to talk to him in person rather than breaking her news over the phone.
But she wasn’t prepared to blurt out that she was eight weeks pregnant within the first ten minutes of arriving.
She had a lot of questions about why he’d broken off their relationship four weeks earlier. Questions she hadn’t asked at first because she’d been too hurt to wonder why he’d dropped her when things between them had been so perfect. Then the fatal accident had happened with Griffin. Nic had left California and she’d never received closure.
“I don’t need your concern,” he said.
“Of course you don’t.” She crammed all the skepticism she could muster into her tone to keep from revealing how much his rebuff stung. “That’s why you look like week-old roadkill.”
Although his expression didn’t change, his voice reflected amusement. “Nice image.”
She surveyed his disheveled state, thought about the circles she’d seen beneath his eyes, their utter lack of vitality. The thick black stubble on his cheeks made her wonder how long it had been since he’d shaved. No matter how hard he worked, she’d never seen his golden-brown eyes so flat and lifeless. He really did look like death warmed over.
“Brooke, why did you really come here?”
Her ready excuse died on her lips. He’d believe that she’d come here to convince him to return to the project. It would be safe to argue on behalf of her brother. But where Nic was concerned, she hadn’t played it safe for five years. He deserved the truth. So, she selected item number three on her list of why she’d chased after him.
“You disappeared without saying goodbye.” Once she better understood what had spooked him, Brooke would confess the number one reason she’d followed him to Ithaca. “When you didn’t answer any of my phone calls or respond to my emails, I decided to come find you.” She gathered a fortifying breath before plunging into deep water. “I want to know the real reason why things ended between us.”
Nic tunneled his fingers into his shaggy black hair, a sure sign he was disturbed. “I told you—”
“That I was too distracting.” She glared at him. Nic was her polar opposite. Always so serious, he never let go like other people. He held himself apart from the fun. She’d treated his solemnity as a challenge. And after years of escalating flirtation, she’d discovered he wasn’t as in control as he appeared. “You weren’t getting enough work done.”
She exhaled in exasperation. For five months he’d stopped working on the weekends she’d visited and spent that entire time focused on her. All that attention had been heady and addictive. Brooke hadn’t anticipated that he might wake up one morning and go back to his workaholic ways. “I don’t get it. We were fantastic together. You were happy.”
Nic’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “It was fun. But you were all in and I wasn’t.”
Brooke bit her lip and considered what he said for an awkward, silent minute. “You broke up with me because I told you I loved you?” At the time she hadn’t worried about confessing her feelings. After all, she was pretty sure he suspected she’d been falling for him for five years. “Did you ever intend to give us a chance?”
“I thought it was better to end it rather than to let things drag out. I was wrong to let things get so involved between us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”
“I thought it would be easier on you if you believed I’d chosen work over you.”
“Instead of being truthful and admitting I wasn’t the one.”
This wasn’t how she’d expected this conversation to go. Deep in her heart she’d believed Nic was comfortable with how fast their relationship had progressed. She’d been friends with him long enough to know he didn’t squander his time away from the Griffin project. This led her to believe she mattered to him. How could she have been so wrong?
Conflicting evidence tugged her thoughts this way and that. Usually she considered less and acted more, but being pregnant meant her actions impacted more than just her. She needed a little time to figure out how to approach Nic about her situation.
“I guess my optimistic nature got the better of me again.” She lightened her tone to hide the deep ache centered in her chest.
“Brooke—”
“Don’t.” She held up both hands to forestall whatever he’d planned to say. “Why don’t we not talk about this anymore while you give me a tour of your palatial estate.”
“It’s not palatial.” His thick black eyebrows drew together in a grim frown.
“It is to a girl who grew up in a three-bedroom, fifteen-hundred-square-foot house.”
Nic’s only reply was a grunt. He got to his feet and gestured for her to precede him. Before entering the house, Brooke kicked off her sandals. The cool limestone tile soothed her tired feet as she slipped past him. Little brush fires ignited along her bare arm where it came into contact with his hair-roughened skin.
“This is the combination living-dining room and kitchen,” he said, adopting the tour guide persona he used when escorting potential Griffin investors.
She took in the enormous abstract paintings of red, yellow, blue and green that occupied the wall behind the white slip-covered couches. To her left, in the L-shaped kitchen, there was a large glass table with eight black chairs, offering a contrast among the white cabinets and stainless appliances. The space had an informal feel that invited relaxation.
“The white furniture and walls are a little stark for my taste,” she said. “But it works with the paintings. They’re wonderful. Who did them?”
“My sister.”
He had a sister, too? “I’d like to meet her.” Even as Brooke spoke the words, she knew that would never happen. Nic had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want her in his life. She had a decision to make in the next day or so. It was why she’d come here. She needed his help to determine how the rest of her life would play out. “Did Glen know about your family?”
“Yes.”
That hurt. The two men had always been as tight as brothers, but she never expected that Glen would keep secrets from her.
“Tell me about your brothers.” She didn’t know what to make of all these revelations.
“We’re triplets. I’m the middle one.”
“Two brothers and a sister,” she murmured.
Who was Nic Alessandro? At the moment he looked nothing like the overworked rocket scientist she’d known for years. Although a bit wrinkled and worse for wear, his khaki shorts and white short-sleeved shirt had turned him into an ad for Armani’s summer collection. In fact, his expensive sunglasses and elegant clothes transformed him from an absentminded scientist into your basic, run-of-the-mill European playboy. The makeover shifted him further out of reach.
“Is there anyone else I should know about?” Despite her best efforts to keep her tone neutral, her voice had an edge. “Like a wife?”
