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Sawyer’s face twisted in mock offense. “I take it you have an utterly charming brother of your own?”
“Charming. There’s a word I hadn’t thought to use.”
Much to Ethan’s relief, they all laughed and started digging through the brushes and trays. He relaxed a notch. Either they believed he and Rue were dating, or they didn’t, and they let it go. Neither option seemed particularly plausible, but the end result was far better than he’d hoped for.
As soon as his brothers were distracted, he pulled Rue into his bedroom, which, aside the bathroom, was the only private space in the apartment. He did his best to ignore the looks from his brothers, and he prayed Rue hadn’t heard the catcall that followed.
“Well, that was interesting,” she said, a smile softening her words.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”
“You did.”
“I don’t think there’s such thing as adequate warning for putting up with them.”
“Be that as it may,” she said with a laugh, “that’s probably true for most families. I’m glad I can be here for you. I just hope they’re not too hard on you when we’re…after our necessary breakup.”
“If you’re leaving on assignment,” he said, “it won’t be too bad.” Maybe. They’d probably end up feeling sorry for him all over again, but with a mundane, geographically necessitated breakup both parties survived, the pity wouldn’t be the same. He hoped.
She touched his chest, her fingertips toying with a small hole in his shirt. The contact left his synapses firing a ragged chorus, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she felt it, too. But why should she? She might have crappy luck with dates, but at least she had them. Whereas he was in territory he hadn’t entered since his freshman year of high school when he’d met Amy.
But for once, Amy was only a fleeting thought. Because the woman standing in his bedroom with him was touching him, and he didn’t hate it. In fact, he liked having someone on his side—especially someone who saw him and not a widower. He wondered how long her scent would linger. And how long she’d poke at that hole in shirt. He must look like a slob, but who cared what they looked like when they were painting?
Rue cared what she looked like, he realized. Or maybe she didn’t care so much as she just couldn’t help but look that damned good.
“Have you ever tried telling them?” she asked.
He was so lost in thought, it took him a few seconds to realize she was talking about his brothers. “Telling them what? To back off?”
She tilted her head. “Yes. I can tell you guys are close. You want them to think you’re getting back out there, but instead of misleading them, have you ever thought about just saying you’re where you need to be right now?”
He frowned. “I’m not trying to be dishonest. Not with my family and not with you. It’s more about easing a burden I didn’t realize they carried until they found out I supposedly had a date. My brothers will give you a hard time—and I really should have better warned you about that—and I know they won’t let this go, but I want them to see that I’m okay. Not being ready to date doesn’t mean I’m not fine, but they refuse to see that.”
“That’s really sweet of you to want to do this for them,” she said, toying again with that hole in his shirt, “but what about easing your burdens?”
He shook his head, not so distracted by the surprising intimacy of a simple touch that he forgot why he was there. “I don’t want to move on like they want me to. I really am happy alone. No one seems to understand that.”
She frowned. “Have you really been such a recluse that you shocked them all by having a female friend who accompanies you to public events?”
He gave a slight shrug that didn’t really lighten the mood as he hoped. “You saw them. Vultures.”
She cracked a small smile. It was contagious, leaving him off guard. Off kilter. Dizzy. She dizzied him. It had to be the sheer novelty of it, but he didn’t like thinking that, either. He didn’t want to take anything from Rue, who had already proven to be genuine, open, and caring. But he’d met plenty of women like that, and yet she was still different. Maybe it was the hair. He longed to ask what inspired the cut, but he didn’t want her to take the question as a thinly veiled dig. Or he could blame the car—the one no one was allowed to touch but that she kicked. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she’d hung out with penguins in South America. She was definitely her own person, and one largely unconcerned by anyone else’s expectations of her. That alone was enough to make her one of the most intriguing people he’d ever met. Of course he was thinking about her. Who wouldn’t?
