As the moving van rumbled away from the ranch, Dani walked into the house—once hers, now his. It seemed strange to view his things—to know that he’d be living where she had.
Rotating the kinks out of her neck, she walked into the living room. She’d spent part of her day rounding up calves that had wandered over to the Newman place after finding a spot in the fence where the old barbed wire had frayed away from the post. Bawling and lost, the calves couldn’t seem to find their way home, so Dani had driven the four strays back into the field, then took the rest of the morning to repair the fence. Later she’d given a couple of riding lessons, fed the stock and used the remaining hours of the afternoon trying to rearrange her apartment so that she didn’t trip over boxes every time she tried to walk from one end to the other. She wasn’t completely settled in, but by the end of the week she expected to have the apartment in some kind of shape.
Now, Dani surveyed Brand’s things. Boxes were set against walls in every room, and furniture was placed haphazardly wherever the movers had determined the pieces should go. Brand, after giving the men instructions, had taken off for some kind of business meeting, or so he’d told Dani when she’d driven home after one of the lessons. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t come back.
She ran her fingers over the curved back of a forest green leather couch. A matching side chair and ottoman were complemented by two high-backed chairs in a plaid of the same forest green, burgundy and ivory. A rectangular carpet, ivory trimmed with burgundy, lay beneath a glass-topped table. Brass lamps, a light oak bookcase with matching end tables and some pictures not yet hung finished off the room. All the work of an interior decorator, it seemed. Far too sophisticated for this old ranch house. Far too sophisticated for the bad boy from Dawson City.
She walked into the kitchen and turned on the answering machine. “Dani? It’s Jack. If ya want, I can help with the plumbing and the stock tomorrow. Give me a call.” She smiled. Jack Fairmont was an old friend, a guy who did odd jobs in the spring, summer and fall so that he could ski all winter. Since her divorce, he’d helped Dani out whenever she’d needed it. She made a mental note to phone him.
The next two messages were about riding lessons and Dani wrote down the numbers before listening to the final recording. “Dani? I hope you get this. It’s Brand.” As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice. Her heart raced a little. “Look, I took the liberty of giving out this number to a couple of subcontractors who’ll be calling. I hope you don’t mind. Just leave the messages on the tape—this’ll be all straightened out next week but in the meantime, I decided you wouldn’t mind.” She bit her lip. What did she care? “And look, I’m gonna be hung up in town later than I thought, so if you could lock up after the movers, I’d owe ya one—well, two, really, considering the phone deal. Anyway, I appreciate it. Thanks.” He clicked off and she tried to erase his voice from her mind.
She’d have to find a way to keep her pulse from leaping every time she was near him. “Listen to the tape, dummy,” she chided. “He thinks of you as a housekeeper or a secretary. Nothing more.” That realization hurt, but she supposed it was for the best. It was bad enough that she couldn’t look at him without remembering the past; at least he’d had the good sense to get on with his life and forget what had happened between them. But, of course, he didn’t know about their son. Guilt, needle sharp, pricked at her conscience again. “Oh, get over it,” she growled, picking up the receiver.
She returned Jack’s call and he promised to come by the next day to help her separate some calves and replace the pipes. It galled her to have to hire someone, but at least the job would be finished and she’d be able to wash the dishes, her body, her hair and have a drink of water straight out of the tap for a change. But she wouldn’t be able to settle into a bathtub and soak her muscles as she liked to after a long day. No more baths by candlelight while sipping wine and listening to her favorite CD. Nope, she’d have to settle for a quick wash in a tiny metal shower stall for at least the next year, maybe longer.
“So live with it. At least you’ll be clean and the bills will be paid.” But a part of her wasn’t ready to relinquish her one little indulgence at the end of the day.
She heated a frozen chicken pot pie, poured herself a diet Coke and stared out the window. It was dusk and Brandon still hadn’t returned. But then he’d said he’d be late, which probably meant he had a dinner meeting that might stretch on for hours. He might not be home until midnight or later.
Though she loathed herself for it, she watched the lane while she ate. No headlights. No Mercedes rolling into the yard. The idea she hadn’t been able to nudge from her mind earlier took hold. She stripped out of her dirty clothes and slipped her arms through the sleeves of her bathrobe. Telling herself she had every right to use his bathtub—her tub, really—she packed candles, lotion, bath-oil beads, soap and shampoo along with clean underwear into a big canvas beach bag, which she flung onto the top of her laundry basket. Carrying everything down the steps and across the yard, she felt a little like a sneak thief, but shook off the feeling. Brand would never know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. On the back porch, she threw in a load of jeans, and while the washer was filling, walked through the house to the bathroom.
She lit two candles, placed them in the window, shoved the plug into place and turned on the faucet. Adding a couple of scented bath-oil beads and a capful of bubble bath to the water, she tossed her robe over a hook on the door and slid into the tub. Warm water caressed her skin and soothed the tension from her overworked muscles. Steam rose and she cracked the window open slightly, watching the flames of her candles flicker with the whisper of a breeze. No wine, no music, but she didn’t care. She shampooed her hair, rinsed it, then leaned her head back on the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. She’d just soak for a few minutes, get rid of the grime and aches of the day, then swab out the tub in time to throw her clean clothes into the dryer. No one would be the wiser. Besides, didn’t Brand say he owed her a couple of favors? This bath was payback number one.
* * *
Brand parked in the garage and tried to quiet the pounding in his head. The meeting with the architects and engineers was supposed to have ended hours ago, but had stretched out, and he was reminded of L.A. and some of the reasons he’d left the rat race of the city. The trouble was that he seemed to have brought the rat race back to this sleepy part of Oregon.
He climbed out of the car, grabbed his briefcase and noticed that the lights in Dani’s apartment were glowing softly. He wondered what she was doing and if it would be appropriate to climb up the stairs and offer her a drink or a cup of coffee. The urge to see her again, to hear her voice, to sit next to her, was overpowering and he wondered what was the matter with him. It wasn’t as if she was his wife, or even his girlfriend, for God’s sake. He didn’t even know her anymore. But still there was a tug and he clenched his jaw tight to avoid making a fool of himself by climbing those stairs.
“Get a grip, Scarlotti,” he muttered as he headed for his front door. He noticed the flickering light through the slightly open window of his bathroom. Strange. As if pulled by an invisible force, he made his way to the glass and, like a voyeur, peeked into his own house.
His breath held still in his lungs when he saw her, asleep in the tub, water lapping around her body, a few last foaming bubbles lying on the water. The scents of jasmine and heather floated to him, probably from the candles burning in the window.
Something inside him snapped as he stared at her, blond hair twisted away from her face, eyes closed, her usually tense face now peaceful as the sweep of her lashes caressed cheeks flushed from the warm water. Knowing it was a violation, he let his eyes wander down her body to her tanned limbs and white torso. Her breasts were larger than he remembered and the nipples, rosy disks that poked above the remaining foam, seemed bigger, as well. Her waist was tiny, her abdomen flat, the skin stretched tight and her legs long and lean and meeting at that sweet cluster of red-gold curls that seeme
d forever seared in his memory.
His throat tightened at the memories of her, soft and supple and loving. There was a time when he couldn’t get enough of her and yet he’d found the guts to leave her. Had it been a mistake? Was his empty life in L.A. and all the dollars he’d made worth it? Was her unhappy marriage the direct result of his rejection? Whatever he’d told himself he’d done, however noble his intentions, he’d hurt her, brutally and callously. And now he was standing and gawking at her through the window like some damned pervert.
After one last look, he headed toward the front door, made as much noise as possible clomping up the stairs and across the floorboards, then fumbled for several minutes with his key and the lock. By the time he finally entered the house, she’d had enough of a warning.
He was hanging up his jacket in the front hall when Dani, dressed in a thick pink robe, peeked sheepishly around the corner. “Brand?” she whispered, a new flush climbing up her gorgeous neck.
“What? Oh, Dani,” he said, hoping to sound surprised when he knew he was a lousy actor. “What are you doing here?”
Her belt was cinched tight but the neckline of the robe was a deep V, showing off some of her cleavage. He doubted if she was wearing a stitch beneath the soft cloth and the thought caused a quickening of his pulse. His throat was suddenly as dry as a desert wind.
“I—I used your tub because my shower isn’t quite working yet and . . . well, I should have asked, but you weren’t around and I thought I’d be done before you got home.”
“It’s no problem,” he said gruffly.
“I’ll just gather my things and go—”
“Don’t.” He said it so sharply she jumped. “I mean I’d like you to stay, have some coffee with me. I have this feeling that we got off on the wrong foot the other day and I’d like to start over. . . .”
She looked at him with those wide amber eyes, eyes that stripped him bare. “It’s too late, Brand. Too late for a lot of things.”
“I just meant that—”
“I know what you meant,” she said, cutting him off as if she was unable to listen to another word. “But, really, it’s not a good idea. I shouldn’t have intruded and it won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t intrude and any time you like you can use—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she snapped, hurrying back to the bathroom and emerging with a beige canvas bag filled with all sorts of bottles. The scent of fresh flowers trailed after her. “As soon as my phone is hooked up in my apartment, I won’t have any reason to be in here.”
“Unless you want to see me.”
She stopped dead in her tracks, her hand poised over the back doorknob, her pulse throbbing just below her ear. “We’ll probably be seeing enough of each other.”
“Will we?” He walked closer and she turned the knob. The door opened. He shut it with the flat of his hand. The lock clicked resolutely into place. “We don’t have to be enemies, Dani.”
“We’re not.”
“Then how come I feel like I live in some damned war zone?”
“Because you’re imagining things.” Her gaze dropped to his lips and she swallowed. Brand watched the motion and an ache so hot it threatened to boil his blood caught hold of him.
“I don’t think it’s impossible to live next door to each other.”
“I hope not.” Her voice was breathy, rushed. “Otherwise it’s going to be an incredibly long year.”
Telling himself he was making the single worst mistake of his life, he lifted her chin with one finger and slowly lowered his head to kiss her. Their lips brushed. She quivered. His lungs could hardly inflate. Damn it, he was scared! Of what he didn’t know. Complications to his already crowded life? The fear that her kiss wouldn’t be as passionate as he remembered? Or that it would? Slowly he applied pressure, his tongue rimming her mouth as his arms surrounded her. She seemed to sag as he kissed her harder, pressing her against the door, fitting his body intimately against hers.
The robe gaped. As he closed his eyes he saw the dusky hollow between her breasts. Fire swept through him and he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking, taking, demanding. With a moan she opened her mouth and his tongue found hers, flirting, dancing, embracing. His blood thundered and the fingers of one hand twined in her damp curls. She kissed him back, her arms lifting to encircle his neck, her breasts pushing against him. His heart pounded wildly. The canvas bag slipped to the floor, its contents spilling across the worn linoleum. He didn’t care. Whatever had frightened him was long gone and he was lost in her. So lost.
Her breath came in quick, short gasps, and when he slid a hand along the V of her robe, she didn’t stop him but let him slip his palm inside to the warmth. The softness of her breast filled his palm. Her nipple was stiff, ready. Eager. He touched it and felt an electrical impulse that caused his loins to heat and the hardness there to throb.
“Dani, sweet, sweet Dani,” he whispered into her open mouth as he massaged her breast and felt its glorious weight. “You’re so good.”
Closing her eyes, she let go, just felt. Sensation after glorious sensation soared through her and she felt the knot of her robe loosen, the fabric part as Brand slid lower to his knees, kissing her, touching her, catching her skin on fire. “Brand,” she said, her voice the barest of whispers. His tongue touched her nipple and she arched forward, holding his head as he began to suckle. Tears formed, from happiness or regret, she didn’t know. This was how it was supposed to be, how it should feel with a man—the father of the child who had never known her breast.
A cry broke from her lungs, pained, the howl of a wounded animal, but he must have mistaken it for passion because his hands splayed on the small of her bare back, pulling her closer as he slid downward and kissed her naked abdomen, rimming her navel with his tongue, kissing her everywhere.
He kissed her damp curls and she thought she might crawl out of her skin. His hands gently prodded her legs apart, running along the inside and out, teasing her as she writhed against the door. His lips and breath came closer.
Ring!
The phone startled them both. “Ignore it,” Brand said, kissing her inner thigh. A shudder of anticipation raced through her body.
Ring!
Dani tried to reach for it but Brand kissed her and she couldn’t move, could only feel. Heat, warm and wild and thick as honey, moved inside her most private regions.
Ring!
“Oh, Brand, please . . .” But he wouldn’t stop his ministrations, only kissed her harder, his tongue touching her inside. Sweat soaked her brow and the ache inside her pulsed, yearning to be relieved.
Ring! Click! Dani’s voice filled her ears, instructing the caller to leave a message.
Brand lifted one of her legs, placing it over his shoulder, and she drifted far away on the wings of passion, her heart thudding, her body throbbing with a need only he could fill. She let out a long low moan as he kissed her so intimately, so gently, her heart threatened to break.
“Hi, Dani, it’s Sloan.” The words cut through the passion. “Look, so far I’ve been hitting a brick wall—”
Her eyes flew open. “What?” Oh, no! No! No! No! She scrambled away from Brand, nearly tripping over the candles that had fallen and were rolling on the floor.
“Hey!” Brand cried. “Dani, what the hell—”
Sloan’s voice continued to fill the room as Dani reached for the receiver. “I’ve been checking on birth certificates and—”
She picked up the phone quickly, her mind spinning in crazy circles. Brand stared up at her, passion still glazing his eyes, his shirttail out of his pants, an unmistakable bulge at his crotch.
Dani dragged her eyes away and tried not to sound as breathless as if she’d been running a thousand miles an hour. “Hi, Sloan, I’m here. Just walked in and heard your voice,” she said, wondering how she was going to explain this to Brand. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Brand straightened and came up to her,
his arms slipping around her waist, his hands cupping her breasts. Oh, no, what was she going to do? If he overheard the conversation . . .
“I’ve checked all the records—hospital, court—and can’t locate a certificate.”
“What? But there had to be one—” She almost added that she was certain she’d signed one, but bit her lip as Brand was still touching her, nuzzling her neck, listening.
“Well, don’t give up. I’ve just started. Sometimes it takes a while. Look, I’m still checking. Knowing my father-in-law, there’s a good chance that he had all the documents altered.”
“But why? How?” She was having trouble concentrating with Brand kissing her neck and fondling her breasts, but she couldn’t just push him away or he’d become suspicious. Besides, the sensations rolling through her were so good she could barely stand.
“I don’t know, but I’ve just started digging. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I appreciate it. Thanks.”
She replaced the phone with trembling hands. Brand was still holding her and she didn’t care about anything other than his strong arms around her. Her worst fears were confirmed. Jonah McKee had lied to her. Tears filled her throat. Dear God, where was her child? Was he alive? Safe? Would she ever know? Squeezing her eyes against the terror, she clung to Brand, and as if he sensed her change of mood, he stopped rubbing her and held her as she fought the urge to break down and sob on the shoulders of her son’s father.
“Bad news?” he asked, his voice tender.
“Yes.” She sniffed loudly.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shook her head and slowly leaned back, keeping him at arm’s length. She suddenly felt cold and alone. “No, I, uh, can’t. It’s personal.” Then, realizing her state of undress and that she would have willingly made love to Brand again had the phone not interrupted them, she pulled away from him. “Oh, my,” she whispered, reality chasing away any hint of lingering passion. “We can’t . . . I mean I can’t . . .” Wrapping her robe around her and pretending it was a suit of armor, she said, “I’ve made a couple of big mistakes here tonight. I had no right to barge into your house and make myself at home in your bathtub and I . . . I don’t want you to think that I . . . For the love of heaven . . . I don’t want this . . . us . . . it can’t work.” She cinched her belt around her, knotted it and double-knotted it, as if in so doing she would be safe from his erotic eyes and wonderful hands.