stood on the step a moment longer, gazing at him, fighting off a dozen storming emotions.
“You really have no idea at all why I left, do you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, because she knew without a doubt that he was completely ignorant on the subject.
Brandon just stood there, staring, looking confused, as if trying to understand where her comment had come from, why she’d said it.
When he came up with no response, Jana knew she’d gotten her answer after all.
She turned her back on him and climbed the stairs.
Chapter Five
B randon slapped the papers down on his office desk. “Unacceptable.”
In the chair across from him, Noah Carmichael raised an eyebrow. “Frankly, Brandon, I thought you’d be in a little better mood, now that your wife is back.”
Brandon’s already grumpy disposition grew more foul. He glared at Noah and sat back in his chair. Outside the open window, noise from the traffic on Third and Broadway drifted in, a low hum that was at times soothing, other times irritating.
Today it was irritating. Like everything else in Brandon’s life.
“I take it your reunion isn’t going exactly as you’d planned,” Noah ventured.
“That’s for damn sure,” he grumbled. He sat up straighter in the chair. “Last night she accused me of having no idea why she left.”
“And do you?”
“Of course,” Brandon declared.
“You know because you asked her?”
“Well, no.” Brandon shoved out of his chair. “I don’t need to ask her. I already know.”
Noah eased back and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re even more brilliant than I suspected, Brandon, if you can know what’s in a woman’s mind.”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Brandon insisted, striding toward the window.
“Did you talk to her about it?”
He glanced back. “Talk to her?”
“Yes, talk. Women like to talk.”
“Oh, hell…” Brandon stopped and huffed. “Since when did your six-month marriage make you an expert on women?”
“My wife is still in town,” Noah pointed out gently. “And still warming my bed.”
Heat slashed through Brandon at the thought—the very thought—of having Jana in bed again. Her warm, supple body. Her arms cradling him. Her legs entwined with his.
During their three months together, Jana had been receptive to their lovemaking, anxious, he’d thought, to share her bed with him. He couldn’t remember one single time—not once—that she’d not happily welcomed him.
And now, after fourteen very long months of separation, she insisted that they wait another month? Brandon didn’t understand it. Nor did he know how he’d endure it.
“You should talk to her,” Noah said.
A new flash of irritation came over Brandon as he realized he was once more standing at the window, staring out. He turned away quickly, shoving away the realization and the old feelings that came with it.
“It couldn’t hurt,” Noah offered, rising from his chair.
He didn’t disagree. Noah’s wife was, indeed, still home.
Brandon sighed heavily. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to her.”
“Things will work out,” Noah said. “The important thing is that she’s home.”
Brandon’s belly clenched. No, the important thing was that she stayed.
Muffled voices greeted Jana as she descended the curving staircase, piquing her curiosity. She’d just returned home from another day with her aunt, the clock was about to strike six and someone had come to visit? Calling hours ended at five. A tremor of unease swept through her. Had something happened at Aunt Maureen’s after she left?
Or had Brandon actually come home on time?
At the foot of the stairs Jana saw Charles in the foyer talking with a tall, slender man, not much older than herself, respectably dressed in a decent, though not expensive, suit. The men quieted as Jana approached.
“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles intoned. “This gentleman has come to call on Mr. Sayer.”
The man pulled off his bowler and pressed it against his chest, holding the brim with both hands. Small, round eyeglasses reflected the glow of the wall sconces.
“Please forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Sayer,” he said, changing the grip on his bowler. “My name is Fisk. Oliver Fisk.”
“I explained to Mr. Fisk,” Charles said, “that Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”
“How is it you know my husband?” Jana asked, walking closer.
“I’m a business associate. Well, actually, I’m an employee,” he said. “I’m the editor of the Los Angeles Messenger. The newspaper.”
With his slender frame and bookish appearance Jana thought he looked more like an accountant or librarian.
Fisk fidgeted with his hat. “Mr. Sayer owns the paper, as you know…or perhaps don’t know, since I’m sure you’re much too busy to concern yourself with matters of business. That’s not to imply that you’re flighty or ignorant, but rather—”
“Mr. Fisk,” Jana said, taking pity on him. “Would you care to come in and wait for my husband?”
Rather than looking relieved, Oliver’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. He drew in a breath, seemingly searching for, and finding, a dose of courage.
“Yes,” he proclaimed. “Yes, I’d like to do just that. I’d like to wait for him.”
“Charles, would you be kind enough to have some refreshment sent to the sitting room?” Jana asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and relieved Oliver of his bowler.
“Please come this way, Mr. Fisk.”
She led him down the hallway to the sitting room she liked and seated herself on the settee. Oliver folded his long, ungainly arms and legs into the chair across from her with little grace.
“I can’t promise when…my husband…will arrive,” Jana said, the term odd on her tongue. It wasn’t pleasant admitting, even to this stranger, that she had no idea what Brandon’s schedule was.
“I don’t mean to cause trouble,” Oliver fretted, though
