happy about it,” Rafe replied at the same time as Tomas said, “You’re only marrying because of the will.”
And in his opinion, that just sucked cane toads. A marriage wasn’t a business transaction. It was about love and partnership and commitment.
Till death us do part.
“Ah, hell.” He didn’t realize he’d been screwing up his napkin until he threw the tightly wadded missile onto the table and rolled the crystal salt shaker. “You don’t have to marry her, Alex.”
“Yes. I do.” Alex folded his napkin in half and half again. Placed it neatly on the table. “That’s the only way I’ll do this.”
“When’s the wedding?” Rafe asked.
“There’s the mandatory thirty-day wait, but as soon as possible. We haven’t decided where.”
“Not at home?” Rafe asked “Mau will want to be there.” By home he meant Kameruka Downs, where they’d all grown up and where Tomas still lived. Their mother, too, in her own place built after his marriage. She rarely left her remote outback home these days. Since intense media scrutiny had led to a breakdown after she’d lost her fourth child to SIDS, she despised the city, crowds, photographers.
“We’re negotiating,” Alex said. “Susannah has family interstate.”
“Not wanting to get personal,” Rafe said carefully. “But does Susannah know she’s expected to, um, produce an heir right off the bat?”
“She knows.” Alex checked his watch, frowned. “I have a meeting to get to, but I wanted you both to know I’ve got this covered.”
Rafe and Tomas exchanged a look.
“You’ve got your part of the deal covered,” Rafe corrected.
“We’ll look after ours,” Tomas added. “One in, all in.” He got to his feet at the same time as his brothers, and of-
fered his hand. “Congratulations, Alex. I hope it works out for you.”
There was a moment, a connection that extended far beyond the firm handshake, the quick slap on the back, even the strong meeting of sky-blue eyes. It was the bond of brothers, the knowledge that a pact made would never be broken. They were all in this together, and, come hell or high water, they would make it work.
Then Alex was striding off between the tables with his trademark sense of purpose. Standing side by side, his brothers watched him out the door before Rafe shook his head. “Do you suppose he proposed by text or e-mail or intercompany memo?”
“Wondered the same thing myself.” Tomas scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like Susannah, it’s just that she’s…Susannah.”
Not Susie, like Angelina was Angie, but always the whole three syllables. Always so formal and cool and dispassionate. So absolutely unlike Angie.
“The whole deal’s too cold-blooded and impersonal,” he said, and he felt Rafe’s gaze switch and focus on his face.
“As cold-blooded and impersonal as artificial conception?”
“That’s different.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response.” Rafe shook his head and indicated the door. “You ready to go?”
Nothing more was said—and that surprised the hell out of Tomas—until they were out in the lobby and about to part ways. “Did you know Ange is working here?” Rafe asked conversationally.
Tomas tensed, then covered quickly by casting a casual glance back at the restaurant. “Waitressing?”
“I meant here as in the Carlisle Grande, in my office. She asked if I had any jobs going last week, flying home from your place, after—”
Rafe made an expansive gesture and Tomas thought, Yeah, after. That about summed it up.
“I gather you’re not even considering her offer?”
No longer casual, Tomas’s gaze cut back to his brother’s face. “She told you about that?”
“We talked some. I’ve seen a fair bit of Ange this last week.”
What the hell did “talked some” mean? And “seen a fair bit of”? Was that in the office or out of hours?
Tomas forced his fingers to unfurl out of fists. Forced himself to ask some other question, any other question. “What are you going to do about the baby?”
“I have some prospects.”
“Angie?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“She’s one.” Lips pursed, Rafe studied him narrowly. “That won’t be a problem, now you’ve decided to go elsewhere?”
“If it’s a problem,” Tomas said shortly, “it’s not mine.”
What else could he say? How could he object? He shook hands and watched Rafe walk away. His own decision was made and it involved a clinic and a nameless faceless woman he had to somehow find. It didn’t involve any kind of passion or emotion or commitment. It sure as hell didn’t involve Angie’s boldly stated way of doing things!
Close your eyes, lie back, and think of Kameruka.
How many times had he closed his eyes this last week, lying back in the restless tangle of his sheets, and thought about Angie? Her soft lips grazing his skin, her exotic perfume adrift in his blood, her dark eyes filled with the wild promise of passion as she came to him in the dark.
It’s only sex.
If only he could believe that. If only he could get past the disturbing notion of the action and cut straight to the result. Because he could imagine Angie with a baby, in a wildly sensuous earth-mother way.
But Rafe’s baby?
The notion burned his gut like battery acid, the wrongness and the certainty that if his brother asked, Angie would say yes. Women didn’t say no to Rafe. Ever.
Ah, hell.
Instead of heading out to the street on a quest for cold and impersonal, he found himself in an elevator going up to the executive floor of the Carlisle Grande Hotel. And his gut burned worse than ever.
Four
He found her office empty, yet Tomas had no doubt that this was Angie’s workspace. Less than two days on the job—not enough time to even change the name-plate on the door—and already she’d stamped her personality all over the place. Some—Alex came to mind—would call her desk a disaster. She would shrug and call it work in progress.
Knowing Angie, that would mean at least a dozen pieces of work in simultaneous progress.
Amid all the open folders and scattered paperwork
