Good Twin Gone Country

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Why would there be something wrong?” Her hazel eyes flashed, sending an answering jolt of awareness through his chest. The idea of a feisty Hallie set him off like a rocket. It was too bad he couldn’t consider her for even the briefest of flings. He’d bet he’d find passion hidden inside her if he managed to crack through her sharp exterior.

  “You look different, is all,” he said, shaking the thought out of his head. Her twin was his brother’s wife. There was no way to have a brief anything with Hallie Banks—even if she didn’t hate him.

  She made a choking sound in the back of her throat. He sent a brief scan down her outfit. Black trousers, silky beige blouse and sensible, black high heels. Her standard office attire. Her hair was smoothed back in a smart, professional ponytail, her makeup understated and soft. When she narrowed her eyelids at him, he figured it out.

  She was looking him in the eyes. Well, technically she was glaring at him exactly like Hannah had last night, but still. Hallie almost never met his gaze.

  “I got it.” He snapped his fingers. “No glasses.”

  Her head jerked on her neck as her eyebrows slammed down.

  “You’re, ah, you’re not wearing glasses like you sometimes do.” Like she had nearly every time he’d seen her before. Apart from the wedding, or that time at The Cheshire when Presley had first come to town.

  “Do you need me to wear them? So that you don’t mistake me for Hannah?” One of those manicured eyebrows shot up and another rogue zing of awareness zapped his bloodstream.

  Whoa. What the hell was that?

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Are you sure?” She didn’t wait for his reply, instead marching out of the conference room, her ponytail swinging behind her as she clipped down the corridor.

  Well. His conversation with Hannah certainly hadn’t ushered Hallie into the friend zone. She’d talked to him, though, which was a step in the right direction.

  He gathered the contracts and went to his office, passing Will’s closed door on the way and definitely not listening in case they were doing something other than business in that room. Like each other.

  A few hours later, he’d successfully lost himself in work and was adding an item to his to-do list in his meticulous block lettering when a knock came at the door. “It’s open.”

  Hannah let herself in and sat primly on the edge of the chair across from his desk, her smile both impish and knowing. Behind her hung a framed photo of her and Cash after one of their performances together. The big lights, the stage, the sweat on their brows. They were crazy talented. As proud as he was of both of them, he had never wanted fame for himself. He didn’t need adoring fans. Just happy clients.

  “I was going to bring this up earlier, but then Hallie came in and I figured it would be more awkward if I did.”

  “You told her.” He leaned back in his chair and tossed his pen on top of his journal.

  Hannah pulled out her cell phone and read aloud, “‘You know I think Hallie’s great. Sorry if I acted like an ass.’”

  “I know what it says, Han. I wrote it.”

  “Yes, but what the hell does it mean?” Her eyebrows winged upward. “When were you an ass, specifically?”

  “Last night. At The Cheshire.” As he spoke those words, he recalled Hannah’s flashing eyes and pointed glare...and the eerie way it mirrored Hallie’s reaction to him this morning. An unpleasant sensation slithered down his spine.

  “I wasn’t at The Cheshire last night. Will and I were at your parents’ house picking up a quilt your mom sewed for us.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I had no idea how to respond to you. I thought maybe you texted the wrong person, or you were drunk or something.”

  “I wish,” he muttered, coming to a conclusion that had taken its sweet time getting here. He’d been cataloging the subtle differences between Hannah and Hallie for months, but apparently not in the conscious part of his brain—which would have been damn helpful last night.

  The glasses were an obvious difference, but Hallie hadn’t been wearing them today and he still couldn’t have mistaken her for Hannah. There was a slight difference in their eye color—both of them had hazel eyes, but Hallie’s irises held flashes of gold. Specifically, when she was angry. Like she was this morning...and when he’d mistaken her for Hannah last night.

  No. No friggin’ way. He’d addressed her as Hannah and she hadn’t corrected him. Why would Hallie pretend to be her sister?

  “Can you raise one eyebrow?” he blurted out. The woman under the stars at The Cheshire had done just that. He recalled the moment very clearly. He’d thought it was cute, and immediately dismissed the thought. Admiring his brother’s wife was poor form—especially if Will caught wind of it.

  Hannah wiggled both eyebrows in a futile attempt to force one higher than the other. “Never could. Hallie can. She does it without trying.”

  “Shit.” He’d felt the slightest hesitation when he’d said hello to “Hannah” last night. He should’ve never ignored his gut.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you mistook Hallie for me?” Hannah gave him a dazzling grin, clearly enjoying this much more than he was.

  He scratched his eyebrow. “That would appear to be the case.”

  “You were bamboozled, my friend. Out of curiosity, what did you say to Hallie, about Hallie?”

  “Nothing I would have said to her directly, but it wasn’t bad. I think she took it that way, though.”

  Hannah glanced at the text on her phone. “I think it’s nice that you like her.”

  “Of course I like her.” He frowned. Why wouldn’t he? “She doesn’t like me. Especially after I implied she couldn’t find a date because she works too much.”

  Hannah sucked in air through perfectly straight teeth. Looking at the other twin, it was impossible not to notice that the blond in her hair was much lighter than Hallie’s honeyed locks. How could he have been so clueless?

  Then his embarrassment faded into a more volatile emotion and he growled, “Do you two get off on pretending to be each other?” He stood and yanked his jacket from the back of his chair before palming his journal. “I recall Will having a similar issue with the two of you.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at my wife.” Will appeared out of nowhere to scowl at Gavin from the doorway.

  “Oh, stop it.” Hannah shoved her husband before joining him in the hall. “Gavin’s just mad at himself.” She addressed Gavin next. “Talk to her. Sounds like you both have some explaining to do.” Hannah was still smiling.

  Gavin ignored his oldest brother’s fierce expression. Outside, he pulled out his phone and sent a text—to Hallie this time.

  We need to talk.

  He didn’t expect to hear back, but he wasn’t waiting around for her approval. He climbed into his stone-gray Ford F-150 truck and sped toward her apartment.

  “Ready or not, Hallie Banks,” he said as he gunned the engine and accelerated down the road, “here I come.”

  Four

  Hallie parked in front of her half of the rented duplex, her very late take-out lunch on the passenger seat. She’d had a busy day after she left the studio. As she ran errands and took phone calls, Gavin’s words from last night—and his slimy attempt to worm his way out of saying them this morning—loomed in the back of her mind.

  After the party, she’d come home and plucked the bobby pins from her carefully coiffed hair. She’d scrubbed off her makeup and hung the plum-colored dress on the colorful side of her closet. Then she’d changed into a gray shorts set and pulled out the notebook where she’d written her checklist for the new year.

  She’d grabbed a fat black marker and crossed out Gavin’s name. Honestly, she was far less angry with him than she was with herself. This morning she’d woken feeling more charitable to herself. After a long coupl
e of hours at the party, she’d been too tired to be witty. That was understandable. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Gavin Sutherland. And she wasn’t about to play nice when he’d insulted her to her face.

  She fruitlessly tried to unlock her front door while juggling the take-out bag, her purse, a large iced tea and her briefcase when a large truck pulled into the driveway. Gavin stepped out of it, long and lean and looking like a million dollars in a suit that probably cost close to that. His tie was royal blue, his hair arranged in perfect, dark waves. His shoes were shiny and stylish. He’d be so much easier to hate if he wasn’t so damn good-looking.

  He didn’t waste time taking her keys from her hand and opening her door for her. He stepped aside to let her go in ahead of him, but then followed her anyway, shutting them into her apartment before she could invite him.

  “Won’t you come in,” she muttered as she plopped everything in her hands onto the kitchen table.

  He dropped her keys into her purse and then stood, arms folded, and stared at her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when it was evident he wasn’t going to speak first.

  “I texted you.”

  Yeah, well, she’d turned on the Do Not Disturb setting for his phone number so she wouldn’t have to deal with him today. Perhaps a juvenile response, but he was disturbing.

  “About what?” she asked as she pulled containers from her to-go bag.

  “We need to talk.” His tone was both authoritative and grave.

  “No, we don’t.” She’d heard quite enough of what he’d had to say last night. “I’m going to eat my lunch. You can see yourself out.”

  Being angry with him was much easier than stepping out of her comfort zone. She popped the lid off her poke bowl and tore the paper holding a pair of wooden chopsticks.

  “That was you at The Cheshire. You let me think you were Hannah.”

  “Yes.” She paused, a chunk of raw tuna inches from her mouth. “And what an enlightening experience that was.”

  He leaned over her, his palms flat on her kitchen table. He looked good, but he smelled better. A hint of spice rolled off his neck, making her hungry for more than sushi.

  “What is it you think you heard me say?”

  Ha! What a lawyer-y question.

  “I know what I heard.” She abandoned her lunch to fold her arms over her chest. “I can’t get a date. You said so yourself.”

  “I asked if you had one.”

  “You asked if I’d landed one.”

  He nodded, letting her have that, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “I wasn’t implying you couldn’t.”

  “I’m not incapable of being social,” she found herself defending. “I’d been social for hours by the time you said hello. You caught me at a bad time.”

  He straightened and threw his arms out. “I didn’t say you were incapable of being social.”

  “You said Hannah was the social butterfly, and I work all the time.” Her voice cracked, emotion causing her throat to tighten. She was trying not to sound weak or defensive, but it was hard when the guy she liked way too much thought she was an antisocial stick-in-the-mud.

  Rather than lean this time, he pulled out a chair and scooted closer to her. She gazed into his fathomless gray-blue eyes and briefly imagined another scenario that would bring him this close—one where they weren’t arguing about her being a workaholic. One that would give her a taste of the lips she’d been longing for over the last year.

  Dammit. Why hadn’t she corrected him at the party? Then he would have been polite and nice and she could have been spared his uninvited opinions.

  “I was complimenting your work ethic,” he said. “Granted, I could have done a better job.”

  “Ya think?”

  His mouth slipped into a smirk and his voice came out more tender than before. “I was suggesting you deserved some time off, not accusing you of not knowing how to have fun.”

  Well. That was sort of nice. But...

  “You weren’t exactly trotting out the compliments.” She took a drink of her iced tea. A big enough gulp that she nearly choked when he continued.

  “You want compliments? The truth is I have never been able to understand why you don’t bring a date. Look at you.” He did then, raking his eyes over her in a slow perusal that made her wiggle in her chair. “You’re damn gorgeous. And smart. Funny. Unique.”

  “So unique you assumed I was Hannah when you saw me?” she clipped.

  “Can I add smart-ass to the list?” He gave her a full-on grin, his eyes twinkling, and she suddenly regretted crossing his name out with permanent marker. Similarly, she couldn’t erase her memories of what he’d said last night.

  “In my defense,” he continued, “I had second thoughts the moment I addressed you as Hannah. What was I supposed to do? Call you a liar? Or worse, compliment you on your smoking hot dress and ask you to dance?”

  Oh, that would have been lovely.

  “And then,” he said, his voice low and seductive, “when I gave in to the urge to run my fingers over those creamy, exposed shoulders...”

  Hallie leaned closer, hooked on his every word. He’d thought her dress was smoking hot? And he’d wanted to dance with her? To touch her?

  “Would you have come to my funeral?” he murmured.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “If you had actually been Hannah, Will would have murdered me.”

  “You’re saying it’s my fault,” she grumbled, feeling regret tenfold.

  “Partially. I’m sorry if I offended you. I recognize when someone needs a break, and you, Hallie, have earned one.” He took a deep breath before he continued, “I was raised in a family whose motto is work hard and work harder. I’ve resisted that with everything I am. Everyone has a breaking point, you know.”

  “And you think I’m at a breaking point?”

  “Not yet.” His smile was soft, his eyes locked on hers.

  She was still in shock. She assumed he could take her or leave her and that she was alone in admiring him from afar. Now he was smirking and smiling and saying sexy things to her. It was too much to process over a tuna poke bowl.

  “Forgive me?” He offered his hand and she regarded it dubiously. She didn’t recall ever shaking Gavin’s hand. Even when they’d first met. Overwhelmed by the need to touch him, she agreed without a second thought and slid her hand into his.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” She was going to add a thank-you for the compliments and a return apology for faking her identity, but the words frittered into the sizzling air between them.

  His hand was larger than hers, his skin slightly tanned. He had long fingers and attractive knuckles. His grip was firm, yet gentle. And warm. So warm. His smile held, his eyelids sinking to half-mast.

  “Hallie Banks. Golden eyes, dimples, able to lift one eyebrow without trying. Mistaking you for your sister isn’t something you’ll be able to accuse me of again.”

  She was so smitten by his presence, his unwavering eye contact and the feel of his skin against hers, she didn’t let go right away when he tried to take his hand back. Her uttered apology was a mere whisper, lost under his husky laugh.

  “Glad we cleared that up. I’ll let you eat.” He patted the table twice and stood. Her insides jumped, urging her to walk with him to the door, but in the end she stayed rooted to her seat, unable to rise to the occasion.

  Yet again.

  * * *

  Hallie met Presley at Rise and Grind every week. Sometimes they enjoyed scones on Sunday or sipped tea on Tuesday. Today was Flat White Friday.

  The appointment had been on her calendar for a week, but since Hallie hadn’t shaken off the run-in with Gavin at her apartment, she’d been tempted to cancel. Reason being, she knew she’d want to tell Presley everything, and since Pres was engaged to Gavin’
s brother Cash, Hallie probably shouldn’t.

  Presley smoothed her red hair behind her ear, her engagement ring glinting in the sunshine streaming in through the windows of the café. Cash had proposed onstage to his lovely bride-to-be over the summer. Presley had moved from Florida to Tennessee right away. Since then, she and Hallie had spent a lot of time together and had become close friends in a relatively short period of time.

  Coffee cup halfway to her lips, Presley asked, “So what’s new with you?” and Hallie nixed the idea of keeping quiet about Gavin. She expelled the entire story, sharing the details of what happened at The Cheshire Sunday night and Elite Records on Monday morning, and finished off with how he had barged into her house that afternoon. She left out the part where he’d flattered her half to death.

  “Like he has any room to tell you what to do with your free time?” Presley exploded, drawing attention from a neighboring table. “Who cares if you dated a thousand men a week or zero? It’s none of his business.” She took a long sip from her cup and her ire faded into a warm smile. “Mmm. I love Flat White Friday.”

  Hallie chuckled, feeling better having told someone. Hannah had asked, but all Hallie had admitted was that she hadn’t wanted to embarrass Gavin, so she hadn’t corrected his error. Granted, Hannah had not believed her, but at least she didn’t ask any more questions.

  “Well, he did apologize,” Hallie told Pres. “And then he said he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He also said I deserve a break, and pointed out how his family is rife with workaholics.”

  “Too true. I hear Cash strumming his guitar in the wee hours some nights and then, like clockwork, he’s out on the dock at sunrise strumming some more.” Presley’s smile was fond. “I love his passion.”

  Hallie was certain her friend loved more than Cash’s passion for music. It’d been a long road for them. They’d briefly dated in college before he’d returned home to Beaumont Bay and left Presley in Florida. When she came here to interview him this past summer, they realized their feelings for each other hadn’t gone anywhere, despite the years and miles that had kept them apart.