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Ella was immediately won over. “What a thoughtful gesture.”
Everyone piled toward the car, except for Samantha who couldn’t move her feet.
“You’re Brodie?”
“That’s right.” He gave her a quick smile and loaded up their luggage with ease.
Her practical side was reassured that although he might look as if he spent his time grading papers and holding large lecture theaters of students enthralled by his academic arguments, he was also the type of man who would be able to dig a client’s car out of a snowdrift or fell a tree in a power outage.
“So your dad is Brodie, too?”
He waited for Gayle, Michael and Ella to climb into the car and slammed the door shut. “Cameron Brodie.” His voice was rough. “My father was Cameron Brodie, but everyone called him Cameron.”
“Was?”
“He died in January.”
“Died?” The wind tugged at her hair, determined to unravel her dignity. “But I spoke to him—”
“You spoke to me. Is this the last suitcase?” He removed it from her numb fingers and fitted it into the car with the others.
“You were the one I—” Drenched in embarrassment, she stared at him. “I thought—”
“You thought I was my dad? I’m afraid not, although I wish it had been because then he’d still be here. This is our first Christmas without him, so if you find us less than cheery company, that will be the reason. And I probably shouldn’t have told you that. A little too honest. Maybe I’m not built for a commercial enterprise.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and his smile was so engaging she wondered how she could possibly not have noticed how attractive he was.
“I appreciate honesty.” And she did, which made it all the more bewildering that she’d built a persona for herself that didn’t reflect the person she was inside. And he knew that, of course. He knew all of it.
It was difficult to know which of the two of them felt more uncomfortable.
He gestured. “You should get in the car, before you freeze.”
The cold was the least of her problems.
She felt terrible. He was clearly raw with pain and she’d just hurt him. Why hadn’t Charlotte’s research flagged the fact that his father had died? And why hadn’t she checked? Disappointed in herself, she caught his arm and then pulled her hand back.
“I didn’t know about your father. My assistant searched the internet, and his picture was there—we assumed—”
“Easy mistake to make. They have his picture, with my name. Technology is fallible it seems, which won’t come as news to anyone who works in that area. No harm done, Miss Mitchell.”
And now he knew she’d been searching for his photo.
“Call me Samantha.” She could see the rest of her family gazing through the window. Ella, mouthing, What? Michael with a concerned frown on his face. “First the phone call, and now this. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.” She didn’t ask herself why it mattered so much what he thought of her.
“Phone call?” He stepped closer to her, his broad shoulders protecting her from the worst of the wind and the curious gaze of her family. “Oh, you mean that phone call.”
“I thought you were—”
“Someone else. I gathered that.” There was a gleam in his eyes. “Do you ever get the person you actually want to speak to on the phone?”
She probably should have laughed, but right now she couldn’t handle teasing.
“Those things I said—again, I can only apologize.”
“For wanting good sex?” There was a hint of color on his cheekbones. “That doesn’t seem to me like something you should apologize for.”
Her face was probably redder than his.
It was all so unprofessional, but she’d beat herself up about that later. Right now she had more pressing reasons to apologize.
