The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (47 page)

"Why is your window down?" she demanded, raising it.

"It's still hot."

"Then take off your jacket."

"I'll have to take off a lot more than that to get cool in here," he mumbled, slipping out of his black blazer.

"Suit yourself." She turned up the heat.

"All right then." He began to unbutton his shirt. "But be warned, many a female has fainted at the sight of my chest."

She laughed.

He sent her a mocking look. "I'm not sure I appreciate your laughter."

"A man's ego is always a source of entertainment." She glanced at his unbuttoned shirt and saw a flash of bare brown skin that wasn't supposed to be there. "Where's your undershirt?"

"I don't wear one."

In one moment he would be sitting half naked in her car with his bare chest exposed for review. She turned down the heat. It was definitely hot in here.

"Ahh, much better." He rested his head back and gazed out the window. His shirt was still unbuttoned, but she didn't feel like mentioning it.

"You worry me," she said.

He turned to her, amused. "Afraid I might be suicidal?"

"You never know. The quiet ones are tricky to figure out."

"Don't worry. Suicide is a bit too dramatic for me. I'd rather die of old age."

"You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt."

"I've made mistakes before," he admitted easily. "She's not the first."

"You asked another woman to marry you?"

He lifted his head and began buttoning his shirt.

"How many?"

He ran a hand down his shirt, straightening his buttons. "Two."

She looked at him, surprised. "Lynda was the
third
woman you've asked to marry you?"

"Yes. Rochelle originally said yes, but returned the
ring
after a week."

"Why?"

"Said that I scared her because I had no warmth." He straightened his collar. "No typical human emotions." He shrugged. "Whatever that means."

"Oh." She could understand how Rochelle came to that conclusion. Being his wife would seem a lonely place. Yet there was something below the surface that urged her to dig deeper.

"Why are you stopping?" he asked as she parked the car.

"I want to pick something up. I've ruined your birthday and want to make it up to you."

"You're getting me a cake."

She unlatched her seat belt. "Do you like chocolate or vanilla?"

"Surprise me."

She grinned. "Okay, but before I do, tell me about the first one."

He rested his arm on the windowsill. "The first one what?"

"The first woman you asked to marry you." She knew she was being bold, asking him about his past, but she was curious.

Eric reached for his tie, then remembered he didn't have it. He sighed. The first time he had proposed seemed eons ago. A time when he'd been young and reckless, slowly making his place in the world and leaving his background in the dust. He'd become overconfident when Catherine came into his life. She was smart, attractive, came from a good home and family, and was everything he wasn't.

"I met her at one of the young black entrepreneur meetings Drake liked to drag me to. I was sort of floundering career wise." He looked at her. "You like to be bored to death, don't you?"

"Just finish the story. So you were floundering. I would never have imagined that. You seem the type to always have known what you wanted."

There was a brief flicker of his wicked grin. "I knew what I wanted. I was just having a hard time getting there." He unlatched his seat belt and shifted in the seat, resting his back on the door. "Catherine was doing a presentation on investment. I'd never seen a young woman with such poise and elegance. I... I was impressed, I was in awe. I wanted her and sought out to get her. She said yes the first time I asked her out. I was almost grateful. I wasn't used to... We dated for a few months and then at midnight on my twenty-second birthday I asked her to marry me."

"And?" Adriana demanded when he fell silent.

Eric glanced down, pulling off invisible lint from his trousers. "And she raised her lovely eyes and said in a voice filled with pity: 'If you were Drake, I would say yes.'" He shook his head to mask the pain that still lingered. "It was only then that I realized she'd been dating me so that Drake would notice her. I had been so blind. I hadn't even seen the signs. It wouldn't have been the first time." He glanced up. Adriana's eyes swam with tears.

"Hey, hey, don't do that," he pleaded, opening her glove compartment to find tissues.

Her voice was a whisper. "That is a horrible story." She stared at the tissues Eric shoved in her hands. He could be nonchalant about it, but she felt for the young man who had proposed a lifetime of loyalty to a woman who had used him to get his brother. She knew it hurt because she had seen it happen before.

She crumbled the tissues in her hand. "I hate people like that," she said, anger overcoming tears. "Users. They did the same thing to Cassie, you know. Guys would go out with her just so that they could flirt with me." She could still remember her friend's face—the hurt when she found out and the shame that followed. Cassie never believed her, but Adriana knew her pain intimately. Knew what rejection felt like. How it felt to be judged and discarded. Hearing Eric's story had reminded her of that.

Adriana had been thrilled when Drake met Cassie. He took no notice of Adriana—his eyes and heart meant only for Cassie. Of course convincing Cassie of that had been hard at first. Her full-figured friend couldn't believe an attractive man like Drake would truly like her. Fortunately, Drake proved very persuasive.

"It's the past," Eric said.

"But aren't you angry? You and I have nothing in common, but I'd never say I wished you were Drake."

He raised a brow. "Even if you thought it? Come clean, Adriana. Haven't there been times when you wondered how Drake and I could be related?"

That was true. They didn't even look like brothers. Drake was darker, broader, with an all-consuming quality that attracted most women. He had the masculine virility of a superhero. Eric didn't even look like a sidekick; he was the sidekick's accountant. She watched a knowing smile appear on his face as if he'd read her thoughts. She quickly pushed away the comparison.

"Okay, so most people are impressed by Drake," she conceded. "But perhaps you think about the differences just as much as they do." His arrogant smile fell. "Perhaps sometimes you even accentuate it. Perhaps you didn't think you could compete so you completely dropped out of the game, becoming everything Drake wasn't."

Eric shifted in his seat again, staring out the windshield. "No." His voice was cool.

Adriana could feel him pulling inside himself, creating a distance between them. She wouldn't allow that. She had seen a part of Eric tonight that she knew could be just as tempting and dangerous as any man. She refused to let him isolate himself in his iron wall of control.

"I admit that you're here with me because I couldn't imagine you celebrating your birthday alone. I usually spend my time with guys who think inflation has something to do with balloons and could crack nuts with their toes, but I learned a few things about you that I can't figure out. I don't know where you learned it, but you're like a con artist." She warmed to her subject as the overhead lamplight reflected on his glasses, shielding his eyes. "You're not what you seem. You show the world that you're serious and dull, but the truth is, if you wanted to, you could be as sexy as Drake and as dangerous as a viper. And that is definitely irresistible."

He turned to her, his eyes remote. She stared back, her heart pounding so hard she feared it was audible.

Where the hell had that come from? Definitely irresistible? She felt like crawling out the door. What had possessed her to say such things? Okay, his two ruined birthdays and disastrous proposals had made her feel sorry for him. And tonight he had seemed anything but dull and ordinary. That didn't mean he could compete with Drake or any other man. She had made an idiot of herself. Yet she couldn't look away. His eyes held her with invisible chains while the air around them crackled with untamed energy.

She finally turned and opened the door, eager to escape. To her relief he let her go. He didn't grab her hand or say anything that would make the moment even more unbearable.

She began to relax when she was assaulted by the bright lights of the bakery. She pitied him, that was all. It didn't go deeper than that. It wasn't anything dangerous like desire. She suddenly felt better, that rationale made all her crazy feelings make sense.

She saw a simple chocolate swirl cheesecake. It looked serious next to the flowery vanilla cakes plush with icing. It was perfect. She felt calm as she returned to the car. Eric would probably forget all that she had said anyway.

She slid into her seat. She stopped when she realized he was gone.

Chapter 4

He probably thought she was crazy, or worse—drunk. He had most likely left disgusted by her display of emotions. She had made him uncomfortable by talking about his relationship with his brother. Or maybe he was just sick of her company, sick of the disaster she had made of his birthday. She didn't really like him, she told herself, only pitied him, but his absence made her feel miserable.

The passenger door suddenly opened. "Relax, Adriana," Eric said in a quiet voice. "I just went to get a few things." He put the bag between his feet.

She was so happy to see him, her voice was harsh. "I could have left you."

"You didn't see my note?" He lifted a tissue off the dashboard. A brief message was scribbled across it.

"What does it say? Your handwriting is terrible."

"It says 'Won't be long.'" He pushed the note into his shirt pocket. "Do you often jump to conclusions?"

She put on her seat belt.

Eric settled back as she started the car. He could see how her brothers were protective of her. Her eyes were dangerous—open, honest, amazingly innocent in a way that made a man feel protective. When he'd seen her panicked gaze, thinking he had left her, he had the crazy urge to comfort and hold her. He smiled to himself. Tonight he planned to do much more.

* * *

The hummingbird was nervous, but Eric was too preoccupied to soothe her. Her apartment held his attention. It was as he had expected, yet it wasn't. There were no bold contrasting colors—like a purple couch with brown pillows. No unidentifiable works of art spread about the place. Instead it was peaceful. Cream walls and drapery with brown accents gave the room a natural earthy feel. Her couch was full of various-sized pillows and covered with a velvet slipcover. An antique phone sat on a side table. Iron candle holders hung on the walls. A large glass coffee table faced the couch with a polished black base.

Everything in the apartment invited a guest to use the five senses. The scent of vanilla drifted from the candles, soft chenille pillows tempted you to touch them, and a bowl of tangelos and oranges on the dining table tantalized you to indulge.

"I suppose you would like to have a tour to see how recklessly I spend money," she said as she placed the cake in the kitchen.

He nodded.

They went into the bedroom. A place of exotic, tranquil beauty. An ornate embroidered duvet with a patchwork border of sari and jacquard covered the bed in the colors olive and raisin. Numerous pillows sat on top in burgundy and gold satin with beaded lace. A sheer red suspended canopy hung above, trimmed with red crystals. Moroccan-style lanterns hung near the windows close to a beaded ottoman.

Wordlessly, he entered the bathroom. A sanctuary. A hand-woven woolen rug lay on the floor, while white billowy curtains moved gently from the air of the vent. Ivory candles of various shapes and sizes sat around the claw-footed tub. He noticed the detail of the feet.

She followed his gaze. "It was hell getting that thing in here, but I had to have it."

He nodded and returned to her bedroom. He went to touch the bed and saw a flash of orange and white leap from the windowsill and dash out the door.

"I think I just saw Elena."

"Elissa," she corrected, leaning against the bed. "She's shy of people, so don't take it personally."

"I didn't plan to."

She glanced around the bedroom, then looked at him. "Disappointed?"

He toyed with the crystals on the canopy. "By what?"

"Most men expect women like me to have leopard-print silk sheets, half-naked statues, and lingerie hanging behind the door."

He surveyed the room. No, it wasn't what he had expected, but he certainly wasn't disappointed. "I like it."

"I should be worried." She left the room.

Eric dropped his bag and followed. She showed him her office and guest room, then went to her balcony.

"My view isn't exquisite, but nice enough." She went to the railing and turned. Eric rested against the door frame. "Come on. Don't you want to see the view?" She looked out on her quiet street. A dog ambled past under a street lamp, becoming visible, then invisible.

"Not particularly," he said.