A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 (8 page)

The paper shuffling stopped and she swung around. “Adam? Good gracious, what…what…how…?”

“Hi, Bree.” He moved toward her, smiled.

She finally managed to get out a complete sentence. “How did you find me?” She clasped her hands together, eyes wide as she tried to back away. Hard to do when she was between her desk and the credenza with nowhere to go.

“Find you? Were you hiding?” He kept his gaze fixed on her, rounded the desk, closed the distance between them. Her coconut scent drifted to him, saturated his senses. He’d never smell or taste coconut again without thinking of Bree.

“No, of course not.” She looked away, darted a glance back at him. “What are you doing here?”

Adam moved her chair aside, stepped closer. “I came to see you.” He held her gaze, said in a soft voice, “You didn’t get my note, did you?” When she didn’t answer, he ran a hand through his hair, let out a sigh. “Of course not. You would have called if you’d gotten it.” Still no answer, though she bit her bottom lip and her face turned the color of the notepad behind her. “Don’t worry, I’ll share the gist of it. I said I had to get to a meeting but would be back by 11:00 because we had things to discuss.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I left my phone number, just in case. Hmm. Wonder what happened to it.”

She zeroed in on his chin, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh. That’s okay.” He tucked a lock of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear, leaned forward, and whispered, “I found you now.”

Bree tried to bat his hand away. “Stop that.” She must have recovered from the initial shock of seeing him —and not in Chicago but in Magdalena—because she developed a cool attitude and an air that said
do not touch
. “You can’t be here. I have an important meeting soon and I’ve got enough problems without you messing things up.”

“A meeting? Maybe I can help?”

“For heaven’s sake, no. You have to leave.
Now
.” She licked her lips in a way that reminded him how kissable they were and spoke in a tone laced with impatience and dread. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression that night. I’ve never done anything like that in my entire life and I have no excuse other than the wine and the fact that you’re too good a listener.”

He couldn’t resist. “And that’s why you invited me to your hotel room?”

“Shh.” She glared at him and he bet if she could belt him in the gut, she would. “It was the wine and you. If you hadn’t gotten me talking about cheaters and people who take advantage of others, I would have been just fine. But you got me yammering on and feeling sorry for myself and before I knew it, you were in my room.” She crossed her arms over a very nice chest, a chest he remembered, and narrowed her gaze on him. “Stop looking.”

He glanced up and his smile spread. “That’s not what you said the other night.”

“I don’t remember what I said the other night. I told you, I had too much wine and I was in a state.”

“You don’t remember anything?” What about the part where she asked him for a kiss? And when he carried her to the bed? And when she—

“My brain was not a total sieve that night.” She shot him a dagger look.

So did she or did she not remember what happened in the hotel room? Because that’s what they needed to discuss, and they’d better get it out in the open and deal with it before he told her
he
was the consultant. Adam had never let his personal life intersect with business and he didn’t like that Bree Kinkaid had crossed over into both. “Good, then let’s talk about what happened in the hotel room.”

Those lips spat venom. “Let’s not.”

Adam shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets, and studied her. “I’m a lawyer, Bree. I make my living with words. I interpret them, analyze them, rip them apart, and put them back together, and I’m very good at it.”

She stuck her chin up, rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should be a writer.”

“Maybe I should, but not today because today you and I are going to talk about what happened in that hotel room and why you left before I returned.”

“I did not—”

“Bree. You left.”

“Fine, I left.” She sighed, settled her gaze on a shiny pink nail. “I didn’t want to see you again; is it that hard to believe?”

“No, actually it’s not.” He gentled his voice, studied a swirl of strawberry-blond hair trailing along her left shoulder. Soft as silk and as fragrant as a flower garden. “I just want to know why. I’m not in the habit of visiting hotel rooms of women I’ve just met, and I always know their last name. I broke both rules with you and I’m trying to figure out why.” There. He’d spoken the truth he’d tried to ignore since that night. She inched her gaze to his, held it, her eyes so bright they sparkled.

“I’ve never had sex with a stranger before.”

He could not have heard that right. “You think we had sex?”

She blushed three shades darker than her nail polish and said, “Didn’t we?”

Adam shook his head, not sure if he should laugh or be insulted. “Sex. With you.” He shook his head again.

“Wait.” She grabbed his forearm. “Are you saying we
didn’t
have sex?”

“I’m saying if we’d had sex, you’d remember.”

She made a face. “Of course you’d say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Bree stepped back, hands on hips, right foot tapping. “If we didn’t, then why was I in my undies and no bra?”

“How do I know?” He’d never had a woman fall asleep on him when he was about to undress her, but Bree Kinkaid had done exactly that. She’d been full of sighs and moans as he kissed his way up her leg, from her ankle to her calf, taking extra time on the area behind her knee. When he reached the inside of her thigh, he noticed the sighs and moans had stopped—because she’d fallen asleep!

“Why don’t you know?” She scowled at him. “You were there, weren’t you?”

“Cute. I have no idea what happened after I left, but when I was there, you were dressed, including your bra and panties.”

“Hmm. I found your hair on the pillow.”

He tried to hide his smile, but it was difficult. “And?” She’d make a terrible lawyer.

“How do you explain
that
?”

“You invited me into your hotel room. You said you wanted a kiss. Actually, you said you wanted two kisses. Do you remember that or did you have too much wine to recall saying it?” The burst of pink on her cheeks said she remembered. “I told you it was a bad idea, but you—”

“Okay, okay! You don’t have to tell me that part.” She shot him a look that said she wished she could cut the memory from his brain—and hers. “You carried me to the bed…we were kissing…you…you lifted my right leg and placed tiny kisses on my ankle…” Her voice dipped, swirled like cotton candy on a stick. “And then you kept working your way up my leg…”

Adam cleared his throat and pushed back the visuals she recreated. “That’s why I left the note, Bree. I wanted to talk about this, about what happened and what almost happened.” He reached out, took her hand. “What could have happened, and what I wished had happened, even though it’s the last thing that
should
happen.”

Her eyes grew wide, her full lips parting as she leaned toward him. “I left the hotel because I was afraid of what you might want.” She licked those lips, made him want to taste them. “But I was more afraid that I might give it to you.”

“Bree.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek, traced her jaw. “I want to get to know you.”

“Me, too,” she whispered.

“This could get complicated.”
Complicated? She had no idea.

She nodded, clasped his hand. “I know.”

He glanced at the closed door, back at her lips. “I want to kiss you.”

Bree leaned on tiptoe, inches from his mouth and whispered, “I want to kiss you, too.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Adam pulled her to him, kissed her with a need and urgency that shut down his brain and the logic that went with it. What was it about this woman that made him forget he didn’t believe in love and happily-ever-after anymore? Bree moaned and flung her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. Adam lifted her onto the desk, nudged her legs open and stepped between them. She felt so damn good, so right. So…perfect. When she clamped those long legs around his waist and eased back onto the desk, he followed, forgetting where he was, what he was doing, what he was supposed to be doing. Nothing existed but the woman underneath him and the need to get closer. Unfortunately, an annoying alarm disrupted whatever might have transpired on her desk and forced them apart. Adam mumbled a curse, tried to find the source of the noise, and narrowed the sound to Bree’s bottom desk drawer. “What’s in there?”

“Dang it!” Bree straightened her blouse and smoothed the skirt that had ridden up her thighs. She leaned over and opened the drawer, yanked a purse the size of a travel case from it, and fished around inside. “It’s my cell phone alarm,” she said, removing the phone and turning off the alarm. “I’m so sorry.” She laid a hand on Adam’s forearm, gave him a smile that could melt ice. “Truly I am.” Bree inched closer, ran a hand through his hair. “I completely forgot about my meeting.” Her cheeks turned the color of her pink nail polish and her voice dipped. “You seem to have that effect on me.”

Bree might come across as a fresh-faced innocent, but when she talked like that, tossed in a wide-eyed glance and a hesitant smile, he’d call it less than innocent. He’d call it sexy as hell. Adam cleared his throat, tried to get control of the situation. Who was he kidding? He hadn’t had control of anything since he walked in the door, not the situation, himself, or anything in between. “Yes, well, I guess that makes two of us.”

Another smile, this one brighter, sexier than the last. “I have a meeting that I absolutely do not want to attend, but there’s no way I can get out of it.” She sighed, made a face. “The alarm was to remind me about it, as if I could forget. Still, I’ve got to be on my game with this man. No mistakes.”

Adam cleared his throat, kept his expression blank. “Who’s the guy?” Was he really asking this? As if he didn’t know what she’d say.

“A consultant.” She scrunched up her nose and threw out the word like three-day-old takeout.

Great. Her father had warned him she wasn’t happy about the idea of a consultant, but Rex had no idea Adam and Bree already knew each other and Bree had no idea why Adam was really here. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. It can’t be easy for this guy either.”

“What do you mean? Why would looking through other people’s business bother him?” She’d pulled a brush from the drawer, ran it through her hair.

Because he doesn’t want his job to interfere with the boss’s daughter, but it will
. No doubt about that. Adam sighed, clasped Bree’s hand. “Consultants are just people sent to do a job. If you think of it that way, it will be easier to get through. You know, he might not want to do this anymore than you want him to do it.”

She gave him a look. “Doubtful.” Her full lips pulled into a soft smile. “But it’s very sweet of you to say so. You know, the only good thing about this person is his name.” She paused, the smile spread. “Adam. Like you.”

He stared at her, opened his mouth to tell her that name was no coincidence.

“I’ll deal with him and then we can get together later. Lunch maybe?” Her face lit up and she squeezed his hand. “I know this great little Italian restaurant called Harry’s Folly. The best lasagna and wedding soup. To. Die. For.”

“Bree—”

“I don’t know how long you’ll be in town.” She paused, studied him. “How long
will
you be in town?” She didn’t wait for an answer but plowed right on as though she had to get all the questions out before she ran out of oxygen. “Are you staying at the Heart Sent? If you are, Mimi Pendergrass is such a sweetheart.” A nod, a smile, and then, “Classy lady all the way, but she’s had her share of heartache. Still, she carries on and gets through the day, and the year. I do love Mimi, and—”

“Bree!” He had to stop her now. Adam held her gaze, spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m the consultant.”

“What?” The look she gave him said he might as well have told her he was a woman. “No. That doesn’t make any sense.” She pulled her hand away, backed up, eyes wide, confused. “You came to see
me
, not consult about this business. You said so.” Her voice faded along with the brightness in her eyes. “Didn’t you?” Adam reached out to touch her but she held up a hand. “Don’t. Just answer me.”

“Okay. Just listen. When Roman told me I was coming to this town, I didn’t know you were Rex MacGregor’s daughter. I swear I didn’t. But then Roman said something about a woman named Bree who had a southern accent but didn’t live in the south and I asked myself how many women fit that description. The answer was easy; none but you.”

“You’re the consultant.”

Her words were empty, her expression filled with disgust. “Bree, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I first got here, but I wanted a chance to see you without that issue between us.”

“That issue? That issue! You mean that boulder?”

So much for the empty words. These were filled with fire and venom. “Right.” Adam shoved his hands in his pockets, cursing his foolish behavior. He should have told her the second he walked through the door, but he’d chickened out because he’d wanted time to see if the chemistry was really there between them. And it was. Not that it mattered now because she’d probably rather slug him than touch him, but the chemistry existed. He knew it and she knew it, too.

“Does my father know about us?”

He’d never seen a woman so horrified at the thought of being associated with him, but Bree wasn’t just any woman. “No.”

“Well. At least that’s something.” She paused, eyed him like he’d turned into a snake, which she probably thought he had. “And he’s not going to find out either. I want you to get what you need for your stupid consulting work and then I never want to see you again.”

B
ree slammed
the file cabinet drawer and marched back to her chair, ignoring the man sitting at the desk a few feet away. Dang him! Why on this earth did the one man she’d been attracted to since her sorry husband died have to be this one? She slid a glance in the direction of the man. Oh, but he had his head stuck in those damn reports, like he didn’t even remember she was alive, let alone what they’d been doing a little while ago on this very desk. Goodness, the thought made her hyperventilate. But did he act like he cared she was in the room? No. Absolutely not. He was too busy with his papers, because he was a
consultant
and he was going to find ways to improve the company and its productivity. In other words, tell her everything she was doing wrong. Well, she could tell him one thing she’d done wrong and that was ever let him get near her. She snuck another peek at him. He probably thought he looked all businesslike gorgeous with those glasses he pulled out of his pocket. Humph. Fine, so maybe he did look businesslike gorgeous, so what? She still didn’t trust him, and he could forget doing any more of what they’d been doing this morning, or in Chicago. At least she hadn’t had sex with him. That would have created a real problem, but she hadn’t and now they could go on as though they’d never met before, as though they didn’t know what the other tasted like…

“Bree?”

She lifted her head, looked at him, and forgot for a half second that she was no longer attracted to him. Her gaze slid to his mouth, took in the strong chin and jaw. And then her brain reminded her that he was off limits. Bree jerked her gaze to his and snapped, “What?”

“You were mumbling.”

“Was not.” Those dang lips curved into a half smile, like he was holding a secret—a sexual one by the way his gaze slid down her neck, landed on her chest. If he thought he could toss out sexual innuendoes and get her all flustered, he could think again. She’d been married, had children, and her dead husband had not been shy about his comments or his touches. Too bad he’d shared them with someone other than his wife. Bree cleared her throat, pushed her traitorous husband from her brain and zeroed in on the man sitting a few feet away, looking so cool and handsome. “I was thinking.”

“Thinking.”

He didn’t even say it like a question, but a statement, one that said he didn’t believe her. Worse, the dang half smile spread, pulled out a dimple on either side of his cheeks. Way too appealing. Bree let out a huff and shot him a look. “I talk to myself when I’m working out problems; lots of people do it.” Her chin shot in the air. “If you find it too distracting, you could always use another office. My father’s is available, or if that one isn’t, the cafeteria has plenty of room to spread out.” She forced a smile. “And if you get hungry, the snack machine is breathing distance away.” Huh, as if the man would place a chip or candy bar in that mouth. Hardly. She bet he hadn’t tasted either since he was a teenager. His laughter flipped her smile into a frown, narrowed her gaze, and made her spit out, “I might have to work with you, but I don’t have to like you.”
There, take that
. Bree turned back to her papers, tried to remember where she’d left off, but
somebody
was too close to concentrate. And of course, he could not keep quiet.

“Bree?”

“Do not speak to me. I’m working.” If she hadn’t decided to dislike the man, that voice could wrap itself around her like a fleece blanket and make her forget all about being alone and lonely. Dang that man—no, dang
Adam Brandon
. Now she had a last name to go with the first. Brandon was the name of the famous detective writer, Matthew Brandon: another hunk of gorgeous male. She’d read all about the skiing accident and the blindness and then the way he regained his sight, fallen in love with his therapist. They were married now and didn’t they have a child? Oh, how her father loved the man’s books, went on and on about them until Bree finally agreed to read one. That’s when she spotted Matthew Brandon’s face on the jacket cover. Goodness gracious! Bree had finished the book and borrowed another just so she could stare at the man’s photo. Not that she’d ever admitted that to anyone, but there was something about that man’s eyes…and that smile… She shot a glance at the other Brandon, who’d gone back to his files. He had the same smile, but kinder, if she cared to admit it. Could they be related? Bree tapped her pen on the desk, considered this. The writer had silver eyes, cold, compelling. This Brandon’s eyes were gray, soft, welcoming. But the smile? It was the same one. “Ahem.” Bree sneaked a look at Adam, tried to get his attention without being obvious. When he didn’t respond to her throat-clearing effort, she tried again. “Ahem.”

He glanced up. “Yes?”

Adam Brandon really was too darn handsome and those dimples made him look boyish, but who was he fooling? There was nothing boyish about him. He was all man. She cleared her throat again. “Did you ever read the author Matthew Brandon?”

The smile slipped for a half second before he pushed it back in place and answered. “I have. Several times.”

She tapped the pen to her chin, studied him. “Huh.” Yup, that looked like the same smile from the other Brandon. “Me, too.” That wasn’t exactly true; she’d read two of his books and had decided on the third when Brody caught her mooning over the man’s gorgeousness and made her return the book that instant and vow to never, ever read another Matthew Brandon book again. Humph. No man would ever tell her what she could or couldn’t read again.

“You read Matthew Brandon?” The eyes narrowed, the smile faded. “Why?”

Bree looked away, pushed her hair off her shoulder, and shrugged. He’d asked the question as if he knew why she’d read the books and didn’t approve. What a ridiculous notion. There was no way this man could know she’d been more interested in the face on the back cover than the book itself. She slid him a gaze…thought about the smile he shared with Matthew Brandon. “You aren’t by any chance kind of related to him, are you?”

Adam’s expression turned grim, the dimples gone, the smile buried in a frown. Why on earth was he looking so stern and unhappy, like he did not approve of what she’d just said? Curiosity got her, as it did every single time, forced her to poke and prod in areas she maybe shouldn’t. “Well?”

The frown deepened and he ignored her question, replaced it with a few of his own. “Does Matthew Brandon intrigue you? Are you mesmerized by his good looks? Is it the eyes? Do they make you feel like he’s only looking at you?” The smoothness in his voice shifted, turned hard. “Like he can’t see anyone
but
you?”

Bree stared at him.
How did he know?

“You and hundreds of other women think the same thing. Sure, he’s decent looking and he’s got a great smile and a look that makes women desperate for him. They send him invitations to weekend getaways, lingerie, hotel room keys. But it’s not going to happen. Ever.” He stood, tossed his pen on the desk, and moved toward her. “Do you know why? Because he’s married, loves his wife, adores his baby boy. His name’s Ian. I never thought Matt would settle down but then he’d never met a woman like Sara.”

Why had his voice dipped just now when he said the woman’s name? And how did he know so much about the man? “Are you related to Matthew Brandon?”

He met her gaze, his expression blank. “He’s my brother.”

Bree was still contemplating that look several hours later when she pulled in the driveway of her home. There’d been a half second where she’d considered selling the place but dang it all, this was her home and Brody had been her one and only before he changed. Speaking of changed, Adam Brandon sure changed his tune when she brought up his brother. Something was brewing in that relationship, she was certain of it. Oh, but he hadn’t liked her comments about his brother’s gorgeousness, not one bit. In fact, he’d excused himself a short while later and didn’t return until well after lunch. When he did return, he’d buried his head and his thoughts in the files she’d stacked on his desk. Where would a man like that head to lunch? Bree considered her question, thought of Adam Brandon’s own particular brand of gorgeousness and charm, both of which she’d been unable to resist, and accepted the obvious and probable possibility.
Give a man like that twenty minutes in town and half the female population would sniff him out like vanilla ice cream on hot apple pie.

Humph. What did she care if he accepted a luncheon invitation from one of Magdalena’s single females in town? Shoo, for all she knew, he might accept lunch from one of the married ones. It was none of her business. N-O-N-E. She slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed the bag of groceries from the back seat. Adam Brandon was not going to steal hours of sleep and worry from her. No siree. No man would ever do that again.

Bree made her way up the driveway and into the garage, wondering what Mama had cooked for them tonight. It was always a treat to come home to good cooking instead of fish sticks and tater tots. Not that those staples didn’t have a place on her “go-to” list, but nothing was like her mama’s cooking, no matter how old she got. But when she opened the back door and stepped inside, the only thing she smelled was the spearmint-scented cleaner her mother loved. Where was the roasted chicken? Or the homemade applesauce? Maybe even a tuna noodle casserole?

“Mama?” Bree set the groceries on the counter and stared at the kitchen; spanking clean, not a dish in the drain board, not a glass on the table. “Mama?” And not a hint of a meal. She’d never been much of a cook, and having her mother take care of meals was better than just about anything, except for a faithful husband, and since that door was closed for good, she’d take the food.

“Hey, Baby Girl.” Her father stood in the doorway, holding a cordless screwdriver and a handful of Allen wrenches. “I was just tightening the towel bar in the bathroom. Your mama said it came loose.”

“Thanks. Where’s Mama?” She glanced at the stove, almost said, “And what’s for dinner?”

He looked away like he did when he wanted to avoid the question
and
the answer. “She’s fixing dinner at our place. Pork chops, some kind of fancy potatoes, green beans.” His gaze swung back to hers and he grinned. “And your favorite—pineapple upside-down cake.”

“Oh. Well, isn’t that just sweet of her!” But why had Daddy acted all skittish just now? “Sounds awful quiet here. Did she take the girls with her?”

“’Course she did. If she takes one, she’s got to take all three. You know how they are.”

She did know. Ella Blue thought Lindsey and Scarlett were too young to go gallivanting all over the place and that she’d earned the privilege to time alone with her grandma. Lindsey did not agree and wore her jacket in the house just in case she could con a ride somewhere. Anywhere. And the youngest, Scarlett, copied whatever her sisters did. Gracious, had Brody’s death messed up the girls for life? Would they never have a clear path to who they were, what they wanted to be, all because of their lying, cheating, dead father? Not if she could help it. “Daddy, why do you look like you’ve got indigestion?”

“Me?” He offered a puny smile, shrugged. “I don’t like being at odds with you. It tears me up something fierce, worse than the bellyache I get when I eat too much of your mama’s barbecued ribs and spicy potato salad.”

Daddy must really be hurting because Mama’s ribs and potato salad sent him to the bathroom every single time he ate them, with a vow to give them up—every single time. Of course he didn’t and of course he wouldn’t, which was why Mama only made them for him twice a year, no matter how many times he begged. And twice a year, he enjoyed those slabs of barbecued ribs and spicy potato salad until he couldn’t eat another bite—and then came the bellyache and the bathroom trips. But now he was saying her snit over the consultant had him more upset than the bellyache? That was not good. Shoo, she supposed she’d have to stop fussing about the consultant, and there was no way she could ever let Daddy know she knew Adam Brandon and how. Goodness, the very thought of telling her father what she’d done in Chicago almost gave her a heart attack. What would her daddy think of his baby girl acting like a hussy? Well, he wouldn’t think anything, because he was never going to find out. Bree smiled at her father, moved toward him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you, Daddy, and I certainly don’t want to make you sick.”

“I’ll always do right by you, Bree, no matter what.” His eyes misted, his voice turned rough. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I know.”

“Now let’s head over to the house. Your mama hasn’t made me pork chops in three months and if we weren’t having a guest, she’d make me wait three more.”

“A guest? Who’s coming to dinner?”

His cheeks swirled with red like a candy cane. “Adam Brandon.”

Bree did not change her expression, did not act shocked or mad, or like she wanted to open her mouth and shout her displeasure. Oh, but she wanted to scream, loud enough so Adam Brandon could hear her clear across town at her parents’ home and know with certainty that she did not want him there, did not want him invading her life, or the lives of her parents or her girls. He had no right to any of it, and she’d be danged if she’d open up and let him take a peek inside. Absolutely not. Because she couldn’t say any of these words to her father, she merely nodded, told him she’d drive over as soon as she’d unloaded the groceries. For once, he didn’t apologize for doing something he knew she wouldn’t like. What was the point? Her father had an agenda and a consultant was part of the agenda. Did he think she’d like the man better if he shared a meal with her? With her parents and her children? What would he say if he knew they’d already shared a meal, shared a
heck of a lot more than that
?

Daddy would give him the boot, hard and fast. But what would he think of his only daughter’s escapades with the man? No, she couldn’t expose Adam Brandon unless she divulged the rest of the story, and that was not going to happen. Ever.

When Bree arrived at her parents’ home twenty minutes later, she expected to find the consultant sharing a drink with her parents, her mother chatting away about this and that, but all the while assessing him and his responses. That was Mama. She should have been an investigator, though she could have been a psychologist, too, because she was very good with people and relationships. Daddy would be sitting in his recliner, sipping his bourbon, watching the clock, and waiting for Bree to arrive. He liked order and timeliness, neither of which was Bree’s strong suit. She bet the girls would be in the basement watching television in the area Daddy had remodeled a few years ago. The man couldn’t do enough for his grandbabies or his daughter, and since Brody’s death, he’d tried to anticipate every little detail of what they needed—even though he might not have a clue.