Chapter 8: The Brazen: Chapter 7

THE BLACK of night seemed only to provoke the storm. As Kerrigan and I sat in the living room, the minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. There was no way I’d let her leave but every minute she stayed was one where I needed her to leave.

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d almost kissed her. Again.

There was no alcohol to blame tonight. Maybe it was delirium—these chills wouldn’t stop and my headache was blooming through my entire skull. Or maybe it was simply . . . her. She was as desirable as she was persistent.

With her knees tucked beneath her in the chair, she stared at the fire. It had been an hour since we’d retreated from the kitchen to the living room, waiting for the snow and wind to subside. It wasn’t going to stop, was it?

“You’d better plan to stay tonight,” I said.

The look on Kerrigan’s face was pained but she forced a smile. “That would be great. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her presence had been a fantastic distraction from the reason I was here. There’d be no sifting through Grandpa’s belongings with Kerrigan under the roof and I’d rather sit in agonizing silence than face my task at hand.

Besides, we’d come to an agreement. My decision to extend her loan might be one I regretted in a month or a year. As far as loans went, hers was small potatoes—to steal her words—compared to the other investments and licensing deals in my portfolio. But I wasn’t cruel and wouldn’t kick her when her luck was down. The story she’d told me about the farmhouse was unreal. No wonder it hadn’t moved. That sort of event would have made the news in Denver and I suspected it would live exponentially longer in the minds of Calamity’s residents.

So I was cutting her a break.

Grandpa would have loved that.

I shuddered at the image of them together. I bet he’d had her here, sitting on this very couch before this very fire. He would have been in those silk pajama pants he’d always favored. Her hair would have been down, catching the light from the flames as she cuddled beside him wearing whatever skimpy piece of lingerie he’d bought her from La Perla.

The pounding in my head tripled as something in the room growled.

“What—” It was her stomach. “You’re hungry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Returning to the kitchen was dangerous, but now that I’d conjured an image of her and Grandpa together on this couch, I was ready for a new room. Besides, I didn’t trust myself with her in any space, so we might as well eat. “I’m not sure what the club caretakers stocked for me but let’s take a look.”

She waited until I was off the couch and already on my way to the kitchen before she peeled herself out of the chair. As she followed, the distance she kept between us seemed deliberate.

It probably was.

There’d been no mistaking the hitch of her breath earlier. The parting of those luscious lips. Either she was worried I’d kiss her again, or she was worried that she’d kiss me back.

The refrigerator was full of prepared meals when I opened the door. I chuckled.

“What?” Kerrigan asked, settling on the same stool she’d been on earlier.

I stepped aside so she could see the fridge. “Nellie called the club and arranged for meals. She knows I’m hopeless in the kitchen so it’s all reheatable.”

“You don’t cook?”

“Rarely. I have a chef who prepares my meals for me at home, and I live in downtown Denver, so many of the restaurants will deliver.”

She opened her mouth but closed it before speaking.

“What?” The more she spoke, the more I found myself hanging on her every word. I didn’t want to miss one.

“We just . . . we lead very different lives.” There was sadness in her voice. Resolution. Like she was drawing a visible line between us. We were in the same room, but we’d always be a world apart.

“We do.” And it was just another reason to keep myself away from Kerrigan Hale.

My life was as complicated as it had ever been. If she actually knew the details, well . . . I doubted she’d look at me the same.

Turning for the fridge, I poked around until I found a glass bowl that looked appealing. “How about homemade chicken noodle soup?”

“That sounds great.”

Maybe soup would help knock this bug out of my system. I pulled it out and began poking around the kitchen. “I’ve never, uh . . .” Where were the pans?

After I found them in the second to last cabinet I opened, my next search was for a spoon. Finally, with the soup poured into the pan and heating, I found a loaf of sourdough bread on the counter. Where were the knives? And a cutting board?

“May I help?” Kerrigan asked.

“Would you mind picking out a wine?” I nodded to the wine fridge on the other side of the room, hoping that I wouldn’t feel like such a fool if she wasn’t watching me fumble around the kitchen.

She slid off her stool and walked to the wet bar, bending to peruse Grandpa’s selection. Her sweater rode up on her hips, giving me the perfect view of her ass.

Damn, but she had a great body. My cock swelled. Fuck my life. I might not feel one hundred percent, but my dick didn’t care when Kerrigan was in the vicinity.

This was not what I needed tonight. I tore my eyes away from her curves and focused on the meal, yet the image of her bent before me was running rampant in my mind, doing nothing to help the problem behind my zipper.

How long had it been since I’d been with a woman? Months. On one of my work trips not long after my divorce had been finalized, I’d met a woman at the hotel bar and let her drag me to her room. But otherwise, it had been my fist in the shower.

And for the past three months, when I’d closed my eyes, the woman in my head was the woman stuck with me under this very roof.

By the time this meal was over, I’d be in dire need of a cold shower.

“Red or white?” Kerrigan asked.

“Either.”

She picked out a red and while I stirred the soup over the gas range, she opened the bottle and found two glasses, giving them each a healthy pour.

“I’d better try and call home,” she said after bringing me my glass.

I took a long gulp as she left the kitchen, then breathed. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

I swore I could hear my grandfather laughing. He’d love this, the prick. He’d love that I was into Kerrigan. He’d love that I’d caved and made a special arrangement for her business. He’d loved that I was trapped here with her, in his house.

He’d love that I was infatuated with a woman who’d been his.

I grimaced, taking another long gulp of wine. I hated that he’d had her. That he’d cupped her perfect ass in his palms. That he’d had those lips I wanted as my own.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Something wrong?” Kerrigan asked, causing me to whirl around as she returned to the kitchen.

“Uh, no. Just not great at this,” I lied.

“I’m happy to help. The only chef who cooks for me is me.”

“That’s all right. I can handle this. Enjoy your wine. Grandpa prided himself on his collection.”

She hopped on her stool again, a smile on her mouth. God, I really had to stop looking at her mouth. “He made me try my first glass of wine. It was one of his trips to Montana, when he’d invited me out to dinner.”

“You’d never had wine before?”

“Not unless you count Boone’s Farm.” She feigned a gag. “Up until that point, I mostly drank vodka or beer in college. The occasional red Solo cup of jungle juice if I went to a frat party. Gabriel ordered the best bottle of wine at the restaurant, and I remember taking a drink and doing my best not to cringe.”

I chuckled, retrieving two bowls from the cupboard. “You didn’t like it?”

“At twenty-one? No. But I do now.” She swirled the deep red liquid in her glass. “I haven’t had a drink in a while.”

She wasn’t on some sort of rehab or recovery plan, was she?

“I can see what you’re thinking.” She laughed and the sound echoed in the room, suddenly making it brighter. “I’ve just been saving money and wine is expensive.”

“Except for Boone’s Farm.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid Gabriel’s good taste in wine was contagious.”

“Yes, it was.” Grandpa wasn’t the only one in our family who had an impressive wine collection. “My mom’s collection dwarfs his. She’ll travel all over the world for wine.”

“What about you?”

“Mom buys my wine too.” I poured us each a bowl of soup and set them on the island. Then I plated our bread, finding some garlic butter in the fridge before joining her. “She says I’m hard to shop for, though I think she just likes buying wine. She’ll gift me bottles that she finds on her vacations.”

“Gabriel talked about her a lot. He talked about you too. So much so that I felt like I already knew you when we met.”

“He, um . . . spoke of you as well.” Except it wasn’t until years later that I’d realized she was closer to my age than his. I’d always suspected he had a thing for her, the way he talked with such adoration. I’d wondered if he’d actually bring her to Colorado one day and introduce her to the family.

That would have shocked the hell out of everyone. Mom had been under the impression Kerrigan was older too.

“This is probably a rude question, but how old are you?” I asked.

“Thirty.” Over four decades his junior. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

She nodded, not pressing for a better explanation, and the rest of our meal was in silence other than the clinking of spoons to bowls. By the time they were empty, so were our wine glasses.

“Would you like more soup?” I asked.

“No, thank you. It was delicious.”

I stood to clear the island, but she beat me to it, swiping up my bowl. Then she moved around the kitchen, putting dishes in the dishwasher and stowing leftovers like she’d been here countless times.

“Did you come up here often?” I asked.

“No. My first time was when we scattered Gabriel’s ashes,” she answered, wiping down the countertops.

“Huh.” Well, that was a pleasant surprise for a change. At least now I could go back to the living room and not think about Grandpa and her on the couch. “You move around the kitchen like you’ve been here a lot.”

“It’s the layout.” She gestured to the cabinets. “It’s not all that different than how I would organize. When you were opening and closing the cupboards, I paid attention.”

“Ah. I just . . . I wasn’t sure if you and Grandpa had come here for a weekend away or something.” I found the bottle of wine and refilled our glasses.

“A weekend away?” Her forehead furrowed as she took a sip.

“Couples often take weekend vacations together, don’t they?”

Wine sprayed from her mouth into my face.

“A couple?” Her jaw dropped as wine dripped down my nose. “You think I was in a romantic relationship with Gabriel?”

“Weren’t you?” I swiped the hand towel from the counter and dried my face.

“Oh my God.” Kerrigan blinked, set down her wine and began pacing the kitchen, her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my God. This whole time you thought I’d been sleeping with Gabriel. Oh my God!”

I blinked. “You weren’t?”

“No! Eww.” She scrunched up her nose. “He was like my grandfather.”

“He often dated younger women.”

“Not this one!” She pointed to her chest.

Well . . . fuck. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.”

She hadn’t been his girlfriend or mistress or fuck buddy. She hadn’t slept with him for his money. She hadn’t slept with him period.

Oh my God.

The relief that coursed through my body nearly sent me to my knees. “Wow. I, uh . . .”

“Yeah. Wow.” Kerrigan shook her head. Her pacing stopped and her shoulders fell. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?”

“On the contrary, Ms. Hale. I think about you far too much.”

Her eyes widened.

Before I could say something more that would only get me in trouble, I grabbed my glass and the bottle of wine and carried them both to the living room.

Kitchens were dangerous places.

I sat on the couch again, wondering if she’d avoid me for the rest of the night. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. But a few moments later, she slipped into the room, once more taking her chair while I stayed at the far corner of the couch.

“Did you get ahold of your family?” I asked.

“No. There’s no service. I think the cell towers must have been disrupted by the storm.”

“The Wi-Fi password is Barlowe with a instead of an at the end. You’re welcome to use it for your call. Or send an email. From experience, you excel at both.”

She smiled and pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. When she was done, the silence returned, awkward and as heavy as the snow flying outside.

I busied myself by keeping the fire going, but mostly, I drank and let the wine soak into my blood. It wasn’t doing anything to temper my headache and the soup hadn’t chased away my chills, but maybe if I got drunk, the pain would go away.

Kerrigan relaxed deeper and deeper into her chair as the time passed and her glass drained. She was intoxicating in her beauty. Her long hair looked thick and soft, her body trim yet curved in the wonderful places where a woman was supple. The sweet, honeysuckle scent of her skin drifted through the room.

She really hadn’t been his lover. My attraction to her didn’t have a damn thing to do with one-upping my grandfather. As the mental images I’d dreamed up of them together vanished, a knot loosened in my gut. What. A. Relief.

I’d made an unfair assumption, and though the blame for that was mostly mine, I was giving some to Grandpa too.

He’d jaded me. And I’d taken it out on Kerrigan.

Fuck, but I was an asshole.

I caught myself staring at her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

There was a foundation to her beauty that came from her soul. She was honest. True. A sharp contrast to most of the women Grandpa had kept in his life. Especially the last.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was intimate with Gabriel.” Kerrigan shuddered.

“He liked younger women. They were a challenge for him. And they liked him in return. His billions too.”

“I hope . . . oh, never mind.”

“What?”

She hesitated but when she looked up, her eyes were full of fear. “Do you think that was why he helped me? Why he’d take me to dinner and why he’d spend time with me? Because I was a challenge?”

God, I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to ease the vulnerability in her voice.

“I truly admired Gabriel,” she said. “He was so dear to my heart. But if he . . . I don’t want to think that of him.”

“Then don’t. He only ever spoke about you with respect. I don’t think he viewed you in that way.”

Her shoulders fell. “Good.”

It wasn’t for Grandpa’s sake I lied.

It was for Kerrigan’s.

Yes, he’d always spoken about her with respect. He’d never explicitly told me that he’d been out to fuck her.

Maybe his relationship with her had been innocent. Maybe he truly had taken her under his wing and cared for her the way he’d cared for me.

Except I knew Gabriel Barlowe.

His true talent was hiding the truth.

“Would you like more wine?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

Leaving the glasses on the coffee table—I’d wash them in the morning—I stood and headed out of the living room. “I’ll show you to a room.”

“Oh, I can just stay here.”

“In the chair?” I gestured for her to follow. “Come on. There are plenty of bedrooms. You might as well claim one.”

She unfolded from her seat and followed, once again maintaining her distance. We walked deeper into the house where I hadn’t turned on many lights, so I flipped them on as we went, casting the halls in a golden glow.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said.

“If you apologize one more time, I’m adding two percent to your interest rate.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“How’s this?” I stopped at the first guest room.

“It’s beautiful.”

The heavy quilts, blankets and curtains were all in shades of earthy browns, burnt oranges and rusty reds to coordinate with the rest of the house. “The bathroom across the hallway is stocked with toiletries. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

I nodded and backed away, giving her plenty of space. “I’ll see if I can find you some sweats.”

“Oh, I don’t need anything.”

“Are you on a mission to turn down everything I offer tonight?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I guess so.”

“Be right back.”

I hurried down the hallway, past the theater room and two other guest suites to the bedroom I’d chosen for myself. My travel bag rested on the tufted leather bench in the middle of the room’s walk-in closet. I opened it and pulled out my extra pair of sweats and the hoodie.

Maybe it was stupid to give her my own clothes, but the idea of her sleeping in only underwear—or naked—might make my already throbbing head explode. Not that her in my sweats was much better.

When I returned to her room, I found her standing by the bed, her fingers skimming over the thick throw by the footboard.

“Here.” I handed over the gray sweats.

“Thank you.” She took them, her hands brushing mine.

A current snaked up my skin. The need to take her was so consuming that I used every ounce of willpower I had to take a step back.

My cold shower was waiting.

Except two steps to the door, I spotted her purse resting against the wall. She must have grabbed it while I’d been getting her sweats. The purse reminded me of the check in my pocket.

I dug it out and held it between us. “You scraped together every penny to write this check, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she admitted.

Of all the people I’d judged in my life, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been as wrong about a person as I had been Kerrigan. “Take it.”

She gave me a sideways glance.

“Please.” I chuckled. “We have our new terms. This is unnecessary.”

“All right.” Her sigh of relief was louder than the storm outside.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Sullivan.”

I really was an asshole. “Pierce.”

“Pierce,” she repeated.

I put the length of the house between us, and as I locked myself in my bedroom, I willed her face out of my head.

It was no use. When I dreamt, it was of her.

And my name on her lips.