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 its vibrancy the day her father had walked out on her family. She’d felt as if she lived in the black-and-white portion in The Wizard of Oz.
Then she’d met Brody. Suddenly her world had become alive, vivid with Technicolor hues. He’d given her hope through his easygoing manner, his trustworthiness and his love. When she’d learned about Gail, all that had changed. Her world had paled once more.
She’d been numb the day she’d married James, unable and unwilling to feel, but now she knew something inside her had died then. She’d given up on love. On romance. Maybe even on life. She’d traded her soul for security and received nothing but heartache in return.
Strangely, the day James had made her a widow she’d been set free. But not free or desperate enough to want Brody back.
Brody’s kiss had zapped her like an electric current to the heart. The sensations that had coursed through her caused more pain than pleasure. It would be easier, she decided, so much easier, if she still felt nothing.
“I didn’t say it’d be easy, Jillie,” Brody said in that sexy Aussie accent that made her heartbeat quicken. “But it’s necessary.”
She nodded. “I’ll get right on it.” She shifted to her left foot, propping her hip on the edge of his solid oak desk, leaning away from him, not wanting to accidentally brush shoulders. Or anything else. “When do you want the report?”
“Next week should be fine. That’ll give me a couple of days to look it over before my meeting with the attorneys.” His spontaneous smile curled her toes.
Her hand fumbled with the pen she held. It fell and rolled across his desk. He caught it and handed it back to her. Embarrassed by her own clumsiness, she took it, carefully avoiding even the slightest touch.
“Okay, then.” She stood on both feet and rounded the corner of his desk.
He caught her arm. Her nerves electrified.
“Jillie?” he said, his voice deepened, intriguing and alarming her at the same time.
Unnerved by his touch, by her own conflicting emotions, she faced him, but this time she refused to meet his scintillating gaze. Pretending to search for some monetary figure, she riffled through the stack of papers she carried. Get a grip on yourself, Jillian.
“Did you eat breakfast today?” he asked.
Her chin lifted, her pulse charged. “What?” Surprised by his question, she asked, “Why?”
“I don’t want my assistant fainting every day.” His eyes narrowed and he studied her face. “You look…” His pause made her too aware of how much his opinion mattered. Why did she have the feeling he wasn’t about to say she looked ravishing? “Pale,” he finally said, his voice filled with concern.
“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t.
“Are you sure?” He closed the gap between them.
“Y-yes.” Her voice vibrated with uncertainty.
He bracketed her shoulders with his hands, rubbing, chafing her skin beneath the thin jacket separating his skin from hers until she thought he might start a fire inside her. “You’re a bundle of nerves.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, and took a step back.
He released her but leaned closer, his warm, clean scent surrounding her, his minty breath caressing her ear. She could see nothing beyond his wide shoulders that were covered by the metallic-gray suit. “Do I make you nervous?”
“N-no.” She glared at him. Shocked, horrified, irate at his perception, at the truth pounding in her chest, she refused to admit it even to herself and snorted her derision. Oh, God! She actually snorted. A burning heat stung her cheeks. “Of course not.”
“Good.” He touched her elbow and wild sensations shimmied down her spine. “I wouldn’t want what happened the other day…” He paused, inclining his head, dropping his voice to a husky whisper, reminding her of the primitive, erotic kiss they’d shared.
Just what she needed—another reminder! Her stomach tumbled over itself. She should have eaten breakfast. But the thought of even dry toast had made her feel green around the edges.
“…to get in the way of our work,” he finished.
“It won’t.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let it. Because she needed this job too much. A whole lot more than she needed Brody Fortune. Or empty promises.
“A swanky joint you’ve got here, mate.”
The strange voice jerked them apart. Brody looked past Jillian toward the door to his office and an instant grin split his chiseled features. Jillian spun around to see who had intruded on them in such a compromising situation.
“C’mon in, Griff.” Brody brushed past her, his arm grazing her shoulder, reminding her how close they’d been standing. Way too close. He clapped the man’s shoulder.
“They must think you’re important around here.” The man had the same Australian accent as Brody, but his voice didn’t make her temperature rise. He glanced around the office, tastefully decorated in bold, opulent colors that matched Brody’s personality.
The stranger’s gaze landed on her. He had nut-brown eyes that looked as if they were shadowed with wariness. “Griffin Fortune.”
Another Fortune. Just what she needed. What had they all done? Swarmed the border? Defected? She wished they’d all go back to Australia and leave her alone.
“This is Jillian Hart—”
“Tanner,” she corrected Brody.
She noticed Brody’s smile harden into a scowl and took pleasure in his lips thinning, the brackets around his mouth tightening. He turned his attention back to his brother. “Have a seat, Griff.”
She remembered Brody telling her about Griffin once, so many years ago. He hadn’t been born a Fortune, he’d been adopted by Brody’s parents and raised on the Crown Peak Ranch in New South Wales. His features were not similar to Brody’s. Griffin’s hair reminded her of pecan pie, whereas Brody’s black hair made her think of rich, dark chocolate. She wondered why she still compared every man to Brody. Irritated at herself, she decided it was only natural since the two men were brothers. But she had to stop doing that.
She almost laughed at her latest food craving. She compared everything to food
