by Gina Wilkins
He looked at her for a moment as if he were trying to decide whether he could believe her—which only annoyed her more, of course—and then he nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She turned toward the door.
His hand was on the knob before she could reach for it. “Grace?”
Instinctively she tensed, anxious about what he might say now. “What?”
“It was more than blowing off steam.”
She didn’t have to ask him to clarify the quietly spoken remark. He was referring to the kiss she had been trying very hard not to think about. Nor did she intend to ask him why he had kissed her, if not as an emotional release. When it came to Bryan Falcon, she had decided that her new motto should be, “Better safe than sorry.”
Because she couldn’t think of anything at all to say, she kept her mouth shut, simply gazing at him until he smiled ruefully and opened the door for her. “Drive carefully.”
She nodded and stepped through the door, saying over her shoulder, “G’night, Bryan. Take care of your arm.”
She almost ran to the car. She couldn’t help glancing into the rearview mirror several times on her way home to make sure Bryan wasn’t having her followed—for her own good, of course.
He was becoming entirely too embroiled in her life. If she wasn’t very careful, he could invade parts of it that she had fiercely protected for years.
The rescue made the headlines, of course. Grace heard about it the minute she walked into the shop Monday morning.
“I know Bryan’s making sure you and he are in the public eye, but does he have to be quite so dramatic about it?” Chloe asked, looking up from the newspaper spread on the counter in front of her.
“Very funny.”
“Donovan almost went nuts this morning when he heard about this. He had to leave immediately to make sure Bryan was okay. He’s probably still chewing him out for playing the hero and getting himself hurt.”
“I already gave him that lecture. He scared the bejeebers out of me. But, really, Chloe, what else could he have done? He pulled a little boy out of the car and then he went back in for the baby. If I’d been the one who’d gotten there first, I’d have done the same thing. Who wouldn’t try to save a helpless baby?”
“A lot of people wouldn’t—not if it meant risking their own lives.”
“Bryan never even hesitated. I don’t think he gave a thought to his own safety.”
“He wouldn’t.” Chloe smiled and folded the paper. “He wasn’t ‘acting the hero.’ He was simply being himself.”
“Let’s not get carried away with his praises.” Grace walked into the office to stow her purse and place the keys to Bryan’s car in her desk drawer. She assumed someone would be along soon to collect it.
Chloe followed her into the room. “How is Bryan, really? He told Donovan on the phone that the burns were only superficial, but the newspaper accounts made them seem much worse.”
“I think you could say the truth lies somewhere between those two reports.”
“Did his arm look very bad?”
Remembering Bryan’s raw, red skin, Grace nodded. “I’ve seen worse, but yeah, it looked painful.”
“You know, Justin and I can handle things around here today if you think you should spend some time with Bryan.”
Grace looked at her sister blankly. “Why would I do that?”
“You know—to take care of him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Chloe made a face. “Honestly, Grace, he’s been hurt. He was burned saving lives. It just seems like it would be a nice gesture if you spent some time with him today.”
“He has plenty of people to take care of him. You said yourself that Donovan rushed to his side this morning. Heaven only knows how many others did so.”
“I just thought you…”
“Don’t you start believing the stories, Chloe. None of this is real.”
Chloe frowned. “His injuries are real. Even for the sake of the charade, don’t you think it looks odd that you aren’t with him today?”
“I don’t think anyone’s paying that close attention to us,” Grace returned. “Besides, he really wasn’t hurt that badly. It was hardly worse than a very bad sunburn. Painful, but not exactly life-threatening.”
Chloe looked dissatisfied. “It’s your decision, of course.”
Grace saw no need to admit that she had tossed and turned for most of the night reliving those long minutes when Bryan had been in the car and the smell of gasoline and smoke had been heavy in the air. She wouldn’t admit that his burned arm had been the first image in her mind when the alarm had awakened her from a fitful sleep. Confessions like that would only encourage the disquieting matchmaking urge Grace had seen in her sister lately.
She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get to work. It’s almost time to open.”
She thought she did a fair job of hiding her distraction as she worked. Only a few times did someone have to say her name repeatedly to get her attention. She only stocked items on the wrong shelves twice, and incorrectly answered only a few customer questions. More than once she found herself standing beside the phone, one hand on the receiver, even though there wasn’t anyone in particular that she needed to call.
She worked through her lunch break, explaining that she wasn’t hungry when Justin offered to make a food run. Finally, at just after 2:00 p.m., she went into her office, picked up the phone and dialed Bryan’s mobile phone number. It was the number he’d given her to use whenever she needed to talk to him; he kept that phone with him at all times, answered it himself, and gave the number out only to a very few.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Bryan, it’s Grace.”
His voice changed instantly from brusque and businesslike to warm and intimate. “Good afternoon, Grace. How are you today?”
She wished she knew what it was about him that even the sound of his voice made a shiver run through her. Sometimes she felt like a silly schoolgirl around him, foolishly impressed by his looks and his charm and his big-man-on-campus walk. “I’m the one who should be asking that question. How are you? Did you see your doctor?”
“First thing this morning. Donovan accompanied me to the clinic.”
Grace laughed. “From your tone, I would guess that Donovan dragged you to the doctor’s office.”
“That’s another way of phrasing it. But either way, I’m fine. My doctor assures me I’ll heal completely. Probably won’t even scar permanently, except for maybe a couple of small spots.”
“So I guess you won’t need that tattoo, after all.”
“Only if you want me to get one.”
She wrinkled her nose, even though he couldn’t see the face she made. “I think we’ve covered this territory already.”
“Right. Just let me know if you change your mind. I was thinking of something along the lines of a skull with a rose between its teeth.”
She remembered the word he’d used when she’d described Bodie’s tattoo. “Charming.”
“It could even have your name printed beneath it.”
“Gee, thanks, but no, thanks. Anyway, the reason I called…”
“You mean it wasn’t just to hear my voice?”
“The reason I called,” she repeated firmly, “was to ask about your car. No one’s come by to collect it yet.”
“There’s no rush. My doctor doesn’t want me to drive for another few days, anyway, because of the meds I’m taking. And I have the Navigator if I need a vehicle for any reason.”
He probably had access to half a dozen vehicles, she thought wryly. Which didn’t answer her question. “So what should I do about the Corvette?”
“Drive it,” he replied. “Keep it a week or so and see if you like having one as much as you thought you would—just for future reference, of course.”
She frowned, torn between the temptation of having his car at her disposal for a few days and suspici
on of his motives for offering it. “What if something happens to it?”
“The car’s insured. Just make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Drive carefully and wear your seat belt. Oh, and don’t touch the exhaust pipe. It gets hot.”
“Very funny,” she muttered as he chuckled at his own witticism.
“Really, Grace, I don’t need the car right now and you enjoy driving it. So why not? I’ll take it back as soon as my arm’s better.”
She wasn’t made of stone. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be careful with it.”
“I know you will. So how about picking me up for dinner tomorrow night? I’d ask you for tonight, but to tell the truth, my arm’s throbbing like crazy after the doctor messed with it today, so I think I’m just going to crash at my place and catch up on some paperwork.”
“Um—dinner? Tomorrow night?”
“Yes. I’d like to go someplace public to show everyone I’m up and about. I’ve heard there are rumors going around that I practically toasted myself yesterday. That sort of gossip is bad for business.”
It made sense. She, of all people, knew how quickly rumors could get out of hand. “Okay, but let’s not make it anyplace fancy. I’m not in the mood for snooty.”
He chuckled again. “We’ll pick someplace busy and casual. Lots of visibility, plenty of background noise to cover our conversation. We could even have Chloe and Donovan join us and make it a party. How does that sound?”
Very safe. She didn’t quite trust herself to be alone with Bryan at the moment. Not with the memory of his kisses so clear in her mind. “Perfect.”
“So you’ll pick me up around seven?”
“Fine.”
“Great. I’ll make arrangements with Donovan.”
“See you tomorrow, Bryan.”
“I’ll be counting the moments, darling.”
She hung up on him. And then she couldn’t help laughing ruefully at the sheer brass of the man.
Chapter Nine
To fulfill Grace’s request to keep the outing public and casual, the foursome chose a popular Italian chain restaurant in west Little Rock for dinner. The place wasn’t as crowded on this Tuesday evening as it was on weekends, of course, but most of the tables were still full.
Grace noted that several of the other diners recognized Bryan, some greeting him by name. Little Rock was a relatively small community and the Falcons had been a familiar part of local society for years. Wearing a lightweight long-sleeve shirt to hide his bandages, Bryan moved through the restaurant with his usual brisk confidence, showing no sign of weakness from his adventures Sunday afternoon.
Chloe and Donovan were waiting at a table when Grace and Bryan finally made their way across the room. Donovan glanced up from the menu he’d been studying. “Well, if it isn’t ‘millionaire investor Bryan Falcon and his frequent companion.’”
“Very funny,” Grace said, sliding into the chair Bryan held for her.
“Isn’t it strange that every article phrases that exactly the same way?” Chloe mused. “Is there, like, an official stylebook that tells reporters how to refer to well-known people?”
Bryan shrugged as he took his own seat. “It just becomes habit. Once someone has been ‘labeled’ by a reporter, the others repeat the label by rote.”
“Just as Donovan is always referred to as Bryan’s ‘close friend and business associate,’” Grace pointed out, repaying Donovan for that “frequent companion” reminder.
Donovan nodded. “Better than some things they could call me, I guess. I’m hungry. Anyone have a recommendation for a good dish here?”
They spent the next few minutes discussing the menu, then placed their orders. While they waited for their food to be served, they carried on the conversation over glasses of wine and slices of herbed bread dipped in olive oil and pepper.
Grace noted that Bryan quickly changed the subject whenever his injuries or the rescue during which he’d incurred them were mentioned. It was obvious that he wanted to put the incident behind him. He was certainly not one to bask in his own heroics. He successfully diverted the conversation by asking Chloe how the wedding plans were coming along. Chloe happily obliged.
They were well into their meal when someone suddenly slapped Bryan on the back, hard enough to nearly knock him from his chair. Because they’d been so involved in their food and conversation, none of them had noticed the man’s approach until he struck Bryan. Donovan started to rise, his expression dark, his body poised for trouble, but Bryan motioned him back into his seat after a glance over his shoulder.
“Hello, Peter,” he said, and Grace detected little pleasure in his voice.
“Falcon. Hope I didn’t hurt you just now. I forgot you got yourself injured over the weekend.”
Yeah, right, Grace thought. She disliked the man on sight. Pompous and phony were the first words that jumped into her mind when she looked at him, with his designer emblazoned clothes, his flashy gold jewelry and his fluffed-and-sprayed hairpiece. He looked familiar, she thought, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at him and wondering if she had met him before.
“Everyone, this is Peter McMillan,” Bryan said for etiquette’s sake. “Peter’s a local attorney I’ve had some dealings with over the years. Peter, these are my friends Grace Pennington, her sister, Chloe, and Donovan Chance.”
Grace knew who the guy was now. His tacky get-fast-money-for-every-imagined-injury television ads ran frequently on local cable channels. They were so annoying that she always pressed the mute button on her remote control when they came on.
Too bad she didn’t have such a button now.
McMillan looked from Grace to Chloe and back again. “Now, let’s see,” he said. “You were dating this one—” he pointed to Chloe “—and then you switched to this one, right?” His stubby finger stabbed in Grace’s direction.
He was talking to Bryan, of course, but everyone at the table stiffened. Donovan started to rise again; Chloe rested her hand quickly on his arm. He subsided with a low growl and a glare for McMillan.
“Been reading the tabloids, Pete?” Bryan asked quietly.
After glancing rather warily at Donovan, the other man shrugged. “That’s where I find most of my clientele.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. But as it happens, Grace and I have been seeing each other for some time. You’ve made the same careless mistake others have made—mixing up the twins.”
“Did I?” McMillan didn’t look convinced, but since there was no way he could prove differently, he settled for a cap-toothed smile. “That’s not hard to do when they’re so identically lovely.”
If he’d hoped to please anyone, he failed. Only stony silence greeted the compliment.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around the courthouse, Falcon. Enjoy your dinner.”
Bryan nodded and turned back to his food, apparently putting the other man completely out of his mind.
“I don’t know how you could be civil to that slime,” Donovan muttered, his own appetite seemingly ruined. “I wanted to punch his smarmy face in.”
“And that would have landed all of us right in the headlines of the gossip rags again. And you in jail,” Chloe reminded her temperamental fiancé. “Bryan handled the guy exactly right, cordially sticking with the stock response we’ve all been using for the past few weeks.”
“That rodent is a friend of yours?” Grace asked Bryan in disbelief.
“Hardly. I’ve crossed paths with him a few times when his clients tried frivolous lawsuits against some of my business holdings. He’s never won, but I doubt that he’s given up. It galls him that I have money he can’t seem to get his hands on.”
“I’m with Donovan,” Grace said. “I’d be tempted to punch his teeth out.”
Bryan smiled at Chloe. “Bloodthirsty pair we’re involved with, aren’t they?”
Chloe laughed and agreed. Grace turned her frown toward Bryan. She started to remind him that he and she weren’t involved, especially not in the same
way Chloe and Donovan were, but the server appeared just then to ask if they would like dessert. The guys ordered sweets; Grace and Chloe both passed.
“I have to fit into a wedding gown in less than three weeks,” Chloe said with a smile.
“And I’ll be wearing a snug-fitting bridesmaid’s dress,” Grace agreed.
Bryan mugged for Donovan. “You don’t think this piece of cheesecake will make me look fat in my best-man tux, do you?”
“I don’t know.” Donovan twisted in his chair to look over his shoulder. “I just hope my dessert doesn’t go straight to my butt.”
Because it was so rare for Donovan to be silly, and especially so soon after he’d been glaring in anger, the others all burst into laughter. Several heads turned at nearby tables to look at them, and Grace was wistfully aware that they must look like two very happy couples. It was unlikely that anyone could tell only one of the pairings was real, or that she and Bryan would go separate directions soon.
The thought made her amusement fade, though she made an effort to hold on to her smile—for the sake of the other diners and her companions.
They separated a short while later in the parking lot outside the restaurant. Donovan and Chloe left in his car, leaving Grace to drive Bryan home in the Corvette. She had planned to drop him off at his door and drive away without going inside the house herself. She should have known better than to make any plans where Bryan was concerned.
“Come on, Grace, just for a minute,” Bryan said as they sat in the car in his driveway. “I would really like you to see the painting I told you about.”
She sighed and turned off the car engine. “All right. But only for a little while. I have some things to do this evening.”
“Of course. It’s just that we can’t discuss the painting unless you’ve seen it first.”
That was true, of course. One of the things she and Bryan had in common was a pleasure in art, and they frequently discussed the work of various artists. More often than not they even agreed on what they liked, though when their tastes differed, it was radically. She supposed there was little harm in looking at the painting he wanted her to see, as long as she was careful.