Winter's Kiss
Beth Andrews
He didn't believe in fairy talesRomantic fantasies and happy endings don't fit Oakes Bartasavich's reality. Of course, neither does his breathtaking attraction to Daphne Lynch. From his prestigious career to his volatile family, there's too much at stake to risk one kiss—let alone one night—with her.But a snowy Christmas stranded together in Shady Grove, Pennsylvania, shines light on everything he's fighting to deny. Daphne isn't just a beautiful temptation. She's a strong, intelligent, kind woman who deserves a happily-ever-after. One that Oakes isn't sure he can give her…no matter how much he'd like to.
He didn’t believe in fairy tales
Romantic fantasies and happy endings don’t fit Oakes Bartasavich’s reality. Of course, neither does his breathtaking attraction to Daphne Lynch. From his prestigious career to his volatile family, there’s too much at stake to risk one kiss—let alone one night—with her.
But a snowy Christmas stranded together in Shady Grove, Pennsylvania, shines light on everything he’s fighting to deny. Daphne isn’t just a beautiful temptation. She’s a strong, intelligent, kind woman who deserves a happily-ever-after. One that Oakes isn’t sure he can give her...no matter how much he’d like to.
“I mean it, Daphne. Don’t kiss me.”
She widened her eyes. Blinked innocently. “I hadn’t planned on it.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Oakes said, his voice harsh. “You’re trying to lure me in, messing with my head. Trying to get me to break.”
“Oh, Oakes.” She cupped his face with her gloved hand. “I would never want to break you.”
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he told her gruffly. But he was pulling her toward him slowly. So slowly she could stop him at any time.
“If you say so.”
“But if I do kiss you,” he said, a desperate man fighting a losing battle, looking for a way to justify his actions, “it’s only to prove, again, that there’s nothing there.”
But his words were weak. How could they be anything, but when he was drawing her nearer, his arms wrapped around her waist.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” she whispered.
It was. He wished he could believe it, too. Eyes on hers, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
Dear Reader (#ulink_6a5f554d-b995-5c03-bdb4-dab72eb236de),
Thank you so much for picking up a copy of Winter’s Kiss! If you’re a return visitor to Shady Grove, welcome back, and I hope you’re enjoying the In Shady Grove series. Hello and welcome to all new readers. The town of Shady Grove is near and dear to my heart as it’s based on my hometown—the town where I’ve lived my entire life, met and married my best friend, and raised our children. I’m so happy to be sharing with you all the very best of what makes small towns so wonderful!
I love everything about the holidays: the decorations and music, the food and family time. I even love the sappy commercials! So when I decided to write Oakes and Daphne’s story, I knew they’d need a bit of holiday magic to achieve their happily-ever-after. Thanks to a winter storm that strands them in Shady Grove over Christmas, they find that magic—along with the strength and courage to fall in love.
Charming, nice guy Oakes Bartasavich is a good man trying to do what’s right. He puts others first and never rocks the boat. Too bad he’s about to be hit by a tidal wave in the form of Daphne Lynch! Daphne is irrepressible, fun and always follows her heart. And her heart is telling her that Oakes is the only man for her. Now she not only has to convince him she’s right, but that together, they can weather any storm life throws their way.
I loved writing Oakes and Daphne’s story and returning once again to Shady Grove and catching up with the people there. I hope you’ll look for the next In Shady Grove book out in August 2016 where Zach Castro, the last Bartasavich brother, finds love and his own happy ending with Shady Grove resident Fay Lindemuth.
For more about future releases and a listing of all my books, please visit my website, bethandrews.net (http://bethandrews.net), or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net. I’d love to hear from you.
Happy reading!
Beth
Winter’s Kiss
Beth Andrews
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
While writing Winter’s Kiss, the seventh book in her popular In Shady Grove series, Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner BETH ANDREWS drank copious amounts of iced coffee, finished off several bags of Dove dark chocolates and shed many a tear over her youngest daughter’s high school graduation (though she isn’t saying whether those were happy or sad tears). When not drinking coffee and eating dark chocolate...oh, and writing, of course...she can be found cheering on the Pittsburgh Penguins, scrolling through Instagram or reading a good book with a happy ending. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, bethandrews.net (http://www.bethandrews.net).
For Trevor and Hannah Grace.
Thank you for the best present ever!
Contents
Cover (#u4e6b8c9c-eb13-5139-be9c-4714cb1539aa)
Back Cover Text (#u4e6b8c9c-eb13-5139-be9c-4714cb1539aa)
Introduction (#u7b9e48fc-7699-5451-8760-ed2bfdc78729)
Dear Reader (#u704438f9-c305-587b-a6e6-61ad73440426)
Title Page (#u64d65917-b91d-546a-833d-2b93defff9cd)
About the Author (#u09aa08e6-6461-5b03-9375-518a85e156f7)
Dedication (#u2677254a-13ca-5e4c-86c9-2f91b0bfd1e8)
PROLOGUE (#ubc5de999-9f1e-5f62-8ef0-3f0b3365b83f)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue6987ffb-eb7d-5a58-8bde-f3fb83c6faf4)
CHAPTER TWO (#u09b8368e-b844-5430-a8cc-26bc47eedf2e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue65c52b8-388f-5bd9-9f59-71835b28dba2)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u4915caee-76a4-5c09-8dc4-2ec674eb93e1)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_8e07c29d-2250-5b80-8e40-001c6b14ecc9)
IF SOMETHING SEEMS too good to be true, Daphne Lynch’s mother had always told her, then it probably is. Especially if that something is a man.
Hard-earned wisdom from a woman who’d been burned not once, but twice by men who’d swept her off her feet only to stand by and watch as she landed flat on her ass.
Daphne knew her mother had reasons—valid ones—to feel the way she did. To want to protect herself from being let down again. From being hurt. But Daphne didn’t want to live life that way. Afraid to trust. Afraid to love.
Life was about taking chances. Seeing the good that was out there and, most importantly, believing in that good.
So when she’d received an email from her father over a year ago—the first time she’d heard from Michael Lynch in six years—she’d been cautious. She may be only seventeen but she wasn’t stupid. Far from it. And she hadn’t forgotten what he’d done to her and her mother. What he’d done to Zach. She couldn’t. Just as she wouldn’t forget what type of man he’d been.
But she’d also been curious. Optimistic. Willing to give him a second chance. So she’d begun a correspondence with him over the last year. Hopeful, and eager even, to believe him when he’d said he’d changed.
Guess she wasn’t all that smart after all.
Because it was now pretty clear that while Michael Lynch had changed physically over the last seven years—his face was puffier and more heavily lined, his once trim frame carried thirty extra pounds, his black hair was threaded with gray—the transformation was only superficial. The man approaching her was older and harder-looking, but he hadn’t changed. Not really.
Not where it counted.
She glanced up and down the long, exterior walkway that circled George Grant High School’s second-floor science wing and overlooked a pristine, tranquil courtyard. No one else was around. Exactly how she’d wanted it. She’d arrived at school early, checked in with the headmaster and asked for permission to slip outside for some privacy to go over her speech. Bad idea. She should have stayed in the cafeteria, where her classmates were assembling.
Sitting in a patch of warm sunlight on one of the wooden benches that lined the school’s wall, she watched her father walk toward her, his gait unsteady enough to have him reaching for the railing of the banister every few steps, his face unshaven. Her fingers curled around her note cards, bending the edges. She prayed like mad she was wrong. That he was walking that way because he’d hurt his leg. That he sported a gray, bristly beard and disheveled hair and clothes because he’d been sick and unable to properly take care of himself.
“There she is,” Michael said. “Class valedictorian!”
His slurred words bounced off the side of the building and floated over the green grass and immaculate flower beds below, scaring two robins into flight. He stopped in front of her, his eyes rimmed red, the stench of alcohol emanating off of him.
Crap. She glanced at the heavens. Thanks for nothing.
Guess she wasn’t getting any help from God. Not with this. Her father was here, right in front of her, big as life and completely wasted.
Daphne swallowed and slowly got to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned and she had a glimpse of what he must have looked like before she was born, before the drink and drugs and his pack-a-day habit had taken its toll. A glimpse that told her, exactly, why her mother had fallen for him in the first place. It seemed not even moms were immune to a pretty face.
Her mom had been more susceptible than most.
“You didn’t think I’d miss my baby girl’s graduation, did you?” he asked.
“You’ve missed every other major event or milestone in my life,” she pointed out. Including the ones during the time when they actually lived in the same house. Birthdays, dance recitals and softball games to name a few. Times when she’d actually wanted him there. Until she’d realized she was better off without him. “So, yeah. I thought you’d miss this one. Especially as you weren’t invited.”
This was all her fault. She never should have told him about being named valedictorian. Shouldn’t have mentioned the date of her graduation. And since she was on a roll, she may as well add “being secret email pen pals for the past fourteen months” and “believing he was sober” to her list of mistakes.
Stupid list. It just grew and grew and grew.
“Now is that any way to talk to your father?” His tone remained friendly, if a bit quieter, but his eyes narrowed, warning her to be careful. Reminding her exactly what he was capable of.
She took a step toward the door leading to the cafeteria. Her one saving grace was that if she screamed, someone would hear. Would come to see what was happening.
Well, probably. If she yelled really, really loud.
Except, once they came, she’d have to explain why Michael was here. Who he was.
Her classmates and teachers would all get a firsthand look at who she’d come from. Her mother, currently sitting out in the blazing Texas sun, waiting for the graduation ceremony to begin, would know that Daphne had been emailing Michael for months. She’d be disappointed. Angry. But that wouldn’t compare to how upset Zach would be once he found out.
And her older brother would find out. No doubt about that. Her mother never could keep a secret. Zach would know how stupid Daphne had been. How she’d betrayed him.
She couldn’t let that happen.
So no screaming or asking for help. She got herself into this mess. She’d get herself out.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she told her father as she took another step away from him.
“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to see you. It’s a proud day for a father when his only daughter graduates at the top of her class.”
The worst part? She almost believed him. Wanted to trust he told the truth. How pitiful was that? Maybe her mother had it right. Being cynical really was the way to go. Zach had certainly embraced that concept.
“I don’t want you here,” Daphne told him slowly. Concisely. She lifted her chin. “I mean it. Leave. Or else I’ll tell security to escort you off the premises.”
Because when you went to one of Houston’s snootiest private schools, you could make demands like that. Even if you were there thanks to a scholarship and the generosity of a family that wasn’t your own.
Michael held up his hands as if to show he was harmless, but she remembered the damage those hands could do. The sharp crack of his open palm across her mother’s face. The sickening thump of his fists pummeling Zach.
The memories, combined with the smell of Michael’s body odor and the stale cigarette smoke clinging to him, made her stomach turn. She breathed shallowly through her mouth until the nausea passed. Zach. He’d been her confidant and best friend her entire life. Her protector. He’d kept her safe, was a solid, strong presence, there to lean on when things got tough, lending a shoulder when the only solution was a cry-fest. Whenever she made a mistake—and sometimes it seemed as if she did nothing but—he stepped in, took over and fixed it.
He fixed her. Always.
Thank God he wasn’t here to see this screwup.
Because today’s mistake came in the form of six feet of what she knew could quickly turn into a mean, belligerent drunk. A ghost from their past she was sure Zach only wanted to forget.
And she’d practically invited Michael back into their lives again. Into her life. As if she’d forgotten how he’d hurt Zach. How Michael had taken his anger and bitterness out on him. How Michael had hated her brother for the simple reason that Zach was another man’s son.
Tears stung Daphne’s eyes. Sweat formed between her breasts. Oh, God, what had she done?
“I don’t mean any harm,” Michael said. “If you want to me go, I will. I just... I wanted to see you. Tell you how proud I am. I mean...look at you.” He gestured to her black cap and gown. “You’re all grown up. Graduating today and starting college in the fall. You’re doing real well for yourself.”
She raised her eyebrows. She was seventeen. If by “well for herself” he meant the minimum wage she earned at the fast-food restaurant where she worked, then yeah, she was kicking butt and taking names. Unsure what to say, she fell back on the manners her mother and Zach had instilled in her. “Thank you.”
But instead of getting him to move on his way, her words seemed to please him. He stepped closer and she shifted farther away, realizing too late he’d maneuvered her back against the wall, blocking her escape. “See, the thing is, I’ve hit a...rough patch...and could use your help.”
“My help?”
He nodded. “Five grand should cover it.”
Her eyes widened. “You want me to give you five thousand dollars?”
“Seems the least you can do, seeing as how I supported you all those years.”
Her jaw dropped. He hadn’t been a part of her life since she was ten. Even before her mother kicked him out, he’d spent his wages on booze and drugs. Not on his family. “I don’t have five thousand dollars,” she told him.
“You can get it easy enough.”
“Uh...no. I can’t.” Her duh may have been silent but even a drunk like him could hear it being implied.
“But we both know you can.” He edged closer and she shrank back, hating her cowardice. Her weakness. “Come on now. You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”
And she knew what he was saying. “You think Zach is going to give me five thousand dollars?”
“If you ask him he will. He’ll do anything for his baby sister.”
She shook her head, the corner of her mortarboard scratching the wall. “No. Not this.”
“Why not? We both know he has it. And more.”
Yes, her brother had money. Lots and lots of it thanks to being one of four sons of the superrich Clinton Bartasavich, Sr. But Zach refused to use the money in his trust fund on himself, preferring to make his own way in the world.
Letting his father know he wanted nothing from him.
“Even if I thought Zach might agree to this, I would never ask him to give me that much money,” Daphne said, though she knew without doubt that he would. If she told him she needed money, he’d gladly hand it over. Would take care of her, just like he always did. “I’m not some charity case going around with my hand out, letting other people take care of me.”
She worked for everything she’d accomplished—following the example Zach had set for her. It hadn’t been easy earning the spot of valedictorian, but she’d done it by studying twice as much, twice as hard as her peers. All while working double shifts to pay for trips to the mall and to keep gas in the ancient Subaru she’d bought after her sixteenth birthday.
She wasn’t like her father.
And her point couldn’t have been clearer if she’d jabbed her father in the heart with it.
Michael grabbed her arms above her elbows, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “You think you’re better than me?” he whispered harshly, his foul breath washing over her. He shook her. Hard. Rapped the back of her head against the wall with a sharp crack, dislodging her graduation cap. She grew dizzy, fear coating the back of her throat. He yanked her forward, lifted her onto her toes. “I’m your father. You owe me.” Another shake, this one snapping her teeth together. “You ungrateful little bitch. You’re nothing, you hear me? Noth—”
His words were cut off, his hands wrenched from her as a rocket slammed into him, pushing him into the wooden-slat banister across from her.
Gulping in air, Daphne took a shaky step away. She stared, wide-eyed and confused at her father, now bent backward over the railing, his face pale, his hands desperately clawing at the forearm currently lodged, quite solidly if she did say so herself, against his throat.
No, it hadn’t been a rocket that had saved her. But a man. A handsome, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man in a tailored, grey suit who’d come at Michael like some bastard-seeking missile sent by the wrath of God.
“Are you okay?” Oakes Bartasavich asked her over his shoulder, all calm and collected, as if slowly crushing another person’s windpipe was just one of those things he did every day.
Maybe she was concussed. Hallucinating. Or else she’d stepped into some alternate reality, where Zach’s older half brother, a mild-mannered bajillionaire law student who used his words instead of his fists, swooped in and saved the day.
“Daphne,” he said, his voice a bit sharper, his green eyes narrowed. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
His expression darkened to something very scary and un-Oakes-like before he turned back to Michael. “You son of a bitch,” Oakes hissed, leveraging more of his weight against her father’s throat, practically bending him in half. Michael’s eyes bugged out and he made horrible, gagging, gasping sounds.
“No, wait.” Crap. She rushed over and touched Oakes’s upper arm, surprised by how solid his muscles were, how...bulky. She had no idea he was so built. She tugged on his sleeve until he looked at her. “I meant, yes, I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”
But he didn’t seem to be getting it, just stared at her, rage in his eyes, his mouth a grim line. Was he in shock? Or pushed over the edge? Either way, it was up to her to talk him down. She stepped closer, sort of...stroked his arm, trying to soothe him out of this temper. Trying to bring back the man she knew. “Oakes, I’m not hurt. Really. Please let him go. He’s not worth it.”
Not worth Oakes getting into trouble over, or worse, being arrested for assault or whatever people got arrested for when they attacked drunks on the grounds of a private high school.
Finally, thankfully, Oakes blinked. He stepped back and lowered his arm. Michael sagged against the banister.
“Call 911,” Oakes told Daphne.
“What? No.” She shook her head. “No, no, no.”
He speared her with a narrow, dark look. Who was this man? Oakes was usually all smiles and charm. In the four years she’d known him she’d never, not once, seen him get even remotely angry. He was always patient, laid-back and...well...even. No ups or downs for Oakes Bartasavich. He was like the calmest of lakes. Placid.
And now he looked as if he wanted to slam her father’s head against the concrete floor, oh...a dozen or so times.
“He assaulted you,” Oakes said in a tone most people used to explain things that are obvious. The sky is blue. The sun rises in the east. “He should be arrested.”
“Assaulted?” Michael repeated, his voice raspy. “You attacked me.” He drew himself up, obviously feeling confident, if not downright cocky, now that Oakes hadn’t killed him. “The only one getting arrested will be you.”
Oakes whirled on her father. “You had your hands on her.”
“We were just having a little disagreement, that’s all.” Michael glanced at her. “Isn’t that right, Daphne?”
Both sets of eyes were on her. Waiting. Both expecting her to do, to say, what they wanted.
One of them would be disappointed. She was sorry it had to be Oakes.
“I just want him to leave,” she told Oakes softly, refusing to lie outright to him about what had happened. “Could you...could you please just make him leave? Like I said, he’s not worth the trouble.”
“You heard her,” he told Michael. “Get out of here. Now.”
Michael smoothed back his greasy hair. Attempted to straighten his shirt, but nothing short of a miracle would accomplish that. Edging away from Oakes, he stopped by Daphne. Spoke quietly. “We’re not done, little girl.”
She flinched, wanted to move, but was frozen. Luckily, Oakes wasn’t. He stepped between them, all big and broad and protective. A wall between her and her mistake. “You know who I am,” he said to her father.
It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, but Michael sneered and answered him anyway. “You’re one of them Bartasavich bastards.” He inclined his head toward Daphne. “Like her brother.”
“You know who I am,” Oakes repeated. “So you know what I’m capable of. My stepfather is a judge. My father has connections across the country. If you so much as look at Daphne again, if you so much as come close enough to breathe the same air as her, I will make sure your life is more of a living hell than it already is. There’s no place you can hide from me. Do you understand?”
“I ain’t scared of you, boy. Or your family.”
But he looked scared. He looked terrified.
“If that’s true,” Oakes said, “then you’re even dumber than I thought.”
Michael swallowed before his face twisted and he turned back to her. “You’re the one who’s not worth it,” he told Daphne before pushing past her and walking toward the exit sign.
She watched him go, her arms hugged around herself.
You’re not worth it. What if that was true?
Oakes touched her shoulder, his hand warm and light. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She faced him and his hand dropped away. “You know.” Her voice was tight with unshed tears so she stopped. Cleared her throat. “You know who he is.”
“I suspected,” he admitted. “When I got a better look at him.”
Oh, God. Heat bloomed in her face. She was probably as red as a freaking stoplight. “How?”
He shrugged, all elegant and out-of-place on a school walkway in his expensive suit. “I recognized him from the few times he was with your mom when she dropped off or picked up Zach from Dad’s house.”
Zach had been forced to stay with his father, Clinton Bartasavich, every other weekend and at least one holiday a year until he’d turned eighteen. She guessed it made sense that Oakes, along with his and Zach’s two older half brothers, had been there, too.
“I’m sorry, Daphne.”
She frowned. She was the one who should be apologizing. Begging for forgiveness, from him and Zach and her mother. “For what?”
“That your father tracked you here. Today, especially.”
That was her out. All she had to do was stay quiet. Or, better yet, thank him for coming to her rescue, maybe make some vague comment about Michael showing up as if she’d been completely surprised to hear from him, see him, after all these years.
“He didn’t track me down,” she blurted. As usual, her words were well ahead of her thoughts. “I mean...he did track me down. But he didn’t...track me down. You know?”
“No. I have no idea.”
She curled her fingers into the material of her graduation gown. “It’s just...he knew I was here because I sort of...told him.”
He gave a slight head shake. “You told him?” he asked, his careful tone not hiding his surprise. His disappointment. “Why would you do that?”
His reaction killed her. Made her feel worse than ever. His question surprised her. Her mom and Zach would be more focused on what she’d done. Not why she’d done it.
If they found out the truth, Susan would lay the mother—no pun intended—of all guilt trips on her, one laced with plenty of maternal disapproval and heavy sighs. Zach, on the other hand, would get quiet. Never a good sign. The quieter her brother got, the angrier he was, and God help you if you were the one on the other end of that anger. After he gathered his thoughts, the silence would end and the lecture would begin. He’d tell her she had to be careful. That she couldn’t trust everything that came out of someone’s mouth—especially if that someone was male. He’d go into warrior mode, all overprotective and rigid.
Zach didn’t think she could take care of herself. And that was why Oakes was in her life in the first place. When Zach had joined the marines, he’d asked Oakes to check in on her, to make sure she was okay, and Oakes, being the good guy he was, had gone above and beyond. Stepping into the role of big brother whenever Zach was deployed.
As if she actually needed—or wanted—two older brothers. She wasn’t a freaking masochist.
“I didn’t invite my... Michael here,” she told Oakes. “I just...mentioned that I was graduating and that I was valedictorian and I guess he thought he’d...show up to see my speech or something.”
No way could she admit the only reason her father had come, the only thing he’d wanted from her, was money.
He didn’t want her at all.
“You mentioned it to him,” Oakes said and she wondered if that was a lawyer thing, repeating everything a person said. Not that he was an attorney yet—he’d just graduated from the University of Texas at Austin’s law school a week ago—but he must have picked up a few things during his studies. “So you’ve spoken with him before? Met with him?”
“No. I mean, we haven’t met up or anything. Today was the first time I’ve seen him in years. I swear. But we have been communicating with each other by email for...a few months.” Just because she was being honest didn’t mean she had to be totally honest. “He said he wanted to talk to me. See how I was doing, find out what was going on in my life. He told me he’d quit drinking and I believed him.” Her humiliation was so complete, she couldn’t even look at Oakes’s reaction to her confession. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice so much deeper than the guys her own age, the smooth timbre of it causing her stomach to tighten pleasantly. He took her chin between his finger and thumb, then gently raised her head until she met his eyes. “You are not stupid.”
Tears threatened but she blinked them back. She could let them fall later, during the ceremony, when everyone would assume she was getting weepy and sentimental about the end of her childhood. “I was dumb to believe him. To trust him. I thought... I thought he’d gotten sober for me. So he could be in my life.”
Oakes stepped closer. He smelled good. Some highly expensive cologne probably, but at least he didn’t bathe in it like high-school boys did. “Your father is missing out by not having you in his life, but you? You are not missing a damn thing by him not being in yours. You don’t need him.” His voice lowered, but his eyes never left hers. “You are strong and independent. Smart and funny. Creative and beautiful. You are too special to ever forget that or doubt it—or yourself—for a moment.”
Warmth suffused her. Oakes thought she was special. Beautiful. She’d had guys tell her she was pretty before, others had claimed she was hot or had commented on how her body looked in certain clothes, but no one had ever before called her beautiful.
Other than her mom and that definitely did not count.
She wanted to believe he meant it. But her mom’s lessons had been ingrained after all.
Trusting was harder than it looked.
“You don’t have to say that,” she mumbled, leaning back so he wasn’t touching her anymore. “I’m not a charity case.”
“No one thinks you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. We both know the only reason I’m even at this school is because of your family’s money.” Zach wouldn’t touch his trust fund for his own needs, but he had no problem spending his father’s money on her and their mother. He’d bought them a house, paid their expenses and would be footing the bill when Daphne attended Rice University this fall. “Just like we both know the only reason you’re here today is because Zach told you to come.”
Oakes smiled, looking much more like his usual good-humored self. “As much as Zach likes to believe otherwise, he’s not the boss of me. I don’t jump to do his bidding.”
Crossing her arms, she raised her eyebrows. “No?”
“Okay, maybe he did ask me to come,” Oakes said. “But only because he was upset he couldn’t be here himself.”
She was proud of her brother for serving their country, but there were times she wished he’d just stayed in Houston and gotten a regular job that didn’t require permission to attend his sister’s graduation.
But as disappointed as she’d been that Zach hadn’t been granted leave, hearing Oakes admit he was there because Zach had asked him to be was somehow worse.
She’d worry about why that was later.
“Yeah, well, you did your brotherly good deed,” she told him, bending down to pick up the note cards, which she just realized she’d dropped, and her mortarboard, which she placed back on her head. Then she said, “You don’t have to stay for the ceremony. I’ll be sure to tell Zach you attended.”
She turned to walk away but Oakes caught her wrist. Tugged her back. “He asked me to come,” Oakes repeated, “but I’m here because I want to be here. Though I would have preferred if you’d invited me yourself.”
She frowned. “You wanted me to invite you? Why?”
“Because we’re friends.”
Friends. She let the sound of it roll around in her brain a few times. She’d never thought of him as a friend. Yeah, they hung out a few times a year, usually with her mom as some sort of chaperone because an older guy and a teenage girl held too many creepy Dateline implications. Could it be that all this time, when he’d taken her bowling or out to dinner, when he’d asked about her school, her interests and friends, it wasn’t so he could report back to Zach, but because he was truly interested?
“Oh” was all she could manage, and even that was tough to get past the lump in her throat.
“Yeah. Oh.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “And with everything that happened, I forgot the reason I came looking for you in the first place.” He pulled out a long, narrow box tied with red and black ribbons—her school colors. “Here.” She took the box, stared at it for so long he laughed and nudged her hand. “Open it.”
She pulled off the ribbon and lifted the lid to reveal a gold elephant charm on a delicate chain.
“I know you like elephants,” he said, taking the necklace from the box, “and I read once that they’re a symbol of good luck so I thought you could wear it during your speech.” He reached around her, fastening the necklace behind her neck before gently lifting her hair from the chain.
She looked up at him, unsure of how they’d gotten so close, but not able to move back so much as an inch. He’d come to her rescue, wanted to be at her graduation and had told her she was beautiful. Plus, he’d remembered she liked elephants and he’d bought her a present. And he looked so unsure, as if he was worried she didn’t like it.
Daphne threw her arms around him and hugged him hard.
“Ouch,” he said with a chuckle when the pointy corner of her mortarboard jabbed his cheek.
“Sorry,” she said against his shoulder because it felt way too good being held against his solid body to even lift her head. Especially since he was hugging her back.
But after a few moments she knew she had to let go or things would be all sorts of awkward between them. She leaned back, meaning to smile at him, to thank him for, well...everything, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. He was close...like, really, really close. His hands were on her waist, her arms still wrapped around his neck, and their bodies pressed together.
Her smile slipped away. Their gazes locked. Held. For one heartbeat. Then two. His fingers tightened and she had to stop herself from not delving her own fingertips into the hair at the nape of his neck. She was afraid to move, afraid to do anything that would break this fragile moment. And that’s exactly what it was. A moment. A very real, very intense one between her and Oakes Bartasavich—a man eight years older than her, who was already out of high school, college and law school. A true grown-up with a job and his own apartment and his life all mapped out.
It was the best moment of her entire life.
Until he blinked and stepped back, his hands falling from her waist. He grinned but it looked strained, especially with his jaw being so tight. Sweat dotted his upper lip. She wanted to say something flirtatious, something adult-sounding, but what came out was “You won’t tell Zach, will you?”
He flinched, as if the sound of her brother’s name—of their brother’s name—was like a slap to the face. And she realized she’d just put Zach between them, between even the possibility of them.
Yes, her list of mistakes just kept on growing.
“About my dad, I mean,” she clarified, in case he thought she meant about their embrace—and that was how she’d think of it from this day forward. Not a simple hug between friendly acquaintances, but an embrace between a man and a woman. An almost woman, anyway. “You know, about him coming here and me, uh, emailing him. Which I won’t do anymore,” she added quickly.
Oakes grabbed the back of his neck and she had the feeling she was about to have a firsthand experience of what a lecture from him would be like: polite, no doubt. Calmly stated and oh, so very reasonable.
And really, her day had been crappy enough, thanks all the same. No need to add on to the pile.
“Look,” she said, stepping toward him, only to have him take a quick step back. And wasn’t that interesting? Not to mention quite encouraging. “I promise not to have anything else to do with my father, and I hope you can promise to keep what happened here today our little secret.”
His gaze flew to hers. “What happened here?”
“With Michael?” Oakes stared at her blankly. “Him coming here. You almost killing him. Any of this ringing a bell?”
He laughed. Not really a ha-ha-I’m-so-amused chuckle. More like a relieved, oh-thank-God-that’s-what-you-meant laugh. “Right. Yeah. I promise.”
He held out his hand—always the lawyer—and she shook it, let her palm linger against his for a moment longer than necessary, just to test this new, amazing reaction to him. She felt a definite spark from the contact.
Yep. Still there and very much real.
The headmaster appeared out of the double glass doors down the walkway and called Daphne’s name. She’d have to think about that spark and her reaction later. For now, she had a speech to deliver and a diploma to get.
“I’d better go,” she said. “Thanks for everything. Especially the necklace. And for coming today. It means a lot.”
He smiled and her heart fluttered. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
She kept her own smile easy and light, gave a little finger wave then turned and practically skipped toward the door. Her mother was wrong. Good guys weren’t too good to be true. And they didn’t come any better than Oakes Bartasavich. There’d been a very real, very heated and adult connection between her and Oakes. A shared moment where everything between them had changed.
A moment where she’d fallen in love with him.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_06f4239f-5f25-578a-80d5-45ab37f817c6)
Six years later
OAKES BARTASAVICH CONSIDERED himself a lucky man. He was healthy, had a large and close-knit family and had recently made partner at one of Houston’s most successful law firms—two years ahead of his original schedule.
And yet, despite all that good fortune, this was the first time he’d awakened at 3:00 a.m. to find a beautiful woman in a tight, short red dress on his porch, with a pair of sparkly silver high heels and matching purse in one hand.
Too bad. A man could get used to this.
Not this particular beautiful woman, he amended quickly. Another beautiful woman. One who was closer to his own age of thirty-one, whose ties to him and his family weren’t so complicated.
Definitely not Daphne Lynch, with her dark hair, blue eyes and curvy, voluptuous body. Daphne Lynch, the twenty-three-year-old half sister of Zach Castro, one of Oakes’s five half brothers.
Yeah. Complicated summed it up. And was the best possible definition of his family.
“Daphne,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. He cleared his throat. Wished he’d thought to change into jeans, maybe pulled on a shirt instead of rushing to the door in his bare feet and a pair of thin pajama pants. There was definitely a chill in the early December air. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“Nope. I’m just fine and dandy. I haven’t been mugged or in an accident. I’m not being chased by a crazed lunatic or running from the cops.” She patted his bare chest, her fingers cool against his skin, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’m drunk.”
“Yes,” he said, taking in her flushed cheeks, glazed eyes and the way she was swaying, like a tree in the wind. “I can see that now.”
Would have seen it right away, he assured himself, if he hadn’t been so shocked by her presence. It was the dress’s fault. The neckline was too wide and low, showing ample amounts of golden skin and the rounded tops of her full breasts. It was too tight, the gathered material clinging to her waist and hugging her hips. And it was way too short, ending an inch above midthigh.
“Well?” she asked, her hand now pressed to his chest, her pinkie rubbing the spot just above his heart. His body liked her touch way too much.
Stepping back, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her hand away before she noticed how hard his heart was beating. “Well what, Daphne?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Invite her in? As in inside his house? No. Better yet, make that hell no.
He was a smart man. A cautious one. Cautious enough to know that letting Daphne Lynch into his home at this late hour, in her current state, wearing that damn dress, would be the beginning of the end of his life as he knew it.
A life he liked just the way it was.
“Please, Oakes.” Her voice was low. Sexy. Inviting. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. His fingers tightened on her slender wrist. She shifted closer, her knee brushing his leg, her scent clouding his brain.
For a second, a brief, terrifying moment in time, he forgot all the very valid, extremely reasonable reasons why he shouldn’t want her. All the problems that would arise should he give in to his baser instincts, the ones that had dogged him with increasing intensity over the past few years.
In that all-too-fleeting space of time, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining they were just two unattached adults with no crazy family connections. No shared siblings. No tangled ties to trip over. If he wasn’t a Bartasavich, if she had a different mother, if Zach hadn’t been born, Oakes could take what he wanted. Could finally bend his head, press his mouth against hers and see if the spark he’d been doing his best to deny for six years would sputter and fade. Or burst into flame.
Daphne shifted. And shifted again, her left hip, then her right. “I really, really have to pee.”
The breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding rushed out of his mouth on a short, surprised laugh. He needed to check his ego. She wasn’t here to seduce him. She had to use the bathroom.
He’d go to his grave claiming he wasn’t disappointed.
“Sorry,” he said, opening the door wider and moving back. “Come on in.”
She brushed against him as she stepped inside, the contact slight enough, he was sure it must have been an accident.
Too bad his body didn’t understand that the brief feel of a woman’s soft, fragrant skin and lush curves against him didn’t require the beginnings of an erection.
“Uh...the bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the right,” he told her.
Already heading that way, she waved a hand at him, the ends of her dark hair brushing her shoulders. “I know where it is.”
“Right.” Of course she did. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in his home. They were friends. In a roundabout way. A very twisting, turning, convoluted way.
In the way that meant he shouldn’t let his gaze drop, shouldn’t tip his head to the side and take in how good her ass looked in that dress, shouldn’t enjoy the sway of her hips. He jerked his eyes up but that wasn’t any better. Again, he blamed the dress. Because instead of a back, one with plenty of coverage, it had only two straps twisted together to form an X.
And he was going to hell for wanting to trace one of those straps, for wanting, if only for a brief, crazed moment in time, to brush aside her hair and trail a finger up the back of her neck. For not being able to turn away until she’d closed the bathroom door behind her.
Damn Bartasavich genes. Always trying to get him into trouble. But he wasn’t his father. Clinton Bartasavich, Sr. had spent his entire life taking what he wanted without thought or care to the consequences. Mostly because when you were one of the wealthiest men in the country, there were no consequences.
It would have been easy for Oakes to follow in Senior’s footsteps. Entitlement came with the last name. Nothing was out of the reach of a Bartasavich, a belief that Senior fully embraced, especially when it came to women. Five of his six marriages ended due to his numerous infidelities, and he’d fathered four sons by three different women.
Oakes had no doubt his father’s last marriage would have suffered the same fate as his previous ones had he not had a stroke over a year and a half ago. Senior’s young wife hadn’t been able to handle being tied to a man who could no longer take care of himself and had opted for a quick divorce—and the payout guaranteed in her prenuptial agreement.
Oakes was fully aware that he’d grown up extremely privileged, but his mother and stepfather had instilled in him a sense of gratitude for that life. Had taught him how important it was to give back, to help those less fortunate.
No, he wasn’t his father. Never would be. And that was why he’d never take advantage of any woman, especially not this particular woman, not when she’d come to him for help.
Or at least to use his bathroom.
Feeling much better, he hurried down the hall, tripping over her sparkly shoes before righting himself and continuing on to his bedroom. He changed into jeans then grabbed a T-shirt from his dresser and yanked it on. Stepped toward the door...and remembered the feel of Daphne’s hand on his skin. How soft her fingers were. How warm.
How much he’d enjoyed it.
He turned around, crossed to the closet and picked out a sweatshirt. A thick one.
He was tugging down the hem of it when he reentered the living room and found Daphne curled up on the leather sofa, her legs tucked under her, her elbow on the sofa’s arm, head supported in her hand.
“You need anything?” he asked.
She tipped her head back, her grin goofy and so sweet it made his chest ache. “Nope. It’s all good.”
He wasn’t sure about that. He flipped on the lamp, illuminating her face, then scratched the side of his neck. Was it his imagination or were her lips glossier, redder, than when she’d first arrived? And in this light, he could see she’d done something to her eyes, one of those magic tricks women performed to make the usually guileless blue of them seem somehow smoky and mysterious.
“So everything’s okay,” he said slowly. “You’re not hurt or sick and yet you’re here. At my house. At three a.m.”
She touched her upper cheek with her forefinger then slid it onto the tip of her nose, pointed at him with her other hand. A drunk playing her own game of charades. “Bingo.”
“Any reason you’re at my house and not your own?”
“Yep.”
When she didn’t continue, he sat on the coffee table in front of her. “Want to tell me what that reason is?”
“Your house is closer,” she said, as if that made all the sense in the world.
“Closer to where?”
“To the club.”
This was getting him nowhere. As a trial attorney with a high win record, he was used to asking questions and getting answers. He was damn good at it, too, if he did say so himself.
He eyed the woman currently humming a pop tune under her breath. Usually. He was usually good at it.
“I take it you went out tonight?” he asked.
He hadn’t realized she was into the club scene. Then again she was young enough that it made perfect sense that she might enjoy spending her Saturday night being jostled by bumping and grinding strangers while lights flashed and the bass pumped.
He winced infinitesimally. He was thinking like a ninety-year-old man.
She sighed—the long, drawn-out sigh of the weary and put-upon. “I didn’t want to. Nadine made me.”
“Nadine?”
“My cousin. Actually, my other cousins were there, too. Julie and Michelle and Steph,” Daphne said, ticking the names off her fingers. “But Nadine was the ringleader. She decided I needed to go out. They kidnapped me,” she said, attempting to slap the arm of the sofa but missing and almost toppling into his lap. He caught her by her upper arms, helped her back onto the cushion then quickly let go. “They told me we were going out to dinner, that Julie needed a break from the twins but they lied and they... They took me against my will. Can I press charges?”
“It might be better if we hold off on any discussions about legal ramifications until we’re both sober.”
She tapped his knee twice, left her hand to settle there. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? But then they don’t give out law degrees just for being pretty. And when we have our talk about legal ramen...ramekin...whatever, we can discuss a civil suit against my cousins for being liars. For being no-good, rotten lying liars who lie. Don’t believe them,” she said as she suddenly clutched his hand, her voice taking on a desperate quality. “No matter what they say, don’t believe a word of it. Ever.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he repeated solemnly because it seemed so important to her. Then again, alcohol made even the most mundane things exciting, the most minor issue important.
“Okay.” She relaxed the death grip she had on him and eased back. “Okay then.”
“Why don’t we get you some coffee?” he suggested.
“Oh, I can’t have coffee this late,” she told him, her eyes wide, her gaze earnest. “It’ll keep me up.”
She was so adorable, he couldn’t help but grin. “How about we try it anyway? See if it sobers you up a bit?” And hopefully, helps her be more clear and concise in her answers as to why she was there.
She returned his smile. “Okay. But I should help you,” she said when he got to his feet.
She started to stand and he pressed gently on her shoulders until she sat back on the edge of the sofa. “I’ve got this.” But he realized he was still touching her. The thin straps of her dress were silky, her skin incredibly warm under his palms. The ends of her hair tickled the backs of his fingers and he sprang back, releasing her. Was fervently glad he’d put on jeans as he shoved his traitorous hands into their pockets. “You, uh, just relax. And tell me the rest of your story.”
“What story?” she asked, still smiling at him.
Holy hell, this was going to be a long night. “About how your cousins forced you to get drunk.”
Laughing as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, she fell back against the couch, breasts bouncing, bare legs stretched out. She had a low, throaty laugh, the kind that scraped pleasantly along a man’s nerve endings.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, still chuckling. “They didn’t force me to get drunk. They forced me to go to the club. After dinner they told me we were going home but instead, we ended up at The District.”
The District being one of Houston’s most popular dance clubs, less than a mile from here. “I stand corrected. Although I’m a little confused as to why you stayed at the club if you didn’t want to be there.”
“I was going to leave,” she said as she got unsteadily to her feet, bringing their bodies much too close for Oakes’s comfort, “but then the DJ played ‘Uptown Funk’ and it’s impossible to hear that song and not dance so I had to get on the dance floor.”
“Right.” He tried to put some distance between them but only managed to collide with the coffee table when he stepped back. He shifted to the right then circled around the sofa. “None of that explains why you came here,” he said as he walked behind the granite-topped island, which separated the kitchen from the living room. “Why you’re not still with your cousins.”
“It doesn’t?”
A headache began to form behind his right eye. “No.”
“Oh.” She flopped back down, crossed her arms on the back of the couch and watched as he opened an upper cabinet for the coffee. “Well, I’m not with my cousins because Julie and Steph went home early—Julie’s husband has to work in the morning and Steph’s youngest has an ear infection. Then Nadine took off in a huff after getting into an argument with her boyfriend via text and the last time I saw Michelle she was dirty dancing with a leggy blonde in a leather miniskirt.”
Frowning, he measured out coffee beans, dumped them into the grinder. “They shouldn’t have let you drink so much if they were just going to ditch you. One of them should have made sure you got home safely.”
She laughed again, but didn’t raise her head from her arms. “I’m twenty-three years old, Oakes. I can drink as much as I like. And, anyway, I’m perfectly safe, aren’t I?”
“Safe,” he pointed out, pouring distilled water into his coffeemaker, “but not home.”
Still not moving her head, she waved a hand. “I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to see you.”
His shoulders tensed, his fingers tightened on the plastic bottle. “What do you mean? I thought you just needed to use the bathroom.”
“Why would I come here in the middle of the night just to use the bathroom?”
He had no idea and no, it didn’t make sense when she said it like that. But neither did her dropping by his place, drunk, at three in the morning.
Then again, women were a mystery so what the hell did he know?
“What did you want to see me about?” he asked, turning on the coffeemaker. When she didn’t answer, he turned to find her eyes closed. “Daphne?” Nothing. “Daphne?” he repeated louder.
She blinked at him then smiled dreamily. “Hmm?”
Right. This obviously wasn’t getting him anywhere. “We’ll put your coffee in a travel mug,” he said, pulling one out of a drawer.
“Okay. Am I going somewhere?”
“Home.” But that only brought up the issue of him getting her into her apartment—a third-story walk-up across town—and into bed.
She snuggled back down into her arms, shut her eyes. “Don’t wanna,” she murmured.
And getting her up the stairs and into that bed would be even more difficult without her cooperation. Hell. Being a nice guy just didn’t pay some days.
“Life’s tough that way,” he said, not sure if he was talking to her about doing things she didn’t want to, or himself for his incessant need to always do the right thing.
He headed toward the hall only to stop at the sound of someone knocking on his front door.
“If that’s another drunk woman,” he muttered, “I’ll tell her the bathroom’s closed for the night.”
Daphne stirred. “Did I tell you I didn’t pay the cab driver?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he managed to say from between clenched teeth, “You failed to mention that.”
But her head was back down, her eyes shut. Another knock, this time louder.
“One minute,” Oakes called then hurried into his bedroom for his wallet. Two minutes later he’d paid the understandably irritable cab driver—adding a hefty tip—and shut the door. He leaned his head against the cool wood, gathering his thoughts. The scent of coffee filled the air. He’d dump some into the mug, haul Daphne to her feet and settle her into his car. Forty-minutes—fifty, tops—and he’d be back home and in his bed, trying to forget this ever happened.
But when he lifted his head and turned, he saw all those hopeful plans go up in smoke. Daphne was asleep. Or, passed out if the sound of her snores was anything to go by. And there was no way in hell he was carrying her.
Looked like he had himself an overnight guest.
He locked the door and shut off the porch light, then crossed to the kitchen and turned off the coffeepot before he got a blanket from the linen closet. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t let her stay crumpled up like that, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her legs curled under her. He wiped his tingling palms down the front of his jeans as he studied her, tried to figure out how to make her comfortable with the least amount of touching possible—though any contact seemed inappropriate given her current state.
Deciding to start at the bottom—and pray like hell the rest of her straightened out of her own accord—he wrapped his fingers around her ankles and slowly swung her legs around.
She snored on.
He went to encircle her waist only to yank his hands back when he brushed the silk of her dress. He considered slipping his arms under her, but didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally touching her butt. Not when he’d admired it only a few minutes ago. He could take a hold of her shoulders, but that would bring him close to those amazing breasts, to her open mouth.
In the end, he settled on taking her by the ankles again, this time gently pulling her until she slid onto her back on the cushions. His plan worked great, except her dress had slid up, showing a great deal more of her bare thighs. Keeping his gaze firmly on her face, he unfolded the blanket over her, tucking one end under her chin, the other over her toes.
He straightened. It was easier to look at her with all those curves covered. Easier, much easier to remember how young she was with her face relaxed, her mouth open, one hand curled by her cheek.
Easier to remember all the reasons he shouldn’t want her.
But he couldn’t stop himself from brushing a loose lock of hair from her forehead, then letting his finger trail ever so slightly over her arched eyebrow before he turned off the light and went to his room. Yanking off his sweatshirt, he tossed it aside then fell facedown on his bed, his feet hanging over the edge. He pulled a pillow over his head, but that did little to help him forget about the woman on his couch. The woman he thought about way too often. The one woman he wanted above anyone else.
The one woman he could never have.
* * *
SOME KNUCKLEHEAD WAS singing along to a Mumford and Sons song. Loudly. And badly.
Daphne would have covered her ears but really, lifting her arms at what had to be an ungodly hour was just too much effort. She settled for pressing her face into her pillow. It might not mute the sound, but if she kept it there long enough, maybe she’d suffocate. Either way would end her misery.
The idiot chose that moment to attempt a bit of harmonizing with a particularly high note, causing her back teeth to ache. Talk about freaking torture. Honestly, some people were so rude. Singing this early with no thought or care that other people were trying to sleep.
Jeesh.
She snuggled farther into the mattress, but instead of the softness of her sheets, she encountered smooth, cool leather. Shifting her leg to the right, she bumped something hard. She frowned. That wasn’t right. There should be ample empty space in her king-size bed. Of course Cyrus, her golden retriever, took up a great deal of it but that hadn’t been his large, warm body, either.
Even racking her sleep-laden brain it took her a moment, surely longer than it should have, to figure out she wasn’t at her apartment, wasn’t all cozy and safe in her bedroom. She wasn’t even in a bed.
As she processed that bit of reality, the events of last night unfolded in her mind, frame by frame, like a movie in slow motion. There was dinner with her cousins at her favorite restaurant, good food and lots of laughs, then that fateful trip to The District, where, despite being irritated that they’d tricked her into a night out, she’d danced and drank. And drank. And drank.
Squeezing her eyes shut harder, she remembered being hit on by a cute blond physical therapist, then later, by a darkly handsome electrician. When she’d declined to give either of them her phone number, Nadine had gotten on her case about turning down not one, but two potential soul mates, badgering her as only Nadine could until Daphne had blurted out the truth. That she had no interest in getting to know random strangers or taking part in the whole dating scene. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about one particular man she already considered a friend.
Oakes.
While she hadn’t exactly been pining for him all these years, the possibility of them as a couple had never fully disappeared. It was always there, in the back of her mind. In her heart. Like a dream of the future for when they were both single and ready to act on the attraction between them.
When the time was finally right.
Last night, with her brain muddied by tequila and her pride stinging with the news of her ex’s upcoming wedding, the timing had seemed perfect.
So, in the infinite wisdom of the inebriated, Daphne had decided the best course of action was to tell Oakes she’d fallen in love with him six years ago and still was in love with him today.
She groaned and pulled her knees closer to her chest, curling into a protective ball. Yes, yes, it was all coming back to her now. How very wise she’d felt about her decision. How comfortable with the plan to win over the man she loved with a heartfelt declaration. She’d ridden that wave of alcohol-induced confidence from the club all the way to Oakes’s house, and had let it carry her up to his porch, pushing her into pounding on his door.
But now she slowly sank with the realization that showing up at his house, stinking drunk, at 3:00 a.m. might not be the best way to convince him that she was not just serious, but, more importantly, sincere.
For some crazy reason people in her life had a hard time believing she could be either.
The song changed but the singing continued, Oakes’s usually pleasant baritone ruining “Little Lion Man” for her for life. A cupboard door opened then shut, and the smell of fresh coffee filled the air.
Ca-rapity crap crap. Once again she’d acted before thinking things through. If she wasn’t careful, that could become a bad habit.
But she at least had figured out where she was and why her back and shoulders ached, and her left hand was numb. Seemed she’d ended her night by passing out on Oakes’s couch. Great. Mystery solved. And since there was nothing she could do about the events of last night, couldn’t undo them or wish them away, she might as well go back to sleep.
She’d deal with the consequences of her actions later.
Much, much later.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_05f41e38-057a-5ba0-96d8-2b924d3482d3)
DAPHNE HAD JUST drifted off again when the scent of coffee grew stronger, as if the pot had grown legs and walked over to tempt her out of sleep. She was having a rather heated internal debate on whether or not she should lift her head to investigate this turn of events when someone nudged her shoulder. She didn’t move and that someone did it again.
“Poke me one more time,” she warned Oakes, eyes still squeezed shut, her face hidden in her folded arms, “and I will kill you. Slowly. And with great relish.”
An idle threat, really, and one that didn’t have much of a punch due to her being unwilling to lift her head from where it rested, quite comfortably, thank you very much. It didn’t help that her tongue wasn’t currently working—her words came out as a cross between a slur and a groan.
Plus, why kill him before he’d had the chance to see how awesome, adorable and amazing she was? He was the man she loved, after all.
At least, she was pretty sure he was.
She opened her eyes and peeked under her arm at him. Her heart sighed, one long, happy sigh. He wore the same faded jeans as last night and an Astros T-shirt, the soft material hugging his broad shoulders. He had a body on him, a surprisingly hard and muscular one, despite the fact that he sat on his rear for a living. His jaw was sharp, his nose straight and she knew that when he smiled, he had even, white teeth and a charm about him that went right to her gut. Dark hair and green eyes completed what was, all in all, one very pretty picture.
But she hadn’t fallen for him because of his good looks. Or, at least, not only because of them. Yes, he was handsome—all the Bartasavich brothers were gorgeous, including her own brother, Zach. No, what set Oakes apart was his kindness. His warmth and generosity.
Her brain still foggy, her mouth feeling as if it had been filled with cotton, Daphne lifted her head. Realized she’d drooled in her sleep. Wonderful. She wiped the side of her mouth, making the move as casual as possible. How the heck was she going to convince him she was his soul mate after drooling on his sofa?
“You are alive,” he said, the right side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I’d wondered.”
“Alive and well,” she assured him, though her voice sounded rusty. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and tossed back the blanket, which she assumed he’d covered her with last night, before swinging her legs around, her bare feet connecting with the cool wood floor.
His gaze dropped and his mouth tightened before he jerked up his eyes to stare at a spot somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. She followed his gaze but there was nothing to see except white ceiling so she glanced down. Oops. Her dress had shifted and twisted and ridden up during her sleep. She hadn’t flashed him everything God had given her, but it was pretty darn close.
Lifting her hips, she tugged down the material, making sure all was covered and right with the world. When she looked back at Oakes, her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. The interest.
The attraction.
He blinked and it was gone, just...poof, and his expression smoothed out as if it had never been. She could relate. For years she’d gone back and forth over whether to embrace her feelings for him or pretend they didn’t exist. But she knew, whatever choices they made didn’t matter. They could fight the inevitable, could pretend there was nothing between them, but if they were meant to be—and her instincts were telling her they were—then they’d end up together. Eventually.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt for her to give fate a bit of a nudge.
He held out his hand. Now, she was completely capable of standing on her own—she’d been doing so since she was a baby, after all—but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to touch Oakes, to test him, just a bit. Placing her hand in his, she let him tug her to her feet, making sure her breasts subtly brushed the hard planes of his chest as she did so.
He would have backed up, she knew, but he was trapped between her body and the coffee table, her fingers still curled around his. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand and slowly lifted her head, her hair brushing his chin. He went completely still except for the working of his throat as he swallowed.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding like a breathy sex kitten.
Hey, if that’s what it took to get him to stop pretending he wasn’t attracted to her, she could go that route, complete with pointy ears, whiskers and tight catsuit.
Meow.
Their eyes met. Anticipation filled her, grew to an almost painful point, when his gaze dropped to linger on her mouth. He leaned forward. Her heart hammered. Her lips parted. Oh, God, this was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. He was going to kiss her. Well, that would certainly put an end to the whole I-see-you-only-as-a-platonic-nonsexual-friend act he pulled whenever they were together.
It wasn’t quite the romantic scenario she’d fantasized about when she was seventeen and in the throes of a huge, heartbreaking crush on him. And maybe having him get this close to her when she undoubtedly had morning breath wasn’t such a great idea, but if the man was finally going to kiss her after she’d waited six long years, she sure wasn’t about to deny him simply because they weren’t on a moonlit beach and she needed a mint.
She let her eyes drift shut.
Only to have them pop open when he gave her hand a friendly squeeze and slid free of her grasp. “No problem,” he said, his voice gruff.
Then, as if to make sure her humiliation was complete, as if to drive home the fact that he found her harmless and cute, like a child, he patted her head.
The man literally patted her on the top of her head.
She didn’t know whether to cry or punch him in the throat.
She settled on nipping the coffee cup from his hand as he raised it for a drink. Took a cautious sip before he’d even had time to blink or lower his arm back to his side.
“Ah, the nectar of the gods. And the only good thing about waking up in the morning.”
“Please,” he said, his tone all sorts of dry. “Help yourself.”
Feeling a bit better, she sent him a cheeky grin and drank again, deeper this time now that she knew it wasn’t blistering hot. Served him right after he’d gotten her hopes up only to cruelly dash them.
She gulped down some more, praying the caffeine kicked in quickly. The coffee could use a hefty dose of both cream and sugar but beggars couldn’t be choosers—and she was well used to playing the part of beggar. “I don’t suppose you’re hiding a bagel on your person?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, his expression bemused.
“A bagel,” she repeated slowly. Maybe he needed the coffee as much as she did. She handed the mug back to him. “Or a muffin? At this point I’d even take a scone.” When he just stared at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind, she wrinkled her nose. “No, huh? Too bad. I’m starving.”
“How about we start you off with some dry toast? See how that goes.”
She made a face. “How about you slather some peanut butter on that toast and we’ll have a deal.” She eyed the coffee cup he still hadn’t bothered drinking from. “If you’re not going to finish that...”
He handed it back to her.
She wished it was that easy to get everything she wanted from him.
She headed toward his kitchen, crossed to the large fridge and opened it. Grabbed the half-and-half and poured a hefty amount into the cup.
“Sugar?” she asked. She’d been to his house before, of course. Plenty of times, the most recent being over the Fourth of July weekend when he’d thrown an impromptu barbecue and had told her to feel free to drop by.
They were friends, but not the kind who knew how the other organized his—or her—kitchen. More like the kind that texted every few weeks to check in with each other, met up for coffee or lunch once a month and invited each other to casual get-togethers.
That was all about to change. It was past time they discovered if they were meant to be more.
He joined her, reaching for the sugar bowl in an upper cabinet, his shirt riding up slightly to show the ridges of his stomach. She’d touched him, she remembered, her fingers tingling with the memory. Last night she’d slapped his chest, then had kept her hand there, had felt the smoothness of his skin, the coarse hair dusting his chest.
The first time she’d touched him in anything other than a friendly, hey-we’re-buddies-and-sort-of-but-not-really-related sort of way in years. Since her high school graduation.
Progress. At long, long last.
She added sugar to her coffee then gulped it down gratefully. “That’s better,” she murmured as Oakes poured himself a fresh cup. “Now, what about that toast?”
“I ordered from Pitter Patterson’s Bakery,” he said, mentioning the name of one of her favorite breakfast restaurants. “I thought you might want something in your stomach other than wine.”
“You,” she said, setting her cup down, “are a prince among men. Thank you. But there’s no wine in my stomach. I don’t drink it.”
“You don’t?”
Was that what the women he usually dated drank? Probably. He went for the socialite types or the well-educated, high-powered corporate woman. Tall, thin and blonde, though that one VP he’d dated two years ago had been a petite brunette, the kind who worked out regularly and was going back to school for her third degree.
Daphne shook off the feelings of inadequacy. She was just as good as anyone. Better than most, certainly, at least when it came to being good enough for Oakes. Now all she needed to figure out was if she was right for him. And if, as her instincts told her, he was right for her, too.
“Nope,” she said. “Wine gives me a headache.” Plus, she never knew what to order, what color went with her dinner or the whole sniff-sip-swish routine that went with drinking it. “The credit for last night’s buzz belongs solely to tequila.”
“Tequila?” he repeated, staring at her as if she’d admitted to downing an entire bottle of the stuff in one sitting.
“The other nectar of the gods,” she assured him. “Anyway, I think I’ll take a moment to freshen up before we eat. Be right back.”
She grabbed her purse from the coffee table then padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom. Flipped on the light, turned, and jumped at the sight of her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, horrified, her hand going to her crazy, frizzy hair. It stuck out straight in spots, was plastered to her head in others.
“Seriously?” she asked God through gritted teeth, her gaze on the ceiling as though she could see through it to heaven. “You let him see me like this? Whose side are you on?”
No wonder the man hadn’t wanted to kiss her.
Pulling a small brush from her bag, she attacked her hair, pulling the bristles through snarls that fought back valiantly. Too bad no amount of brushing could get the thick, naturally wavy strands to behave. Her makeup was long gone, except, of course, for the dark smudges of black eyeliner on her temples, the mascara caked on her lashes and rimming her lower lids. Sleep marks marred her cheek like a road map. She rubbed at them but that only made her face red.
Triple crap.
By the time she took care of personal business, washed her hands and face, tucked her hair behind both ears to get it to stop winging out like she had a bat on her head and went back to the kitchen, Oakes had set plates at the bar.
“Bless you,” she told him fervently as he handed her a glass of orange juice. “Seriously, you are definitely going to heaven for this.”
He poured juice into a second glass and as she sat she noticed he had silverware, cloth napkins, the whole shebang set out for them. Lessons from his mother, Daphne was sure. She didn’t know Rosalyn Moore personally, but she’d gleaned enough information about the woman from Oakes to know she believed in making the best out of any situation—such as having an uninvited, overnight guest. She also put a lot of stock into making a good impression and keeping up appearances.
Daphne wondered which one of those had kept Rosalyn married to Oakes’s father after he’d cheated on her with Daphne’s mom.
Oakes joined her on the other high-backed stool, his thigh pressing against hers for a brief moment before he shifted, ever so subtly away.
“Really, Oakes, thank you,” she said, sipping her orange juice. He’d poured her more coffee and had the cream and sugar on the counter. “You’re so sweet to take care of me this morning and for not kicking me out last night.”
“We’re family.”
She squeezed her glass. Hard. They weren’t family. Yes, yes, they had similar relatives but they were not related. Not in any way, shape or form. “You had every right to tell me to get lost,” she said, wanting him to say something, anything, that would give her some hope, some idea that he felt what she felt. That he, too, wanted to take a chance on whatever this was between them. “No one would have blamed you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure Zach would agree with you on that.”
And that was not what she’d had in mind.
Zach. Right. The brother they shared. The bane of her existence and, she was fairly certain, the reason Oakes had yet to make a move on her. It was a tricky situation, undoubtedly. Oakes’s father, the very wealthy, very powerful Clinton Bartasavich, Sr. had four sons: Clinton, Jr. and Kane, both with his first wife; Oakes with Rosalyn, his second wife; and Zach with Susan, who’d been Oakes’s nanny at the time of the affair.
Rosalyn had eventually divorced Senior, after ten years and numerous infidelities on his part. She’d remarried and had two younger sons. Susan, too, had moved on, marrying Michael Lynch. And having Daphne.
Yes, sir. Tricky, tricky, tricky.
“I don’t think even Zach could blame you if you’d turned me away,” Daphne said to Oakes, although her brother did have a sanctimonious and judgmental streak, especially when it came to her. And a major stick up his butt when it came to the Bartasavich side of his family. “I mean, I did show up at your house in the middle of the night, drunk.”
Oakes lifted a shoulder. Always a good guy, he didn’t seem to want her gratitude. “It’s no big deal.” He turned, grinned at her. “Livened up my night, that was for sure.”
She stared at her spoon, concentrated on stirring and stirring and stirring her coffee. Cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I shouldn’t have done it.” Especially now that she realized she could have easily interrupted something. What if he’d had a woman over? He’d been seeing Sylvie Green the past few weeks. Sylvie, with her shiny, golden hair and tiny waist. What if she’d been here, in his house, in his bed, when Daphne showed up?
She wasn’t sure she could have handled that, not in her inebriated state.
Ah, the clarity of sobriety. Too little, too late.
“Anyway, I really appreciate you taking me in,” she continued, the thought of him being with Sylvie making her sound less grateful and more annoyed. “It meant a lot to me.”
“Like I said, I couldn’t turn you away.”
No, he couldn’t. Not Oakes. Hadn’t she counted on that, realized that even while drunk? He’d never do anything to hurt anyone.
“I’m still not sure how you ended up here, though,” he said. “You said you wanted to see me.”
Pretending it took all her concentration, she sipped her coffee. Had she said that? Well, at least she hadn’t told him the real reason she’d come here—to declare what could possibly be her undying love for him.
Yay. One point for self-control.
“Did I?” she asked with what she hoped was casual curiosity. She forced a light laugh. “I must have really been out of it. The last thing I remember clearly was getting in the cab and telling the driver to bring me here as it was closer and I didn’t think I’d make it home without passing out.”
Lies, lies, horrible lies to protect herself, to save her from complete and utter humiliation.
He looked as if he was about to call her on her fibs when there was a knock on the door. “That must be the food,” he said, heading to answer it.
Thank God. She gulped more caffeine. Blurting out that she loved him and wanted them to be together didn’t seem like such a hot idea in the cold, harsh light of day. But she wasn’t ready to go back to how they’d always been, either. For years she’d told herself that what she felt for Oakes was nothing more than infatuation. The remnants of a childhood crush.
But what if it wasn’t? Surely a crush wouldn’t have lasted this long.
She still thought of him often. Too often. Her heart tripped when she received a call or text from him. If they went too long between visits or chats she missed him. And when something happened in her life, good or bad, he was the first person she thought of telling, the person she wanted to share the news with more than anyone else.
She’d told herself to just get over it, to get over him already. Had tried to push her feelings aside. It wasn’t as if she sat around waiting for him to notice her. She’d gotten her undergraduate degree and was now in grad school. She’d dated other men, had even had a short-lived engagement that had ended six months ago.
And when those relationships ended, she found herself right back to square one. Thinking about Oakes. Wondering if he was the one for her.
She used to believe that if she and Oakes were meant to be, they’d end up together no matter what directions life took them in.
Now, though, she wasn’t so sure letting fate lead the way was the best idea. What if this was their opportunity? She was single and Oakes and Sylvie had only gone out a few times so they weren’t serious. Her drunken epiphany last night just might have been destiny’s way of giving her a good swift kick in the rear and telling her to take charge.
She had to be smart here, though. Had to try and figure out what Oakes thought about her, about them, before giving away too many of her own thoughts, her own feelings.
He was too honorable to make the first move. He probably thought she was too young for him. And he wouldn’t want to rock the boat where their families were concerned. Yes, it would take Zach, and their mothers, time to get used to the idea of them being together, but they’d all just have to deal. She’d been waiting six long years for Oakes to notice her as something other than Zach’s younger sister and a friend.
It was time he noticed her as a woman.
She had to ease him into the idea of being with her. Get him to think it was the best idea ever.
Mainly, she had to let him think it was his idea. She knew all about men and how sensitive they were about being led to do something. He had to take the lead.
With some encouragement from her, of course.
“Here we are,” he said, after shutting the door. He held up a large bag with the diner’s logo on it. “Best breakfast this side of Houston.”
“Let me help you.” She slid to her feet, crossed to him in what she hoped was a slow, seductive sashay and not a clumpy, eager gallop. But damn it, she was starving and the food smelled really, really good. She took the bag, waved him back to his seat. “The least I can do is dish this out. And I hope you’ll let me pay for it and whatever the cab cost.”
“My treat and so was the cab ride.” He grinned down at her, teasing and friendly. “But maybe next time you go out, you shouldn’t spend all your money on drinks.”
And the last thing she wanted was for him to look at her that way, as if she was some cute kid sister who’d gotten herself into a jam. “I didn’t spend all my money on drinks. I switched purses before we left and my wallet wouldn’t fit in my smaller one. I thought I’d grabbed my credit card and a fifty but my cousins were rushing me and I’d only put a ten in there along with my grocery store’s rewards club card. Luckily, my cousins insisted on paying for dinner—as they should since they kidnapped me and all.”
“How did you pay for your drinks then?”
“I didn’t.”
He followed her back to the counter, though he wouldn’t let her take the bag. He set it down and faced her. “You have generous cousins. They must have really wanted to make sure you had a good time.”
She laughed. “They can be generous, and they paid for a few rounds for all of us, but they weren’t the only ones buying me drinks last night.”
“They weren’t?”
She smiled. Maybe she could get a reaction out of him after all. “No. There were some very sweet men there who insisted on supplying me with beverages.”
He blinked. Blinked again. “You let some strange guy buy your drinks?”
She pursed her lips. “Actually, it was two guys. Strangers, yes, but I don’t think they were strange. Christopher was really funny and Ray had that whole bad-boy vibe going on, which made the night interesting.”
Oakes frowned, his eyes narrowed and she wondered if it was too soon to assume he was jealous, or if he was thinking of her with those other guys—not both at once, of course—when she could be with him.
“You shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers at bars,” he said, sounding irritated—very unlike easygoing Oakes. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”
“Not in so many words.” Her mother knew she was capable of taking care of herself.
“I’m sure Zach warned you about it,” Oakes continued, not like a jealous man at all, but more like a lecturing teacher.
Or big brother.
“Men who buy women drinks at bars,” he continued in a voice way too similar to her freshman year lit professor’s superior tone, “do it for one reason and one reason only.”
“Really?” Setting her elbows on the counter, she cupped her chin in her hand and stared at him wide-eyed. “Do tell.”
His frown deepened. “They see you looking like...” He waved a hand at her, going up and down as if to take in her entire person. “That,” he finally said. “And they want to take you home.”
She blinked, slowly and with great exaggeration. “Whatever for?”
He looked so uncomfortable, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “You know what for.”
“A complete innocent like me?” she asked, hand to her chest. “Why, I haven’t a clue.”
“Sex,” he growled from between his teeth. “They’re hoping you’ll sleep with them.”
“No. That thought never crossed my mind. Thank God I have you here to set me straight on the nefarious ways of men in clubs.” She rolled her eyes. “It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not a child. I’ve gone out to clubs and bars before.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “I’ve even had sex before.”
He stepped back so quickly, he almost tripped over the stool behind him. “That’s... I don’t need to know...you don’t...”
She smiled. How could she not? He looked so horrified, but that wasn’t all. He looked...stunned. As if the thoughts of her and sex had never coexisted in his mind before. But then she looked closer, saw a definite heat in his eyes behind the panic, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, that heat wasn’t the reason for the panic.
Maybe he didn’t see her as just a friend or some sort of little sister after all.
Only one way to find out.
She moved closer. “I know exactly why those guys bought me drinks, what they were hoping to get from me. But I choose who I go home with. Who I sleep with, share my body with.” At her words, his eyes dropped and raked over her body, before his jaw clenched and he yanked up his gaze once again. “I didn’t go home with any of those men, didn’t want to go with them. I came here. I came to you.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ad242870-fcae-5736-8873-36629a06eb0e)
I CAME HERE. I came to you.
The words hit Oakes like a punch. Like the answer to a prayer, one he’d never been brave enough to say, let alone think about.
He was in serious trouble here. Because he was taking what she’d surely meant to be innocent words as some sort of overture. He was a man well used to women coming on to him. His looks helped, but he knew part of his appeal was his last name—at least before those women got a chance to know him. He also knew when a woman was tossing the ball in his court, giving him an opening, a chance to make a move.
And he wanted, badly, to do just that. To make a move on Daphne, to see how those curves felt pressed against him, how that mouth would taste.
He was wrong. He had to be. There’s no way she was coming on to him. Daphne was his friend. Sort of. But more than that, more important than that, she was Zach’s sister.
He gave her an awkward, brotherly pat on her shoulder. “I’m glad I could help. And that you had the good sense not to go home with some stranger.”
Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed by his response? He couldn’t analyze it, was afraid if he did, he’d come to a conclusion he didn’t like. One that was purely a figment of his imagination.
“Ready to eat?” he asked, desperate to get back on solid ground with her.
As if the moment had never happened, she smiled. “Yes, please. I am starving.”
He pulled the boxes out of the bag while she refreshed their coffee. He tried not to take in how good she looked in his kitchen, that red dress like a beacon calling his attention again and again. How comfortable she was here, barefoot in his house, all bright and cheerful as she chatted about some dessert she’d had last night.
He let her talk wash over him as he folded the bag and set it with the recycling. He had to get a grip. Yes, he found Daphne attractive. He was a man, wasn’t he? And she was, well...she was Daphne. All curves and subtle sensuality. She was also smart and funny and full of energy. Last night when she’d been asleep on his couch was the first time he could remember seeing her so still. She always seemed amped up, lit up from some internal light, an inner spark.
But she was Zach’s sister. Zach Castro, the only one of Oakes’s brothers who kept him at arm’s length. The man who was recovering from injuries sustained while serving with the marines in Iraq.
The only Bartasavich son not to take their father’s name, who’d been raised as much as possible away from his older brothers. Zach had spent his entire life making his resentment toward his father and the rest of his family perfectly clear.
Not that Oakes could blame him. None of them could say they were close to their father. Clinton Bartasavich, Sr. wasn’t an easy man to get to know or to love. In his younger years he’d been all about power and increasing his wealth. As the company that had been in his family for generations had grown, so had Senior’s ego and his unhappiness with his personal life. Always searching for the next best thing, he cheated on his first wife—C.J. and Kane’s mother—with Oakes’s mother, taking advantage of her young age and adoration of him. That marriage, too, eventually failed after Senior’s numerous affairs.
“I owe you for this,” Daphne said, setting his coffee cup in front of him. “How about I take you to dinner next weekend?”
Have dinner with her, just the two of them? Yes, they ate out together, but usually coffee or lunch. Quick, casual meals that had a set time limit, and were held in open, bright and airy places surrounded by noise and people. But dinner was different. It was too dangerous. Too close to a date.
He tried to avoid this exact scenario with her as much as possible—had done so for the last few years, ever since he’d noticed she wasn’t a little girl anymore. “There’s no need. I’m happy to help. We’re family, after all.”
“You keep saying that,” she said, opening the takeout box he’d given her, “but we’re not.”
“I feel like we are,” he insisted, needing her to understand where he stood. She’d had a crush on him as a teenager, around the time he’d finished law school, and he didn’t want a repeat of the awkward, uncomfortable experience they’d shared back then.
Zach had asked Oakes to look in on her and their mother while he was serving overseas and, as it was the first and only time Zach had ever asked him for anything, Oakes had been more than happy to do his younger brother a favor. And things had been fine until Daphne graduated from high school. But after that she took every opportunity to flirt with him—touching his arm or leg, flipping her hair and batting her eyes.
He’d been horrified. She was a child and he an adult. Thank God she’d gotten over it when she started college, but for a few months, it’d been torture.
Mainly because, as much as he hated to admit it, he’d found her attractive, too.
It had killed him that he’d allowed his baser instincts to get the better of him. That he’d been just like his father. He hadn’t acted on his feelings, of course, but that hadn’t made him feel any better. So he’d avoided her as much as possible and by the time they’d met up for coffee over Thanksgiving break during her freshman year at Rice, things between them were normal again.
They’d become friends and he didn’t want to lose that friendship just because he was having some inappropriate, yet purely physical and normal, feelings toward her. It was simple science, really. She was a smart, beautiful, sexy woman.
And he was just a man.
She opened her breakfast and frowned down at the dry toast and scrambled eggs. “What’s this?”
“I thought you might want something bland. To settle your stomach.”
She eyed his omelet, loaded with cheese, peppers and sausage. “Why would I want something bland?”
“For your hangover. And you should drink more,” he said, nodding toward the bottle of water he’d set by her elbow. “It’ll help with the headache.”
She laughed, the sound light and sunny. “Please. I’m Irish-Mexican. You insult my ancestors by such slander. I’m not hungover. I can handle my alcohol. I just...shouldn’t have handled quite so much of it last night.” She shoved her food aside and pulled his plate closer to her. Dug into his omelet. “Mmm...good, but needs hot sauce.”
And she hopped down. He couldn’t help but notice her dress riding up a bit so he turned his attention to his breakfast. Sighed, then switched it with hers.
Although he did scoop some of the hash browns onto his plate.
She came back, added enough hot sauce to her food to get his eyes watering—and he wasn’t even eating it—then tucked in to her meal as if she feared it’d disappear if she didn’t shovel it into her mouth as quickly as possible.
“That last shot of tequila hadn’t been such a good idea,” she said around a mouthful. She wrinkled her nose. “Well, the last two shots, really. Hindsight and all that, you know? Just once, I’d like to have a bit of foresight. An inner sense of worry or a niggling of doubt that warned me the wonderful, brilliant plan that popped into my head was really only misery in the making. Some sort of sixth sense to stop me from following said course. One to give me a moment’s pause, time to sort through all my options and work out what I should do next. That would be wonderful and, I imagine, come in quite handy.”
“You wouldn’t listen to it,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t like being told what to do. By anyone. Not even yourself. It’s one of your flaws.” He softened his words with a wink.
“I prefer to think of it as an independent streak. But you’re right. I wouldn’t have listened to any inner sense telling me not to drink, but I may have at least limited myself to two margaritas. Three, tops.”
Margaritas, too? He wasn’t even going to ask how many she’d had. “Sounds like you had a busy night. What with those men buying you drinks and all. But you still didn’t have to accept them,” he pointed out. “Unless they poured the alcohol down your throat?”
“Nothing like that. But they were nice. And it would’ve been rude to decline, right? Anyway, the only reason they were buying drinks was because of this dress. If I’d showed up in jeans and a T-shirt without the makeup, they wouldn’t even have noticed me.”
He doubted that. But she was right about the dress. She looked all curvy and soft in that little bit of silk. “We men are but simple creatures.”
“No kidding.” She poured the entire container of syrup over the half stack of pancakes he’d been looking forward to. “That’s why we womenfolk love you guys so much.”
He used his fork to slide a pancake from the bottom of the pile onto his plate. “We aim to please. So tell me...” he said, wondering about something he hadn’t yet gotten a clear answer on—a question that had become extremely important to him. Or at least, her answer to it had. “Why did you come here? And before you tell me it was only to use the bathroom or because it was closer and you were too tired to sit in the back of a cab for the ride to your place, remember I am an attorney and therefore have learned how to spot lies.”
Picking up a piece of toast, she avoided his eyes. “You want the truth?”
“That would be an interesting twist to this entire experience.”
She nodded. “Okay, here it is. I came here for you.”
* * *
DAPHNE NIBBLED ON a triangle of toast as Oakes stared at her, mouth open, eyes wary. Huh. Not so thrilled with the truth now, was he?
“What do you mean?” he asked, brave man that he was. But he looked as if he was bracing himself for her answer.
He wasn’t doing much for her ego.
He’d said he wanted the truth and she’d given it to him, but now one of life’s greatest, deepest and hardest to answer questions played in her mind.
Continue with that whole honesty thing or...?
Or lie like a dog on a hot summer’s day?
She set down her toast. Yeah. She was going with option number two. Though she wasn’t against combining the truth and a lie for something in between. It was easier to keep track of a fib if you threw a bit of fact in there as well.
“Let me tell you a story,” she began.
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m going to need more coffee for this,” he muttered as if listening to one of her entertaining tales was some hardship.
“Hey,” she said as he stood up, handing him her cup to refill as well. “I’ll have you know my stories are very well told.”
“They are,” he agreed, pouring coffee into their cups and rejoining her. “They’re also long. And are filled with repetitive, and at times, irrelevant information.”
She waved that away. “Now, don’t get all lawyerly on me. No one likes that. Sit back and relax and drink your coffee. You wanted to know why I came here, but before I can get to that part, I have to start at the beginning.”
“I already know all that. Your cousins tricked you into going out to dinner then forced you to go to a club where several men—”
“Several? I’m flattered. But it was only the two.”
“Where two men vied for your attention—”
She snorted. “Believe me, it wasn’t my attention they were vying for.”
He frowned and she noticed his fingers had gone white on his cup. She hid a smile behind her own mug as she lifted it to take a sip.
“You got drunk,” he continued in what she assumed must be his professional voice. Laying out the facts as he knew them in a deep baritone. “The cousins who took you to said club all left you alone to your own devices. You had enough sense to get a cab, but had to go to the bathroom and didn’t want to travel the distance from the club to your apartment so you, in a moment of clarity, gave him my address. Have I summed up your previous statement clearly?”
She blinked. God, but he was so freaking cute with his courtroom tone and wide shoulders. Smart, funny and good-looking. Was it any wonder she was stuck on him?
“That was very concise and, yes, that is accurate,” she said, turning to face him then crossing her legs. His gaze dropped, briefly, to the movement before he brought his attention back to her face. “But what I didn’t tell you was the reason my cousins got it into their tiny brains that I needed a night on the town, one that preferably ended with wild, kinky sex with a stranger.”
“Your cousins wanted you to hook up with a stranger?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Well, not all of them. Two were for, two were against. Nadine and Steph were hoping I’d meet my soul mate. But they all agreed that I needed a night out, that I needed to put myself out there.”
“Because?”
This was the tricky part. The embarrassing part. “They think I’m heartbroken over Ricky.”
“Ricky? As in your ex-boyfriend?”
“Ex-fiancé,” she corrected primly. They may not have been engaged all that long but he had proposed and she had worn the diamond he’d given her. That made him her fiancé—even if only for a few short months. “He’s back in town.”
She watched him carefully but there was no stiffness to his shoulders. No jealousy tightening his features.
Too bad. She could use some encouragement here.
“Has Ricky contacted you?” Oakes asked, again in lawyer mode. “Does he want to get back together?”
“He’s contacted me,” she said slowly, “but not to get back together.” Though when she’d broken up with him six months ago, she’d imagined him trying a bit harder to get her back. Guess she was easy to get over. “We met for coffee the other day and he told me he’s getting married.”
“I see.”
“I’m fine,” she told him because he was looking at her with sympathy. As if she was someone to be pitied.
Well, why wouldn’t he pity her? He thought—as everyone did—that Ricky had been the one to call off their engagement.
Probably because that’s what she’d told them all.
“I’m sure you are,” Oakes said quickly. Too quickly to be believed. “But if you need anything,” he said, giving her hand a pat, “you know I’m here for you, right?”
Her throat tightened. She did know that. It wasn’t just because he cared about her. It was because he was that kind of guy. The kind who was always there for people, for his family and friends, someone they could count on, could lean on.
And she was going to take horrible advantage of that very trait, one she found super sexy and one of the many reasons she was attracted to him.
And she was almost certain he was attracted to her, too—he just needed some help realizing it. And if that took a teeny, tiny bit of manipulation, a few half-truths and some serious acting chops on her part, then so be it.
She sighed, hoped it was the long, drawn-out sigh of the brokenhearted. “Thank you. I know I shouldn’t be upset about Ricky moving on, it’s just...it was a shock.” Partly because she’d never thought he’d return to Houston from Dallas, where he’d moved after their breakup. Or that he’d find someone else so quickly. Someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with after he’d begged her to come with him. When she’d told him she couldn’t marry him, he’d acted devastated. Had insisted she was his one true love and he’d never get over her breaking his heart.
She’d felt horrible. Ricky was a great guy and she’d hated hurting him but it seemed he’d managed to rebound nicely from his heartache.
“The worst part,” she continued, “is that he and his new girlfriend—fiancée—are getting married in a few weeks and, if you can believe this, he invited me.”
“That’s very...”
“Movie-of-the-week, I know. I don’t think he did it to be vindictive or to rub my nose in it, though.” She chewed on the inside of her lower lip thoughtfully. “I mean, he said all the right things, about how he knew it might be awkward, but that he still cared about me and hoped we could be friends and still be a part of each other’s lives...”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I believe he believes it. The only logical conclusion I could come up with was that Jenny—his fiancée—thinks Ricky and I need the closure that my witnessing their wedding to him would provide.”
Oakes grinned. “Glad that psychology degree is paying off.”
“Hey, if I can’t psychoanalyze ex-fiancés, what’s the point?”
“You’re not going to his wedding, are you?” Oakes asked.
“I don’t want to,” she admitted. Fact was, she’d rather pour hot sauce in her eyes than attend. “But I’m afraid if I don’t, Jenny—or worse, Ricky—will think I’m not attending out of spite. Or because I’m still in love with him.”
Oakes studied her, his gaze intense and searching. “Are you?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not.”
“All I’m saying is it’s only been six months since he broke things off—”
“Us splitting up was for the best,” she said, realizing she sounded like a jilted lover trying to act as if she was fine and dandy with being dumped. Guilt pricked her about not clarifying who, exactly, had done the breaking up, but she couldn’t tell Oakes the truth about her and Ricky. Not without giving too much away. “We weren’t meant to be. It happens.”
Oakes took her hand in his, held it lightly. “No one would blame you if you still had feelings for him.”
“Oakes, I said that I’m over him. I’m twenty-three years old—old enough to know my own feelings.”
That Oakes thought she didn’t was another blow to her ego and one of the reasons she couldn’t admit to her feelings for him. He’d never believe her. Would think this was a continuation of the crush she’d developed on him as a teenager or that he was some kind of rebound.
“Seems to me you said the same thing when you got engaged.”
Her face heated. No fair throwing her own words back at her. “I loved Ricky—at the time—and thought marrying him was the right thing to do. Turns out I was wrong.”
“I hate to say I told you so—”
“Not as much as I hate to hear it,” she said in a faux sweet tone.
“But I did suggest you might be rushing things with him. You were too young to make such a huge commitment.”
“I wasn’t too young. But I did let it happen too fast.” She and Ricky had met at the end of her junior year at Rice, where he’d been a teaching assistant. Being with him had been easy. Maybe too easy. Too...comfortable. When he’d proposed on Valentine’s Day she’d thought it cheesy and romantic and had let herself get swept away with the idea of being in love.
And she had loved Ricky. Just not enough. And not in the way a woman should love the man she’d agreed to marry. When he’d accepted a position at a small, private college in Dallas and asked her to move there with him, she’d realized her mistake. She’d broken off their engagement but had told everyone he was the one who’d ended things between them.
It had seemed the lesser of two evils at the time. Her family and friends were all very supportive, very sympathetic. But she hadn’t fibbed to get sympathy. She’d done it to protect herself.
If the truth came out, she’d have to explain why she broke up with Ricky. And it wasn’t as simple as her making a mistake in accepting his proposal in the first place.
She’d done it for Oakes.
She’d realized that if she went with Ricky to Dallas, if she let herself get swept along with wedding plans and building a future with him, she’d have to give up her dreams of being with Oakes.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let Oakes go. Not without knowing, for sure, whether or not they were meant to be.
She squeezed Oakes’s hand then slid free of his grasp. She didn’t need his pity, even if Ricky had moved on rather quickly. “Not that I don’t appreciate your advice—”
He snorted. “You don’t appreciate my advice.”
“True. Mainly because I don’t need it. What I need is a favor.”
“Why am I suddenly nervous?”
“Don’t be such a baby. I’m not asking for a kidney. I came up with the perfect solution to my problem. In order to stem any gossip or speculation, I attend the wedding...”
“That’s your perfect solution?” he asked after a moment. “I have to tell you, I really thought you’d come up with something a bit more...inspired. Or at least interesting.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“You stopped talking.”
“I was pausing for dramatic effect.”
He leaned back, waved a hand. “Then by all means. Continue.”
“As I was saying, I go to the wedding...”
“You want me to do a drumroll?”
“No need. I’m imagining one in my head. Anyway, my point is, I go with you as my date.” She lifted her arms in a gesture of ta da!
“You want me to take you to your ex-boyfriend’s—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—wedding?”
Men. So clueless. “Yes. If I go alone, I’m either the humiliated, sad, pathetic ex, there to weep over the loss of the groom, or I’m there to win him back. Neither option is appealing. But if I show up on the arm of one of Houston’s most eligible bachelors—”
“I thought we agreed to never mention that again,” he muttered.
And he was blushing. Gorgeous, smart and humble? He really was a dream come true.
“It’s not like I’d bring along copies of the article or anything.” Last winter a local magazine had run a piece on the city’s hottest bachelors under thirty-five. Oakes, to his chagrin, had come in at number two. “Though I might bring it up in conversation. Only if there’s an opening.”
“Daphne,” he said in warning.
“I’m kidding.” Sort of. “Look, if you go with me, it helps me save face and gives both Ricky and me closure.”
No one would ever doubt she was over her ex if she showed up with Oakes. Including Ricky and Jenny.
But more importantly, it would be a great chance for her and Oakes to spend some quality time together.
He studied her, as if trying to sense any hidden meaning behind her request. She kept her gaze on him, her expression open. Hopeful.
“If you think it will help,” he said, “then sure. I’d love to take you to your ex’s wedding.”
She gave a soft whoop of delight. “Hooray! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He began clearing the bar. “And I’ll do my best to play attentive date. Just tell me when and where to show up.”
“The ceremony and reception are both taking place at the Sam Houston Hotel the day before Christmas.” She got to her feet and set her silverware on her plate. Noticed his frown. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t go with you,” he said, sounding regretful. “Kane and Charlotte are getting married that same weekend.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering why she hadn’t known the date of his brother’s wedding. Probably because she wasn’t invited to it and Zach had never mentioned it was taking place on Christmas Eve.
The depth of her disappointment surprised her. It wasn’t as if she’d never see the man again. But her spontaneous plan had been so perfect. She’d take Oakes as her date to the wedding, saving face with Ricky and spend a lovely evening with Oakes as nonfriends. The romance of the wedding, she was sure, would help loosen Oakes’s inhibitions where she was concerned.
Oakes patted her arm as he passed by, his other hand carrying his dirty plate. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to go with you.”
She made a noncommittal sound. It wasn’t as if she had low self-esteem—Zach often accused her of having too much. Finding a date wasn’t the problem. Both men from last night had given her their numbers, telling her to call if she changed her mind. But she couldn’t imagine asking a man she barely knew to attend her ex-fiancé’s wedding with her.
That screamed of desperation and by God, she wasn’t there yet.
Besides, if she asked them to do this favor for her, she had no idea what they’d want in return. With Oakes, she didn’t have to worry about how much payback would cost her.
Plus, and this was a biggie, she didn’t want to be with any other guy—not any more. Not even for an evening. She wanted Oakes.
And suddenly a new plan, an even better one, started to take shape in her mind, and she realized that she could still have him.
“Eureka!”
At the sink, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Did you just discover gold?”
“Pretty darn close.” She gathered her plate and cup and carried them to the sink. Standing at his elbow, she leaned against the counter. “I just had the best idea ever. It’ll take some planning, but then, what brilliant idea doesn’t?”
He ran the water, began rinsing dishes and setting them in the dishwasher. “Planning is good. But not exactly your strong suit.”
Oh, if he only knew. “I plan for the important things.” She pushed away from the counter and paced the length of the room, brushing his back as she passed. “We’ll need to check flights, which I’m sure won’t be cheap, especially for a holiday weekend. Plus I’ll have to find accommodations. And I’ll need to buy a few things,” she muttered, making a mental checklist. “A winter coat and maybe boots.” She stopped to find him staring at her curiously. “I’m assuming there’s going to be snow? So, yeah, boots for sure.”
He shook his head, totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Snow. In Pennsylvania, where Kane lives.”
“It snows there in the winter,” he said slowly, reaching to shut off the running water. “Why?”
He didn’t have to look so suspicious. Or so worried.
She smiled. “Because I’ve changed my mind. The favor I want from you isn’t for you to go with me to Ricky’s wedding. It’s for you to take me with you to Kane’s.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_cfcd2678-6e3a-5d60-ba02-a9d207ce3398)
OAKES LOOKED SHOCKED, as if she had indeed not only requested a kidney, but also insisted he lay back so she could dig it out of him right now. “Excuse me?” he asked.
“I could go with you to Kane’s wedding. It’s a great idea.” The more she thought about it, the more she began to believe it. Knowing body language was an important part of any conversation, she leaned forward, hoping to convey her need and earnestness, and ticked off all the ways her plan was brilliant. “It’s the same weekend as Ricky’s, which means I’d have a legitimate excuse not to attend his nuptials and, if I go with you as your plus one, no one in Houston can say I’m heartbroken or missing Ricky’s wedding because I’m still in love with him or spiteful. It’s the perfect solution.”
“Perfect.” The word said he agreed but his muttered tone suggested otherwise. “Except for the fact that Kane’s wedding is in Pennsylvania.”
“Even better.”
A change of scenery would do them good. It might be easier for Oakes to stop seeing her as only Zach’s little sister, as only a friend, if they were away from Houston. Unfortunately, they couldn’t escape the Bartasavich family entirely as most of the family would be at the wedding in Shady Grove, but she and Oakes would have plenty of time and opportunity to be alone.
She’d make sure of it.
“Weren’t you invited to the wedding yourself?” Oakes asked as they both sat back down.
“Nope. Why would I be?”
She barely knew Kane or C.J., Oakes’s older brothers. Oh, they’d spent some time together at the hospital when Zach was first brought back to the States after he’d been injured. But it wasn’t as if she had anything in common with C.J.—Clinton Bartasavich, Jr.—the current CEO of Bartasavich Enterprises, who was so far out of her tax bracket, social sphere and peer group, they might as well be on different planets. And the same was true with the long-haired, tattooed Kane, who preferred biker boots over power suits and owned and operated a bar in Shady Grove, Pennsylvania.
Oakes shifted. Cleared his throat. “I thought you and Charlotte had become friends.”
“We did. Sort of. Just not the type of friends you feel the need to invite the other to an out-of-state wedding that’s taking place on Christmas Eve.”
Daphne liked Charlotte Ellison, Kane’s fiancée. She was smart and funny and it had been great having an RN with them in the hospital to cut through all the medical terms. She’d been extremely patient about explaining things to Daphne and her mother. But it wasn’t like they’d become BFFs after spending a few days together—even though those were important days in Daphne’s life.
Realizing Oakes was grasping at straws, looking for any reason not to take her with him to Shady Grove, she frowned. He wasn’t doing much for her ego, that was for sure. “Do you...do you already have a plus one for the wedding?”
A distinct possibility given that he was seeing Sylvie. But Daphne couldn’t imagine Oakes bringing some woman he was casually dating halfway across the country to his brother’s wedding.
Talk about a commitment.
“No,” he said slowly, in that way people did when they were trying to find an excuse to get out of doing something they didn’t want to do. “I hadn’t planned on bringing a date.”
She laid her hand on his knee. “But there’s no reason you can’t bring one, right?”
She let her hand linger on his leg. It was nice, touching him, feeling the warmth of him through his jeans. But mostly she liked how he reacted to her touch. As if it made him uncomfortable and not in a he-found-her-repulsive way, but the opposite. He must have felt the spark between them, too, and was fighting his baser instincts for all he was worth.
A girl could dream, right?
He brightened suddenly and she would have bet her last dollar that he gave himself a silent eureka.
And that made her nervous.
“You can go with Zach,” he said. Just as he’d done last night, he covered her hand with his briefly and then slid it away from his person. But she noticed his fingers hadn’t been completely steady. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to take you.”
“As you’re well aware, Zach is never thrilled to do anything. But you’re right. He would take me. If he was going.”
“Zach isn’t going?” he asked. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “Says he’s not up to traveling.”
As excuses went, it was a valid one, seeing as how he was still recovering from his injuries and in rehab, learning to live without the use of his right arm and leg, both of which had been amputated.
But it was still an excuse.
Zach went out of his way to have as little to do with his father’s side of his family as possible. And if that meant missing his brother’s wedding, then so be it. Though out of all his brothers, Kane was the one Zach seemed to like the most, but that wasn’t saying much. About the only two people in the world her brother cared about were her and their mother.
“I’m cutting him some slack and not bugging him about it because he has been through a physically and emotionally traumatic event,” Daphne continued. “But I think what’s really stopping him is that he doesn’t want to travel in the wheelchair.” He hadn’t been fitted for prosthetics yet and still used a wheelchair to get around. “I don’t think he wants people feeling sorry for him.”
Oakes exhaled heavily, shoved a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I can understand that.” He got to his feet, stepped away, then turned again. “Is this the real reason you came here last night? To ask me to take you to the wedding?”
No. She’d come to tell him she loved him, wanted to marry him and have his babies.
Thank God she hadn’t confessed those things.
Damn tequila. Not only was it some sort of legal truth serum, but it also gave people delusions of grandeur.
“You think it’s a bad idea?” she asked, wide-eyed and innocent. “Us going together?” He opened his mouth, probably to say yes, but she kept right on talking. “Because I think it’ll be fun. I’m a great date, honestly. I promise you’ll have a good time.”
“What about the holiday? Won’t your mother be upset about you not being home for Christmas?”
“She’ll understand my reasons. Plus, I can fly back early Christmas morning, be home in time for dinner.”
He was going to say no. She could see it in his eyes, in how he held himself, so stiffly and unyielding.
She stood, crossed to stand in front of him. “Please, Oakes,” she said softly, not realizing until this very second how badly she wanted him to say yes. How much she needed him to say yes. If the moment they’d shared six years ago on her graduation day was the beginning of her feelings for him, the beginning of their friendship, then this moment, right here, right now, was the turning point. His decision would either take their relationship to the next level...or leave them to crash and burn without ever having a chance. “Please.”
He scratched the side of his neck. Sighed, then nodded. “I’d love to have you with me at the wedding.”
He wouldn’t. That much was clear in his conflicted, tight expression. In his unenthusiastic response. Guilt nudged her. Hard. She shoved it aside. She had nothing to feel guilty about. She wasn’t tricking him. Wasn’t lying to him.
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