell, it was the best she could do in a matter of seconds.
I can't believe he's here. Her heart fluttered wildly, and her stomach tightened with fear and exhilaration and something even better.
"Follow me..." Lane said, entering the kitchen with Brian following behind. The instant Reese saw him, her throat convulsed into a hard gulp. He seemed to get better every time she saw him. More handsome, more magnetically sexy...
Tonight he was wearing a trench coat, under which she could make out a dark red tie and a white shirt. Had he come straight from work? For this? Suddenly he seemed even more appealing. And so unbelievably sexy... had she already mentioned that?
He froze as their eyes met, but his face remained blank. "Hi, Reese, how are you?" His tone was amicable enough not to attract any suspicion, but flat enough to make Reese antsy for a chance to apologize so he would no longer hate her.
"Um, hi." That was all she could manage; no other words would come. How ironic. Here she had expected that she'd turn into a blithering idiot, trying to explain herself, but instead she was too shell-shocked and nervous to speak. So basically, she now aspired to be a blithering idiot.
Snap out of it, she willed herself, but it was too late. Brian had already left the kitchen and followed Lane into the family room.
Breathe, breathe. Get it together. She could hear rounds of introductions in the next room, along with Brian's apology for being late. Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Reese couldn't make her feet move. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this nervous. Probably freshman year at BC, she thought, when she'd attended her first Comm. Ave. party. Like then, she would just have to will herself to act normal.
As she descended the three steps into the family room, her nonchalant expression faltered the moment her right heel caught on the carpet, then slipped sideways, pulling her ankle down and nearly spraining it as she all but stumbled over. Her cheeks flamed as she busied herself by checking the rug to see what had made her heel catch—a lame and trite diversion, but it was better than bursting into tears.
Then she plopped onto the couch and tried to disappear. For once, she got her wish. She stole glances at Brian, and was consistently disheartened by the fact that he wasn't glancing back. Not at all. He didn't even know she was alive. Dressing up was a complete bust.
And speaking of busts... she couldn't help but peek down at hers, wondering why it obviously didn't look as fetching as she'd hoped when she'd put on her formfitting sweater.
Damn it all!
She quickly crossed her arms to cover her chest, and swallowed a humiliated sigh. Exactly how long had she cluelessly been sporting tacky erect nipples? Just long enough for her entire family to see? Oh, that was just great. Meanwhile, if Brian had seen it, he probably thought she was a complete fool. She tightened her arms now, pretty much hugging herself for comfort.
"Reese?"
She jerked up slightly. "What?"
"I asked if you'd fix Brian a plate," Joanna said.
"Oh..." She looked over at Brian, who was sitting with his leg crossed perpendicularly over his other, his expression blank again.
"Do you like French food?" Joanna asked him.
He smiled. "I like everything."
&nb
sp; "Oh, Mom, that reminds me!" Ally said. "Both of Ben's aunts are vegans. I forgot to tell you."
"Oh, Ally. How could you forget?" Joanna moaned, clutching her neck.
"Why? What's the big deal?"
Reese stood up and said, "Come on, Brian; I'll fix you something good." Her voice didn't sound quite normal. He nodded, rising to his feet, and followed her into the kitchen.
Once her family was out of earshot, Reese picked up a wineglass, tried not to hyperventilate, and blurted, "About the other day—"
"Don't worry about it," he said quickly—calmly—and she had the distinct feeling that he literally wanted to forget about it. But unfortunately, that wouldn't do much for her guilty conscience, so that was out.
"Please let me explain," she said, finally finding most of her voice. "The truth is, I was talking to my mom and..." She dared a glance up, and saw that Brian's eyes were falling right on hers. Her breath caught. A moment passed before she got it back. "Well, to be honest, she was hounding me about my love life...."
His eyebrows pinched quizzically now, and Reese realized how it had sounded—as though she'd told her family about their brief encounter two years ago, and they considered him part of her "love life." Talk about embarrassing—for all she knew, Brian barely remembered the night they'd spent.
"Um, but, she always does that," Reese qualified, "even though the woman is completely clueless about it.... But that's another subject... um... The thing is, we weren't even talking about you."
She sucked in a breath, and resumed rattling. "See, she'd asked who'd gone to the diner the other night, and I said your name, and then she immediately started talking about this other guy I know—who she's pretty much living for—and that's who I was actually insulting." Fussing with her hair, Reese looked up at him sheepishly. "Is any of this making sense?"
The corner of Brian's mouth hitched up. "Oh... I see. I'm sorry; I feel like a complete idiot here. I totally jumped to the wrong conclusion."
Reese sighed with relief. "Oh, no, I totally understand!" She let out a laugh. "I'm so happy we cleared that up!"
Laughter died on her lips quickly. Was it her imagination or had Brian just moved a little closer to her? Her heart kicked up when Brian smiled down at her—a full smile of white teeth and warmth and sex appeal. Oh, boy.
They remained there, just looking at each other. Reese was still holding a wineglass for him, and he was holding an empty plate, and it was the strangest moment—as though time were suspended, and neither could look away. Reese wondered if she was imagining the sudden intensity of Brian's expression. Maybe she was just projecting....
Finally he broke the moment. Squaring his shoulders, he gazed down at the buffet, then back up at Reese. "So... friends?" he asked, holding out his hand.
Reese smiled. "Friends," she said, taking his hand and never intending to hold it as long as she did. In her defense, though, it was hot, big, a little rough, and he was making no move to pull away. Instead, his hand lingered on hers, too, as he applied just enough pressure to spear heat straight between her legs.
Oh, Lord, what is he doing to me? (And would he be interested in doing more?)
Ally's voice sounded from the other room. "I don't know; let's get Reese's opinion. Reese, c'mon, we need to ask you something!"
Now the spell was broken—well, sort of. They dropped hands, averted their eyes, and behaved as though the sizzling moment hadn't just happened. But it had. And it would be a long time before Reese forgot it.
* * *
Brian followed Reese into the family room, watching her luscious, curvy ass the whole time. He hadn't intended to stare, but his eyes had wandered down and fixed themselves on black fabric molded tightly around each cheek, making his mouth water with every step.
It was such a bizarre relief to find out she hadn't said all those things about him. In fact, now that she'd explained the whole misunderstanding, it seemed so stupid.
Now that that was out of the way, Brian was left with the intense physical attraction he'd had since he'd met Reese two years ago. It was hard to believe that they'd really only interacted a handful of times now, because there seemed to be a sort of hot, ricocheting chemistry between them. Ever since that first time, New Year's Eve two years ago.
Although he hadn't given it much thought over the years, he could still remember the night vividly.
Especially the part when Reese had grabbed him and deepened their kiss, forcing him to sink against the wall, while his blood thundered and his groin throbbed. He couldn't deny how attracted he'd been to her then any more than he could deny that he still was. But how could he not be? She was cute as hell—so damn pretty—and there was something more to it, but he didn't know exactly what it was.
When he'd gotten Ben's message about the meeting, his first thought was that he'd have way too much work, and no time to drive out to the suburbs tonight. But after he'd finished with his paperwork early, and double-checked on Danny, he'd realized that he could do it, and he should do it, for Ben's sake. Ben was a good friend—definitely the most undemanding Brian had ever met. He'd asked Brian to be his best man a year ago, and hadn't asked one more thing of him since, so it seemed that the least Brian could do was to come to the meeting.
Not that he'd particularly wanted to face Reese after what'd happened at Roland & Fisk, as dumb as he now realized that was. He smiled faintly, thinking of how she'd frantically apologized, as if the whole misunderstanding were just eating her guts out. She was really sweet, he realized.
"Brian?"
"Yes... I'm sorry, what?" He was now sitting on the love seat next to Reese.
"I was asking if you liked the food," Mrs. Brock said, "because I was just about to put out dessert." She hopped up, and Reese's older sister got up, too.
Reese's thigh was touching his—just barely, but it was enough. He could feel her body heat warming him, touching him, sinking beneath his skin. Beside him, she shifted a little, rubbing up against his forearm in the process. "Oh, sorry," he said, shifting slightly, but not enough to break their contact.
"No, I'm sorry," she said quickly and quietly. She crossed her legs, and somehow grazed his wrist with her fingertips. He almost jerked up in his seat because her touch had taken him off guard. Then her hand was back on her knee.
Unable to resist, Brian darted an eye over, but all he saw was Reese calmly looking straight ahead. So she hadn't meant anything by it. Jesus, he was just reading into every move she made. He rested a hand on his knee, too, but it felt unnatural and artificially placed.
Hers appeared relaxed. He found himself studying them. They were creamy white and soft-looking, just like the rest of her. From their handshake in the kitchen, he knew they were more than soft—they were smooth, gentle, and warm.
"So, Reese, have you come up with any ideas for your toast?" her mother called from the kitchen.
"No... not really," she replied, sounding almost absent. Abruptly, she began tapping her fingertips on her knee—it was almost as if she knew he'd been looking at her hands. In a strange mating dance that might have existed only in Brian's head, he lightly drummed his fingers, too.
"So, Brian, what area of New York City do you live in?" Mrs. Brock called from the kitchen.
"Midtown," he replied, praying Reese's mother wouldn't notice when she came back in the room that his pants were starting to tent.
"Oh, did Ben tell you that we wanna move to Soho?" Ally said.
"Since when?" her mother cried. She ducked her head over the stone half-wall and said, "You're not moving to Soho; now please, no more of this talk—it's getting me stressed." Ally rolled her eyes, and Ben just smiled.
Brian attempted a friendly smile himself, but he wasn't really into it. The girl next to him was emanating so much heat, it was unreal. He tried not to concentrate on all the blood he felt rushing south—in strong, hot waves that flooded his senses and stiffened his dick.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the outline of Reese's big bre
asts. He shut his eyes for a second just to clear the image, but he only succeeded in replacing it with a more graphic mental one. Shit. Now he was as hard as a spike, thinking of Reese topless and straddling him.... Letting him suck her and squeeze her ass... spread her wider and shove the crotch of her panties to the side so he could—
"So how long have you been an engineer?" Mrs. Brock asked, setting down two trays of pastries. Angela followed behind, carrying a pot of coffee.
The others in the room descended on the food, but neither he nor Reese moved from the love seat. Reese uncrossed her legs. Experimentally, Brian very slightly pressed the outside of his thigh against hers. She pressed back. He turned his head to read her expression, but she was looking straight ahead, none the wiser.
Brian was starting to question his sanity. Okay, "sanity" was too strong. But his faculties were in serious doubt. God knew he needed to get laid—it had been way too long and his body was starving. But was it possible that he was so goddamn horny that he was imagining that Reese felt the same intense attraction?
"Brian?" someone said.
Oh, wait. Mrs. Brock had asked him a question. Except he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what it was.
"Mommy, no offense," Ally interjected, "but we need to roll this meeting along. Ben and I are going to a concert tonight."
"A concert," Mrs. Brock repeated flatly, and shook her head. "Ally, you'd better get organized here." Ally looked as though she didn't follow.
Nevertheless, the meeting did roll along after that. Within a half hour, it was nearly done. Brian was still preoccupied with the possible foreplay between him and Reese. She was still thigh-to-thigh with him, but a few moments ago she'd shifted her upper body, angling herself slightly to the side. It had brought the curve of her breast up against his upper arm. He'd expelled a breath, and battled more images—Reese peeling down her bra, putting her breasts in her hands, rubbing her nipples, and offering them to him.