Eternal Brand (3 page)

But he definitely wasn't going anywhere in these clothes. “That'd be great, if you're sure Brand wouldn't mind.”

“Why not? You two are old friends, right?”

He only hesitated a fraction of a second. “Yeah.”

“You might as well have a shower too. Can't have you catching a cold.”

“I'd appreciate that.” He didn't relish the idea of riding off in this weather in the filthy clothes he had on. “Since you're being so generous, I guess I should forgive you for laughing at me.”

She smiled. “You already had.”

Jet chuckled. The woman had sass, and charm by the bucket load. He supposed he could picture Brand hitched, after all, if it was to someone like Emily. A woman like her would be difficult to let go.

He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and peeled it off, the cotton making wet sucking sounds as it detached from his body. He held it out in front of him. “Do you have a bucket or something I can rinse this out in?”

“Oh, I'll take it. I'll put it straight in the machine.”

Emily reached for the shirt, stumbling as she did so. Probably because she was staring at a spot somewhere past his shoulder and not directly at him. In fact she seemed to be going out of her way to look everywhere
except
at him.

Smothering a knowing smile, Jet encircled her wrist with his fingers. Holding her hand in place, he plopped the wet shirt into it. “Thanks. You're a gem.”

Her eyes connected with his for a brief moment, while he held her wrist in his hand. They were standing too close, and Jet knew it, but it took a moment for his body to respond to the warnings his brain was delivering. In those few seconds, something sizzled between him and Emily, something that made him forget he was standing outside in the bracing air of approaching evening, shirtless, his skin wet and chilled.

Emily was the first to move. She took a giant step back, holding his shirt balled up in her suddenly tight grip. “The bathroom's down the hall that leads off the living room, first door on your left. When you're out of the…the jeans I'll grab those too.”

Without waiting for a response, Emily escaped into the house. That was the word for it—escaped. Like she was afraid of him.

Jet could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have touched her. Shouldn't have stood there gazing at her like she was a gazelle and he was a hungry lion. It was inappropriate and it had made Emily uncomfortable. But once he'd realized she was as attracted to him as he was to her, he'd been unable to resist playing with that. He always had been a flirt, but for the last few years he'd only practiced those skills on men. He'd forgotten how sensitive and jittery women could be.

Especially when there was a stranger in their house.

Yep, he definitely deserved a kick in the ass for the way he'd behaved. And if Brand came home and found his “old friend” half-dressed in his house, Jet figured he'd be the one to deliver it.

Chapter Three

When Emily got her breath and her composure back after that embarrassing incident on the back patio, she realized the light on her answering machine was blinking. It could be a customer inquiring about her stabling services or the beach rides, but even before she pushed the button to play the message she knew it wasn't.

It was Brand.

“Hey, Em,” he said in his deep, familiar drawl. “The sandbagging is taking longer than we thought. The rain hasn't let up, and we need to protect more of the houses farther up river. A couple of the other guys had to go back to their families, so I'm going to stay and pull the night shift. I have to keep the mobile inside where it's dry, so you might not be able to reach me. Sorry I'm missing out on the lamb ragout, though.”

Emily smiled, remembering how that morning she'd promised Brand lamb ragout for dinner when he returned from his heroic duties, with a dessert of strawberries and cream to be eaten off any part of her body he wished. She was sorry he wouldn't be here for that part in particular. She was feeling far too achy and hot for a woman who'd recently been out in the cold rain. A healthy dose of Brand's loving was definitely in order.

Then maybe she could erase the image of Jet Durante shirtless and wet from her filthy, filthy mind.

“Take care, Em,” Brand continued. “Lock up. I know you feel safe where you are, but you never know who's lurking about. I…I'll see you tomorrow.”

Emily let out a sigh when the loud click heralded the end of the message. For a moment there she'd thought he'd been about to say
I love you
, and her pulse had done its usual leap before settling down to its normal, if slightly disappointed, rhythm.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought the declaration was resting on the tip of Brand's tongue, and she suspected Brand did love her. He showed her with actions every day, with the way he worried about her locking up or how he fixed things around the house before she could ask him to. With the way he held her so close at night. How could she not believe he loved her when he made her feel so loved? Yet, he still hadn't uttered the words.

Even though she had.

“So he's not coming back tonight.”

Emily let out a yelp, whirling around to see Jet standing on the other side of the living room. Jet, wearing Brand's clothes—faded jeans and a flannel shirt that were both slightly loose on him.
Better than the tight T-shirt. At least this way your eyes won't be tempted to wander.

Jet showed her a contrite expression. “Sorry. I guess I'm one of those creepy types Brand was talking about, always lurking.”

“You weren't lurking. I was lost in thought, that's all.”

“With a dreamy smile on your face, too.” Jet nodded toward the answering machine. “He sounds the same. Very Russell Crowe in
Gladiator
.”

Emily laughed. “That's a good comparison.”

“He sounded like that when he was fifteen. I think his voice broke at the age of five.”

Jet slipped his hands into the back pockets of the jeans and came farther into the room. Emily noticed the way he favored his left foot. “You did hurt yourself.”

“Just a twisted ankle. It's nothing.”

“You should sit. Take the weight off it.”

Jet's brow arched. “Is that an order?”

“Yes, I think it is,” Emily countered with a tilt of her lips.

Jet chuckled and moved to sit on the couch. Emily sat on the old upturned crate in the center of the room. Brand had found it at an auction, then had spent two days sanding it back and varnishing it until it gleamed. To her mind, it was the best coffee table in the entire world.

She made a curling motion with her hand. “Show me this ankle.”

“Cripes, you are bossy,” Jet remarked, but he didn't protest. He lifted his foot and let her hold it in both her hands. Emily pressed her fingers gingerly into the flesh around his ankle, ascertaining the extent of the injury. Jet said nothing for a while, the room silent save for the sound of rain pounding against the roof and lashing at the windows.

A strange tension settled in the air, not unlike that which they'd generated outside, when he'd held her wrist. She was too close to him again, Emily realized, but what could she do? The man was injured. She had to offer assistance.

At length, Jet asked, “So what's the diagnosis?”

“It's swollen.”

“No kidding.”

Emily's gaze crashed into his. Had there been a double meaning behind that response or was she projecting? Struggling with the humiliating temptation to glance at his crotch, Emily stood and rested Jet's foot on the coffee table. “Keep that elevated. I'm going to get some ice.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Jet drawled, adding something else in a mutter that Emily didn't quite catch. Something about needing ice for more than his foot which Emily absolutely refused to analyze. She concentrated on finding the ice pack, willing the burst of cold air from inside the freezer to dispel the warmth in her cheeks.

When she returned to the living room, she was under control again. As in control as a woman could be with a pair of panther-like black eyes tracking her every move. She sat on the coffee table once more and pressed the ice pack to Jet's ankle without returning his too-intent gaze.

“Outside before,” Jet said, breaking the heavy silence. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh you didn't,” Emily lied, the heat returning to her cheeks in a rush.

“Yes, I did. Just so you know, I'm not that guy. You're with Brand, so I would never—”

“I know.” How she could be so certain of that, Emily had no idea. But Jet didn't seem like the type to make a move on another man's woman. He wouldn't have to. He couldn't help that he was so divine to look at shirtless that she'd tripped over her own feet. “It was me. I'm not so good with men. I never know how to act. At least not with the very good-looking ones.”

Oh shit. Did she have to add that last bit? Could her face get any hotter? Jet smiled, amused by her discomfiture. “I find that hard to believe, Emily.”

“Jet!” Emily swatted him on the leg. “It doesn't help when you flirt.”

“Is that what I'm doing?”

“I get the impression that it's like breathing to you. Take pity on a woman who doesn't get out much and isn't well practiced in the social behaviors. I'm making enough of a fool of myself here.”

“Okay, pity taken.” Jet held up an appeasing hand. “And you're not making a fool of yourself. You're right, I do tend to flirt without thinking. Especially with the very good-looking ones.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “See? You're incorrigible.”

“So I've been told. I'm sorry. I promise I'll stop.”

He appeared suitably penitent so Emily chose to believe him, even though she wondered if he had that much control over it. He might be able to curb his tongue, but he couldn't do much about the animal magnetism that radiated off him. He couldn't change the way he smiled, like he had a juicy secret he would be willing to share if you leaned in a little closer.

He packed quite a wallop, did Jet Durante. Emily had never met anyone like him, and despite his tendency to make her blush and trip over her tongue, she liked him. She sensed she could trust him. Given all that, she said, “All right, now that we've got that settled, you can stay for dinner.”

His expression sobered. “I shouldn't.”

“Why? You have somewhere important to go in this?” Emily gestured out the window, to the still-pouring rain. She followed up by pointing to his swollen foot. “With that ankle?”

“I should get on the road before dark.”

She could tell by his expression that he had nowhere to be, that he'd made no plans for the night beyond coming here and hoping to catch up with his old friend. Perhaps he'd thought they'd share a few shots of whisky while they reminisced about the past and that Brand would offer him a place to crash. Emily found herself saying, “You can stay the night if you need.”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

“I have three spare rooms and enough lamb ragout to feed a small army. It's raining fit to flood and you have a swollen ankle.”

“None of that prevents me riding a motorbike.”

“Maybe not, but it could be dangerous,” Emily persisted, even while a sensible part of her brain was telling her she ought to let him go. That she ought to encourage it. But the facts spoke for themselves. Jet was hurt, it was raining and riding a motorbike in the rain with an injury was not a good idea. He was Brand's friend. In Brand's absence, it fell to Emily to extend the hospitality a friend deserved. “If Brand were here he'd insist.”

“I'm not so sure of that.” Jet shrugged. “It's been a long time and he wasn't expecting me.”

“So? Friends are important, and to be honest before you showed up, I wasn't sure Brand had any.”

Emily glanced down at her feet, abashed at having to admit, again, how much she didn't know about the man who'd lived with her for the past two years. She spoke quietly. “The truth is, when Brand arrived on my doorstep it was almost like he materialized or something. Like he hadn't existed before I met him. Other than the few details he tells me about his time in the army, I have no idea what his life was like before he came to live here. Meeting you is a surprise.”

She lifted her head again and smiled faintly. “A good one. I'm glad to know Brand has someone else, someone who seems nice. And normal.”

Jet's lips tilted. “I'm not so normal.”

No, she supposed he wasn't. Jet was rather extraordinary. Hellishly handsome, he oozed sex appeal and personality. To top it off, he was a globe-trotting adventurer. If he were her old friend, she'd hate to miss out on seeing him. She had to assume Brand would feel similarly disappointed if Jet left before he got here. “Please stay. Tell me more about what Brand was like when he was a teenager.”

Jet's brows furrowed. “He really hasn't told you anything, has he?”

His gentle tone brought an unexpected sting to Emily's eyes. “I…I don't like to pry.”

“You love him.” It was a statement, not a question. “If you can't pry, who can?”

“Brand's very…” Emily trailed off, at a loss to articulate her thoughts. How could a person explain a man like Brand, who seemed as tough as rusty nails on the outside, but about whom Emily had always sensed a hidden vulnerability? She didn't want to push Brand—not because she was afraid he'd get mad at her, but because she feared he'd bolt like a scared colt if she opened the wrong door. Like a door to his heart he wanted to keep closed.

But she didn't have to explain Brand to Jet. When Emily met his gaze, his eyes held a knowledge that was so familiar it was blinding. Like a flash of lightning, a kinship was struck. In that moment Emily realized Jet might be the only other person who knew Brand with the same intimacy she did.

Well, not exactly the same intimacy. Obviously.

Emily smiled, sure now that she would convince Jet to see things her way. “Stay. You know it makes sense.”

“Emily…”

“If you promise not to flirt or take off your shirt, I promise not to drool or jump your bones.” Emily grinned and crossed a finger over her heart. “You're safe with me, I swear.”

At that Jet laughed, a burst of sound that punctured the remaining tension in the room. “Damn, woman. You're a nut.”

“So that's a yes?”

“With an offer like that,” Jet finally said when his laughter had dissipated, “How can I say no?”

He should have said no.

It was an easy word to utter. Just one syllable, two letters.
No.
Or he could have gone all out and said,
No, Emily, I can't stay here tonight because I have a hard-on for you, and I might also still be in love with your boyfriend…who was once my lover.

Talk about awkward. And if Jet had told the truth, there was no guarantee Emily would have sent him packing. She might just as likely have asked him a million questions, like she had about his travels and about the time when he and Brand were teens living on his parents' orchard-slash-hobby-farm. Her thirst for knowledge about Brand was obvious, so Jet had given her as many stories as he could without revealing the personal truths Brand had, for whatever reason, kept from her.

Jet's parents, having been medically unable to have the large family they'd always wanted due to complications with Jet's birth, had decided to become foster parents. As a result, Jet had ended up with countless brothers and sisters, some who blew in and out of his life like an elusive breeze, many he remained close with to this day.

And one, only one, he'd fallen in love with when he was sixteen years old. The one he'd had his first homosexual experience with, who'd touched his soul in places nobody else had come close to reaching. The one who'd broken his heart when he left the farm at eighteen, enlisting in the army without so much as a word. The same person who'd broken it again four years ago when a chance encounter had led to a night of passion after which Jet had woken alone. Abandoned again by the only person, man or woman, he'd ever loved with his whole being.

Brandon Walker.

Jet stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed and awake at four a.m., wondering why he hadn't left. He needn't have told Emily the truth. He could have made up some excuse. But when she'd looked at him with those big green eyes, all cheerful and welcoming, he hadn't wanted to disappoint her. There was a dash of concern in there too. She was in love with Brand, yet the man had shared so little of himself with her. He was holding back, exactly as he'd always held back with Jet. It wasn't right.

“So what are you going to do, Jet?” he whispered. “Have a man-to-man chat with him? Tell him to treat his woman right?”