Seeing is Believing (9 page)

Like someone he couldn’t be bothered to call or text all day after they had sex.

Yeah. She was losing it. So probably, to keep her sanity, the less time she spent with Brady, the better. She had just learned a very valuable lesson. She sucked at casual sex. She may have gotten exactly what she wanted, a hot interlude with Brady Stritmeyer, but she was going to be flip-flopping between gratitude and regret for weeks.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a smile as he appeared in the doorway of the parlor, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a bottle of wine in his hand. “How was your day?”

The day before, Piper hadn’t given any thought to Brady Stritmeyer. To moving out or dating or strolling into a man’s bedroom to attempt to seduce him.

Now she was melting at his smile and picturing him as her boyfriend, husband, father of her children.

It made her completely annoyed. That she was still so vulnerable, so needy, that she would jump from A to Z without a pause at any letter along the way, even when she gave herself fair warning not to be ridiculous.

“Good. How about you?” To her own ears, she sounded clipped, but to anyone who didn’t know her—and Brady most certainly didn’t know her—she imagined she sounded perfectly fine.

“I spent some time with my grandmother and then my stepmom. The kids like the farm?” He moved into the room, sat down in the chair across from her, set the wine on the coffee table.

“Yes. They usually do. How is your grandmother?” And had she mentioned Piper’s plans to him?

“She’s good. Same as usual. Full of fire and whiskey.” He shook his head with a laugh. “I asked to crash with her for a few days and she said no. It seems she has a standing Saturday-night date.”

“I guess she’s earned her right to privacy.” Piper bit her fingernail. “So are you going back to Chicago tomorrow?” She knew he wasn’t, of course, but she didn’t want to come right out and ask him how he felt about them working on the house together. And she didn’t know what else to talk about, anyway. She kept looking at him and picturing him over her, his erection pushing inside her, his eyes dark with desire.

“No. I’m actually going to stay a few weeks in my grandmother’s rental house. She said it’s empty but I can stay there for free if I do some work around the place.”

Piper waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. She also thought it was strange that the work was in exchange for rent. Like Brady was the one in need, not his grandmother. “So . . .” She hesitated, but then just went ahead and asked, “Are you on vacation from work?”

“Nope. I got laid off. The economy sucks, you know.” He stood up. “I brought us some wine. You like Pinot Grigio? I’ll get us a couple of glasses.”

“Oh!” Brady had lost his job and he’d brought them wine. She wasn’t sure what to make of either one of those things. So she started with the obvious. He must feel bad about losing his job. “I’m sorry about your job.”

Though he didn’t look particularly upset. In fact, he smiled as he moved past her and reached out to tug a piece of her hair. “Come into the kitchen. It’s cozier in there. For the record, my job sucked. It’s no great loss, but I will miss the paycheck.”

“Are you moving back here for good?” The thought made her want to throw up, but in a good way. Piper stood up and smoothed the front of her sundress down as she followed him towards the kitchen.

“No, just until my vacation pay runs out. Three weeks. But then I’m going back and hopefully I’ll have a job sooner than later.”

Piper’s gut fell back down to its approximate appropriate location. “That sounds like a good plan.” She needed to break it to him. What had seemed like a perfect arrangement a few hours ago now seemed like the dumbest thing ever, right after eyelid lifters and pajama jeans. “So did your grandmother tell you she rented the house on Swallow to me?”

“What?” Brady blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m renting the blue house. I’m supposed to move in in a couple of weeks, after you and I finish the painting and the yard work.”

“I thought you said you live with your parents.” He set the wine on the kitchen counter. “And are you seriously saying that my grandmother conned you into working on the house, too?”

Piper nodded. “She isn’t charging me a security deposit if I do the work. And I just thought that it’s time to move out on my own. My brothers are coming up fast and things are changing. I’m an adult now.”

His green eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to her chest. “That you are,” he told her. “Well, that sounds exciting for you. Just remember that my grandmother is a shark.”

Piper smiled, relieved that he didn’t seem to have any issue with them being around the house together. Or that he thought there was anything suspicious about the timing of her moving out, because frankly, it was not a coincidence. She wouldn’t be taking this step if he hadn’t showed up. “Will do.”

Brady turned to find glasses for the wine in the cabinets and to hide his expression from Piper. She had no idea what she did to him. He had brought the wine because he’d wanted some way, however lame, to express his appreciation for her note, her thoughtfulness. For her body. Hell, he’d stood in the grocery and had actually debated buying a bouquet of wildflowers that had been in a bucket of water next to the register, because they reminded him of Piper. How ridiculous was that? You didn’t give flowers to someone you weren’t dating. You just didn’t. It was creepy. It was a stalker-weirdo way to make a woman sorry she’d gotten naked with you.

So he had restrained himself, but now he wished he had them all over again. There was just something about Piper that got under his skin. She stood there, in a dress that showed her cleavage to major advantage, that glorious hair spilling over her shoulders, and told him so bravely that she was an adult, a woman. As if he needed reminding. Christ. It had been all he could do all day to not drift off into daydreams of motorboating her breasts. He hadn’t wanted to do that since he was thirteen.

Now she was telling him that she was moving into the house he was temporarily staying at, that she was going to be around helping him patch drywall and pull weeds. Bending over. Reaching up. On all fours.

How was he supposed to resist that? And did he really have to? He’d already had her once. Did it matter if he went there again? He didn’t think so. Spending time with Piper while he was in town was a perfect distraction. He would just have to make it clear that he was going back, that it was casual, a satisfying way for both of them to pass their time. She understood that already, he was sure of it. But if he made it clear, then they could both enjoy what they both so clearly enjoyed—each other.

“So, are you willing to go to the cemetery with me?” he asked her as he pulled down two glasses. “I want to see old Brady Stritmeyer’s headstone.” The thought kept surfacing, so he figured that meant he should go for it.

“Are you serious?” Piper looked horrified by the thought. “That won’t freak you out? It would me. Seeing my name on a grave.” She shuddered.

He hadn’t really thought of it that way. He just wanted to see if he felt any connection, any kinship to his long-lost bludgeoned relative. “Nah. I’m not dead, so what difference does it make?” He opened a drawer, searching for a corkscrew. “I just want to see it. We can go on Monday after Shelby gets home.”

“I have to teach.”

“Well, I know that.” Brady reached out, because he couldn’t resist, and gave her a soft kiss, maybe to test whether she would pull away or accept his touch. She stiffened slightly but didn’t move away. “I meant after school.”

“I can probably do that.”

“Meet me on the playground,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ll bring beer and we can make out on the jungle gym.” He was kidding, of course. But it sounded exactly like something he would have said at fifteen. Given that Piper made him feel like a horny teen, it seemed appropriate.

“I’m afraid I’ll get caught. I’ve always been a good girl, you know,” she said.

Brady almost groaned out loud. “Well, good girls usually like bad boys.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Her fingertips were making contact with his abs, right above his waist, a teasing touch that was all it took for an erection to spring up. He was about to kiss her, for real this time, thoroughly and with tongue, when suddenly she shrieked and stumbled backwards.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out to stabilize her, his desire replaced with confusion.

“Something pulled my hair.” She reached out, her hand visibly shaking, and rubbed the back of her head. “It was hard, like a yank.”

Goose bumps rose on Brady’s arms. Piper was not the kind to lie or exaggerate. She looked terrified and he didn’t doubt that something had just happened to her. A protective instinct he hadn’t even known he had kicked in. Brady reached out and pulled her into his arms without hesitation, like he could shield her from whatever had just dared to harm her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It just scared me.” She looked up at him, her eyes huge with fear. “They’ve never touched me before.”

Ghosts. She meant ghosts. It was the only thing that made sense, yet it was so bizarre to him that he couldn’t formulate a response.

“Piper?” A shaky voice drifted down the stairs over top of them.

Piper jumped.

“They know you by name?” Brady joked, relieved to hear a normal child’s voice. Somehow it shattered the tension of the moment.

She gave a shaky laugh. “That’s Lilly, not a ghost.” She added, “Though I guess they probably do know my name. If they can see me, they can hear me, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me either.” She moved to the kitchen doorway. “Lilly, I’m down here in the kitchen. Are you alright, sweetie?”

Shelby’s daughter appeared, wearing princess pajamas, her caramel-colored hair sticking up on the left side from sleep.

“I thought I heard you scream.” She sounded clearly annoyed that she’d been woken up, her tone accusatory. “You scared the crap out of us. Emily’s still upstairs hiding because we thought you got killed.”

Brady snorted. “Yep. The kid’s a Stritmeyer despite her last name,” he murmured. She had the no-nonsense tone of Brady’s grandmother and the looks of Shelby, particularly the crazy hair.

“I’m sorry. I saw a spider.” Piper pulled Lilly into a hug.

“Who are you?” Lilly asked, eyeing him like she knew without a shadow of a doubt his intentions towards her babysitter were not pure.

“This is your cousin Brady,” Piper said in a high-pitched voice he’d never heard her use. “He’s visiting from Chicago. You remember Brady.”

Brady had to say that he wouldn’t recognize this kid on the street if she tripped him. She’d grown quite a bit since he’d seen her two, maybe three, years ago.

Lilly seemed to agree. “I don’t remember him. But my mom talks about him all the time.” Then she seemed done with the conversation and circled back to her original irritation. “I totally thought you got killed.”

Little bloodthirsty, this one.

Piper pulled Lilly into a hug, kissing the top of her tousled head. “Nobody got killed or is ever going to get killed.”

“Lots of people get killed. My mama said that the girl who lived here, like, five million years ago killed her boyfriend. She beat the crap out of him.”

Really? Brady wanted to reach out and hold Piper’s hand. He was fairly certain she was the one who needed comforting at the moment, not Shelby’s brazen offspring. Brady had a feeling he had sounded a lot like Lilly at eight, and he felt sorry for his stepmother. She’d had her hands full with him. Piper, on the other hand, had been a sweet kid. Everyone had said that. Never a cause for trouble.

She seemed to know how to handle Lilly. Instead of letting the conversation about beating the crap out of people continue, she shut it down with a few gentle but firm words.

Piper frowned at Lilly. “I happen to know for a fact that your father does not want you saying that particular word. I’ve heard him reprimand you for it, so I suggest you rethink your vocabulary.”

“What? ‘Crap’?” Lilly asked as she moved into the kitchen away from Piper, studiously checking out the open wine bottle and their two glasses on the counter. “Mommy says that all the time.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Piper gave him a pointed look. “Does she, Brady?”

He just grinned at her, unwilling to get sucked into her obvious lie. “So you’re Lilly, huh?” he asked his cousin, reaching out and ruffling her enormous and snarled hair. “Did anyone ever tell you you look just like your sister?”

Lilly giggled, pushing her loose front tooth back and forth with her tongue. “Duh. We’re twins.”

“How do you know?”

That stymied Lilly for a second. Piper rolled her eyes at Brady, but she looked amused.

“Because we have the same birthday. And Emily’s face looks just like mine.”

“Maybe Emily isn’t real. Maybe she’s just your shadow. Or your reflection. Or maybe you’re the reflection.”

“You’re nuts,” was Lilly’s opinion. “There’s pictures of us in the hospital together when we were born.”

“Photoshop.”

Lilly made a sound of delighted exasperation.

Piper looked like she was fighting a laugh, which pleased him. Seeing her scared had done terrible things to his gut. He much preferred her smile.

“I’m going upstairs to let your very real twin know that I am most certainly not dead. I’ll let you two sort this out, but when I come back down, it’s time for bed, Miss Lilly Macnamara. And you, Mr. Stritmeyer.” She gave him her best teacher’s look. “You need to stop filling this girl’s head with nonsense or she’ll never be able to sleep.”

But Brady looked unrepentant. With the corner of his mouth turning up in a slow, sexy smile, Brady scratched his nails lightly across his chest. Piper felt that deep ache pulsing between her thighs again and she crossed her ankles. He was so damn charming. Lilly had been suspicious of him initially, but five minutes later she was already warming up to him. Piper knew how the girl felt. She had been bedazzled by Brady when she was Lilly’s age.

Maybe even still was.

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

She knew that quote. Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka had said it. For some reason, it tripped a switch inside her, one that caused her desire to burn even brighter. She had loved that movie when she was a kid, had desperately wanted to be Violet Beauregarde—well, before she blew up like a blueberry anyway. She had wanted her confidence, her smile. Her hair.