Bravo Unwrapped (15 page)

And in her extensive network of acquaintances, B.J. couldn't think of a single woman who'd met and married the love of her life right up front. In her circle, women wanted to test the waters for a while before getting in up to their necks. B.J. thought they were smart, to want a little life experience before making a huge decision like whom to marry.

Buck's image floated through her mind—Buck by starlight, sleeping so peacefully up there in his room.

She smiled, feeling sappy and silly and utterly dewy-eyed. Buck had been her first. After a childhood surrounded by her father's seductive, willing women, she'd been careful on the sexual front. Careful verging on wary. She'd waited for someone special—and she'd known instantly that Buck was the one.

And if it had worked out between them, he would have been the only one…

So, well, okay. Maybe it wasn't so totally unbelievable, now she gave it a little serious thought, to imagine a woman having only one man for her entire life.

“B.J.?”

She blinked and realized she'd been staring all dreamy-eyed into the middle distance, half an Oreo in her hand. “Oh. Sorry.” She popped the cookie in her mouth, drank the rest of her milk and plunked the empty glass back down. “Now. Where was I? Ah. I remember. The point is, whatever the notorious Blake Bravo was
really
like, he's
not
anymore. He's been dead for, what?”

“Four years.”

“And you haven't seen him in…?”

Chastity fiddled with the cozy, tugging it down more firmly over her pot of tea. “It's been twenty-six years since he left me that final time.”

“You're not serious.”

“Oh, yes I am.”

“Well, alrighty.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Alrighty? That's what you say when you can't think of anything else to say.”

“Ah.”

“Let's come at this from another angle. Tell me. What advice did Caitlin have for you?”

“She said I should go out with Alyosha.”

“And to that I would have to say, listen to Caitlin. Please.”

Chastity leaned across the table. “There's more.”

“What else?”

“Caitlin said—” Buck's mother lowered her voice to a whisper “—that maybe I'd get lucky and get
laid.
”

B.J. faked a gasp. “No.”

“Oh, yeah.” Chastity wiggled her eyebrows.

Which struck B.J. as just hilariously funny. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud—and
that
struck Chastity as funny.

They burst, simultaneously, into twin fits of giggling—fits that, for some insane reason, they both found impossible to control. Chastity hit the table several times in succession with the palm of her hand, as if that could make the giggles stop, while B.J. grabbed her milk glass and held on for dear life, as if an empty glass could help her quit laughing so hard.

They were finally getting control of themselves when the kitchen door swung open.

But it was only Glory, in fluffy pink slippers and a long, zip-up micro-fleece robe. “What's going on in here?”

B.J. and Chastity looked at each other and started giggling all over again.

Glory shut the door and waited, looking irritated. “Oreos?” she asked hopefully, when they finally settled down a little. B.J. pushed the plate toward her. Glory got herself a glass of milk and joined them at the table. “So. If something's funny, I should be told. You know I don't get nearly enough laughs in my life these days.”

So Chastity poured herself some tea and told Glory about Alyosha asking her out on a date for Saturday night.

“What's funny about that?” Glory demanded, and added, “You should go,” before Chastity could answer.

“You think so?” Chastity's cheeks had flushed a delicate pink. Her dark eyes shone. She looked younger, suddenly—a decade younger, at least.

Glory nodded. “Oh, yeah. It could be great. And you never know.” She leaned across the table, dimples flashing and mischief in her eyes. “You might even get laid.”

 

It was well after two when B.J. said goodnight to Glory and Chastity and climbed the stairs again.

She hesitated at the door to Buck's room, a warm yearning moving through her—to tiptoe on in there, shuck off her clothes and get back in bed with him, to cuddle in close to him for the rest of the night.

She reminded herself that if she weakened now and
went to him, he'd be bound to catch her being sick in the morning.

And she just wasn't up for explaining about that. Not yet.

With a reluctant sigh, she moved on—to her bathroom first, where she had a quick shower and brushed her teeth. In her own room, she threw yesterday's clothes on a chair, took off her robe and put on a satin sleep shirt. She crawled under the cold covers of her bed and lay there shivering, wishing she could be with Buck.

Gradually, her body heat warmed the chilly sheets. She closed her eyes and snuggled down.

 

She woke to morning light—and to Buck, nibbling her earlobe. “I missed you,” he whispered. “You never came back to my bed…” He was under the covers with her, all warm and hairy-legged, cradling her spoon-fashion, his big body curled around her back.

Or maybe she was only dreaming….

She made a sleepy sound and eased her hand behind her. Yep. No doubt about it. Buck. In the flesh.

He chuckled in her ear.

And terror shot through her. Her stomach rolled, lurched and—wait.

She lay perfectly still.

Was it possible?

She swallowed. With great care, she drew in a slow breath through her nose…

Yes. Definitely.

The rolling feeling had faded.

A real, true bona-fide miracle had just occurred.

For the first time in weeks, it was morning and B.J.
didn't have to throw up. She caught Buck's hand and tucked it under her chin and dozed off again with a happy sigh.

 

They got an early-afternoon flight to Las Vegas, where Buck led her on a tour of the two casinos owned and run by his uncle and his half-brothers.

He showed her High Sierra first. They took the famous whitewater rafting ride that wound its way through the casino. And they visited the Gold Exchange, a series of exclusive shops in a central court between the casino and the three-thousand-room High Sierra Hotel.

Next, they crossed the glittering glass skyway that connected High Sierra to her newer sister casino/resort, Impresario.

Impresario had a Moulin Rouge theme. Lots of red velvet and gold leaf, very lush and excitingly decadent. At Impresario's elegant casino, B.J. lost a lot at spin poker and won—though not a lot—at blackjack.

They had dinner at High Sierra's most exclusive restaurant, the Placer Room, with Aaron and Fletcher Bravo and Aaron's very pregnant wife, Celia.

“This is our second baby,” Celia said, laying a protective hand over her big stomach. “Our first, Davey, is almost three.” Celia was an attractive woman with the prettiest rose-petal-pink skin and cupid-bow lips. She confided that she'd worked for Aaron as his personal assistant for three years before she fell in love with him. “We were going along just great. All business, no funny stuff, if you know what I mean. And then one morning—it happened to be Valentine's Day, believe it or not—we were doing just what we did every morning, going over his schedule. I looked up and—bam—I knew. I loved my boss. It was awful.”

B.J. grabbed a dinner roll and set to work slathering it with an entire floret of whipped butter. “But it all turned out perfectly in the end, right?”

“Yes, it did.” Celia beamed her cupid-bow smile at her husband. Aaron winked back. “And there's more. His brothers, Will and Cade, eventually married my two best friends, Jillian and Jane. We're hometown girls, all three of us. We grew up in New Venice, were friends all through school. We never guessed that someday we'd each be happily married to one of those wild and crazy Bravo boys….”

 

“So Aaron's got Celia,” B.J. said later that night, as she and Buck stood on the balcony of their luxury suite at Impresario with the bright lights of Las Vegas glittering all around them. “And Cade and Will are married to Celia's best friends. What about Fletcher? A bachelor through and through?” That other Bravo half-brother had been mostly silent through dinner.

Fletcher had inherited his father's striking pale eyes. He was also big and handsome, like all the Bravo men. B.J.'s sense of him was of a man under strictest control, a man who could be dangerous—but then, on second thought, she had noticed that sense of potential danger in every Bravo man she'd met so far. Even Brett and Brand had a certain edge about them, though they both worked hard to come off as friendly and harmless.

Buck took her hand and pulled her back inside. He slid the glass door shut. “Fletcher was married.”

“He's divorced?”

“Yeah. And since the divorce, his ex-wife died.” Buck held her loosely, his arms around her waist. Her little black dress had no back to speak of. He ran a teasing finger over the bare skin of her lower spine.

She rested her arms on his shoulders and twined her hands behind his neck. “Sad. About Fletcher's ex-wife.”

“Yeah. But he does have a daughter, Ashlyn. Ashlyn is four, a big-eyed, serious little thing. Very bright, from what I understand. Fletcher took custody after the mother died.” Buck pulled her closer. “Shall we dance?” They softly swayed together.

She laid her head on his shoulder and let him lead her. “Um. Nice. I wish…”

He brushed a kiss at her temple. “What?”

“That it could always be like this—the two of us, holding each other, dancing…” She sighed. “Dancing without music…”

“I hear music. When I'm with you, there's always music.”

“Hah,” she said. But much more softly than usual.

 

They arrived in Reno at noon the next day, picked up the SUV and drove to the Flat. Chastity met them at the front door to tell B.J. she'd had a call from her father early that morning. “He said for you to call back as soon as you got in.”

B.J. felt equal parts concerned—and irritated. Maybe there
was
some kind of problem. More likely, though, L.T. had decided he couldn't go another day without B.J. to order around. “Did he say what the call was about?”

“No. Only that he wanted you to call him immediately.”

“He could have called me on my cell,” she grumbled. The phone had been working while they were in Vegas.

Buck slipped his hand in hers and gave a squeeze.
“Didn't you tell him he'd have to use the land line to reach you here?”

“So? That shouldn't have stopped him. He never takes instructions. You know how he is.”

Buck released her hand and hefted their suitcases. “Come on. Let's go up. You can give him a call and find out what's going on.”

She followed him up the stairs—and caught his arm once he'd set her suitcase down at the door to her room. “Repeat after me. ‘B.J., remember our deal. You stay here with me until next Friday, or forget the story.'”

He ran his hand down her arm, a lovely, reassuring caress. “And I should say this because?”

“Well, if I
have
to stay here for the sake of the story, that's that, isn't it? L.T. will accept that I'm not going anywhere until the week is up—though he may demand to speak to you. He'll want to see if he can browbeat you into letting me come home.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

She asked hopefully, “You won't let him browbeat you?”

“There's no reason he would. I'm not telling him you have to stay here.”

“Why not?”

He suggested, gently, “Well, because…it's a lie?”

“Only a little one.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, with a tiny space between them.

He wasn't going for it. “Uh-uh. You
don't
have to stay here. You're here because you want to be—and that's the only reason.”

She scowled at him. “All of sudden, you're just dripping with integrity.”

He moved in closer. She tipped her head up to meet
his eyes and he kissed her on the tip of her nose. “You're tough as nails.”

“That's right. I am, but—”

“You can handle L.T. all on your own.”

“But I don't
want
to handle him. I don't even want to talk to him. He makes me nuts sometimes, he truly does.”

Buck bent his head close again and whispered, so softly, “You're feeling guilty, aren't you?”

“I am not.” The denial sounded forced, and she knew it.

He went right on, so softly—so tenderly, “For once in your life, you're having what is known as a vacation. You're doing nothing earth-shattering, just hanging with me. You're here because it's what
you
want to do. And you're enjoying every minute of it.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, you're afraid your father will try to take this vacation away from you.” She might have argued. If he hadn't been right. He brushed a kiss into the hollow beneath her temple. “Just remember this…”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “What?”

“At this point in your life, when L. T. Carlyle says jump, you can simply say no.”

“Yeah. And then pay the price.”

“There's a price, either way.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“No. But it does happen to be the truth.”

T
he minute she got to the phone, L.T. started in on her. “B.J. About damn time. That woman, Buck's mother, said you and Buck had flown off to Vegas. What for?”

“Buck has two half-brothers there. We went to visit them.”

L.T. grunted, a disbelieving sound. “He needed to get with his brothers, for the story?”

“I wouldn't know. I suppose so.”

“You
suppose
so?”

“It's Buck's story, L.T. I don't intend to edit it until
after
he turns it in.”

There were blustery noises and then, “Fine, fine. But I've been thinking. You've been there a week now. We could use you back here. I want you to talk to Buck, tell him that the deal he made with you, the one about you staying there, or he won't write the story? Tell him that's unreasonable. Tell him I said I need you in New York.”

“You need me….”

“Didn't I just say that?”

“For?”

“Well. I don't
need
you, exactly. But you've got your job to do and you should get back to it.”

“Is there a problem at
Alpha?
Is that what you're saying?”

“What the hell does it matter if there's a problem? What matters is that you've got a job and you should be doing it. It's called a damn work ethic, and I brought you up to have one.”

“So Giles does have a handle on everything? No snags? No major crises?”

L.T. made a low, snorting sound. “Look, B.J. Just tell Buck you've got to return right away.”

“No.”

There was a pause. Not a pleasant one. Then L.T. said, “What?”

“I said, no. I'm not telling Buck I have to return, because I
don't
have to return. And even more important, I don't
want
to return. I'm having a great time.” Oh, it felt just terrific to say that. So she said it again. “A
great
time. I'll be back in a week, as we agreed.”

“What the hell's this?” L.T. snorted some more, an old bull pawing the ground, getting ready to charge. “You sound like you're on a goddamn vacation all of a sudden.”

“As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I am. On vacation.”

“What are you talking about? Nobody gave you a vacation.”

“That's right. Nobody did. I haven't had a vacation in years. So I'm taking one now. I'm on vacation. And I'm staying on vacation until a week from today.”

“Wait. Hold on. What about the story?”

“Buck's said he would write it. He will. He has a contract, for crying out loud. Don't worry about it. It's a done deal.”

There was a silence on the line. An ominous one. And the strange thing was, it didn't spook B.J. in the least. She waited. For once in her life, she decided, L.T. was just going to have to be the one to break the silence.

At last, he muttered, “You're giving me serious heartburn here, you know that? My chest is on fire.”

“Take a Rolaids.”

“I don't need people on my payroll who crap out on the job.”

She had a scary, sinking feeling. But she didn't let him know it. “Are you firing me?”

Another threatening silence—and then, “I'm tempted, believe me.”

“But you're
not
firing me.”

He wouldn't say he wasn't. Not in so many words. Instead, he settled on a cryptic ultimatum. “One week. Not a day more. Or else.”

The line went dead.

B.J. hung up softy, ignoring the urge to slam the phone hard into the cradle. For a moment or two, she just stood there, her fingers white-knuckled on the handset. Then, carefully, she let go. Shaking her head, she went to the bed and sank down on the edge of it.

She was still sitting in the same spot a few minutes later when Buck tapped on the French doors. She signaled him in with a tight toss of her head.

She watched him come toward her. He stopped a foot from her knees. “Well?”

She tipped her head back and looked at him. “I think I hate my own father.”

“Bad?”

“Awful.”

He sat down beside her, wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. “Tell me…”

She rested her head on of his shoulder. “Oh, he's suddenly decided I've been here too long. Since he had no real reason why I
have
to race back to New York right this minute, he tried to bully me into it.”

“He failed, right?”

“Yeah. Then he threatened to fire me.”

“But he didn't fire you.”

“Not quite.”

He stroked her shoulder. “You want to go?”

“Where?”

“Back to New York.”

“Hell, no. Not till next Friday. It's one more measly week. He can get along without me until then. He can get along without me, period. Or so he's always telling me. So fine. It's a week. He can wait till then.”

He squeezed her arm. “You're shaking.”

“I am not—and if I am, do me a favor and
pretend
that I'm not.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He guided her down to the bed and canted up on an elbow beside her. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

“Have someone go and kill my father?”

He ran a brushing finger along the curve of her jaw. In spite of her fury and frustration at L.T., Buck's touch left an echo of pleasure in its wake. He teased, “You're feeling bloodthirsty today…”

“How can you be so…disgustingly lighthearted about this?”

“Your father is who he is. He's not going to change.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He never liked you,
when you and I were together. But I suppose you've forgotten what a jerk he was to you, now you're a world-famous author and whenever he sees you, he kisses your ass.”

Buck almost smiled—she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. “I haven't forgotten.”

“Remember that dinner, at the Castle, after we'd been together, oh, maybe two months? Remember how he put you down through the soup and halfway into the rack of lamb?”

“I remember.”

“He used to do that to every guy I ever went out with. He'd want to know who I was dating and then he'd insist I bring them over for dinner. And then he'd humiliate them. You were the last one I ever let him do that to.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Before you, when he did that, I'm ashamed to say, I'd think less of whatever poor guy he'd eviscerated. I'd see them as less of a man, somehow. And within a week or two, I'd stop going out with them. But you…”

“As I recall, he wasn't content to simply stab a guy to the heart. He had to turn the knife, as well.”

“Yeah. He really got on you. He said you had no connections and no background. That you didn't even have any training to speak of in your chosen profession, so your dream of being a writer was bound to remain just that—a dream. He said you had no education. And he'd seen no sign that you had any talent.”

“Plus, he reminded me, I could barely pay my rent at my fleabag apartment.” Buck chuckled low and tenderly stroked her hair back from her forehead. “As I recall, he added that a man without talent or background should always have money, at the very least.”

“My father is, was and always has been a true SOB.”

“But as I remember, you did defend me.”

“Fat lot of good it did.”

“You told him to shut the, er, heck up.”

“But he didn't.”

“Then you jumped up and told me how sorry you were that you had brought me there. You threw your napkin on the table. It was very dramatic. You said, ‘Buck. Come on. We're out of here.'”

“But you wouldn't go.”

“I knew if I let him run me off then, he'd never forget it. And neither would you.”

“Oh, Buck. That's not so….”

He brushed a light kiss across her mouth. “Yeah. It is.”

She admitted, “Well. It did impress me. That you held your own with him. You told me to sit back down and finish my dinner and then you turned to L.T. and told him he was right on all counts—and would he please pass the bread basket. I couldn't believe it when you did that, so cool and calm and above it all. You actually shut L.T. up. Knocked the wind right out of him.”

“For about three seconds.”

“Three seconds is impressive when it comes to my father. One way or another, whether he's holding court or employing his infamous silent treatment, L.T. Carlyle dominates the conversation.”

Buck bent close again. “You've stopped shaking.”

“Um. Yes. It seems that I have.”

His lips touched hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the moment, which progressed the way such moments often did between the two of them.

One kiss led to another, the top button to the next button down….

And so on.

Until she was naked beneath him, sighing his name, crying out for him never, ever to stop.

He didn't. Not for a very long time.

Much later, they got under the covers for a totally decadent afternoon nap.

“I should take a vacation more often,” she whispered, on the verge of dropping off to sleep. “I don't think it gets any better than this.”

“It does,” he vowed. “Tonight, as a matter of fact.”

“What happens tonight?”

“The Annual New Bethlehem Flat Methodist Ladies Auxiliary Potluck, that's what.”

 

When they got to the hall that night, Buck led her through the serving line, leaning close to advise her as they approached each new dish.

“Betty Haven's artichoke and chicken casserole. Oh, yeah.” He dished a spoonful onto his plate and she did the same. “Cherie Salinger's cheese pineapple surprise salad. Uh. Maybe not… And will you look at that? Tuna cashew casserole. That's Tina Wurtzburger's and it's the best.”

She craned toward him to whisper in his ear, “I don't see any names on these, Buck. How do you know who made them?”

“Before I left town, I never missed a potluck.” He caught her wrist as she started to dish herself up some kind of Jell-O concoction. “I wouldn't go there if I were you. That's Magda Lily's mystery Jell-O mold. You never know the kinds of weird things she might put in there. I know, it's hard to believe anyone could
mess up Jell-O. But Mrs. Lily manages it every single time.”

She took his advice and gave the Jell-O mold a pass. “But it's been more than ten years since you left. You'd think all the dishes would be different by now.”

“Uh-uh. The women in my hometown know that when you've got yourself a good potluck recipe, you don't mess with success.”

They finished loading their plates and went to sit with Chastity at a table near the center of the room. Alyosha Panopopoulis appeared a few minutes after they sat down.

“Is there maybe room for me?”

“Alyosha! Welcome.” Chastity blushed and tapped the empty chair at her side.

The handyman took it. “So. How's life, eh?”

“Oh, just lovely,” said Chastity. “Just absolutely fine.”

Buck sent B.J. a look with
What's
this
about?
written all over it.

B.J. only shrugged and smiled.

He held her gaze for a moment, looking thoroughly flummoxed, and then he shrugged right back at her. After that, he got very absorbed in his plateful of potluck. B.J. followed his lead—but took care to eat slowly.

Now her morning sickness seemed to have faded, she had no trouble getting food down and keeping it there. She knew she had to start watching her diet or she'd be big as a house in no time at all.

Brett showed up and then Brand after him, each with a full plate. They took seats and dug in.

Glances shot back and forth among the Bravo boys as they saw that their mother actually seemed to be
welcoming the attentions of a man. But it was all very friendly and easy.

Alyosha talked about his children. There were five of them—three girls and two boys. The girls all lived in the Bay Area. One son made his home in the San Fernando Valley. The other had lived in Texas for the past eight years. Alyosha explained that when his wife had died five years before, he'd decided to live his dream and move to the mountains.

“And so you see,” he said. “Here I am.” He beamed at Chastity and she beamed right back at him.

Then Bowie appeared.

Chastity's youngest son stomped up to their table and plunked his plate down hard. The food on it actually bounced. He yanked back a free chair, and sat down with a muttered curse.

His brothers shared another three-way look. “Okay,” said Brett at last. “I'll bite. Bowie. Why the attitude?”

“None of your damn business.” Bowie picked up his fork and stabbed himself a big hunk of herb-dotted red potato. He shoved the potato in his mouth and chewed with a furious scowl on his face.

A real conversation stopper, that Bowie. They all ate in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

Finally, Brand set down his fork. “You're no fun, Bowie. No fun at all. What's your problem now? Glory turn you down again?”

Bowie let out a string of swear words.

Alyosha gasped. “Bowie. Shame on you. In front of your beautiful mother…”

Bowie shoved back his chair. “That's it. I don't need the damn handyman getting on my ass.” He glared at his mother. “What's he doing at our table, anyway?”

Buck spoke up then. “That's enough, Bowie.”

Bowie turned on him. “Don't you start on me, Mr. Big Shot Famous Author. Who the hell cares what you have to say? You don't even live here anymore.”

Chastity put up a hand. “Bowie.” Bowie whipped his head around to face his mother. Before he could get out a single rude word, she said, “Leave this table. Now.”

“Fine.” With another raw curse, he shoved back his chair. It crashed to the floor behind him. He stomped off toward the door. Tossing his plate in a trash can as he went by, Bowie left the hall.