Panic stretched her voice into a squeak. “I’m fine. Really.” She clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “Please, Brody.” The plea in her voice and the insistence in those startling blue-green eyes made him doubt his better judgment.
But then, she’d undermined his sanity for years. When he’d learned his father’s half brother lived in Texas, when they’d decided to merge the family’s two companies and he was needed here, he’d come with an ulterior motive. To see Jillian again.
He’d called her several months ago, reached her at her home in Amarillo to tell her he was coming. But something had been wrong. She’d sounded so far away, so distant, so sad. Maybe it had been the thousands of miles or simply the ten years deeper and wider than the oceans separating them. He’d hoped just hearing her voice would prove to him once and for all that he was over her. But it had done the exact opposite.
He’d known then he’d had to find her. Even though she’d hung up on him, cutting him off before he’d had a chance to tell her he was coming to Texas. Now she was here. In San Antonio. In his arms.
“Something could be wrong,” he said to her, having the same anxiety as that day he’d briefly spoken to her over the phone, the same panic he’d experienced ten years ago when he’d gone to pick her up for a date and discovered she’d left for America. Something was wrong. Or maybe he was the one who needed help. “You should be seen by someone.”
She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I didn’t have time to eat this morning. It’s just low blood sugar. That’s all.”
He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking over her from head to toe, noting the softer curves where once she’d been skinny with the flat lines and planes of a girl. Now she was a woman. And his reaction was that of a man.
“We really should call somebody.” She unnerved him, as no lawsuit or high-profit business deal could.
“N-no, please. Really, I’ll be all right. I just need a minute.” She touched her hand to her forehead. Her hands were delicate and soft. He had a sudden memory of her smoothing her palms over his chest and sifting her fingers through his hair.
Heat rushed through him. He shook loose the memory and focused on her. Here and now. She looked so pale, so fragile. He had an overwhelming urge to protect her. Her soft, floral fragrance floated up to meet him. He knelt beside the chair, looping an arm behind her. Her lips were parted, vulnerable, tempting. He remembered their sweetness. He remembered too damn much.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice as rough as the raw emotions coursing through his veins.
“I’m sorry. I’m all right.”
Was she? Was he? Seeing her again, he knew he’d never fully recover. Anger snapped inside him. Why couldn’t he forget her? What was it about Jillian Hart…Tanner?
He tipped up her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Her skin was as smooth as a rose petal. He’d been with more beautiful women. Women he’d dated to try to erase Jillian from his mind. But no woman had come close to her. And he somehow wanted to make her pay for all the suffering and sleepless nights she’d caused him. Staring into those troubled eyes of hers, he felt himself falling…and he could almost forget she was married. To someone else.
“Are you really sorry?” His voice was intentionally cutting for she’d so easily sliced a piece out of his heart.
She didn’t answer. His gaze slipped to her hand, still folded around his lapel. She wore no wedding ring, no declaration of her married status. Questions plagued him. Questions he didn’t take the time to have answered.
An overwhelming, irresistible urge grabbed him and wouldn’t turn him loose. He wanted her to be sorry. Sorry she’d left. Sorry she’d hurt him. Sorry she’d shown back up in his life. He wanted her to know exactly what she’d missed. He wanted her to know, for one second, what she could have had with him.
He kissed her then, hard, fast, relentless, claiming her mouth, blocking out his anger, his pain, his concern. He didn’t want to care about her anymore. He had to get over her. Once and for all.
He kissed her as he once had, as he wished he’d been able to ever since. It was a lusty kiss to make her regret leaving him for the rest of her days. Feeling her soft lips, her mouth opening to him in surprise, all the pent-up pain inside him subsided, replaced by pure, red, pulsing desire. He focused on her mouth, their heat, his need.
Hell! What have you done now?
Before she could slap him, before he did something more that he knew he’d regret later, he broke away. Pulling back, disgusted at himself for kissing her, and at her for kissing him back, he sucked in a deep, ragged breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She released his lapel, her fingers curling toward her palm. “No,” she said, her voice as shaky as his resolve to never let that happen again, “you shouldn’t have.”
He was in big trouble. He wanted her just as much as he had when they were twenty. Maybe more. Definitely more.
How the hell was he going to work with her every day?
His brain felt fuzzy, stunned by his need, his foolishness. She’s married, you fool!
He pushed to his feet and gave himself some much needed breathing room by walking to the door. “That won’t happen again.”
“Was that the goodbye kiss you said I owed you?” she asked, her voice girded with anger and steel.
“No. That was just one more mistake.”
Two
Mistakes. Jillian knew all about mistakes. And becoming Brody’s assistant ranked right up there as one of her dumbest.
“Easier said than done,” she commented two days later with what she hoped was a pleasant if not awkward smile.
Brody’s gaze snagged hers, held her motionless. She knew the extensive report he wanted would be easier to write than trying to ignore the way he affected her. Or maybe it was that darn kiss. It had knocked her socks off. She couldn’t seem to put it out of her mind. Every time she looked at Brody, at his strong jaw, his firm, supple lips, she remembered. And her body vibrated with…anger, she firmly decided.
She stared at the financial report lying on the desk between them, but her senses remained hypnotized by Brody. He smelled of zesty soap and subtle cologne. He looked like a model straight out of the pages of GQ magazine. His conservative, expensively tailored suit hinted at the well-honed physique underneath. Danger lurked in those mysterious gray eyes. She had an alarming urge to comb back the thick black lock that curled carelessly over his forehead.
Stop it! she warned herself. You don’t want Brody. You certainly don’t need him.
But it was much easier to tell herself to forget the texture of his mouth on hers, the desire he’d stirred inside her with that kiss, than to actually erase it from her memory. Her skin still tingled.
Before that kiss, a part of her had felt dead inside. She realized now, in retrospect, she’d felt that way for a long time. Maybe she always had.
When she’d been a child, she’d often felt as though she were sleepwalking through life. Nothing had seemed real. Everything had lost
