Almost Midnight (41 page)

Her gaze went back to him. She liked the way his hair, appearing still a little damp, curled up on the ends. What she didn't like was that he purposely kept his left side away from her line of view.

“Worried about the opening?” she asked.

“I need caffeine.”

Okay, so he didn't want to explain why he hadn't slept. He was obviously keeping his guard up, didn't want her getting too close, and that should be a message for her to do the same thing.

Should be.
But damn it, here again, she'd never been good with “shoulds.” It seemed her natural instinct was to go against “shoulds”—as if some part of her longed to be a rebel.

 

Chapter Five

Fredericka followed him into the opposite side of the house that held the office. She ended up in a kitchen, painted bright yellow with red accents. It didn't look like a guy's kitchen. She remembered Brandon's sister. Did she live here?

He stopped at the counter and glanced back at her with the good side of his face. She almost asked about his sister, when he spoke up.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Never acquired a taste for it. But I've always loved the smell of it.”

He poured himself a cup. And turned a little more than halfway, still hiding. The fact that he knew exactly how far he could turn his face toward her, allowing her to see both his eyes, but the scar under his cheekbone close to his ear remained out of sight, didn't get past her.

Their gazes locked and in the bright blue of his eyes she saw a bit of exhaustion there. Oddly, the same feeling echoed inside of her. The silence grew awkward really quickly.

“I was thinking of all that needs to be done out front. Would you like some suggestions?”

“Sure.” He sipped from his cup. The steam rose up and gathered under his cap.

She recounted to him her ideas: the paint, the garden, the sign. He listened and sipped his coffee. “I had plans for all of that except painting. Not sure I have time for that.”

“You would if I help.”

“You paint?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She ignored her phone that dinged with a text.

“You need to get that?” he asked.

“I'll check it later,” she said, fearing it was from Cary. He'd sent her one text early this morning about wanting to talk to her. But she'd said all she had to say to the guy.

“Come with me, I'll show you something.” He led her through a door into a garage. The smell of fresh paint hit her.

On a workbench she saw it. The sign. It read, F
ALLEN
G
ALLERY.
It was painted in yellow and black, and had some red accents. Kind of like the kitchen, only a little less bright. It looked both artistic and classy. She looked at him and smiled.

“That's exactly what I had in mind. Why don't we paint the porch the same yellow? Then we can plant the gardens with some flowers that have a little yellow and reds. You'll also need a sign that lists the hours. And maybe put a nice bench on the front porch. You know, for the man's man who isn't into art and is just waiting on his wife or girlfriend.”

He stood there staring at her and sipping from his cup. The temperature in the garage seemed at least ten degrees below that in the house and his coffee sent up steam. When he still didn't speak she got worried.

Had she sounded too eager? Was she overstepping her bounds by making too many suggestions? Showing too much enthusiasm?

“You don't think real men are into art?” he asked, but there was almost a teasing to his tone.

“No, I just mean the macho types, who don't give a flip about walking through a gallery.”

He lifted one brow and the smile, while not on his lips, was in his eyes. “So you don't think men who are into art are macho?”

“I didn't say that,” she said, not sure how to react. Was he flirting?

Did she want him to be flirting? Oh, yes, she did. But was it really a good thing? Her gaze lifted to his forehead covered by his hat, but afraid he'd think she was gaping at his scars, she quickly looked away.

“Would you like to ride into town with me and help pick out the paint and flowers?”

“I would love to.”

He nodded. “Wait right here. I'll get you a helmet.” He walked out, leaving her in the garage.

“A helmet?” Her words seemed to hang in the cold, empty room. Then she looked around and saw the red motorcycle parked beside the silver Malibu. She'd never been on a motorcycle. But she'd seen plenty of women with their arms wrapped around some hot guy as he drove right into the wind. She'd always envied those women. They had someone to hold onto. There had been times in life when she would have liked to have someone like that.

She stared at the motorcycle and realized how close they would have to be to each other. A soft thrill ran through her, but so did a little tickle of fear.

“Here you go.” He walked back in with two helmets in his hands, still only offering her the unscarred side of his face. His hat was gone, but he'd replaced it with a blue-and-black bandana and his dark hair flipped up around the cloth. Over his T-shirt he wore a dark brown leather jacket. It looked faded, worn, and warm. Right then, chills prickled her arm.

Running her hands up her arms, over the long-sleeved shirt, she looked down at the helmets.

He held one out. She took it, without thinking. Then he put his on. Turning around, he reached over to the wall and pulled down another leather jacket that hung on a hook.

“The wind can make it feel a lot colder than it is.” He held the black jacket out.

She gazed back at the bike. Envisioned them on it, her body pressed against his, her arms around his waist. She didn't anticipate she'd be cold.

Warning bells rang in her head as anticipation whispered down her body.

“How … how are we going to bring back the paint?”

“We aren't. We'll just buy it and have it delivered.”

“We … we could just take the car.” She glanced at the Malibu.

“It's … not mine. It's my sister's.” His gaze went to the door leading back into the house and held there for several seconds.

“I could drive,” she offered. “The car … it's out front.”

He studied her, still holding out the black jacket. “Have you ever ridden on a bike?”

She shook her head.

“You afraid?” There was a touch of challenge in his voice.

“No,” she said, but she recognized the one word as a lie. Just not for the reasons he accused her of.

“Then let's go.” He casually tossed the jacket over his shoulder and then threw one leg over the bike, and looked back at her. “Climb on.”

For some reason, his two words sounded like a dare. Her heart raced. She could tell him no. She could. But instead, she slipped the helmet on and fastened it.

And with her body buzzing with anticipation, she walked over to him. He held out the jacket.

She took it. Their fingers touched, and a jolt of awareness shot up her arm. He watched her put it on and zip it. It was big, but felt good, warm. And the scent that rolled off it was uniquely his.

“Just slip in behind me.” The helmet covered his scars completely. Their eyes met again. He smiled.

And it was as breathtaking as she'd imagined it. She smiled back.

“Hop on,” he said.

She did as he requested, but allowed a couple of inches between their bodies.

“Hold on to my waist,” he said, his voice low.

She inhaled and cupped her hands on each side of his waist. The leather beneath her palms felt cool. But what she mostly felt was him beneath the material, his lean waist. She remembered seeing him without his shirt.

Her pulse increased, the air in her lungs hitched. And she could swear she heard him let out a gulp of air as if he'd felt it, too.

“See the motor?” He pointed back with his right hand.

“Yes,” she managed to say, but her voice came out a little high.

“It's hot. Don't let your legs touch it. Keep your feet on the foot pegs. You see them?”

“Yes.” She put her feet up on them.

He hit something attached to his handlebars and the garage door opened. He started the engine. The bike jolted forward and brought her against him. Her breasts pushed against his shoulder blades.

She couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't done that on purpose. But she couldn't get mad at him. It felt wonderful to be that close.

He reached down and pulled one of her hands from his waist to wrap around his middle. “You need to hold tight.”

Her forearm pressed against his stomach. She felt his hard abs, and then she felt him breath. Hesitantly, she moved her other arm around him as well.

She stared at Brandon's back, covered in the worn material, and his scent along with the smell of leather flavored the air.

“Just hold on,” he said. The roar of the motor filled her ears. She automatically tightened her arms around him. Then he took off.

The wind caught the long strands of her hair, whipping it around her. The roar of the bike stirred her senses.

When he turned, the bike leaned closer to the ground. She clung to him a little tighter; the bike carried their weight as if they were one. Oddly, she realized how Brandon's body temperature was almost equal to her own. And weres ran higher than humans. Was it possible that he was … part were?

He turned his head to the side. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said, and realized she was smiling. “This is fun.”

“I know.” The vibrations of the engine filled her entire body and reminded her of the purr of a male were when close to a potential mate. No matter how hard she fought it, she felt her own body tighten with awareness.

*   *   *

They rode for a good fifteen minutes. And it wasn't just to a store. He drove past town on some scenic drive, where the trees clung to the fall color. He maneuvered the bike around winding roads and he didn't stop until he came to a lake where the red and orange leaves reflected on the still water.

When he cut off the engine, he dropped his legs down to hold up the bike. He didn't talk, just stared out at the view. She stayed completely still, her arms still around his waist.

“It's beautiful,” she finally said. She wasn't just talking about the scenery. But the moment. The sense of freedom from the ride. The warmth of his back against her chest. The sensation of having someone to cling to.

“I know. Peaceful, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” She recalled the falls, and how this natural beauty was reminiscent of that, yet it lacked the odd sense of power. Still, somehow, being here with him made this place just as impressive.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “I hope you didn't mind the ride.”

“No. I enjoyed it.”

“Good.” He paused. Only the sounds of nature could be heard. A duck called out. A fish splashed, sending a few ripples in the water, and he looked back at the lake. “Where are you from, Ricka?”

She flinched when he called her by her nickname, but she answered, “A real Texan. Lived mostly in the Dallas area. You?” she asked.

“Born in Houston, but lived most of my life in Los Angeles.”

It felt a little odd having a conversation with someone when you couldn't see their face. A sad thought hit. Because of his scars he was more comfortable this way.

“What brought you to Fallen?” she asked.

“My sister,” he said and she felt him tighten as if for some reason the thought had caused him stress. After a few more beats of silence he asked, “How long have you made jewelry?”

“About two years. I went to a Renaissance festival, saw someone doing it, and I practically stayed there all day just watching.” She paused and then asked, “How many awards have you won with your work?”

“How do you know I've won awards?” he asked, sounding humble. When she didn't answer right away he asked, “You didn't Google me, did you?”

“No, I saw your horse sculpture, remember? It's amazing. You had to have won awards. But … now that you mention it, I'll probably Google you when I leave here.”

He laughed. “I've won about twelve. And I did Google you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He paused again. “Didn't find a thing. I find that a little strange,” he said. “Why is that?”

 

Chapter Six

“Is it strange?” Fredericka asked.

“Yeah. No Twitter accounts or Facebook friends?”

No friends.
“I'm not into it,” she lied.

There was another pause and she wanted to redirect the conversation. “What made you get into wood sculpture?”

“Kind of the same as you. I saw another artist do it. I'd always liked art, but when I saw his work, I knew that was the medium I wanted to work in.” Another fish splashed and some birds called as they flew about them. “I guess we should go shopping now,” he said.

“Probably,” she answered.

The drive back was just as impressive as the one there. As they retraced their path, she realized that unlike Cary, Brandon was curious about her. A few minutes later, he parked the bike at the hardware store. She let go of him for the first time since they'd left the gallery, and she kind of didn't want to.

He climbed off, and she did the same. As she unstrapped her helmet, she waited to see him do his. Would she finally be able to see his pattern?

But as he pulled the helmet off, the bandana stayed in place. And once again he was back to giving her only the right side of his face.

They started in. As odd as it sounded, she missed his touch. And when he put his hand on the middle of her back, she wondered if he hadn't felt the same way. Especially when his soft touch sent warm shivers up her spine.

The closest entrance was the gardening area.

“Why don't you go look for the type of flowers you think would work? I want to go talk to the manager to make sure they can deliver by tomorrow.”