Blushing Pink (33 page)

Brian said good-night to Veronica in the parking lot of the Goldwood Villa Hotel. They had taken separate cars, because when Veronica had called his cell earlier, and he'd mentioned that he was on his way to the rehearsal, she'd insisted upon meeting him there. Truthfully, he hadn't known how to dissuade her, especially after she'd told him that she had been crying all day about Uncle Martin, and the rehearsal was the only thing that would take her mind off things.

But it wasn't just that he didn't want to hurt her feelings. After finding out that Reese already had a boyfriend—
and has had one the whole time, for chrissake—he
figured he had every right to take Veronica. Really, why should he sit there alone, watching Reese with her boyfriend, and eating his heart out?

Anyway, that had been his thought process at the time, but none of it really mattered because the whole night had been awful.

Climbing into his Saturn, he released a sigh and started the engine. Absently, he turned on 92.3 and pulled onto Route 46, heading east.

He couldn't believe that Veronica was acting like they were this happy little couple when they weren't even back together yet. Yeah, they'd agreed to keep the door open, but rekindling a serious relationship was not something he could do impulsively. Well, he
could,
and apparently Veronica would like nothing more, but Brian knew that would be dumb as hell. They hadn't slept together even once since their breakup, and they wouldn't unless they were on solid ground again, because it would only be asking for trouble.

Why couldn't she see that they needed to think it through? Actually, Brian was about to ask her just that when they said good-bye in the parking lot, but she'd beaten him to the punch with: "Thanks for letting me lean on you tonight, Bri. I don't know what I'd do if you turned on me right now—if I had to face everything alone. I honestly don't know what I'd do."

Jesus, what was he supposed to say to that?

Not to mention, it made him damn uncomfortable that she was resting so much on his shoulders. Veronica had friends and relatives up to her eyeballs, so why couldn't she turn to any of them, too? Why did she always make it sound like, without him, she was on the verge of committing suicide?

At this point, he was torn between sympathizing and getting irritated beyond belief with her emotional blackmail. Only, whenever he got really irritated, guilt would kick in, and then he was back to square one.

It certainly hadn't helped that at dinner, he'd acted more romantic with Veronica than usual just to spite Reese.
Real mature, jackass,
he thought angrily. How did he have the balls to blame Veronica, and then turn around and give her the totally wrong idea?

Not that he'd intended to do it, but when he'd heard Reese going on about how "sweet" her dorky boyfriend was, he'd lost all common sense.

Except... wait...

Something just didn't add up.

If that guy Kenneth was her boyfriend, then why did she have to introduce him to everyone tonight? How serious could they possibly be if the others didn't know him already? In fact, she hadn't even referred to him as her "boyfriend"—she'd called him her "date."

And what about the way she kept looking over at Brian during dinner? Of course, that could've been because she could feel him staring at her. For chrissake, he could barely take his eyes off her the whole dinner—not that her low-cut dress helped. But, in truth, he'd been too preoccupied with a well of disturbing emotions to stare glazed-eyed at her cleavage.

In a bizarre way, he actually
wanted
to be angry with her. But he also wanted to grab her and hug her, and he wanted that a whole lot more. In fact, that was what he really wanted.

Thinking about Reese with Kenneth was killing him. Thinking about her with any other man but him was
really
killing him. How could he just let her go like this? Oh, hell, that was stupid; he'd never even really had her. So why did he feel like he'd completely blown it?

All right, that was it; he needed some answers. Once cars started honking behind him, he realized the light had turned green, and he stepped harder on the gas pedal than he needed to. He sped down another half mile, before veering off to the right, winding around the U-turn, and getting on 46 west. He was going back.

Mrs. Brock had said that Reese was in room 816. She would be up there now... what would she be doing? And would she be doing it alone? Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on the wheel. He had to talk to her—to see her, to clear the air. And anyway, they'd half agreed to say a few words together at Ally and Ben's reception tomorrow... shouldn't they at least have a clue what they were going to say?

Yeah, that would be his excuse for going back to the hotel. For showing up at her door—for needing her so much.

* * *

Back in room 816, Reese was bored out of her mind. She had changed into pajama pants, and the "Jem and the Holograms" tank top she'd gotten at the shore when she was seventeen. The tank was so faded, she could barely tell if it was Jem or Jerica, but it was comfortable, despite how tightly it fit around her breasts.

But she was so tense, she couldn't relax, and she couldn't concentrate on her writing, which made her one big ball of unproductive frustration. Even the fact that she had nothing else to do
besides
work on her computer provided zero incentive. She felt stifled and claustrophobic and powerless to change it.

So she started fiddling with her hair.

And before she knew it, she had crooked rows of braids running all over her head.

Okay, now what?
She flopped back on her bed, stared at the ceiling for endless minutes, and sat up again, still devoid of ideas. She'd said good-bye to Kenneth shortly after dinner, and her family had left the hotel then, too. The last she'd seen, Brian and Veronica were heading out toward the parking lot.

She shuddered to imagine what they were doing now back in the city. Probably they were in Brian's apartment, in Brian's bed, pawing at each other with renewed passion.
Blech!
It was ridiculous that her blood boiled at the thought of Brian even so much as kissing Veronica, when clearly, after eight years together, they'd done a lot more than that. They'd probably done any and every sexual thing known to man and woman.

Okay, this was
not
making her feel better.

She twisted her hands in her lap, and tried not to think about how sleek and graceful and skinny and blond Veronica was—how Reese had no prayer of competing with her, with the history she shared with Brian, with any of it. Well,
fine.

Expelling a sigh, Reese picked up the women's magazine Ally had left in her room earlier, but all the articles were about sex, so that was out. She walked across the room and switched on the television. She flipped around and found nothing. Could she even catch a small break?

A sudden knock at the door startled her. Who... oh, no, if Joanna gave out Reese's room number to any out-of-town guests arriving early, she was literally going to cry. Or
pretend not to be here,
she reasoned, as she crept over to the peephole.

It was Brian! What was
he
doing there? He was the last person she expected to show up on her doorstep. And where was his precious Veronica?

Reese ran back over to shut the TV off, then back to the door, taking in a couple of Lamaze-like breaths. Straightening her posture, and going for an unreadable expression, she turned the handle.

When the door swung open, it revealed Brian in full, breathtaking form. He was leaning against the doorjamb, with his tie loosened, looking slightly rumpled, but sexy enough to devour. (Please, who
needed
it?)

"Hi," he said flatly.

"Hello," Reese said, matching his tonelessness, but feeling her heart slam against her chest. "What are you doing here? I thought you went back to the city already."

"What'd you do to your hair?" he asked.

Only after she touched a hand to her head did she remember her winding cornrows. "Oh... I was bored." She fake-cleared her throat a la Kenneth Peel, and went on the offensive. "Well? Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah." He pushed himself upright and moved past her, into her room.

"Oh, please, make yourself at home. Care for some macadamia nuts from the minibar?" She shut the door, and watched him stop at the foot of her bed, pausing before he turned to face her.

Then her breath caught in her throat—it was the
way
he was looking at her. Her mouth ran dry. She licked her lips nervously, and then realized that it probably made her look as desperate as she felt.
Get it together; he's a jerk.

"I came over to prepare that toast," he said.

Toast?
What, was every person in her life obsessed with that damn toast? Brian had come to her room for
that?

Wait a minute... unless... maybe... could it just be an excuse to come over? Her heart galloped against her ribs again, and she struggled to act unaffected. "Brian, I'm not preparing a toast with you," she said coldly.

"But everyone wants us to say something together. You heard them at dinner."

"Well,
I'm
gonna say something, and you can go twist in the wind for all I care." She crossed her arms over her breasts and watched something flicker in his eyes.

"That's not exactly what they're expecting," he said, and took a step closer to her. "And I don't know about you, but I'd rather not make an ass of myself."

"Too late," she muttered.

"What?" he asked, moving closer, with an odd look on his face. It was like the faintest trace of amusement, combined with something far more intense.

"Forget it," she said quickly.

He moved closer still. "No, really, I'm curious."

Okay, now he was just plain
crowding
her (and she felt like she could finally breathe). Inhaling sharply, she said, "It means that I thought you made a spectacle of yourself at dinner. The way you and your girlfriend were carrying on—it was... well, to be honest,
nauseating."

"Really?"
he said, crossing his arms now.

"Yes, really," Reese said, and brushed past him, shivering from the contact as their arms rubbed against each other.

"Can you elaborate a little?" he asked, reaching out to pull her back. His grip was firm, but there was a gentleness about it that she'd come to recognize as Brian's touch. The heat from his hand burned on her bare arm. She made a flimsy attempt to pull free, for pride only, because of course she wanted his hands on her. "Well?" he said.

"Look, Brian, I don't know how you and your girlfriend normally act in public—maybe you always fall all over each other like that—but I, for one, found it offensive."

"Offensive?"
Brian said, dropping her arm, but still possessing her by moving closer, taking her space and her air and her sanity, and staring at her—into her—as she tried to move away, but her feet wouldn't cooperate.

"Please," she said, "splitting an appetizer? Everyone at that table was disgusted!"

He plowed his hand through his hair, and sighed with obvious frustration. Meanwhile Reese forced herself to hold her ground, because she was afraid that if she didn't, she'd fall apart. "Look, Brian, if you and your girlfriend want to—"

"Reese,"
he cut her off, quietly, but very seriously. "She is not my girlfriend. She isn't."

She scoffed and said, "Right, right, I forgot. You're 'deciding' if you want her to be your girlfriend again after the wedding. Yuck, get
over
yourself."

She turned to go again, but he tugged her back and said, "Care to explain how you've had a boyfriend all this time, and never mentioned it?"

"Kenneth is not my boyfriend—he just said that."

"Who 'just says that'?" he asked angrily. "Why don't you just admit it's not really over between you two?"

She jerked her hand back, for real this time. "Brian, you are so blind! I don't even
like
Kenneth—"

Suddenly she was pulled forward, all the wind was knocked out of her, and Brian's mouth was on hers. It took a second for Reese to process what was happening, and when some distant part of her brain did, she ran her arms up Brian's back to grip his shoulders, and crushed her mouth against his.

His hand was hot and firm on her neck, and his mouth was open, wet, urgent. The other hand was on her lower back, keeping her body flush against his, and Reese felt her head swimming as liquefying heat speared down between her legs. If she'd been thinking rationally, she would've put a stop to this (probably), but she wasn't thinking at all, so it was a moot point. Their lips pulled apart, and Brian sucked in a breath.

Reese held tight to his shoulders, and brought herself up higher on tiptoe to rub her lips against his and slide her tongue into his mouth.

Brian groaned, and sank hungrily into the kiss. Reese was moaning in the depths of her throat, trying to keep up, digging her nails into his shoulders. The hard bulge in his pants grazed her midsection, and she tried to press up against it without falling over. He tore his mouth off hers, breathing raggedly, while they stared at each other for one of those crackling, time-suspended moments. Only this time the heat was searing, and Reese was already wet.

A shiver ran across her breasts. She knew the tips were hard and sensitive, and that reminded her that she wasn't wearing a bra. The only barrier between her burning breasts and Brian's hot hands was a threadbare tank top that was almost as pink as she felt.

Somehow Brian must have read her mind, because his eyes shot down and then glazed over. His whole face darkened, and he looked so hungry, so intense, so unbelievably aroused, Reese began to pant. Licking her lips, she yanked hard on his tie and pulled him into an open, rough, carnal kiss that exploded between them. She rubbed insistently against his cock, and he growled; she liked the sound of it, so she broke their kiss and rubbed harder, staring drowsily into his eyes.