Brianna flinched. She had hated being forced to attend her own funeral all those years ago. It had cut deeply that her mother hadn't demanded the funeral stopped since it was fake. But no one had stopped it. Bianca had grieved, but it had always felt forced to Brianna as if her mother were going through the motions.
"You have five weeks, Reginald. That should be more than enough time to get her to a good doctor and on meds so she won't break apart again."
"Five weeks might be too short—"
"I expect you to figure it out because we're done pandering to your wife." Grandmother's tone brooked no argument. "I also expect that NDA to be voided."
Reginald's chin jutted. "No, that stands. That's between Brianna and me—"
"Be reasonable. She needs to be able to talk to her boyfriend—"
"No. I won't have our name dragged through the mud, and it keeps her from talking." Reginald rubbed a manicured hand across his smooth jaw. "If she marries the man, then we'll look at voiding the NDA, but not before."
"All you had to do was ask me not to say anything, but I guess it shows I shouldn't trust you either." Brianna's gaze clashed with his; she wanted to crow in victory when he looked away first. "I'll be having Willoughby triple check every clause within all the papers just in case you've hidden anything else, father dearest."
Pressing a kiss to her grandmother's cheek, she whispered, "Give him hell about the company."
Grandmother winked, and Brianna stepped from the room, leaving her father sputtering behind her. Her heart slammed against her ribs in a rapid beat of excitement. Five weeks. She would be free in five weeks with her grandmother's full support.
A blessing Brianna would thank God for when she left with Jackson.
* * * *
Jackson's stomach twisted with nerves. How could he convince Brianna to let him stay the night? He watched Christopher being escorted out of the house. The man had been enraged. Jackson knew how he felt. The humiliation and the need for revenge after being led away as if a common criminal. At least the man wasn't in handcuffs. Jackson had also seen how Christopher had looked at Brianna.
He would come for her.
"I know you're worried." She laced their hands together. "But seriously, I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that, Bri. I just…" he trailed off, unsure how far to push her. This was their second actual date, and it had blown up like the last one. Luckily, the shit storm that hit hadn't landed on him this time. But if he pushed, it might make her withdraw. He tugged her to a standstill at the bottom of her porch stairs. "I want to be here, just in case."
She shook her head, turned, and tromped up the stairs. He faltered. Did that mean he was invited in? Or was she dismissing him? The jangle of her keys galvanized him, and he jogged up the stairs after her. She blocked the entrance as she turned to face him.
"I don't have a spare room." Brianna shifted from one foot to the other. Her brow pulled into a deep V. "One is…" she waved a hand around herself, which confused Jackson.
"What's that mean?" He made the same gesture, which wiped the frown from her face and brought out a smile.
"It's a room I keep all the Briony crap in, and the other one I incorporated into the master suite." A blush stole across her face. "I think I'll be—"
"No, look, I don't trust Christopher. He was pissed that your grandmother flipped him." Jackson grinned at the memory. "Which I thoroughly enjoyed. But it humiliated the guy, and when you mix that with the man reeking of booze, he will retaliate. Look, if you don't want me in the house, then I can sleep in my car or on the porch swing." Both would be more comfortable than some of the places Jackson had slept while traveling around with his parents.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head sharply as she ducked her head before raising it again to meet his gaze, and he fell into a sea of blue. "My couch pulls out, but Callie calls it 'the place her back goes to die.' "
Jackson snorted at the name. "That sounds like Callie, but she's a delicate princess. I've slept on much worse, I'm sure. So I'll take it."
He turned to head to his car.
"I-I thought you were staying," Brianna stammered.
Jackson jogged down the steps and spun to face Brianna while walking backward to his car. "I am. Just grabbing my bag."
The frown was back fiercer. "You planned to stay with me? We haven't—"
"No, I keep a go-bag in case someone calls in at the sheriff's office. I like to look presentable, and if it's not swamped, we're allowed to crash in one of the empty cells." He snagged his bag and slammed the trunk shut before returning to her. "As long as you have hot water for a shower and hot coffee in the morning, I'm set."
She grinned. "A man of simple means."
"And I travel light." He lifted his gym-sized bag and followed her inside. She took off her shoes. When he saw the rack next to the door, he toed off his own and added them next to hers. His larger wingtips made her strappy sandals seem dainty and fragile.
"Head into the den." She pointed to the left. "While I go, grab blankets and a pillow."
Jackson walked to the room Brianna had pointed him toward the den. He was surprised when he instantly felt at home. No spindly antiques or overpriced paintings took up any space in the room.
Instead, the furniture was built for comfort, the walls a soothing taupe, and the two pictures hanging from them depicted ranch life. Two ranch-style pictures decorated the wall their sepia colors matching the rest of the room. A set of overstuffed club chairs bracketed a fireplace with ottomans in front of them. The softest looking blanket draped across the chair on the right. He could picture Brianna snuggled in it as she read from her ebook on the end table or watched the flat screen that hung above the fireplace.
Setting his go-bag down, he grabbed the ends of the tan and crimson area rug and used it to drag the coffee table away from the couch. Unsure where to place the leather cushions, he stacked them on one of the club chairs. He had the bed pulled out just as Brianna bustled in, carrying a pillow and sheets.
"Here." She snapped the sheet open and helped him make the bed.
"I really don't need all this."
She huffed. "I do. I can't stand a guest not having a properly made bed. Drives me nuts."
"Seeing as I spent most of my childhood sleeping on floors, a couch, and a blanket are luxuries for me."
"Well, here you'll have a bed. It might not be comfortable, but it will have sheets, a blanket, and a pillow." She took the blanket from her chair and laid it at the foot of his temporary bed. "You'll be the first real guest I've ever had."
Jackson frowned. "I thought Callie slept over."
She waved her hand between them. "She doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"She's my family. You're not…" She huffed. "Anyway, no one else has ever visited."
"Not your grandmother or your father?"
She shook her head. "Not after I moved in."
"How did you choose this place? Why not wash your hands of your family and go somewhere else?"
Her gaze traced across the fireplace and over the crown molding. "You'll laugh."
Based on her melancholy expression, humor was the furthest thing Jackson was feeling at the moment. "Try me."
"Since I was seven, I always thought of this place like home."
"Seven? You've been here before?"
Her fingers skimmed the smooth wood of the mantle, which held only pictures of Callie, her family, Brianna, and Mildred with an older man. "When I was seven, my father brought me out here. Back then, it was known as the Old McDonald farm."
"McDonald? Seriously?" Jackson found his first smile of the night.
"Yes. Though the family who lived here were the Donaldsons, not the McDonalds." She shrugged as she turned to face him. "Kids would tease the boys who grew up here with the name. At least that's what I heard."
"They were older? Or younger?"
"Older."
"And you visited when you were seven?"
"Hmmm. Mr. Donaldson raised horses and Border Collies. My father was interested in one of his horses and came to look. He didn't want to bring me—"
"I'm sure he did. What parent wouldn't love to have their kid tag along to stuff like that." Jackson remembered Ray enjoying trips to a nearby farm that allowed curious kids to handle the animals and learn about them.
"No, he clearly said if my sitter hadn't come down with a case of food poisoning, he wouldn't be saddled with a pain in the ass kid."
He winced at the pain, shadowing her blue eyes. "He told you that."
"No, he told Mr. Donaldson that. Mrs. Donaldson heard him and took pity on me, I guess, and distracted me with the new pups."
Her face lost its pinched look and brightened at the memory. "I fell in love with the one they'd named Rounder because the thing kept chasing his tail." She laughed. "Well, his tail, his mom's tail, and his siblings' tails."
"They should've named him Hound Dog." Jackson teased, drawing more laughter from her.
"Maybe."
"And you didn't want to take him home."
Sadness wiped the laughter from her face. "No, I learned at a young age never to grow attached to anything and never to bring a living thing into that house." She pivoted and began fiddling with the bed again.
Unsure what he'd said to make her this out of sorts, he struggled with something to set it right. But instead of a change of subject, he blurted the question burning into him. "Why would you not want to bring a puppy into the house? It sounds so lonely."
She flinched and paled. "Because we had a pup. It liked me better than Briony—"
"Jesus, don't tell me she killed a dog." His stomach turned at the thought of how evil a person would have to be to hurt a puppy.
Her gaze jumped to his, and she shook her head sharply. "No, she might have had someone else do it. At least that's what she implied, but instead, she said she was allergic. And told me if I didn't go along with it, she would tell them the dog bit her, which meant it would probably be put down."
"I hate your sister." As far as he was concerned, her entire family was rotten to the core.
"Join the club." A wan smile crossed her lips. It was anorexic compared to the earlier laughter.
"And you still stayed?"
"I wanted this farm. Not another one."
"Why?"
"Because this place represented what a real family was." She pointed to the back of the house. "The boys had a tire swing they all shared and played on when I was here. Their mom sat outside shelling beans and teasing them as they played. When Mr. Donaldson joined them, he rubbed each of his sons' heads and then gave his wife a kiss before introducing them to my father—"
"It was a home." He could picture it all. Ray had provided one for him. It wasn't warm with that kind of affection, but he never doubted Ray's love for him.
"Exactly. It represents home, which is what I have always wanted."
"The sons didn't want to carry the mantle?"
"No, one is a musician with a jazz band. Last I heard from Mrs. Donaldson, Scott was in Spain, playing at a club there, and falling for a Spanish beauty. Davey is a doctor in Florida, which is where Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson retired to be closer to him and his family."
"None of your family has been here?"
"I already told you that Callie comes over, and so does her family. Mildred and Herbert, that's her husband, you were talking to him about the car show. Well, they come, every once in a while, for Sunday Dinner."
When she came within touching distance, he linked their fingers. "I get it. Not all families are made through blood."
"Some of the best ones are chosen. Like Ray chose to be yours."
They shared a smile as they realized they had something else in common. Though their families were both alive, neither wanted anything to do with them. Instead, they'd surrounded themselves with a family of the heart. Callie, Derrick, the boys, and Mildred for Brianna, and Ray, Tristan, and Rafe for him. His father and two brothers he had chosen.
"And any kids you might have." The smile slid from her face again, and he cursed himself. "What did I say now?"
Her fingers tightened on his. "I found out tonight my mother had several miscarriages before she carried Briony and me to term—"
"Shit, Bri. I'm so sorry." At the sight of tears in her eyes, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. "If that's the case, why would she be pushing so hard for Briony—"
"Briony was her favorite. The one she did everything with. I'm a poor imitation—"
"Bullshit!" She jolted, and he took a breath to calm down, then tipped her chin up and stared into her pretty blue eyes. Even red and filled with tears, the purity of what made up Brianna still shone brightly through them. Snapping out of the entrancement, her eyes put him under; he pressed their foreheads together. "Sorry, but it is bullshit. You're as valuable as your sister. Just because you're different does not make you less."
"To them, it does." She swiped her eyes across his t-shirt.
"Not to me and not to those that matter." He took another breath. Beneath the stench of expensive perfume, she wore when playing Briony was a hint of strawberry. A deeper inhale, and he found the source. Her hair. He craved to explore and find other places the enticing aroma lingered. Instead, he loosened his hold and allowed her to pull away. "Don't let them win, Bri. Don't let them make you feel like you don't deserve to be loved and treated as a separate entity from Briony because you do."
He wanted to hold her and shelter her from the pain her family rained down on her. But she was pacing, a frown etched into her face. He let her mull over what he said. All of it was true. He cared for her. Mildred, who seemed to dislike everyone on principle, cared for Brianna. She drew so many to her, had so many that would help shield her from her family if she would only let them. It wasn't until she began straightening the sheets again that he intervened by placing a hand on her arm to stop her nervous fidgeting. "I think the bedding is straight enough."
She pushed the few strands of hair that had fallen from her loose knot away from her face. "Sorry, I'm nervous."
"I can tell."
She snorted. "It's just I don't have people spending the night." She huffed and shook her head. "You already know that since you're sleeping on a couch. Only Callie or the boys spend the night. Mostly Callie."
Curious, he rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her arm to soothe her as he pressed for answers. He wanted to know more about this woman. What made her tick? After all their small dates, he felt as if he'd barely scratched the surface of Brianna. She kept so much of herself hidden. "Why?"
"Why do I need her here sometimes? Or why only her?"
"Both? Or one or the other. Whatever you feel like telling me." He wanted to demand all of it but was learning to have patience with her. She was like a butterfly, fluttering away at the slightest disruption. However, if he held perfectly still, the delicate, gorgeous creature would land on him, treating him to the rarest of gifts. Trust. Trust that he wouldn't crush it or hurt it.
She shrugged. "Sometimes, I need her to remind me that I'm me and not Briony." Her gaze bounced around the room. "Even here, I can't fully shake the ghost of my twin."
He followed where her gaze touched and tried to see it through her eyes. The sandals she'd kicked off after returning home were on the rack by the door, the clutch was on the hall table along with her earrings. All trappings of her Briony persona. He could see why she felt as though she were living with a ghost. This was one area he had experience in.
"Do you have one place that's wholly yours?" That was one thing his parents taught him to help return him from a deep con. Keep an area strictly pure that was only him. Theirs had been in a storage locker made up to look like the den of their first home. It even had a bookshelf with family pictures strewn across it.
"My bedroom and bathroom. I won't allow any of Briony's things in there. Ever."
"And Callie?"
"She's been in
there." Brianna smiled. "She's been everywhere. I've yet to find a lock to keep her out." She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. "Anyway, it's getting late, and I need to be up early to tend the animals."
He grinned. "I've never mucked a stall, but I'm willing to learn if you need help."
"Sounds like a plan."
He moved in closer and cupped her cheek. "You know this is our second date."
She gasped. "And?"
"I think a goodnight kiss is not too much to ask."
"Considering we missed a kiss on the first date, I agree." Her quiet breath ghosted across the skin of his neck as she answered. Her fingers dug into his biceps as she lifted to meet his descending lips.
A brush across her mouth. He answered her whimper with a groan. Cradling the back of her head, he tipped her to the right to better meld with her. The second press of lips became a clash as he struggled to retain control. A control she easily shattered.
When she took a tentative step back, he moaned at the loss of contact. She gripped his shirt and dragged him to her as she took another step away.
His mind clouded with want for her. A primal instinct within him wanted to pin her down so she would quit moving away from him. He struggled to keep it at bay, though her continued retreat drew it closer to the surface. He craved to know the feel of her beneath him. How would she taste? As sweet as her mouth was now? Could he find every hint of the strawberry scent that intoxicated him? If not, he could begin again. He'd always been taught to take his time and study every detail. With her, it would take days, months, maybe even years before he had every inch of her skin memorized. Then he would need to begin again, blindfolded, so he could find her by smell and taste.
Christ, he wanted her more than air. Before he took what he wanted, he pushed her away.
* * * *
Brianna hated the distance Jackson put between them. She didn't want to seem to be easy as yes; this was only their second full date. But dammit, all those lunches and breakfasts at the diner counted in her opinion. To top that off, she wanted him.
Had wanted him the second she laid eyes on him in her parents' library. Her feelings deepened the more she got to know him. Were there still secrets to be shared? Yes. As far as she knew, no couple started out knowing every detail before they slept together. Her jumbled thoughts smoothed out as she decided to take what she wanted.
The Twin Contract (The Contract Series Book 1) Page 14