The Expectant Secretary (9 page)

“Why?” If only she'd said something, given him a hint…anything!

She shrugged. “I was embarrassed, ashamed. Lots more reasons, I suppose. Most don't matter anymore.”

“I would have done anything for you.” The words were bold, true.

She looked at him then, her eyes hard and penetrating. “Would you?”

“If you'd understood that,” he said, “you never would have left Australia.”

A cold chill shuddered through Jillian. How could he say that? How could
he,
of all people, claim something like that? How could he have cared for her when
he'd been seeing…sleeping with his old girlfriend Gail? Stark anger stripped away the rest of her emotions. She glared at Brody, sitting smugly across the seat from her. She wanted to blame him.

If he hadn't two-timed her, if he'd
really
loved her, then she wouldn't have felt so lost, so alone after her mother died. Maybe then she would have returned to Australia. Instead of marrying James.

But the truth resonated inside her, sapping her strength, her resolve, her anger. It was her fault. Hers alone. She was to blame for her own decisions. No one else. Not even James.

Since his death, she'd taken on the responsibility of her decisions. She wouldn't live with anger or regret. She'd left Brody. She'd married James. Now she had her own life to live…her baby to raise.

Then why did her heart still ache?

Because, she realized with shame, that she was more upset about Brody's indiscretion with Gail, than with all of her husband's cheating during their marriage. It's why she'd so easily ignored or denied the rumors about James.

Why? Was she loony? She hadn't married Brody, for God's sake! Her husband had broken his vows. Their wedding vows! Why didn't that make the ground beneath her feet crumble?

The answer was too easy, but all too true. Maybe she'd expected that kind of behavior from James. But not from Brody. She'd believed from the first day she'd met the tall, handsome Australian that he was honorable, trustworthy. He'd shown her in actions and deeds what words could never convey. Then her beliefs had been shaken when Gail had told her the
truth. Everything she'd believed about Brody, all the trust she'd placed in him, had disintegrated.

Maybe that's why it had been easy to marry James. She hadn't expected much from him. She hadn't given of herself. Hadn't loved him desperately, urgently, passionately. The way she had Brody. That's why James's affairs and the tragedy of his death didn't touch her heart in the same way or break her into jagged pieces.

Oh, God! I didn't love James. I didn't love my husband. I didn't love the father of my baby.

Horrified at the new revelations spinning through her, she clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms.

She hadn't allowed herself to love James. Because she'd loved Brody. And she'd hung on to that hopeless, foolish love even though he'd shattered her heart.

Distraught, she shifted her gaze beyond Brody, too mortified to meet his concerned gaze, too horrified by his power over her emotions. She stared out the driver's window toward a nearby Victorian-style house. Shadows encased it. The roof peaks pointed toward the starry sky.

Where had they stopped? In someone's driveway?

Embarrassment rose to her cheeks, burned her skin until it tingled. Then her gaze located a sign in the yard. Yarboroughs's Bed And Breakfast.

Her nerves electrified. “What are we doing here?”

He twisted his head, following her gaze. “Hmm. Maybe it's a sign we should spend the night.”

“I
don't think so,” Jillian stated, her blue eyes searing Brody like twin laser beams, slicing, penetrating, burning.

He gave a full-bodied laugh. “I know what you're thinking.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what's that?”

“I'm not looking to ravage your body.”

Shaking his head, he admitted that was exactly what he wanted to do. But he couldn't confess, because it hadn't been his reason for pulling into the B and B's parking lot. Maybe fate had dealt him a new hand.

“Look, it's late. We're both exhausted.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to make her understand. “If there had been a drive-in movie here, I would have paid the admission so we could have talked. If it had been a garbage dump, it would have worked just as well.”

Her eyes softened around the edges. “That wouldn't have had the same effect.”

Heat shot through him. Any setting would do for him. “Luckily it's a nice bed and breakfast.” He shrugged casually, as if it mattered little whether it
was a motel or a five-star inn. “We can rest here then drive back in the morning. No harm. Promise.”

She slanted a worried glance in his direction. “How long till we could be home…I mean, back to San Antonio?”

“At least three hours. Maybe four.”

She gave a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes deepened. “You're probably tired, too. It wouldn't be fair to ask you to drive while I sleep.”

“I would, if you asked.” He'd do anything for her. But he wanted this extra time with her and he didn't want to analyze why.

Jutting out her chin, she asked, “Separate rooms?”

“Of course.” It was too soon. She needed time. And he planned on giving her what she needed, no matter how much he wanted her in his bed. He also suspected he needed time, too.

“Well, maybe it would be for the best. No reason to hurry back, I suppose. Tomorrow is Sunday. And it's dangerous to drive when you're tired.” As if resigning herself, she unfolded her arms. “All right. I'll give my sister a call and let her know.”

“Good,” Brody stated, suddenly rejuvenated. This overnight stay would give him the opportunity to spend more time with Jillian. That's all he wanted. “I'll get us a room—”

She skewered him with a look.

“Right. Two rooms,” he corrected. “Then we can get some dinner. I'm starved.” He was starved for more than food. But he could wait. He could wait an eternity. If he only knew there was a chance with Jillie.

 

“Brody Smith,” he told the manager of the B and B, wrenching Jillian's attention away from the pamphlets advertising local tourist attractions.

Smith? Her brow wrinkled with confusion. Tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood poised.

The manager's suspicious gaze shifted toward her as he peered at her through his thick glasses. The man had grown his hair long on one side and combed it over the bald spot on top of his head.

Smith!
Something exploded inside her. Her hand closed on the pamphlet she'd been examining, crushing it against her palm.

Who the heck was Brody
Smith?
Brody sounded as if he was arranging some tawdry rendezvous. Her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
He better be getting two separate rooms or he'll be sleeping in the car. Alone. Better yet, he'll be hitchhiking his way back to San Antonio.

She glared at Brody's back, his broad, muscle-rounded shoulders. All too clearly, she remembered the strength, the security those shoulders had provided earlier. Her fingers had frantically traced the contours of his back, feeling the ridges of his spine, the smooth planes of muscle and sinew. An irritating heat surged inside her. She'd felt comforted, protected in his arms, guarded by his broad chest. And she'd felt a whole lot more. Titillating sensations she didn't want to examine too closely.

Bracing herself, she set aside those thoughts. Brody didn't want her. Not now. Not after the mess she'd made of her life. She hooked a curtain of hair behind one ear. Her imagination had gone off the deep end again.

Trying to smooth out the creases she'd caused in the pamphlet along with the crinkles along her nervous system, she knew deep in her heart that Brody wouldn't take advantage of this situation. If he'd been so inclined, then he could have made a pass at her in the car, when his arms were wrapped around her, when she'd been vulnerable, weak.

Or had he gotten the wrong impression then? And expected more now?

No, no, no. I made it clear. Didn't I? That there would be two separate bedrooms.

All she could remember at the moment was staring up into his flannel-gray eyes, feeling a tingle of warmth low in her abdomen. She'd wanted him to kiss her. To kiss her as he had only a few weeks ago. To kiss her the way he had ten years ago. She wanted his kiss, needed it like nourishment.

Tingles of anticipation rippled down her spine and settled in an agonizing pool of cold, knee-knocking fear. She wasn't sure which frightened her more, the way Brody had broken her heart in the past or the way he affected her now. Both made her heart palpitate. She felt somehow more vulnerable now. As if a rejection from him would be far more devastating.

Refusing to look closer at the answers hidden in her heart, she focused on the conversation between Brody and the B and B manager. Their words were low, murmured. Unable to understand their conversation, she felt her nerves bristle with apprehension. James and Brody had taught her well—not to trust.

What was Brody up to now?

With every ounce of restraint she could muster, she held back her questions. No use making a scene in
front of the poor, defenseless manager who looked as though he'd been awakened while sleeping in front of the television. But later…oh, later she'd question the devil out of Brody Fortune.

A scant ten minutes later, Jillian found herself seated across from Brody at a cherrywood table covered with a cutwork linen tablecloth. With hunger pains gnawing at her belly, she was not in a position to argue. Yet.

She twisted the starched napkin in her lap around her fingers. The dining room was small, intimate and made her feel like a klutz in a china shop. She felt thick and awkward as she sat on the dainty chair. Age creaked in the wooden joints, giving her an extra dose of insecurity.

“Would you like to start with a bottle of wine?” the B and B manager asked. “We buy our stock exclusively from a local winery. There's a Merlot, a very nice vintage.”

“No, thanks, mate.” Brody leaned back in his chair. “What do you have on the menu this evening?”

Something irrational and romantic softened inside Jillian at his dismissal of the manager's suggestion for wine. She dipped her head, knowing why he'd turned down the Merlot. Resisting the urge to thank him, she remembered his private discussion with the manager, his use of the name Smith. That successfully put starch back in her spine.

“How about a couple of rib eyes? Scalloped potatoes and fresh asparagus?”

Brody glanced at her then. His eyes sparkled like
sun-drenched diamonds. “Is that all right with you, Jillie?”

She nodded, feeling her stomach rumble at the thought of food. Keeping her tone neutral, so as not to give away any of her contradictory feelings, she said, “Fine.”

With a nod, the man scuttled around the table like a crab on the beach. He lit two white candles in the middle of the table and dimmed the lights of the chandelier, creating a romantic atmosphere that she wasn't prepared for. And didn't want.

When the deft little man left them alone to fetch glasses of water, she leaned toward Brody, clenching her hands as if they were clutching the cloth of his shirt, and whispered, “Why are you using the name Smith? If you're thinking that—”

“Reporters,” he stated.

“What?” She sat back, stunned by his words.

“Uncle Ryan told us when we arrived in the States to be cautious. Reporters are always interested in the doings of the For—” He paused, glanced over his shoulder and then under the table as if he was under surveillance. “Never can be too careful.” He gave her an infectious grin that melted her irritation. “Lately there's been even more publicity than any of us cares for. And Griff has us all paranoid about a maniac murderer on the loose.”

“Who?” she asked, shocked by the news.

He shrugged his wide shoulders as if it wasn't anything she should be concerned with. “I was simply protecting your reputation. Or did you want to be mentioned in the local newspaper's society column?”

She shook her head. “N-no. No, thank you.” She'd
been tied to enough headlines in Amarillo when James crashed his car. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Then you weren't…I mean, you didn't get just one room?”

“Two. As requested.” He rested his elbows on the table, confident. Arrogant, she corrected. And too darn sexy for his own good. Or hers. “We'll have to share a dunny. Is that all right?”

Share a bathroom? Oh, heavens!

He gave her a smile that dissolved her resistance. “Ladies first, of course.” The way his Australian tongue looped around the word “ladies” made her toes curl inside her sandals.

“I suppose we can manage.” She smoothed her napkin across her lap.

Concern shot a hole through her cooperative spirit. Did that mean that their bedrooms were next to each other? Side by side? She'd feel as if she was sleeping in the same bed! She'd be within throwing distance of Brody as he slept, changed, showered. Her nerve endings sizzled.

The manager intruded, carrying a tray with two goblets and a crystal pitcher filled with water. “Can I get you an appetizer before your dinner is served? Maybe some Brie? Or garlic bread?”

Brody inclined his head toward Jillian, indicating it was her decision. “Brie would be nice,” she answered.

With an approving smile, the manager disappeared back into the kitchen.

Candlelight flickered on the gold-flocked ruby wallpaper, creating shadows and shrinking the room around them. As dinner progressed, Brody charmed
her with anecdotes and college stories. Jillian's nerves twisted into tedious knots. Brody was too charming. Too sexy. Too…much to resist.

She ate but barely tasted the steak and potatoes. Cognizant of her growing waistline, she skipped the Hollandaise sauce on the asparagus.

“Who else besides Griffin came over with you from Australia?” she asked, taking a sip of water. Ice tinkled against the crystal.

“Originally, my parents came to meet my father's long-lost brother, Ryan Fortune.” His silverware clinked softly as he cut into his steak. “When Uncle Ryan and his new wife Lily visited us in New South Wales during their honeymoon trip, they invited us to come to San Antonio. Reed and I came over for business. Matilda came along for the ride. And Griff is guarding us all like a hawk.”

“From anything or anyone specifically?”

“He's the cautious type.”

“No one else came?” she asked, slanting her gaze toward the crystal salt and pepper shakers, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. She wondered about Gail. If their relationship was more than strictly business. An undercurrent of jealousy tugged at her.

“That's right.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Is there someone you wish had?”

“N-no. Not at all. I was just curious.” Readjusting her napkin, she changed the subject as quickly as possible. “How old is Matilda now? She must have been—what?—Eleven when I met her?”

“Right. She's twenty-one and constantly reminding us all she's an adult and free to do as she wishes.”
He frowned and carved into his steak too enthusiastically. “She's about to give Griff and me gray hair.”

“My sister says the same thing about me.” She chuckled. “I guess that's what little sisters are for.”

He shook his head in a disapproving way. “Makes me not ever want a daughter of my own. I don't think I could take it.”

A cold slice of disappointment cut through her. She reached for her abdomen but stopped herself. She didn't know if she was having a girl or a boy. But Brody's words put one more barrier between them.

That was good. Right?

“Are you thinking of getting married?” She tried to sound casual, indifferent, but she couldn't deny the pounding of her heart as she waited for his answer. “You mentioned earlier that you wanted to settle down.” Her voice squeaked. She remembered him speaking to that woman on the phone. Who was she? Some woman with an Aussie accent and sexy voice had called for Brody at the office a couple of times. But she'd never given her name. And Jillian had never had the nerve to ask if she was Gail. She was afraid she knew the answer already. “Is there someone…a woman…”

His gaze leveled on her. “Thinking of one more and more.”

Despair swelled over her. But wasn't this what she wanted? Brody married, unavailable? And far away from her? Yes, yes, of course.

“But only if I could have a marriage like my parents',” he added. “They have a true partnership. A love that defies explanation or hardship. I want a mar
riage that will last forever. I won't settle for anything less.”

The firm conviction in his voice made her own throat tighten. She'd wanted that, too. But she'd fallen so short. She'd never wanted her future children to be affected by a bad marriage the way she had been. Or to raise a child without a partner, a husband, a father for her child. That's exactly what would happen when she brought this baby into the world. A slow, burning anger raged inside her at the unfairness of it. But would it have been better if James were alive? She'd made choices…bad ones, but she'd give her child everything she could.

But could she give her baby a father? She doubted Brody would want to take on that kind of responsibility. He'd already practically said he didn't want kids! One more reason, she decided, he wouldn't be interested in her.