Mad About the Man (8 page)

Daphne thrust out a hand.

Brie hesitated a fraction of a second, then took the offered hand. They shook. “Brie Grayson.”

“Nice grip. You box?”

“No. At least not in the physical sense.”

Daphne frowned.

“She's a lawyer,” Monroe explained. “My lawyer, as it happens.”

Daphne's blue-gray eyes lit up. “Sue anybody interesting lately?”

Brie couldn't help but smile. “There's usually somebody who needs suing. But no one for Mr. Monroe, at least not yet.”

“Ooh,
Mr. Monroe
. So formal. Tell her she can call you Maddox, Maddox.”

Monroe met Brie's eyes. “She can call me anything she likes.”

“Careful,” Brie murmured. “I just might take you up on that.”

Monroe grinned. “I look forward to it, Brie-Brie.”

Daphne glanced between the two of them, a speculative look in her eyes.

Brie ignored his use of her old nickname. “Yes, well, I ought to let you get back to your date.”

“Date?” Daphne's red eyebrows arched high and she giggled. “We're not on a date.”

“You aren't?” Brie said.

“Not unless you call badgering your big brother into taking you to the theater a date. I practically had to hog-tie him and drag him out the door to get him here tonight.”

The redhead is his sister?

As if to confirm that fact, Monroe shot Daphne a look of pure brotherly exasperation. “I don't think I was quite that reluctant.”

“Of course you were. You hate the theater. And if it weren't for the fact that I'm visiting from out of town, and you agreed that we could do whatever I liked this weekend, we'd be at a Yankees game right now watching grown men make outrageous sums of money hurling balls at each other.”

“She's a sports fan; can you tell?” He jerked a thumb in his sister's direction.

Daphne puffed out her not-insubstantial cleavage. “I'm a shopping fan, especially for clothes and shoes. And clearly I enjoy taking in a Broadway show whenever I get the chance.”

“She means when I can get tickets at the last minute.”

Daphne grinned. “That too.”

If Brie hadn't realized they were siblings before, she certainly did now. No one could sling gibes like a sibling, and she ought to know, since she had three of her own.

“Actually,
I'm
a Mets fan,” Brie said.

“Then you clearly thrive on losing.” Monroe rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should rethink my decision to make you my chief legal counsel,” he teased.

Brie shrugged. “You're the client, so it's up to you. But anyone who knows me knows that I'm loyal through and through. When I believe in something, I never give up, not even when others might see it as a lost cause.”

“I happen to like lost causes and long shots,” he said. “If I didn't, it's doubtful I'd be where I am today.”

“It's true,” Daphne interjected. “He was a broke-ass kid when he got into the hotel biz at the tender age of seventeen. Started as a desk clerk and worked his way up while earning his business degree in only three years. He lined up investors and owned his first hotel by the time he was twenty-five. Now he's got first-class, boutique hotels all over the U.S. and Canada with plans to go international when the time is right.”

“Quit boring Brie, Daph. She hears enough about my business at work already.” He gave his sister a quick hug, then winked. “Daphne moonlights as my PR rep when she isn't busy running her own very successful B and B on the South Carolina shore. She comes to the city periodically to run her mouth to anyone who will listen.”

Daphne mock elbowed him in the side. “Only because it's the truth. He's the brilliant one in the family and we're all so proud of him we could bust. As for running my mouth, he's got me there. It's one of my particular specialties, that and saying whatever comes to mind no matter how inappropriate it might be.”

Brie couldn't help but laugh.

Daphne joined her. “Everyone says it's the red hair. Brings out the wild.”

“Not to mention the cray-cray,” Monroe said, straight-faced.

Daphne elbowed him again, harder this time. He groaned comically and clutched his side.

Just then, a man came to a halt next to Brie. She looked at him for a long blank moment before she realized who he was.

Jeff. Her date. Whom she'd forgotten all about—again.

“Sorry it took so long,” he said. “The line was a killer.” In both hands, he held tall, lidded cups with the logo and graphic of the play printed on the outside. “Wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got two different kinds. One's Coke and the other's Sprite. Your choice.”

She wished one was an iced tea, since she wasn't much of a soda drinker. But when in Rome . . . “Coke.”

Jeff started to hold one out to her, then changed his mind and held out the other. Then he pulled them both back. “Shit . . . I mean crap . . . I had it all straight in my head until I got here. Now I can't remember. Is the right one Coke or Sprite?”

“Either's fine.” Brie extended her hand again. As she did, she saw the look Monroe gave her out of the corner of her eye.

Really?
he said with perfect nonverbal derision.
He's the best you can round up for a date?

At least I'm not out with my sister,
she eyeballed back.

He smirked.

“No, no.” It was Jeff, gibbering again. “Let me figure this out. I can figure this out.”

“Why don't you just take a sip from one of the straws?” Daphne suggested.

Jeff shook his head, looking repulsed. “And share germs? In case you missed the news report, there's a gnarly late-season cold going around. I wouldn't want to give anything to Brie.”

“Or vice versa, right?” Daphne's eyes danced.

“Well, yeah, right.”

“I'm Daphne by the way.”

“Jeff.”

Brie realized that she hadn't made introductions. “Jeff, this is Maddox Monroe and his sister. They're . . .”

“Friends of Brie's,” Monroe supplied. Rather than shake—since Jeff had no free hands—he nodded, then stuck his own hands into his pants pockets. Clearly he was enjoying the Jeff show a lot more than he apparently had the first half of the play.

“Hey.” Jeff nodded back. Glancing at the drinks, whose outsides were beginning to turn slick with condensation, Jeff stuck one cup in the crook of his arm. “Quick peek should do it.”

He reached to carefully twist off the spill-proof top.

Suddenly, the lights flashed, signaling everyone to return to their seats. Jeff had just lifted the top off for his “quick peek” when a big man bumped him from behind.

Ice and soda flew out in an arc—and hit Brie square in the chest. She sucked in a gasp as sticky cold soaked straight through her thin, pink silk dress and seeped into her bra underneath before leaking downward in rivulets.

Of course, it would have to be the Coke. The stain would never come out.

But Brie wasn't much concerned about the stain at the moment, too wet and shocked and pissed to say a word.

“Oh, Christ,” Jeff moaned. “Brie, I'm so sorry. That guy, he knocked into me. Bastard didn't even stop. Ah, crap, just look at you.”

Yeah, look at me.
She'd rather not.

“Here.” Monroe held out a handkerchief to her.

Numbly, she took it and began to blot—for all the good that would do.

“Daph, why don't you go to the ladies' room with Brie to clean up?”

“Sure,” Daphne agreed.

“No, really, that's sweet, but there isn't any point in us both missing the second act,” Brie said, finally recovering her ability to speak. “Go back to your seat. I'll get cleaned up on my own.”

As if her words were a signal, the lights went down and music began to play. People were staring at them, a few making hushing noises as the actors came back out onto the stage.

“Is there a problem?” It was one of the ushers. She scowled as she took in the scene, which included the wet carpet, the dripping “spill-proof” cup, and Brie.

“Just a little accident,” Monroe said in a low, reassuring murmur. “We're taking care of it.”

The usher scowled harder. “Yes, well, you need to retake your seats. I'll see to this lady.”

“Go on,” Brie whispered to Monroe and his sister. “There's nothing you can do. Enjoy the play.”

As for Jeff, he just stood there, a cup in each hand, one empty, one full.

Brie barely spared him a glance as she moved out into the aisle.

The usher left her in the ladies' room, where she used handfuls of wet paper towels to blot at the sticky disaster. But it was pretty much useless and after a couple of minutes she gave up. The wet silk clung to her. She held it away from her body and used some more paper towels to absorb enough of the wetness so she didn't look indecent. After carefully washing her hands and scrubbing the sticky off her neck and chest, she decided things were as good as they were going to get.

With a sigh, she turned and walked out into the corridor.

There stood Monroe. He was leaning against the opposite wall.

“Why aren't you in watching the play?” she asked.

“Because I'm waiting for you. Thought I'd give you a ride home. I figured you wouldn't want to sit next to Jeffie boy for another hour and a half. Am I right?”

He was most definitely right. As far as she was concerned, her date with Jeff was over. “I can get a cab. You don't have to take me.”

“My driver's already here. It's no trouble.”

“What about your sister?”

“She's enjoying the show. I'll swing back around to pick her up after I see to you. She says to tell you how sorry she is about your dress and that she enjoyed meeting you.”

“Tell her I enjoyed meeting her too. But really, go watch the rest of the play. I'm fine getting home on my own.”

“I'm sure you are, but I can use a break. All that dialogue is hurting my brain. Besides, the trip will give Marco something to do. He gets bored waiting.”

Brie considered refusing, but finding a cab on a Saturday night in the Theater District would be a total pain. And in her damp, ruined dress, she didn't much relish the idea of riding the subway. She could only imagine the pervy comments that might come her way.

“Why is it lately that you're always around to offer me a ride?” she said.

“'Cause you're lucky, sweetheart. Maybe we should swing by a convenience store along the way and buy some lottery tickets.” Grinning, he caught her hand up in his and led her toward the entrance.

She tried to pull free, but he held on, letting go only when they reached his now familiar, polished black sedan idling at the curb. She remembered the last time she'd ridden in that car—and everything that had happened.

“Good evening, Ms. Grayson. A pleasure to see you again,” Marco said, giving her a polite smile. He didn't so much as blink twice at her disaster of a dress before he held open the rear door.

“Hello, Marco.”

“Nice weather tonight. No rain.”

“Small mercies, huh?”

“Exactly.”

The driver waited and she hesitated, Monroe standing silent at her back.

With an internal shrug, she climbed inside. Monroe would kiss her only if she let him. And that one hundred percent wasn't going to happen.

She relaxed back into the comfortable leather seat as Marco shut the door. Monroe joined her from the opposite side while Marco took his seat behind the steering wheel. She leaned forward, intending to give Marco her address.

“He knows where we're going.”

She looked at Monroe. “How could that be?”

“Because I gave him your address. I make it a point to know where my attorneys live.”

Where
she
lived, he meant. Somehow she doubted he'd bothered to memorize the home addresses of any of the other partners. But what did it really matter? He could have found out anytime with nothing more than a quick phone call.

The car set off into the night, leaving her alone once again with Maddox Monroe.

M
addox watched her, enjoying the play of expressions that seemed to move constantly over her face. The city lights flashed past as the car merged into the pulse of the traffic, but he paid no attention, his thoughts fixed squarely on Brie.

He'd read her hesitation about getting into the car. No doubt she was remembering the kisses they'd shared. God knew he was; he couldn't get those moments or the sensations out of his head.

They'd haunted him ever since that day, popping up at some of the most inconvenient times, such as in the middle of a board meeting when his focus should have been on projections and analyses rather than on the lush softness of Brie's pink lips. Or the way the silky curves of her cheeks had felt against his palms and how the sweet, clean fragrance of her hair had teased his senses until he'd gone half-mad.

He was always hovering on the brink of arousal whenever she was near, and it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. A tiny, come-on crook of her finger was all that would be necessary. But tonight wasn't the night, much as he wished otherwise. He'd promised his sister a late supper out and after the evening Brie had endured, he suspected that all she really wanted was a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

He would be patient—for a little while longer anyway.

“How is the Newport acquisition coming?” He settled deeper into his seat and tried to ignore thoughts of her standing wet and naked in the shower, soapsuds sluicing down her body.

She angled her head. “You want to talk business?”

I'd better,
he thought. Otherwise, he wasn't sure he could trust himself not to initiate another backseat make-out session. His hands curled into fists. “No time like the present.”

She drew a breath. “We've filed all the required papers. I should have something for you by early next week.”

“Good. What about the labor review?”

“In process. I've set up a conference call that will bring all the pertinent players to the table. I can give you the time, if you want to sit in.”

“No. A postmortem of the salient points should be sufficient.” He fired off another trio of questions, which she did her best to answer.

She withdrew her cell phone from her purse and typed in a few quick notations. “If I'd known we were going to have a meeting tonight, I would have brought along my laptop. Do you always put your lawyers on the spot?”

“Frequently.” Though generally not in the backseat of his car and as a means of keeping his libido under control. Considering the simmering arousal still riding him, he wasn't altogether sure his efforts were having the desired effect.

He'd need a cold shower for that.

The car slowed a few minutes later, then pulled up to the curb. The building was a modern, well-maintained high-rise with a doorman who stood at the ready. Maddox got out after Brie and walked her to the entrance.

“Thank you for the lift,” she told him. “Sad to say but it was actually the best part of the evening.”

“Glad I was there to help. Why don't we go in? I'll see you to your door.”

“I can see myself. This is a great building with round-the-clock security and Joe here doesn't let in oddballs or strangers, do you, Joe?” She nodded to the doorman, a forty-something man with graying black hair and a burly build that more than filled out his uniform.

“Sure don't, Ms. Grayson,” he said with his Brooklyn accent. “I'll make sure she gets inside safe.”

“Undoubtedly.” Maddox looked at Brie. “Thing is, I promised Daphne that I'd walk you to your apartment. You wouldn't want me to tell her I just left you standing outside your building.”

“Daphne is very thoughtful, but it's not necessary.”

“Necessary or not, I'm escorting you.” He took hold of her elbow.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Only to your front door, counselor,” he said. “It'll put Daphne's mind at ease.”

After a moment, she gave a wry laugh and shook her head. “Well, if it will let your sister sleep tonight, then who am I to refuse? Joe, if he's not back down here in fifteen minutes, send up the cavalry.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Grayson.” A grinning Joe held open the door. “Sir.”

“Joe.”

Maddox had to stop briefly and sign in at the security desk as a visitor. Together, he and Brie walked to the small bank of elevators.

After punching the button, they rode up.

“Your sister didn't really say anything about you walking me up, did she?” Brie gave him a knowing look.

“Not in so many words, but she would have if she'd thought of it. She really will be relieved. Worrying is another one of her specialties. She checks up on me far more often than I might wish.”

Brie smiled. “Ah, the blessing and curse of families. It's wonderful being loved, but murder putting up with all the well-meaning butting in.”

“Exactly.”

Far too quickly for his liking, the elevator arrived on her floor. He walked beside her down the hallway.

She stopped in front of a door that read 10-G. “Here I am.”

“
G
for Grayson?” He tapped a finger against the letter on the door.

“No.
G
for weird coincidence, since this was the only one-bedroom available in the building when I was looking for an apartment.”

“Must have been meant to be.”

She tipped her head to the side. “I wouldn't have pegged you for the fatalistic type.”

“I'm not, not usually. Still, I like to keep an open mind. What else could account for the two of us meeting again so unexpectedly after all these years?”

“Really bad luck?”

“Or really good, depending on your way of thinking.” He gave her a slow smile, pleased when her eyes got a slightly glazed look that meant she wasn't nearly as immune to him as she wanted him to think.

She blinked twice and turned to fit her key in the lock. The door opened with a soft click. “Well, thank you again for the ride home. You seem to be coming to my rescue a lot these days.”

“That's me. Your white knight.”

“I think you've got the color wrong. Black's more your style.”

“If that were true, I'd have left you back at the theater with Jeff.”

“Not even you would be that cruel.”

“I'm not cruel.”

“You were when we were kids.” She met his eyes, her own blue as a summer lake. “You made my life a living hell that year and you know it. Why would I think anything good about you now?”

“Because we're not twelve years old anymore.” Reaching out, he stroked the edge of one finger along her cheek, then caught her chin in his hand. “Besides, don't you know that little boys are only mean to the little girls they like the best? Think about that, Brie, while you're lying in your bed tonight.”

“I'll be too busy sleeping,” she told him in an arrogant tone as she shook off his hand.

He laughed. “My fifteen minutes must nearly be up. I'd better leave before the cavalry gets here. Go inside, Brie. I'll see you again soon.”

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something—maybe a whole lot of somethings—then closed it again. After one final look, she went into her apartment.

Whistling softly under his breath, he headed for the elevators.

*   *   *

Brie leaned back against her door, hands splayed flat against the painted wood, her heart beating hard beneath her ribs.

Ooh, that man. He drives me crazy.

Just like he had when they were kids.

But as he'd reminded her, they weren't kids anymore.

So why did she always feel like a six-year-old who'd just gotten her pigtail yanked whenever he was around? And why did she suspect that tonight when she crawled between the sheets, he would be on her mind—and not in a childish kind of way?

Well, he won't. I'll kick him straight out of my head,
she promised herself as she engaged the dead-bolt lock, then went to switch off the hall light she'd turned on before she'd gone out for the evening.

Going to her bedroom, she peeled off her ruined dress and tossed it on top of the laundry hamper. Even though it was probably a lost cause, she'd take it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow and give them a crack at removing the stain.

In the bathroom, she stripped off her bra and panties and stepped under the warm shower spray. Temporarily, she lost herself in a cloud of gently scented steam.

But later, as she settled into bed with her clean, blow-dried hair and fresh nightgown, his words popped into her mind.

Don't you know that little boys are only mean to the little girls they like the best?

And big boys?

They were even worse, using sweet words and even sweeter kisses to get precisely what they wanted—and having the power to make women forget exactly why they were so dangerous.

*   *   *

“Yum,” Daphne said, laying her spoon neatly across her plate.

After Maddox had picked her up from the show—which she told him had been fabulous and a shame he'd missed—they'd gone to an excellent but hideously expensive restaurant. Taking advantage of the culinary adventure, she'd ordered a seven-course tasting menu, which featured everything from appetizer to dessert with amuse-bouches, bread, and palate cleansers in between. And wine, of course. She hadn't stinted on wine. Maddox didn't mind, however, content with good dark-roast, French press coffee—black, one sugar.

He'd ordered seven courses as well, enjoying the meal, but not as much as he enjoyed watching his sister ooh and aah over each subsequent offering. With seven years between them, it always pleased him to make his baby sis happy.

After their father went to prison, Maddox had assumed the role of more than big brother, acting at times as a kind of surrogate father. Always there to lend a strong shoulder, always available for protection and support. Even their mother had taken to leaning on him, especially during those first few terrible years. She'd looked to him to be the man of the house when he'd still been nothing more than an immature kid. But he'd grown up fast. When he'd left home at eighteen, he'd been an adult, full-grown.

So Daphne's visits were always an occasion for indulgence. And she deserved the pampering. Particularly after the heartbreak she'd suffered in the wake of a brief but disastrous marriage, which had brought her east, then left her abandoned and alone.

But she hadn't been alone. She'd had him and she always would.

She ate one of the tiny chocolate entremets that had been served at the end of dessert, closing her eyes as the sweet melted against her tongue.

Curiously, it put him in mind of his lunch with Brie. She'd had that same expression of wonder and delight as she'd eaten his chef's three-star cuisine—although in her case the look had been tempered with a wary reserve, through which he was still trying to break.

He wished now that he'd kissed her again. But he hadn't trusted himself not to try taking things further and Brie wasn't ready yet. Not for all the things he wanted.

And he definitely wanted them all.

“You thinking about Brie Grayson?”

He blinked, his eyes going to his sister. “Why would you say that?”

Her lips curved in a knowing half smile. “Just the way you looked at her tonight and the way you were just looking again. You really like her, don't you?”

His fingers wrapped around his coffee cup. “Maybe.”

Daphne laughed. “Right. And maybe I only kind of liked this meal. So have you asked her out?”

“Yes.”

“And she said no?”

“She says we shouldn't see each other because she's my attorney. Ethical concerns.”

“Well, what does that have to do with anything? It's not like she's a psychiatrist trying to do inappropriate things to you on her couch. Not that you'd probably mind.”

“Now why would you say that?”

She laughed.

“We've also got a history,” he told her.

“What kind of history?” Tiny lines creased her brow.

“We knew each other as kids. Back when you were just a drooling rug rat working hard on graduating to curtain climber.”

Daphne made a face; she hated it when he made references to her baby days.

“She didn't like me,” he admitted.

“Probably with good reason.”

“Definitely. I was a regular little shit.”

“Well, grade-school history or not, you've got a clear field, especially if that date of hers tonight was any example of the kind of guys she's been seeing.”

“He was rather pathetic.”

“He was. But cute. I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“I invited him to sit with me after you left. He looked like a kicked puppy. I couldn't just leave him there all alone.”

“Christ, Daphne. Tomorrow's your last night in town. What are you doing going out with some random guy?”

“He's not a random guy. He was Brie's date tonight. Now he's mine. Considering how they left things, I don't think she'll mind. But let's put all that aside, since we were talking about you.”

“Not because I volunteered. I don't usually discuss my love life with my little sister.”

“Maybe you should from now on. I saw the way Brie was looking at you.”

“Oh, and how was that?”

“All sultry-eyed and interested in spite of what she might say.” Daphne sipped from her own cup of coffee—hers a light, sweet beige. “Anyway it'd be nice to actually like someone you were seeing for a change, not that any of your women stay around long.”

“My women?” He smirked. “You make it sound like I keep a harem.”

“You could if you wanted to, you know, what with your looks, influence, and money. What was the last one's name?”

“You mean Lila?”