His Wedding Date (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 2) (22 page)

"About what?" she said.

"He's brought everything out into the open now. He didn't have to trash the place. He could have just searched it, and it's likely no one would have been the wiser. But he left no doubt that he'd been there."

Shelly supposed that was true, but she still wanted to go back to her apartment.

"We already knew the man was dangerous," Brian said. "Now he's getting desperate."

She hadn't thought of that. With the plane and with Charlie's so-called accident, there'd been nothing concrete to prove anything had actually been tampered with—at least, nothing yet. But with this search of the office, there was no doubt. Something was going on. Someone wanted something from that office, and he obviously intended to get it.

"Okay," she said. "But what does it have to do with where I sleep?"

"The man who searched the office knows where you sleep, for one thing. He went through the personnel records, too. If he didn't know where you lived before, he knows now."

"Well then, he knows where you live, too."

"And he'll have to get through me and my alarm system to get to you tonight."

Oh, no,
Shelly thought. She wasn't spending another night with him. The two they'd already spent together had been more than enough.

"I think I'd really feel a lot better at my own place."

"We can do it that way, but your place is a lot smaller than mine. You'll be tripping all over me, and I've seen that little thing you call a couch. I'm not crazy about the idea of trying to sleep on it."

And she wasn't crazy about the idea of tripping all over him in her little one-bedroom apartment, either. And she wanted so much to be alone.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Brian."

"Got a better one? Because I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

She could go to a hotel, but she doubted that would satisfy him, either. And she certainly wasn't going to a hotel with him again.

"The man who used to live here had quite an art collection and an expensive security system to protect it. If anyone tries to get to you here, we'll know it long before he ever gets into the house. Besides, there are four bedrooms. You can take your pick."

Shelly wondered if this was the house he'd planned to share with Rebecca. If it was, she didn't want to be anywhere near the place.

"Come on, Shel. I'm worried about you, and you know I have reason to be worried."

"I'm a grown woman," she countered.

"I know."

"You're not responsible for me in any way."

"Maybe not. Maybe I'm being overly cautious—I'll give you that. But could you just put up with it for a few days, for my sake? At least until we figure out what happened to Charlie and what that guy was looking for at the office today?"

A few days? She shuddered at the thought of spending her days and her nights with him until this thing was resolved.

"Okay, just for tonight?" he said, reluctantly backing down a little. "And I promise, we can argue about it all you want tomorrow."

Still, she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. She was frightened of what was happening, and she hadn't slept soundly in days.

"You still trust me?" he said.

"Yes." She had no doubt about that.

"Shel, I'm beat. Let's go inside and go to sleep."

* * *

They went in through the garage door, which opened into a big laundry-storage room as big as her bedroom. He explained the security system to her and gave her the code to turn it on and off, then led the way into the kitchen.

It was huge, with heavy, rich mahogany cabinets, gleaming marble countertops and a matching marble floor. Polished copper pots hung from a rack suspended from the ceiling, and an empty glass rested in the sink, but Shelly saw no signs anyone had ever cooked a meal here.

Bar stools were tucked under the counter, but the eat-in kitchen area had no table or chairs. Nothing in the formal dining room, either. She caught a glimpse of a huge fireplace in the living room, empty, as well.

He headed straight for the stairs, and she followed him.

"Did you just move in?" she asked, trying to remember when he'd told her about the house. Had he actually bought it? Or had he leased it with an option to buy?

"A few months ago," he hedged.

Six at least, she thought, remembering now it had been well before Thanksgiving. She knew for sure then. This was supposed to be Rebecca's house.

Shelly regretted giving in so easily on staying the night.

She could see Rebecca in this huge, elegant house. She'd know just what to do with it to make it as much of a showplace as her own childhood home or Brian's had been.

Shelly wouldn't know where to start to make something like that out of this big, lonely house.

"There's a half bed set up in here, if this is all right," Brian said, pushing open the door and turning on the light. "It has its own bathroom, and my room's just across the hall."

He'd probably put this little bed together for Sammy to sleep in the first time he and Rebecca came to visit. He'd probably left the rest of the place empty so Rebecca could start from scratch in decorating it.

Now, here it stood, a beautiful, empty shell, a reminder of all he must have wanted and all he had lost.

Shelly wondered what it was like for him, living in a big, empty house without the woman he loved.

* * *

She took Sammy's bedroom, even if it was across the hall from Brian's.

He got her towels, some soap, shampoo, toothpaste and a toothbrush.

She was doing fine, she told herself, her face scrubbed clean, her teeth brushed, her hair loosed from the braid. Then, when she came out of the bathroom, wondering what she was going to wear to sleep in, she saw a white dress shirt thrown across the half bed.

Shelly looked carefully around the room to make sure it was empty, then went to the door and locked it. She picked up the shirt, noting the way the bottom fell to her knees and the sleeves nearly that far.

Brian's shirt, she thought, straight from the dry cleaners, by the starchy feel of it. At least it smelled of dry cleaning, and not like a man.

Reluctantly she stripped off her clothes and slid into the shirt, willing herself not to think of the man who wore it, the man sleeping across the hall. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he was jealous of Grant Edwards and the shirt the man had left behind.

* * *

Brian had taken great pleasure in throwing one of his shirts on the bed for her, a clean, crisp white one he thought would do wonders for her complexion and dark eyes. He was jealous as hell of Grant Edwards and that other damned shirt.

No way was he going to take her back to her apartment so she could get some of her things, including that shirt, to bring into his house. She could sleep in his shirt, dammit.

And now, he suspected, he would spend the night wondering what she looked like in it.

* * *

Shelly slept for twelve straight hours and woke up starving. She slipped on yesterday's jeans, tucked Brian's shirt into them, and made her way downstairs.

She wasn't at all surprised to find next to nothing in the house to eat. At least Brian had coffee. While it brewed, she searched the front lawn for the Sunday paper, but didn't find one. The man was positively uncivilized.

Obviously he didn't spend much time here, and Shelly could understand why.

The house made her sad. It would have to be so much worse for him.

Shelly forgot sometimes that all those emotions she'd experienced over the years, sure she'd never have Brian, were feelings he'd suffered, as well. What an experience for the two of them to share.

She wandered through his empty house, in his shirt and her jeans, waiting for him to wake up, wondering what the day would bring.

It was hard to believe only a week had passed since they'd gone to Tallahassee for Rebecca's wedding. It seemed like a lifetime. She'd never have believed her life could change so drastically in so little time.

She wondered if Brian felt the same way. She wondered how much had changed for him.

She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life over what she'd seen at the office yesterday. Charlie's death had left her as sad as she'd been since she lost her father. And Brian had her completely confused.

She'd come so close to giving up on him, dammit. It was long past time to do it, once and for all.

But now...

She couldn't hope. She couldn't let herself. She'd done it so many times before, and been hurt so many times before.

He'd always been protective of her, was even more protective now. But then, they'd never been in danger like this before.

It was just a product of the danger, wasn't it?

It wasn't love.

Oh, he was thinking he might feel something for her, other than long-time friendship. She felt it in the way he watched her. But everything was so crazy now. Brian hadn't had any more time to think anything through than she had. He couldn't know what he was feeling right now.

He was interested in her, but a man's interest was such a fleeting thing. And he was bound to be a little interested now. After all, they'd very nearly slept together, and he had little, if any, memory of the event. That would have to make a man a little crazy.

Was it anything else? Anything other than danger, a nasty case of guilt and proximity? He'd always had strong protective instincts where she was concerned, and she thought he always would. But what else? She suspected he didn't even know yet.

Her feelings were so raw. As always, she was too vulnerable where he was concerned. Which meant she had to be more careful than ever.

* * *

Once he finally fell asleep, Brian slept like the dead. When he finally awoke, he couldn't believe he'd been so out of it. He wandered into his bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face and brushed his teeth. Then he remembered Shelly was in his house.

He ran a hand through his unruly hair and in nothing but a pair of pajama pants, he made his way through the bedroom and across the hall. "Shel?"

No answer.

Did he dare open that door? She could still be asleep, and she wouldn't take kindly to finding him in that bedroom.

And if she'd slept in nothing more than his shirt, if she'd kicked off the sheet and the blanket while she'd slept, there was no telling what he might see.

No, he decided, he didn't dare open that door.

Once he reached the top of the steps, he knew he didn't need to. He could hear her humming in the kitchen. He could smell the coffee as he got closer, and he could smell something else, as well—something sweet.

She'd gone out. He should have cautioned her about that. He didn't want her going anywhere by herself until this whole thing was settled. He'd tell her now. At least he thought he would until he saw her standing there in his kitchen.

It was cinnamon he'd smelled—a sticky, sweet cinnamon bun. She would have found that at the specialty shop around the corner. With her sweet tooth, it was a wonder the woman didn't weigh twice what she did.

But she was a tiny little thing. And when Brian caught her standing in his kitchen, licking the gooey icing off her fingers, he couldn't have looked away if his life depended on it.

He hadn't known it was possible for a man to become so painfully aroused, so quickly. He remembered kissing his way across her lips, licking them clean for her, the day before.

"Holy, hell," he muttered, rooted to the spot. He couldn't leave. He couldn't tear himself away from the sight of her now. And he couldn't hide much from her in his thin cotton pajamas.

Shelly, with one sticky finger still tucked between her lips, turned to face him.

"You didn't tell me you had one of those cinnamon bun places right around the corner from your house," she said lightly.

She was still wearing his shirt, only now it was tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She looked good in his shirt. He had known she would, and he was having trouble speaking.

"It was going to be my last resort," he said finally. "If nothing else worked, I was going to bribe you with that to get you to spend the night."

"It would have worked," she said. "These are great. I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed your car."

"No, I don't mind."

"I got you one of these, too."

Brian wondered what she'd say if she knew he'd lost his taste for sweets ages ago. At least, he had until yesterday. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet to him as she had.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," he said, heading for the coffee instead, hoping a jolt of caffeine would help clear his head.

She looked good in the morning with no makeup and her hair trying to escape from her braid so that little strands of it could curl around her pretty face. She was a very pretty woman. Not an elegant one, not a polished one, not a showy one. She looked a little innocent, a little naive, a little untouched.