A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 (14 page)

Talk of the man in question made Bree tingle.
Oh, Daddy, if you only knew what he does with that mouth…
She shook her head, let the fib slip from her lips. “We’re just friends.”

He sat back in the kitchen chair, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and said, “Uh-huh. Is this one of those friends-with-benefits kind of situations?”

“Daddy! What on earth do you know about that?” Goodness, what
did
her father know about such things? Friends with benefits? Surely not. They were more “physical exploration partners” without the relationship part. Worked out fine for her because she wasn’t looking for the foundation part of the equation, as in a relationship that might extend past the physical part, and while Adam had hinted a few times that he’d like more, that was not happening. There was too much at risk, like her heart and her emotional sanity.

“I’m not as ignorant as you think. Just because your mama and I don’t go jabbering on and on about it or put it in the newspaper doesn’t mean we haven’t heard about it.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “You can’t flip the television channel or pick up a magazine that this person isn’t with that person and two days later along comes someone else. They just want the fun part without the work.”

“Some people do.”
And some are not willing to open up and get hurt again
.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of like ordering up strawberries and whip cream minus the shortcake.”

“You’ve been hanging around Pop Benito too long because you’re starting to sound like him.”

Her father sighed. “The man makes sense once you learn how to decipher the meaning inside the words. People want the fluff, the sugar, without the biscuit, but it’s the biscuit that fills your belly, makes you think about it long after it’s gone.”

“Daddy, biscuits and strawberries have nothing to do with me and Adam Brandon.” She straightened her shoulders, forced a casualness in her voice when she said, “We’re friends, period.” That was almost true. What were they, actually? Maybe she should find out before her father did.

“Call it whatever you want; that man’s like a dog on the hunt, and I don’t like it.”

“Daddy—”

He leaned toward her, clasped her hand, his eyes bright. “You two are from different worlds, Baby Girl. You don’t belong together. What’s he know about our small-town ways? He’d never make it here without the glitz and lights of the city, and if he tried to cart you and the girls off to Chicago, you’d never make it there.”

A tiny ache pinched her heart. “I know.” The sadness in her voice surprised her. Why did she care that her father’s words were the same ones she’d told herself too many times? She and Adam Brandon might as well live in different universes and if he hadn’t figured that out yet, he needed to open his eyes and take a good look.

“And the girls?” Her father patted her hand, worked up a smile. “We’d never see them except for holidays and special occasions. It would break your mother’s heart.”

Bree nodded. “You don’t have to worry, Daddy. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, but I want to make sure Mr. West Coast knows, and if those damn eyes settle on any part of your body again that isn’t your face, I swear, I’ll have a talk with him.” He balled his hand into a fist, his lips pulling into a flat line. “That boy wants you, Bree, no different than when my granddaddy’s prize bull went after the heifer. Granddaddy called it the mating dance, taught me how to ‘smell’ it. Well, I smelled it then and I smell it now, and I’ll be damned if my daughter’s going to get caught up in a wild bull’s rampage.”

Bree wanted to defend Adam, but that was tricky, because too much defending would tell her father he was not only on the right track, but dead on. What he didn’t know was her willing and enthusiastic participation with the man he called Mr. West Coast. Daddy was not going to find out. Ever. She offered up a sugar-sweet smile and served it with a whopper of a fib. “Nothing’s going on with me and Adam Brandon, Daddy.”

L
ying
with Bree after they made love was more relaxing than a hot stone massage…her soft skin touching his, her head resting on his chest, the silky hair fanning his arm…the even breaths…the sighs…

“I’m never getting married again.”

But nobody could blow relaxation to hell faster than Bree Kinkaid. His hand stilled. Some women used tactics like saying the opposite of what they meant to get him to beg them to reconsider their stance. Not Bree. “So, no second chances? Once and done?”

She sighed and not in a good way, stroked his arm, and made lazy circles on the center of his bicep. “Pretty much.”

“What if you get pregnant?” It wasn’t like he planned to pop the marriage question in the next two seconds, but a guy wanted to know he was on the right path, that he hadn’t taken a detour and come to a dead end.

“Pregnant?” Bree’s head shot up and her gaze slid to the sheet bunched around his hips, zeroed in on his crotch. “Why would you say that?”

“It happens.” Sure, they’d been careful and used protection, but there’d been that time a few nights ago, about three in the morning, when he’d forgotten the condom. Not something he’d ever done before, but he’d never been with a woman like Bree. She drove him crazy in a good
and
bad way, made him forget common sense, logic, and everything in between. Bree Kinkaid made him laugh and believe he didn’t always have to be perfect or right or in charge. He could just be himself and not always have a plan or a goal; he could learn to relax, but he wanted to do those things
with
Bree and the girls…long-term.

“We’ve been careful.” She nibbled on her lower lip, made him think of those lips and what they’d done to him last night. “Mostly. There was just that one time…”

He wished he could see inside that head because something was going on there and a quick peek would help him. But since he doubted anybody, including the dead cheater husband, had ever seen what was going on in Bree’s head, he stuck with logical. “It only takes one time. Say, it was us, and we got pregnant—”

“We?” She jumped up so fast her hair slapped his face. “It wouldn’t be
we
. I’ve never seen a man carrying a baby in his belly, throwing up, getting stretch marks, indigestion, spitting out a watermelon, and—”

“Okay. Got it.” Apparently, she didn’t like the
we
pronoun.

“I just love how men are going around now, saying ‘we’re pregnant’ as if they could pop out the baby. Hah. You’ll never see Nate Desantro saying that or Ben Reed because they know better.”

“Who cares what Nate Desantro and Ben Reed do?” Damn, but she could be annoying. Once that brain got going, she didn’t stop until she’d spilled every thought in it, good and bad.

She huffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and asked, “Did your brother say
we
when he and his wife got pregnant?”

Zing
. That got him right in the gut. “There is no talking sense with you, is there?” He threw back the covers, got out of bed. “I wanted to have a civil conversation about what we’d do if you ended up pregnant since you are obviously against the convention of marriage and plan to make any decent guy pay for your loser husband’s past indiscretions.” He yanked on his jeans, grabbed his shirt. “So, I guess the only logical choice is abstinence.”

Humph. “Fine by me.” She pulled the sheet around her in an attempt to cover herself.

“Really, Bree?” He glared at her. “Now you’re going modest on me?”

She looked away, muttered, “I’m chilly.”

Adam tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt. “It’s going to get a lot chillier, trust me on that one.” He grabbed his jacket, snatched up his keys from the dresser. It’s not like he wanted to leave the bed-and-breakfast, but he couldn’t boot Bree out of his room, and he sure as hell wasn’t staying around to listen to more of her I-don’t-need-or-want-a-man nonsense. Now she was going to critique his words? Him, a man who made his living on the proper use of them and had the skill to finesse his way in and out of business deals and personal relationships? A woman with a feigned southern accent who said words like
kit and caboodle
was going to instruct him on what was and wasn’t appropriate? Didn’t she know when a couple said, “We’re pregnant,” it meant the guy was totally into the relationship, the woman,
and
the baby? It was a way to honor the woman, not devalue her worth. As if Adam would ever do that to a woman, especially Bree. Could she not tell he cared about what happened to her, wanted to spend more time with her kids?

“Where are you going? It’s almost midnight.”

Did he detect a hint of worry in her voice? Why? Because she thought he’d follow her husband’s example and find a woman who wouldn’t pick out his weaknesses? “I need to clear my head.” That much was true.

“Adam.”

There was definite worry in her voice. “Yes?” She really was a beautiful woman, even when he was so annoyed with her he couldn’t think straight. He was tempted to go to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss away her worry, but he wouldn’t. Doing that would only show her just how much power she had over him and his feelings for her, feelings she didn’t share.

“I’m sorry.” She gripped the sheet with both hands, eyes bright. “I’ve got a lot to sort out, and it’s not fair to take it out on you.”

“I’m not the enemy, Bree.”

She nodded, said in a quiet voice, “I know.”

“Then don’t make me pay for another man’s mistakes.”

B
ree remembered
the exact moment she realized she wanted to give love a second chance. From the second she learned the truth about Brody’s death, she’d vowed no man would ever have the power to crush her heart again. And she’d kept that vow: she’d refused invitations for coffee, drinks, dinner, anything and everything that might lead to becoming a couple. Early on, she blamed her disengagements from relationships on her daughters, saying they needed her to guide them through their grief, be both mother
and
father to them. When the counselor she took them to assured her that the girls would be okay if their mother was adjusted, she felt guilty using them as an excuse and flung herself into the business, leaving no time for adult relationships with the opposite sex.

The plain truth was, Bree was petrified of getting hurt again, saddened and heartbroken that her dreams of the white picket fence had ended in tragedy and betrayal. She couldn’t go through that again, couldn’t risk another man betraying her like that.

And then Adam Brandon stepped into her life, blond and take-your-breath-away gorgeous with class and charm and a soft-spoken manner that made her insides sizzle like bacon in a skillet. Goodness, but she’d fought him, fought the looks, the charm, the kindness, and the muscles—not Brody muscles, but toned and tanned and sleek. Muscles to be traced and tasted…

She’d acted like a ninny, telling him she’d never consider marriage again, period. And why had she gone on and on about the pregnancy and the
we
versus
I
? Was she really that ridiculous and immature? What had been the point? To prove to him she didn’t need anyone, especially a man? There’d been hurt on his face and then anger when she’d smacked him with the comment about his brother—another idiotic statement she’d had no business making. Had she been trying to drive him away? When he snatched his keys, she remembered Brody doing that the last time she saw him. It had been late, too, and she’d begged him to stay, but he’d refused, said he needed a drink, although it hadn’t been the drink he needed but the woman waiting for him. The one who didn’t nag him about dirty socks or saying bad words in front of the girls—the one who wasn’t his wife.

Had she driven Adam to a bar and another woman, one who wouldn’t push him away or pretend she didn’t care? As she lay in his bed, the scent of their lovemaking still clinging to her body, she drifted off to sleep and opened her heart to let Adam Brandon fill it.

The rattle of the key in the lock woke her, followed by the creaking door, but she kept her eyes closed, body still. The sharp breath came next, the faltering footsteps, and then nothing.
What was he doing?
He must have thought she’d be gone. Was he trying to figure out why she was still here, or worse, how to get rid of her? He moved toward her, stopped when he was next to the bed. If she inched her eyes open, she might be able to see what he was doing, but if he were staring at her, then he’d know she were awake. Bree kept her breathing even, eyes closed. Lips brushed her forehead, trailed along her temple, the smell of whiskey mixing with his kisses. Her body tingled and burned, but she remained still. “Bree,” he sighed against her neck, eased onto the bed, and pulled her to him.

Bree lay with his arm wrapped around her, waiting for him to say more, do more, but he didn’t. All she needed was a tiny opening and she’d admit the truth: she wanted a chance with him. She inched an eye open, spotted the blue fabric of his shirt, the movement of his broad chest. His breath fell out soft and even. Was he asleep? Another peek said he was. Bree snuggled against him, placed a soft kiss on his chest. “I missed you,” she whispered into the fabric, seconds before she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

When she woke the next morning, the bed was empty and he was gone. She’d felt so close to him last night, like they were heart to heart, soul to soul. He’d been in a deep sleep, but he’d never let go of her, and she’d pressed her naked body as close as she could, not minding the brush of his jeans against her skin. She’d have preferred no clothes, but that would have involved trying to get him out of his shirt and jeans, maybe waking him, and she hadn’t wanted to do that, hadn’t wanted to do anything to disturb the peace she felt. There’d be enough time for talk in the morning, except there wasn’t because Adam wasn’t here. He was off somewhere and oh please, do not let him wish to be rid of her. Do not let the reason for his absence be that. Remorse squeezed her heart, twisted until it ached. She’d make it up to him; all she needed was a chance. Bree dragged a hand through her hair, threw back the covers, and padded to the bathroom. A shower would wake her up and give her time to think. Mama used to say Bree did her best thinking in the shower and that was the only reason she and Daddy let her use so much water. Hadn’t she figured out a way to get them to extend her curfew? And what about the time she told her parents she was sleeping at Tess’s house but they went with Brody to a party in Renova? Yes, indeed, a shower cleared her head and let her zero in on the problem
and
the solution.

Right now the problem was fear. Yup, big, old, fat fear squeezing her insides so tight she thought she might double over a time or two. She knew exactly why she was afraid and he even had a name: Adam Brandon. Bree lifted her face to the showerhead, let the water spray her eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth. The man was not going to settle with sleepovers and “see you next Thursday night” as if what they shared didn’t mean anything, even though she’d told him she did
not
want a relationship. She was so full of talk, but what would she do if he agreed? What if he said,
Fine, I’m perfectly fine with that
, or
Let’s meet once a month and spend the weekend together?
No hope that what they shared would ever go any further, say, like a more permanent relationship. A sharp pain pinched her belly. Permanent as in a commitment like marriage? Goodness gracious, could she do that?

She’d been down that long, twisted road that ended with a cliff. But what if this time were different? Could it be? How would she know if she didn’t give him a chance?
Could
she do that? Did she want a man in her life, one who wasn’t the girls’ father, carving the Thanksgiving turkey, drinking hot chocolate as they decorated the Christmas tree? Waking up in the same bed every morning? Bree grabbed the soap, lathered up. If she fought through her fear and let herself trust Adam, that could lead to a world of heartache. That warm voice and gentle touch would pull her in and spin her around until she grew dizzy, and when she stopped spinning, she’d be head-over-heels, knee-deep and sucking-for-a-clean-breath in love. The water beat on her chest, her belly, lower still.
Love
. The truth found its way to her brain seconds after she stepped out of the shower. It didn’t matter what she did or didn’t want. It was already too late. Bree loved Adam Brandon. For better or worse, he’d stolen her heart. Now, she just had to tell him.

She thought she’d have longer than a few minutes between realizing she loved him to telling him her discovery, but when she opened the bathroom door, he sat in the chair, long legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting on his belly, eyes staring straight at her. There was something about that look that made her fidget and not in a good way. It was like he could see straight into her brain, something Brody had never been able to do. That man hadn’t been able to understand her even when she spelled it out for him.

“Hi.” She knotted the bathrobe and tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Hey.”

He didn’t move toward her like he usually did when she stepped out of the bathroom in his robe, nothing underneath but lots of kissable bare skin. He’d enjoyed kissing that skin, tracing the dips and curves. But not today. None of that was happening if the frown on his face and the coolness in his eyes told the tale. It was up to her to take the first step, and that would be an apology—for everything. Bree moved toward him, stopped when she was an arm’s reach away. “I’m sorry for how I acted. There’s never an excuse for bad behavior, and mine was worse than bad.” She bit her lower lip, skittered a glance at him. “You don’t deserve it. You’re a good man and any woman would be delirious to have you look at her twice, let alone want a relationship with her.” Bree cleared her throat, waited for a comment. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat again. Was he not going to say anything? Maybe,
It’s okay, I forgive you
, or
I understand, you were confused.
But no, he just kept staring, but there was that tiny twitch on the right side of his jaw, the same twitch she’d seen Nate Desantro get when he was not happy about something. Well, it looked like it was up to her to continue the conversation until Adam decided to join in, which she hoped would be soon. “I truly am sorry.” She clasped her hands together, licked her lips. “I behaved badly.”