not worried about them,” Mason said with his typical air of self-confidence. “You’re the best man for the job. No doubt about it.”
“You wouldn’t be a bit prejudiced, now would you?”
Mason almost smiled. “Maybe, but it’s the truth. Because I’m so sure of it, I’m going to have a precelebration party.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why the hell not?”
“What about Jackson? He seems more depressed than ever.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m going to do it,” Mason countered fiercely. “Maybe it’ll get him out of that room of his.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“You let me worry about your brother. You just worry about keeping your nose clean and not stepping on anyone’s toes.”
As much as he would have liked to do that, Collier feared he’d already pulled the pin out of one grenade when he’d agreed to defend the energy company on the sexual harassment charge. That could become a real sticky situation if some feminist got in on the action. But he’d given his word, and he had no intention of backing off, regardless of whether his dad approved or not.
As far as Brittany Banks went, no one would ever know that he’d been alone up here with her. She would remain a secret. He hadn’t done anything wrong—not yet, anyway—which meant he had no reason to feel guilty. Still, to the press and anyone else interested in probing into his life, a sure thing with the potential appointment, someone would make something of the matter, especially with Lana and her high-profile family in the picture.
Hearing a sound, Collier paused in his thoughts and whipped around. She was standing just barely inside the room. Their gazes met, and an unwanted jolt went through him. “Good morning,” he managed to say through a throat that sounded like it had been shredded with razors.
“Good morning,” she responded, her voice sounding soft and a bit uncertain. The side of her face seemed more swollen this morning, the bruising more pronounced. His blood boiled hot again. Damn that bastard. One of these days…
He reined in his renegade thoughts and asked, “Did you sleep okay?”
“Actually I did, which surprised me,” she said, moving deeper into the room. “I guess I was totally wiped out.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Suddenly an awkwardness fell between them, followed by a tense silence. Maybe it was because when she moved her robe had loosened far enough that the upper portion of one breast was exposed. He groaned inwardly, his breath spiking.
As if she sensed where his gaze was targeted, she flushed and pulled the sash tighter. “I looked for my clothes, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard.
No doubt she felt the hot tension, too. He didn’t know why that made him feel better, but it did. “I hung them in the laundry room to dry,” he forced himself to say around his elevated breathing. “But I’m not sure they’re wearable.”
“I’ll have to wear them anyway.”
He rubbed the five-o’clock shadow on his chin in frustration. She was right. As far as he knew, there wasn’t one article of women’s clothing on the premises.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Come on and I’ll make us some breakfast.” He had to do something to ease the tension, needed to keep busy. His insides felt ready to explode.
Once he had freshly dripped coffee on the small kitchen table, along with bowls of oatmeal and plates of toast, he finally sat down across from her. He kept his eyes averted for fear she would pick up on his raw and growing hunger for her, which could only make the situation even more uncomfortable.
He grimaced, then focused his attention on the oatmeal. It reminded him of a glob of cement. He almost got up and dumped it into the sink. If only he hadn’t given in to the urge to play the Good Samaritan.
“When can you take me home?”
The sound of her soft, Southern voice pulled him up short. Oh, boy. His grimace deepened. “I can’t. At least, not today.”
Her face lost what little color it had, making her eyes appear deeper and darker than before.
“The bridge is impassable,” he added flatly.
Her lower lip quivered, which was almost more than he could handle. “What if…” Again her voice faded into nothingness.
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s supposed to clear. As soon as it’s safe, trust me, we’ll be out of here.”
Brittany bit down on that deliciously plump lip, stopping the trembling. Though she didn’t say so, he sensed she was terribly upset by the turn of events. Hell, so was he. But he couldn’t do anything about it, and neither could she.
“I have to get back to my job.”
Her dark brown eyes implored him, and he stifled a curse. “I’m sure you do, but that’s not going to happen. Not today.”
“There’s…nothing you can do?”
He shoved the bowl away, dropping all pretense of eating. “Nope, except wait.” He paused, angling his head. “Where do you work?”
“At a travel agency in Haven. I’m also taking classes at the college. Tonight, however, I have to be—” She stopped midsentence. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
He frowned. “If there’s someone you need to call, feel free.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said in a forlorn voice. “I can’t go to the diner looking like this anyway.”
“Diner?”
Her chin seemed to lift a notch as she met his gaze. “I work on weekends as a part-time waitress.”
A waitress.
He didn’t know why that bothered him. There was nothing wrong with that job. Maybe he was more of a snob than he realized.
Finally collecting himself, he said, “Like I said, make any calls you want.”
“Thanks,” she said tightly.
He wanted to bombard her with questions, asking why the hell someone who looked like her had to sling hash. More to the point, he wanted to know everything there was to know about this lovely creature who had dropped into his life.
But his throat felt suddenly paralyzed, especially when that lower lip started to quiver again. For a long moment he couldn’t take his eyes off it, imagining his tongue running across its soft
