“That, I can do.” And he meant it. He was ambitious, even had a reputation for being ruthless—which he wouldn’t deny—but he prided himself on honesty. No question, the newspaper thing hadn’t been one of his wiser moves, hindsight.
“Are you ready for supper?”
She inched away from him and stood in an unmistakable back-off message. “As long as we’re being open with each other, I need some space tonight.”
She hesitated and he thought—hoped—she might relent. She reached toward him…
And snagged the carryout bag of food before turning back to her bedroom.
Not bothering to stifle his grin at her accepting at least one of his gifts, he watched Brooke walk away and disappear behind her door. He wanted to follow her, but would leave her alone and let her sleep. Rest was the best thing for her and the baby. For tonight, he figured he’d wrangled more forgiveness than expected.
However, he hadn’t figured on being so damn disappointed at the missed opportunity to share chili and a movie with Brooke.
Brooke wrestled with sleep and the covers, the confrontation with Jordan leaving her frustrated and restless.
She stared at the clock—2:00 a.m. She’d seen midnight, as well, but must have drifted off.
God, she hated this helpless feeling of losing control of her life. Her family had staged an intervention with her mother, a huge, life-changing moment.
While Brooke sat around with her feet propped up, unable to handle stress. No wonder Brittany had been so edgy when she’d come to visit after Brooke left the hospital. The whole family must have gone through hell, and yet they’d all continued to tiptoe around her. Doing the right thing wasn’t necessarily easy.
Why couldn’t Jordan have told her sooner? Her mother seeking help was a good thing, the right thing. Hope warred with skepticism.
And therein lay her main problem, trusting that her mother would make it through the program successfully. Trusting, after a lifetime of mixed signals from her parents.
Trusting Jordan .
Even with their dates and living together this past week, it still seemed like too little time to know each other before committing to marriage. Her parents had dated for two years before marrying and look how that had turned out.
If only she could recapture—and trust—that intense sense of rightness she’d felt the night she’d decided to sleep with him for the first time.
The night they’d made this baby…
She’d seen him many times. She’d always wanted him.
Tonight, her family be damned, she would have him.
The decision echoed in her mind all the way up the elevator to the room she’d secured for herself and Jordan Jefferies.
Her head spun more from the touch of his hands on her body than from any effects of alcohol. She’d felt the attraction between them for years, but never imagined the sparks would combust through her with such intensity.
His palms, sweeping down her back during their frantic kiss down the hall.
His palms, cupping her bottom to pull her closer as they stumbled through the door.
His fingers, making fast work of her clothes in order to torment her.
And even when she demanded her place on top, still those talented hands teased her senses to the edge of fulfillment. Stopping short. Taking her to the brink and back again until they both tumbled over in a tangle of arms and legs and uncontained cries… Brooke woke with the sheet twisted around her ankles, her body achy with want for what she’d experienced with him, an intense completion remembered in her dream.
Yet she hadn’t found the same relief tonight.
She reached to click on her bedside lamp. As always, there waited a pitcher of water along with fresh fruit for a late-night snack. She snagged a pear and crunched. If she couldn’t satisfy her sexual hunger, she would settle for feeding another appetite.
What was it about that time with Jordan that haunted her so? A sense of control in that moment, of equality. Except by the morning after she’d felt so out of control, she’d run from him, was running still.
Her eyes gravitated to the open door. Jordan must have checked on her after she went to sleep and then left the door open. She stared through at the books of fabric samples resting by the small sofa in the sitting room. He’d given her choices, but that didn’t stop her from feeling smothered.
She glanced away only to see a blue wrapped package propped along the edge of the couch. Vaguely, she recalled Jordan had been carrying something—that—when he’d entered the room. So he’d bought her a present to win her over.
She munched on the pear and studied the gift with trepidation. With the dream having left her pensive and vulnerable, she wasn’t sure she could take more of Jordan tonight.
But curiosity nipped and nibbled.
Tossing the rest of the pear into the trash can, she kicked free of the sheet and swung her feet to the floor. Her satiny nightshirt slithered over her skin in a sensual caress that reminded her all too well of her dream, of the real-life night that had been anything but a dream, yet most definitely fantasy material.
She padded across the room and sat on the edge of the sofa. Her fingers fell to rest on the top of the gift and tapped restlessly. If only she had her impulsive twin here to help her decide what to do next.
Memories of childhood Christmases shuffled through, of Brittany picking up each wrapped present, touching it, shaking it, then confidently proclaiming what she suspected it contained. Fifty percent of the time, Brittany was right. The other half, her guesses were so deliberately outrageous, no one bothered to tease her over being wrong.
Brooke stared at the package. Not jewelry. Not clothes. Too big to be a photo album. Too small to be furniture, even unassembled.
Finally, curiosity won out over caution. She tugged the present around and began tearing the blue-striped paper away to find—bubble wrap. Lots and lots of bubble wrap protecting something underneath. No wonder she’d been unable to hazard a guess.
She ripped at the tape securing the covering. She slowly realized some kind of framed artwork was inside. He’d bought her a picture? Or a painting?
Without question, he was showering her with attention. He was trying. But she didn’t want to start off their relationship with the notion that she could be purchased. A last swipe cleared away the plastic…
And stole her breath.
He hadn’t bought her some exotic piece of art. Instead he’d chosen a watercolor—
obviously meant for a nursery—of two little girls playing on the beach, making sand castles.