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He pulled a purposely rakish grin. “No, we won’t be sleeping together. Much to my disappointment.” He rubbed his beard. “I already know you aren’t turned on by my looks. You take the bed and I’ll sleep in the recliner.”
“I can’t do that. I’ll sleep in the recliner.”
His smile went wider. “I might enjoy having you join me or in that case, we should share the bed.”
Laurel’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard. “I’ll take the bed.”
Brandon chuckled as she hustled out of the chair. It was fun to tease this woman who had literally forced her way into his life. He felt whole again for a brief moment.
ChapterThree
Laurel watchedthe man who’s house she’d invaded on a whim from under the covers on the bed. She pretended to sleep.
Brandon gathered her clothes and hung them on the chair placing them close to the fire before he pulled his shirt off over his head. He turned, giving her a view of one side of his body. The warm yellow light reflected off his skin covering defined muscles of his shoulders and chest.
He pulled his boots off using his toes for leverage. When his hand went to his waistband, she held her breath. He pulled his belt from the loops with a whoosh. She was being a voyeur, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was gorgeous. The man from the picture. Her fingers twitched to touch him. All evening he’d kept his right side turned away from her. Why?
That had also been the hand he’d quickly shoved into his jeans pocket when he reached the sidewalk. Hadn’t he had it in his jacket pocket as he walked down the street? Was something wrong with it? Was that why he hadn’t done any work in almost two years? The man was an enigma. A fit one, but a mystery nonetheless.
He flicked open the button of his jeans and her breath caught. His head jerked up like a deer hearing a noise. She squeezed her eyelids together.
A soft chuckle rolled from his throat. He settled into the recliner which creaked under his weight. Reaching forward, he pulled a quilt over him. It hit her bag, toppling it to the floor. The contents went everywhere. A soft cuss word filled the air.
Laurel threw the covers back hurrying to where her purse lay. Brandon squatted on his heels picking up the scattered contents. He used both his hands. A lipstick rolled by him. Brandon reached to catch it. That’s when she saw that three fingers were missing from his right hand. He tried to stop the movement of the round object, but he missed.
“I can get it.” She reached for it.
“I can get it,” he growled. He captured it with a slap using what was left of his palm against the floor. He didn’t look at her as he said, “Now you know my secret.”
She continued stuffing items back into her purse. Questions pushed at her lips but by his stilted movements now wasn’t when she should ask them. She flinched when Brandon looked at her wallet that had fallen open. Brandon’s picture stared up at them. Something about him had pulled at her then and it still did.
He picked it up and studied the picture then studied her. Slowly he closed the wallet and handed it to her. He stood.
Laurel finished putting things away. Brandon faced the fire, his back to her. Unsure what to do she returned to bed. She pulled the covers high under her chin. A few minutes later Brandon sat in the chair again and adjusted the quilt. He raised his feet and put his hands behind his head, his bare shoulders just visible from her vantage point.
The low gruff timbre of his voice cut the thickness in the air. “Why is my picture in your wallet?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. “Because there was something about you that called to me.”
“Called?” A note of humor mixed with disbelief hung on the word. He shifted so he could see her.
She saw the moment his eyes widened.
“I remember you.” He stopped for a second then pointed at her. “I saw you at an art exhibit. You stood across the room watching me.”
“Yeah. We had a moment. Silly, I know. There was something about you that I…uh found interesting.” She couldn’t have him knowing his picture made her middle quiver. “I know I must sound like a stalker.”
“You were only interested because of who I was. I’m not that guy anymore.”
Laurel had the distinct feeling he knew there was more to her explanation than she’d given. It was time to get the spotlight off her. “I would imagine under all that wooly bugger beard that same guy is still there.”
“You’d be wrong.” The harshness of the statement echoed off the wooden walls.
“You don’t work at your art because of your hand.”
The air grew tense once more.
“BINGO!” A sadness surrounded the word.
