Public Relations (16 page)

The corners of Peter’s lips twitched upward as he watched the exchange. As his parents argued over who had chosen the name, and its ultimate suitability, his magic fingers trailed back and forth along the seam of Georgia’s jeans, inching ever closer to her apex. She shifted but somehow only managed to bring him closer.

“Get a room, you two,” Niall muttered, flicking a glance under the table, where his low seating on the stool gave him a direct view.

The kettle chose that moment to send up a wail. Blushing furiously, Georgia glanced from Brenna to Ronan, neither of whom had seemed to notice the exchange. Peter shot Niall a glare that promised retribution but kept his commentary to himself. He kept his hand high on her thigh, perhaps in direct challenge to his brother.

“What do you do, Niall?” She wanted to change the subject before these two began arguing again.

Beer bottle dangling negligently from two fingers, Niall flicked his gaze to Peter and back to Georgia. “I’m the family rogue.”

Something in Niall’s darkening stare aborted Georgia’s laughter.

“He’s a professional gambler,” Kevin supplied. “Don’t let him get you thinking he’s Captain Jack.”

“I’d hardly apply the word ‘professional’ to what he does for a living,” Peter sniped.

Classic.

She’d completely stepped in the middle of a topic designed to foment an already established family feud. Only Ronan, who’d begun using a pair of tweezers and a C-clamp to manipulate the ship’s model he worked on, didn’t seem to notice the brewing storm.

Niall rolled his eyes and stood. “Know what? I’m not in the mood for this. Ma, call me for the cake. I’m gonna log on and place some bets.”

“Let him alone, Peter.” Brenna placed a bowl of stew in front of her son and one in front of Georgia. “As long as he can support himself, it’s none of your business what he does.”

The meaty-sweet scent of beef and carrots wafted from the steaming earthenware cup. Scowling, Peter removed his hand from Georgia’s leg. Heat radiated from the spot he’d been touching, leaving the rest of her chilled in contrast. Scooping up his stew, he seemed to consider his spoon.

“I think he wants to tell you it is his business what we all do since he gave us the seed money.” Liam regarded Peter as he spoke.

Georgia glanced between the two men as she took her first bite of the stew. Flavor burst in her mouth, melding sweet carrots, earthy potatoes, and tender meat. Fascinated to gain this glimpse into a real family structure, she chewed and observed, riveted not to the discord but rather the love behind it.

“Don’t mind these boys, Georgia,” Brenna said, plunking a steaming mug of tea in front of her along with a sugar and creamer set. A tag and string dangled from the cup. “They came out of the womb taking swings at one another.”

Picturing the testosterone fest of their teen years, Georgia breathed out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know how you brought up four teenage boys.”

Brenna’s smile preceded a glance to Peter, who spooned up his stew and chewed without commenting on his brother’s assessment of his feelings. “Mostly it was three boys. Peter was gone at boarding school and away on summer programs during break.”

How had a family of six on an obviously limited income afforded boarding school? Swallowing another bite of stew, Georgia furrowed her brow but otherwise kept her skepticism to herself.

“Ma…” Peter’s tone warned his mother not to divulge his personal business.

Pretending not to hear him, Brenna gave Georgia a conspiratorial look before she turned her back and set about removing a stack of dessert plates from a cupboard. “He’s always been a planner. Never failed to do right by us all.”

His father’s quiet
harrumph
brought Georgia’s attention around to him, but the man never looked up from his work.

Peter hunched over his bowl and scraped at the bottom. Catching his uncomfortable posture, Georgia took pity on him.

“I enrolled myself in boarding school when I was fourteen,” she said, pouring a little cream into her tea.

Hand stilling, Peter turned his head to snare her gaze. “You enrolled yourself too?”

“What school did you go to?” Kevin asked. “Peter went to Choate.”

“Kevin…” Peter growled his brother’s name.

“Well, you did!” Kevin expelled a laugh with the statement. “God, Peter, what has your underpants in a bunch? It’s not like you’re not getting l—”

“Kevin!” Brenna plunked the cake plates down on the table and bestowed an arch look on her son.

Liam openly grinned at Kevin from the other end of the table. In that moment, these brothers reminded Georgia of overgrown puppies, all nipping mouths and playful mischief. They goaded their brother, attempting to cajole him into a better mood. If it weren’t for her presence unsettling things, she had the impression it might’ve worked.

“Are you twins?” Georgia asked, changing the subject for all their sakes.

Kevin and Liam exchanged glances.

“We could tell her no and see if she believes us,” Liam said.

Peter snorted and visibly relaxed, the line of his shoulders gaining a little more distance from his ears.

Brenna pushed open the door to the kitchen and stuck her head out. “Niall. Cake!”

“But you have…” Georgia paused, wondering if Liam felt self-conscious about his eyes.

“I’m a changeling,” Liam teased, putting her mind at ease. He waggled his eyebrows. “And the ladies love the two-color thing.”

“Rat bastard has always made my life difficult.” Kevin shook his head and clucked in mock disgust. “If it weren’t for his compulsive need to be different, we could’ve gotten away with trading places.”

“I told you to spend your birthday money on colored contacts for us both.” Liam smirked at some secret joke. “You didn’t listen.”

“They were yellow! From the
Thriller
collection!”

“Yeah.” Liam’s smile expanded into a shit-eating grin. He chuckled. “But can you imagine if we’d done it?”

Kevin sat back so his mother could plunk a piece of cake in front of Georgia. She wondered that they didn’t sing “Happy Birthday” but was glad for it. When she sang, she sounded like a howling dog.

Georgia watched Peter watch his brothers, open affection softening his expression. The kitchen door creaked, and Niall strode in to take his place on the step stool, outside the circle of family. Peter glanced Niall’s way, his gaze hardening.

“Aren’t we going to sing?” Liam asked, glancing down at his plate.

“You sing,” Peter said. “We’ll listen.”

“Okay.” Liam shrugged, apparently unfazed at the idea of giving a command performance. “What should I sing?”

“Show-off,” Niall said, but he sat forward, cake in hand.

“Do the one about candles on your cake,” Kevin said, his wicked grin clearly saying he goaded his brother into something he shouldn’t do.

“That’s a horrible, morbid song,” Brenna said, settling into a chair next to her husband who’d already dug into his piece of cake with gusto.

“Tell you what?” Liam looked over his shoulder as if searching for something. “My guitar’s in the other room. Be right back. You guys eat. I’ll sing for my supper…er, cake.”

Liam stood and strode out of the room. Georgia looked at Peter who said simply, “He’s a professional musician.”

“Oh.” Searching her memory, she tried to figure out if she’d seen him on TV or heard his name on the radio.

“Studio musician,” Peter clarified. “He tours with some bands too.”

“He’s got the creepiest voice,” Niall said. “Nobody human should sound like he does.”

Liam returned to the kitchen with his guitar. “Heard that.”

Georgia washed down the sugary sweetness of the cake with a sip of tea and watched Liam pluck a few notes. Head cocked, he tuned the guitar with minute twists of the keys at the top of the neck. Finished, he straightened and looked Georgia in the eye. Regarding her with an intensity that made her squirm, he strummed a few experimental chords that quickly became rapid-fire flicks of his fingertips against the steel strings.

“This one’s for you, Peter,” he said, glancing at his brother before returning his attention to Georgia and the song.

When he sang the lyrics to John Mayer’s “Why Georgia,” she had to clutch at the table’s edge to keep from sliding off the seat onto the floor. The words, so intimate, made her wonder at Peter’s reaction, but she didn’t dare peek at his face. Instead, she let herself be carried away by the most beautifully mellow tenor she’d ever heard.

As Liam hit the song’s high notes, he closed his eyes and tilted his chin up, wringing every last drop of sweetness from the song. Everyone stopped eating until he’d finished singing. On his last strum, Liam hung his head and seemed to absorb the instrument’s lingering resonance. Silence reigned until Peter cleared his throat.

Georgia chanced a sideways glance. A strange pallor had stolen over Peter’s skin. His pale complexion contrasted with the red of his parted lips, and his fingers dug into his thighs hard enough to turn his knuckles white as well. She didn’t understand what had struck him mute, but the sentiment was shared. She only hoped she looked better than he did.

Chapter Twelve

Peter pushed away his cake and stood. Hooking a thumb toward the backyard, he explained when all eyes alighted on him, “I have to bring our bags out. Da, we’ll do presents tomorrow?”

Ronan, who’d already returned to his model, nodded distractedly while Liam strummed an idle melody on his guitar. To Georgia’s mind, Peter fled the room as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels.

The front door opened and closed. Apparently he’d decided to take the long way around. Not knowing what else to do, Georgia looked toward the sink and reached for her and Peter’s dishes on the table.

“Don’t you dare even think it,” Brenna said, shooing her. “Go. See if you can do something with him. I gave up trying years ago.”

“Thank you.” She glanced to Ronan. “Sorry we ruined your birthday dinner by being late.”

Niall snorted. “Ma only ever orders enough pizza for us five. Pete never shows on time.”

“Oh,” Georgia said, a little stupidly, she knew, but knowing family secrets—secrets even Peter hadn’t been let in on—felt wrong, especially when she wasn’t really here as more than a paid employee.

With a guilty glance at Niall, she skirted around his step stool and out the back door without her coat. Fresh footprints in the snow showed her Peter had already come around the house. Huddled in on herself for warmth, she trudged across the backyard toward the boathouse as wet snowflakes pattered like raindrops against her skin.

Outside she could see the boathouse for what it was. Like a second home, it perched on the edge of the lake with a quiet elegance that reminded her more of Peter’s taste than that of anyone else in the family. Two stories high and vivid red, the building appeared to be a modernist statement on quaint old New England. The back sported no windows or doors, only an arbor that likely provided a shady barbeque spot in the warmer months.

A side door spilled light onto the snow, a beacon when she left the main house. Georgia approached the entrance and peeked through the glass panes at the top of the door. The water’s reflection danced off the ceiling in a wavy pattern that suggested the place was currently devoid of any waterborne vessel.

She raised her hand to knock, hesitated, and glanced back at the main house. Should she give Peter some time alone? He hadn’t exactly invited her to go with him, and he’d seemed to need some space from everyone when he’d left. She stood, shivering in indecision, staring across the yard, until Peter swung the door wide, making her jump.

“Planning to come in?”

She stepped inside and closed the door. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Interesting question.” He pivoted, his retreat visibly tactical.

He’d changed into navy pajama bottoms and wore nothing else. As he walked, the material clung to his muscled ass. Transfixed, she leaned back against the door.

“Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll never make it upstairs.”

Her gaze flew to his face. He stared at her over his shoulder, one hand on the stair rail. Mortified, she tried to come up with an excuse for ogling him and failed. A bashful grin lifted her lips.

“Sorry. You’re…” She shrugged and looked away, at a loss.

Water lapped against the boathouse pylons in a rhythmic tempo, and light rippled across the room, casting a magical glow. The pungent scent of cedar competed with the more actively organic odor of algae and damp air. Peter remained perched at the bottom of the stairway, regarding her until she had to look at him or go crazy with wanting to know his thoughts.

“Want to come up?” He inclined his head, indicating the space above. “It’s warmer.”

Feeling not a wee bit like a fly entering the spider’s web, Georgia nodded and moved around the hull-shaped hole in the floor to follow Peter’s ascent.

“Did you build this place?” she asked as they emerged into a great room of sorts.

Exposed rafters and a glass-fronted woodstove at the room’s center gave it the feeling of a luxurious cabin. One wall was made of glass and overlooked the lake’s inky surface. Leather sofas and a recliner surrounded a bearskin rug on one side, while a bed made of huge logs took a place of prominence on the opposite side of the central stairwell.

Georgia looked from left to right at the top of the stairs, while Peter crossed to a small kitchen and withdrew two bottles of water from the fridge.

He cracked the cap on one bottle and held it out. “Here. Make yourself at home.”

She crossed the room, and he met her partway. Above her head a white patch caught her attention. A snow-covered skylight, reinforced with steel, ran the length of the room, bisecting the roof into a stargazer’s heaven.

“That must be gorgeous in the summer.” Georgia took the water from Peter’s hand as she spoke.

Their fingers brushed, and her skin heated all over. The bottle tumbled from her hand and rolled across the floor. She chased after it, snatching it up before it disappeared under the bed. She straightened, intending to join Peter in the center of the room, and froze.