Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (18 page)

In the booth of a renowned artist, they stood side by side examining a small oil painting of a red door in a blue building. To Mia, that painting was magical. The artist had employed light so brilliantly that it looked as if the sun were shining in over their shoulders on a real door. “This is how I want to paint,” she said.

“You should do it,” Brennan said.

Mia nodded. “I know how to do these things, but it’s the execution that sets the best apart.”

“That’s true in music, too,” he said. “Anyone can play a few chords. But it’s knowing how to put emotions into those chords that separates the best from the rest of the pack.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “And where do you fall on that spectrum?”

Brennan laughed. “Better than some and worse than others.”

She nodded, understanding that place completely. “Me too. Somewhere in the middle. Not the best, not the worst.”

At the end of the day, the driver returned for them in his red minivan and drove them up to the Crosswater Inn.

It was as beautiful as Mia had always heard; azaleas lined the drive to the hotel, and trees formed a canopy overhead with the fresh greens of spring. In the portico of the inn, a fire blazed in an open hearth and liveried doormen took their bags and opened the doors for them.

Still wearing his knit hat and shades, Brennan chatted with the desk clerk, then accepted the thick brass key to their room. He slipped his arm around Mia’s waist and escorted her up to the third floor.

Their room had a gorgeous view of the mountains and the valley below, where the lights of Stratford Corners were just beginning to twinkle up at them in the dusk. Their balcony, complete with a bistro table and chairs, was lined with gerbera daisies. A bottle of wine had been opened before their arrival and left to breathe.

Mia walked around the spacious room and took in every detail, emerging from the bathroom with a grin. “There is a two-button toilet in there with a heated seat!”

Brennan laughed.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, and slipped up behind him where he was pouring wine for them, put her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“That’s not all,” he said. “The chef has made us something special.” He turned around in her embrace and handed her a glass of wine. “It will be served in our room at seven thirty.”

Mia took the wine he offered, but her eyes were on him. “You’re amazing, Brennan Yates. I never would have guessed it.”

He laughed. “Me either, if you want to know the truth.” He clinked his glass against hers before leading her to a couch.

“I’ve never been on a date like this. Ever,” she said as she settled in next to him. “But I bet you do things like this all the time.”

“Not really,” he said. “I haven’t felt inspired to do things like this.” He looked at her, held her gaze. “But I’m starting to figure out that I haven’t always been looking for the right things in a companion.”

“Oh yeah? What should you have been looking for?”

“I’m still not sure,” he said thoughtfully. He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between two fingers.

Who was sure? It had always seemed to her that you could never know if someone was right for you until you’d spent a lot of time figuring them out. She didn’t know what she should be looking for, either. She wondered about him and the upbringing he’d had. “Is it just you and your mom? No siblings?”

“No siblings.”

She traced a line over his brow. “What happened to your dad?”

Brennan’s smile instantly disappeared.

“Sorry.” Mia took his hand before he could drift away. “I didn’t know it was a sore subject.”

“I didn’t say it was a sore subject.”

“You didn’t have to. Your look says it all. You don’t have to talk about it.”

He sighed again and sagged back against the couch. “It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“How can you say that? It matters to me,” she said. Brennan gave her a dubious look. “What? I’m curious, too,” she said. “I’m starting to come around to you, Brennan Yates. I want to know what makes you tick. Or doesn’t make you tick. In my case, I literally wear what makes me tick on my sleeve.” She smiled. “You’re a little harder to figure out.”

“Really?” he asked curiously.

“Really. And I would like to know more about you. I mean, I’m here, right?”

“Okay,” he said, sounding a bit reluctant. “Here it is—my dad left before I could walk. Dan Yates was my stepfather.”

“Okay.” That wasn’t a unique story; half the people she knew had divorced parents. “Is that all?”

“No, it’s not all. Danny Yates was a good man. He adopted me and raised me like I was his son. He was a good father to me. Unfortunately, he died of cancer a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “Thank you. As for my real dad? All that time, I thought he was dead. My mother always told me he just left one day and never came back. No explanation, no contact. When I was a little kid, I couldn’t figure out where he would have gone. I made up these great stories about him. Just ask Chance—” He winced. Then he stood up and walked to the bar.

“Who is Chance?” Mia asked.

“An old friend,” he said. “I told my friends that my dad died in the war, or he died in a skydiving accident. I invented all kinds of tales about him because I just knew he
had
to be dead or he would have come to see me, right? Who doesn’t want to see his own kid?” He turned around to face her. “But when I was fourteen, I found out he’d been living a couple of miles from me all along.”

Mia’s heart twinged; she gasped. “No way! Why? I mean,
how
? That must have been devastating.”

“It was,” he agreed, and looked down again, his jaw clenched.

“Did you ask him why?”

“No. I couldn’t. The only reason I found out about him at all was because he’d died.”

Mia stared at him. “Oh my God,” she whispered. The story felt earth-shattering to her; she couldn’t imagine being without her father, her biggest champion. She couldn’t imagine losing him at an early age, either, and wondered how Brennan had survived it. The questions he must have had, the shock he must have felt. “But your mother—”

“Yeah, my mother,” Brennan said flatly. “I don’t know, she was a good mom. She’s had her own colorful life, and she’s quirky, and God knows she can spend a dollar—but she loved me and she did the best she could for me. Except that,” he said wearily, and moved back to the couch to sit beside her once more. “For some reason, she allowed me to think my dad was dead, even when she knew otherwise.”

“But why?” Mia asked. “What could she possibly—”

“I don’t know,” he said, interrupting her before she could bury him in questions. He took her hand into his, stroked her palm. “It’s not worth the aggravation now. I can’t change it—it is what it is.”

Mia gaped at him. “You must have been so angry with her. With
him.
”

Brennan shook his head. “I got over being mad at Mom. For the most part, anyway.” He picked up his wine glass and drank, then stared out the window for a very long moment. “I guess I never really got over the fact that my father knew where I was and stayed away. And I never got to ask him why.”

It was amazing to Mia how much suffering there was in the world. She was blessed, truly blessed. If the only thing she had to worry about was one horrible summer, she should be ecstatic.

“So there you have it,” Brennan said and glanced away. “It’s complicated. I’d rather not dwell on it.”

The mood had definitely changed, and Mia was suddenly desperate to right the listing ship. She didn’t know what to say to him about his tragedy, and it
was
a tragedy. “Well . . . I guess this just goes to show that money can’t buy happiness, huh?”

That brought Brennan’s attention back to her. He arched a brow with amusement. “I tell you
that
sad tale, and that’s all you’ve got? A cliché?”

She smiled. “You don’t like it? How about time heals all wounds?”

Brennan laughed. He took the wine glass from her hand and put it aside.

“Wait . . . is there anything else about you I should know?” she asked as he slipped his hand behind her nape.

“Like what?” he asked, his gaze on her mouth.

“I don’t know. Maybe you have a secret desire to be a gardener,” she said, and pulled the cap off his head, tossing it aside. “Or wait, maybe that soundtrack you’re writing is the story of your life.” She pushed her fingers through his shaggy hair.

He shifted, pressing her onto her back on the couch. “That’s not a bad idea. I’ll write the music for the story of my life, and you do the set design. I know it would be very colorful and off kilter.”

Mia laughed as he kissed her neck. “I can see it already. Very futuristic with lots of neon lights and spandex.”

“That sounds perfect,” he muttered, and kissed her languidly. He lifted his head.

His eyes were deep pools of blue. Two tiny oceans staring back at her. How had she ever thought him repulsive? Right now, he was the sexiest man she’d ever known.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That I like you, Brennan Yates.”

“I like you, too, Mia Lassiter. More than I want to.”

“So, would you agree that opposites attract?”

He groaned and kissed her again to silence her clichés. He kissed her much more passionately, tightening his embrace and crushing her to him as if he were afraid she would flutter away.

Desire quickly enveloped Mia and pushed any other thoughts about him and his screwed-up parents from her mind. His touch was pleasurably tormenting, leaving her panting for more. There was something about his reverence of her that jolted her into hyperawareness; her skin sizzled when he touched her, her body shivered where he kissed her. She clung to him, pressing against his body, her desire for him now as deep and fervent as her dislike of him had been only days ago. He groaned with want as he kissed her, his pleasure apparently as stark as her own, and Mia frantically needed to have every inch of him on every inch of her.

He nipped at her lips and swirled his tongue around hers, and Mia eagerly met his kisses as she explored the hard planes and stiff curves of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She stroked his bristled cheek and slid her hand down to his hips.

Brennan suddenly lifted off of her and stood up. Before Mia could move, he swept her up and twirled her around, depositing her on the bed, and bracing his arms on either side of her, he dipped down to kiss the hollow of her throat.

She pressed her hand against his chest, could feel the strength of his body and the heat in his skin, the rhythm of his heart. But that tingling she felt was her melting, giving into the craving for sex with this man. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her thoughts racing around the sensations of being touched and desired, and Mia took his head between her hands and opened her eyes.

He was gazing directly at her, his eyes dark and blue. He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “This is how it should always be,” he said.

She knew exactly what he meant—every encounter should be this intense, this full of need.

He nipped at her earlobe. “What do you want me to do to you?” he whispered into her ear.

“Everything.”

Brennan groaned again. He moved his hand down her body and between her legs. Mia sighed with contentment and lifted up to kiss him; her hands slid over the corded muscles of his back and shoulders, and all she could think was that she wanted him to make love to her
now.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling this desirable. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this intense lust. She wanted to feel him inside her, that white-hot, searing feeling of unity.

Brennan was a master at exploring her body with his hands and his mouth. She was still kissing him, yet somehow, her clothes came off, as did his. She slid her hands over his body, but his kisses were blistering, making it impossible to think. She was still desperately wanting him, but he took his time to enter her, moving so languidly, so unhurriedly, that she thought she would cry out with the torment of anticipation.

Her desire was urgent and imperative, and Mia wrapped her arms around him, pressed against him, urging him to move faster. Brennan understood it; he continued his gentle assault on all her senses, his hands and his mouth arousing her every place they touched, as he rocked inside her, pushing her along a building wave of pleasure. His fingers danced about the hardened core of her, his body deep in hers, until she couldn’t bear it another moment and cried out with release.

Brennan thrust into her with his own soft roar of completion, then collapsed alongside of her on the bed, his breath fast and furious.

Mia was speechless. She couldn’t even open her eyes; her heart was still lingering where they’d just been.

Brennan brought her back to the land of the living with a soft kiss, then touched his fingers to her lips.

She opened her eyes. “That was incredible,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her again.

“I think you ought to write a song about this,” she said, and brushed his hair from his face.

“I’ll start right now.” He hummed, the sound of his voice low and deep. Mia could feel the reverberation in her skin, and it sent another little shiver of delicious sparkle up her spine.

“Promise me you’ll never hum that to anyone else,” she said solemnly when he stopped. “That’s my song.”

Brennan grinned. “Come here, come closer,” he said, and gathered her into his embrace and rested his chin against her head.

They lay that way, contented to be together like this . . . until the phone rang.

Brennan rolled over and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, and rubbed his face with his hands. “Great. Thanks.” He hung up the receiver and rolled back into her. “Hungry?”

“Ravenous.”

He chuckled and stood up, his body magnificent in the low light of sunset that filtered in through the windows of their room. He walked into the bathroom, and a moment later, Mia heard water running.