The Expectant Secretary (2 page)

“Brody, I—” Her words slurred together. Her knees buckled. She reached for him and missed. Her hand swiped at the space between them, catching only
air. A swirling vortex of colors spun her around and around. Until she felt herself falling…falling…

 

Stunned, Brody watched as Jillian began to crumple like a paper doll. Without measuring the consequences, he knelt to grab her before she hit the carpet. He cradled her limp body in his arms.

He looked around for help…for someone. No one was in the hallway. Turning, he sought a place to set her down. The conference table? The floor? A chair?
Damn! Now what?

She lifted her hand to push him away—or clutch at him, he wasn't sure which. As if in slow motion, her hand fell, heavy, lifeless, across her stomach. He noticed the soft rise and fall of her breasts. Okay, she was breathing. Still, she was definitely unconscious.

Panic seized him.
You, fool!
he cursed himself.
You pushed her to this. You pushed too damn hard!

“Jillie?” Concern edged his voice as he gave her a light shake.

Pale and placid, her features frozen, she looked almost peaceful. Her shimmery blond hair splayed out across his shoulder. She stirred, a jerky movement, as if she were struggling to climb back to consciousness.

Not knowing what else to do, he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the conference table. Her slight frame felt as light as a biscuit his mother used to make. Her eyelids fluttered open. Once more he was struck by the vibrant blue-green color. The rich, vivid hues reminded him of the Coral Reef, beautiful to view, but sharp and dangerous.

Why couldn't you leave well enough alone? Why can't you get her out of your mind? And heart?

That's one reason he'd agreed to come to Texas. He'd needed to see her again, needed to for his own survival. So he could go on with his life. Without her memory haunting him. Without his desire for her consuming him.

“Jillie,” he repeated. He'd used that nickname today, hoping to irritate her, hoping to hurt her as she'd hurt him so long ago. Memories assaulted him like a cyclone, sweeping in and destroying the protective walls he'd erected. His gut clenched.

“Jillie!” he demanded. “Wake up.” He had to put her down and get help.

Before he could move, she shifted restlessly, arching her back against his arm and blinking against the harsh light. “I—I'm okay.”

“I've got you.” His arms tightened around her shoulders and beneath her legs.

She pushed a lock of honey-blond hair behind her ear but it fell back to curl just below her earlobe, softening the squareness of her jaw. “I'm okay,” she repeated, her voice weak and unsure. “Put me down.”

“Not till I'm positive you're all right.” He did as she requested and lowered her into a buttery-soft leather chair. “I'll call for medical help.”

“N-no.” Panic stretched her voice into a squeak. “I'm fine. Really.” She clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “Please, Brody.” The plea in her voice and the insistence in those startling blue-green eyes made him doubt his better judgment.

But then, she'd undermined his sanity for years. When he'd learned his father's half brother lived in Texas, when they'd decided to merge the family's two companies and he was needed here, he'd come with an ulterior motive. To see Jillian again.

He'd called her several months ago, reached her at her home in Amarillo to tell her he was coming. But something had been wrong. She'd sounded so far away, so distant, so sad. Maybe it had been the thousands of miles or simply the ten years deeper and wider than the oceans separating them. He'd hoped just hearing her voice would prove to him once and for all that he was over her. But it had done the exact opposite.

He'd known then he'd had to find her. Even though she'd hung up on him, cutting him off before he'd had a chance to tell her he was coming to Texas. Now she was here. In San Antonio. In his arms.

“Something could be wrong,” he said to her, having the same anxiety as that day he'd briefly spoken to her over the phone, the same panic he'd experienced ten years ago when he'd gone to pick her up for a date and discovered she'd left for America. Something was wrong. Or maybe he was the one who needed help. “You should be seen by someone.”

She shook her head. “It's my fault. I didn't have time to eat this morning. It's just low blood sugar. That's all.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking over her from head to toe, noting the softer curves where once she'd been skinny with the flat lines and planes
of a girl. Now she was a woman. And his reaction was that of a man.

“We really should call somebody.” She unnerved him, as no lawsuit or high-profit business deal could.

“N-no, please. Really, I'll be all right. I just need a minute.” She touched her hand to her forehead. Her hands were delicate and soft. He had a sudden memory of her smoothing her palms over his chest and sifting her fingers through his hair.

Heat rushed through him. He shook loose the memory and focused on her. Here and now. She looked so pale, so fragile. He had an overwhelming urge to protect her. Her soft, floral fragrance floated up to meet him. He knelt beside the chair, looping an arm behind her. Her lips were parted, vulnerable, tempting. He remembered their sweetness. He remembered too damn much.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice as rough as the raw emotions coursing through his veins.

“I'm sorry. I'm all right.”

Was she? Was he? Seeing her again, he knew he'd never fully recover. Anger snapped inside him. Why couldn't he forget her? What was it about Jillian Hart…Tanner?

He tipped up her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Her skin was as smooth as a rose petal. He'd been with more beautiful women. Women he'd dated to try to erase Jillian from his mind. But no woman had come close to her. And he somehow wanted to make her pay for all the suffering and sleepless nights she'd caused him. Staring into those troubled eyes of hers,
he felt himself falling…and he could almost forget she was married. To someone else.

“Are you really sorry?” His voice was intentionally cutting for she'd so easily sliced a piece out of his heart.

She didn't answer. His gaze slipped to her hand, still folded around his lapel. She wore no wedding ring, no declaration of her married status. Questions plagued him. Questions he didn't take the time to have answered.

An overwhelming, irresistible urge grabbed him and wouldn't turn him loose. He wanted her to be sorry. Sorry she'd left. Sorry she'd hurt him. Sorry she'd shown back up in his life. He wanted her to know exactly what she'd missed. He wanted her to know, for one second, what she could have had with him.

He kissed her then, hard, fast, relentless, claiming her mouth, blocking out his anger, his pain, his concern. He didn't want to care about her anymore. He had to get over her. Once and for all.

He kissed her as he once had, as he wished he'd been able to ever since. It was a lusty kiss to make her regret leaving him for the rest of her days. Feeling her soft lips, her mouth opening to him in surprise, all the pent-up pain inside him subsided, replaced by pure, red, pulsing desire. He focused on her mouth, their heat, his need.

Hell! What have you done now?

Before she could slap him, before he did something more that he knew he'd regret later, he broke away. Pulling back, disgusted at himself for kissing her, and
at her for kissing him back, he sucked in a deep, ragged breath. “I shouldn't have done that.”

She released his lapel, her fingers curling toward her palm. “No,” she said, her voice as shaky as his resolve to never let that happen again, “you shouldn't have.”

He was in big trouble. He wanted her just as much as he had when they were twenty. Maybe more. Definitely more.

How the hell was he going to work with her every day?

His brain felt fuzzy, stunned by his need, his foolishness.
She's married, you fool!

He pushed to his feet and gave himself some much needed breathing room by walking to the door. “That won't happen again.”

“Was that the goodbye kiss you said I owed you?” she asked, her voice girded with anger and steel.

“No. That was just one more mistake.”

M
istakes. Jillian knew all about mistakes. And becoming Brody's assistant ranked right up there as one of her dumbest.

“Easier said than done,” she commented two days later with what she hoped was a pleasant if not awkward smile.

Brody's gaze snagged hers, held her motionless. She knew the extensive report he wanted would be easier to write than trying to ignore the way he affected her. Or maybe it was that darn kiss. It had knocked her socks off. She couldn't seem to put it out of her mind. Every time she looked at Brody, at his strong jaw, his firm, supple lips, she remembered. And her body vibrated with…anger, she firmly decided.

She stared at the financial report lying on the desk between them, but her senses remained hypnotized by Brody. He smelled of zesty soap and subtle cologne. He looked like a model straight out of the pages of
GQ
magazine. His conservative, expensively tailored suit hinted at the well-honed physique underneath. Danger lurked in those mysterious gray eyes. She had an alarming urge to comb back the thick black lock that curled carelessly over his forehead.

Stop it!
she warned herself.
You don't want Brody. You certainly don't need him.

But it was much easier to tell herself to forget the texture of his mouth on hers, the desire he'd stirred inside her with that kiss, than to actually erase it from her memory. Her skin still tingled.

Before that kiss, a part of her had felt dead inside. She realized now, in retrospect, she'd felt that way for a long time. Maybe she always had.

When she'd been a child, she'd often felt as though she were sleepwalking through life. Nothing had seemed real. Everything had lost its vibrancy the day her father had walked out on her family. She'd felt as if she lived in the black-and-white portion in
The Wizard of Oz.

Then she'd met Brody. Suddenly her world had become alive, vivid with Technicolor hues. He'd given her hope through his easygoing manner, his trustworthiness and his love. When she'd learned about Gail, all that had changed. Her world had paled once more.

She'd been numb the day she'd married James, unable and unwilling to feel, but now she knew something inside her had died then. She'd given up on love. On romance. Maybe even on life. She'd traded her soul for security and received nothing but heartache in return.

Strangely, the day James had made her a widow she'd been set free. But not free or desperate enough to want Brody back.

Brody's kiss had zapped her like an electric current to the heart. The sensations that had coursed through
her caused more pain than pleasure. It would be easier, she decided, so much easier, if she still felt nothing.

“I didn't say it'd be easy, Jillie,” Brody said in that sexy Aussie accent that made her heartbeat quicken. “But it's necessary.”

She nodded. “I'll get right on it.” She shifted to her left foot, propping her hip on the edge of his solid oak desk, leaning away from him, not wanting to accidentally brush shoulders. Or anything else. “When do you want the report?”

“Next week should be fine. That'll give me a couple of days to look it over before my meeting with the attorneys.” His spontaneous smile curled her toes.

Her hand fumbled with the pen she held. It fell and rolled across his desk. He caught it and handed it back to her. Embarrassed by her own clumsiness, she took it, carefully avoiding even the slightest touch.

“Okay, then.” She stood on both feet and rounded the corner of his desk.

He caught her arm. Her nerves electrified.

“Jillie?” he said, his voice deepened, intriguing and alarming her at the same time.

Unnerved by his touch, by her own conflicting emotions, she faced him, but this time she refused to meet his scintillating gaze. Pretending to search for some monetary figure, she riffled through the stack of papers she carried.
Get a grip on yourself, Jillian.

“Did you eat breakfast today?” he asked.

Her chin lifted, her pulse charged. “What?” Surprised by his question, she asked, “Why?”

“I don't want my assistant fainting every day.” His
eyes narrowed and he studied her face. “You look…” His pause made her too aware of how much his opinion mattered. Why did she have the feeling he wasn't about to say she looked ravishing? “Pale,” he finally said, his voice filled with concern.

“I'm fine.” But she wasn't.

“Are you sure?” He closed the gap between them.

“Y-yes.” Her voice vibrated with uncertainty.

He bracketed her shoulders with his hands, rubbing, chafing her skin beneath the thin jacket separating his skin from hers until she thought he might start a fire inside her. “You're a bundle of nerves.”

“I'm fine,” she protested, and took a step back.

He released her but leaned closer, his warm, clean scent surrounding her, his minty breath caressing her ear. She could see nothing beyond his wide shoulders that were covered by the metallic-gray suit. “Do I make you nervous?”

“N-no.” She glared at him. Shocked, horrified, irate at his perception, at the truth pounding in her chest, she refused to admit it even to herself and snorted her derision. Oh, God! She actually snorted. A burning heat stung her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He touched her elbow and wild sensations shimmied down her spine. “I wouldn't want what happened the other day…” He paused, inclining his head, dropping his voice to a husky whisper, reminding her of the primitive, erotic kiss they'd shared.

Just what she needed—another reminder! Her stomach tumbled over itself. She should have eaten
breakfast. But the thought of even dry toast had made her feel green around the edges.

“…to get in the way of our work,” he finished.

“It won't.” She wouldn't—couldn't—let it. Because she needed this job too much. A whole lot more than she needed Brody Fortune. Or empty promises.

“A swanky joint you've got here, mate.”

The strange voice jerked them apart. Brody looked past Jillian toward the door to his office and an instant grin split his chiseled features. Jillian spun around to see who had intruded on them in such a compromising situation.

“C'mon in, Griff.” Brody brushed past her, his arm grazing her shoulder, reminding her how close they'd been standing. Way too close. He clapped the man's shoulder.

“They must think you're important around here.” The man had the same Australian accent as Brody, but his voice didn't make her temperature rise. He glanced around the office, tastefully decorated in bold, opulent colors that matched Brody's personality.

The stranger's gaze landed on her. He had nut-brown eyes that looked as if they were shadowed with wariness. “Griffin Fortune.”

Another Fortune. Just what she needed. What had they all done? Swarmed the border? Defected? She wished they'd all go back to Australia and leave her alone.

“This is Jillian Hart—”

“Tanner,” she corrected Brody.

She noticed Brody's smile harden into a scowl and took pleasure in his lips thinning, the brackets around
his mouth tightening. He turned his attention back to his brother. “Have a seat, Griff.”

She remembered Brody telling her about Griffin once, so many years ago. He hadn't been born a Fortune, he'd been adopted by Brody's parents and raised on the Crown Peak Ranch in New South Wales. His features were not similar to Brody's. Griffin's hair reminded her of pecan pie, whereas Brody's black hair made her think of rich, dark chocolate. She wondered why she still compared every man to Brody. Irritated at herself, she decided it was only natural since the two men were brothers. But she
had
to stop doing that.

She almost laughed at her latest food craving. She compared everything to food these days. When her stomach rumbled angrily that she hadn't fed it recently, she clutched the folders against her abdomen, hoping to muffle the sound.

Taking this opportunity for a few minutes of privacy to get her thoughts and feelings about Brody under control and her mind back on work, she headed for the outer office.

“Jillie?” Brody stopped her.

“I know, two cups of coffee. I'll be right back with them.”

He shook his head. “That's not what I meant.”

She paused with one hand on the door, eager for escape.

Slanting a glance at his brother, Brody gave a slight what-the-hell shrug then pulled a white lunch sack from behind his desk. He brought it to her. “Here.”

Confused, she stared at the sack. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“It's for you.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper and cut his eyes toward Griffin who sat in the copper-colored suede chair opposite Brody's desk.

“Me? But what—”

“It's a bagel,” he answered before she could finish her question. “Eat it. I can't have you fainting anymore.” He turned on his heel, dismissing her, and walked back to his desk.

His words were brusque, but the sentiment surprised her. It was a simple gesture. Logical, even. But somehow the sweetness of it touched her.

“I'll be back with that coffee,” she muttered.

She closed the door behind her and sank into the chair at her desk. Slowly she opened the paper sack he'd given her. A warm, yeasty scent rose to greet her. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly's wing beneath her breastbone.

He'd remembered. Oh, God, he'd remembered that she loved blueberries. When was the last time a man had given her something? When had a man looked out for her welfare? Or even tried to please her? Hot tears scalded the backs of her eyes.

She sniffed. Hormones, she thought. That's all it is. She wouldn't give in to the weak emotions. She certainly wouldn't allow Brody back into her heart.

“Oh, shoot,” she mumbled to herself. “I forgot to get the coffee.” She pushed herself up from her chair.

Maybe the blueberry bagel was a peace offering. Fine. She could accept it for that. But nothing more.
She knew Brody was the love-one, love-'em-all kind of man. Too much like James. And definitely not the kind for her.

 

“Some assistant you have there,” Griffin commented, templing his fingers in front of his mouth to hide a smirk. “What's she assisting you with?” His broadening grin aggravated Brody.

“Merging these two companies. That's all.”

“Uh-huh. I can see you've got a merger—” he winked “—of some kind on your mind.”

Brody frowned and opened a file folder in front of him. “How's everything at the Double Crown?”

“A cyclone of activity.”

Glancing up from the accounting profile, Brody leaned back in his chair. “The wedding have things stirred up?”

“Our big brother sure got lassoed by that sheila. Reed's making everybody bend over backward to make this wedding a blasted fairy tale. Guess I can't blame him. Mallory's some woman.”

Brody chuckled at his older brother having finally been bitten by love. “She'd have to be to handle Reed.”

A discreet knock on the door signaled Jillian's return. She carried in a tray with two cups of steaming, fragrant coffee along with packets of sugar and cream. After depositing the tray on the table beside Griffin, she retreated without a word. Or a look in Brody's direction. He couldn't help but watch her petite hips rock from side to side in a subtle alluring fashion.

He wondered if the blueberry bagel had reminded her of their carefree college days, of lazy naps be
neath a eucalyptus tree on campus where they'd kissed and shared their dreams. When he'd decided to stop on his way to the office and pick up a couple of bagels this morning, he'd remembered her penchant for blueberries and the time he'd bought her an ice-cream cone.

His insides had roiled like a broiler as he'd watched her lick the creamy concoction with the tip of her pink tongue. She'd smiled at him seductively, her mouth tilting on one side, a pale blue mustache above her upper lip. Unable to resist, he'd stolen a quick kiss, tasted the sweet tartness on her lips, and the memory still lingered in his mind, whipping his appetite and desires into a frenzy once again.

“Looking for one yourself maybe?” Griff asked after Jillian had again closed the door behind her.

“What?” Brody jerked his attention back to the present.

“Looking to make it a double wedding?”

“Hell, no.” He slapped his tie against his abdomen and crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought it was the other way around. Didn't you have something you wanted me to do for you while we were all here in Texas? Or has your new assistant made you forget about that woman from college you wanted me to find?”

Brody's shoulders tightened. He cleared his throat. “It's not important anymore. I have too much work to do. No time to think about sheilas.”

Only Jillian.

Griff took a long, contemplative gulp of his black
coffee, his brown eyes watching Brody over the rim. “How is the merger going?”

“All right,” he answered, ignoring the double entendre behind Griff's words. “I'm thinking of doing some research in a couple of weeks. There's a piece of real estate that's recently come on the market. It borders the north side of the ranch. Could be a good investment. Unless you think I should stick closer to the family and the Double Crown.”

Griff frowned, obviously understanding Brody's silent question. “I've got my eye on things.”

Brody felt the tension in the back of his neck compress on his spine. “Any word on Clint Lockhart's whereabouts?”

“No.”

Shoving back his chair, full of restless energy, Brody rounded his desk and settled one hip on the edge. “I don't like the idea of this criminal on the loose.”

“Neither do I. He seems to have disappeared.”

“What does the sheriff think?” Brody asked.