This Thing Called Love (4 page)

The past was too close, pushing on her, awakening old memories best forgotten. She had big problems to focus on and he was distracting her from them. They’d both moved on, for the better, of course.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Olivia said, steering the conversation into safe territory. After all, he’d given up his for her dad. “How about we split this one?” She walked into the kitchen, happy to be on the move, and set the cup on the island. Brad trailed too close, right behind her.

As she searched the cabinets for a mug, he pulled off the lid and sipped, then handed it to her, like they were sharing a Coke in the old days. A simple, impulsive gesture, but it seemed too intimate. She turned, leaving the cupboard doors ajar, and took a sip. Strong, aromatic, rich. Within seconds, the caffeine fired up her sleepy neurons and set her heart racing. Or was that from Brad’s nearness?

“Bet you won’t find any junk food in there,” Brad tipped his chin toward the open cabinets, “unless Kevin managed to hide a stash somewhere.”

Olivia smiled. Trish had religiously followed an all-organic, no-caffeine diet all through her pregnancy. Her sister had always thrown herself into anything she did one hundred percent. Both of them possessed the same drive, just aimed it in completely different directions.

She was suddenly grateful Brad was here, joking and flirting. Keeping at bay the dark void that threatened to pull her in around every corner.

“It must be hard to stay here,” Brad said, looking around the kitchen as if he’d sensed her fear and dread. The mail pile with catalogs to recycle and bills someone else would have to pay. A package wrapped with paper from a brown grocery bag, a birthday gift for a cousin that never made it to the post office. A pair of Kevin’s flip-flops tossed off by the door.

And worst, the photos. Trish was obsessed with them. She took them, copied them, printed them, scrapbooked them, and hung them everywhere. Olivia could not glance in any direction without being inundated by happy, wonderful, heartbreaking moments.

Brad walked over to a bookshelf in the family room and picked up a framed picture. It was taken at the hospital, just after Annabelle was born. It was the typical pose of Trish in the hospital bed, Kevin’s arm around her, the baby pink and new with a cap on her head and bundled in a white flannel hospital blanket. The expressions on the new parents’ faces were jubilant, relieved, exhausted. They were both grinning from ear to ear.

“Who called you?” Brad asked.

Olivia must’ve looked puzzled, because he added, “You know. The night she was born. I just wondered which of us knew first.”

So he still had his competitive streak. “Trish called me from home at dinnertime, before she went in. She was painting the hallway gray when her water broke.”

“She wanted to finish before they went to the hospital,” Brad said. “Kevin was so upset. He couldn’t understand why she was doing that. ‘It didn’t need painting’ he said, ‘and what was wrong with beige, anyway?’ Being a lawyer, he always made a practical argument.”

Olivia took a seat on the brown sofa, chuckling a little. “She wanted to throw laundry in, too. He’d almost had to force her into the car. That was just like her. She wanted everything to be neat and tidy when she came back with the baby. Poor Kevin had to finish painting the hallway on, like, an hour of sleep.”

Brad replaced the frame. “I went to the hospital right after work. Annabelle wasn’t born until midnight.”

“I was in Chicago on business. I caught the first flight back but didn’t get in till the next morning. I missed everything.” She went quiet. “I let my sister down.” When you were part of two sisters raised without a mother, that was a big deal. She would always feel guilty she’d missed the most important experience of her sister’s life.

Brad looked surprised. “Don’t say that. You did your best.”

She shrugged, not believing him. “It was an extra trip. I could’ve said no.”

“Trish wasn’t due for two weeks. You couldn’t have known.” A sudden grin lit his face. “Besides, Trish FaceTimed you before they even let me in to see the baby. So looks like you win after all. You saw Annabelle first.”

Except no one really won. Because here they were, in an empty house surrounded by memories.

Olivia was getting choked up so she walked back to the kitchen. For a minute the house was silent except for the soft static of the baby monitor. Outside, birds created a morning riot and sunlight glittered on the shimmering dew. The tiny backyard surrounded by a rim of old trees created a brilliant explosion of green outside the door and a warm, fresh breeze blew in through the open window. A different world from New York.

The geraniums planted in antique gold-rimmed barrels on the porch looked wilted, and Olivia made a mental note to water them. God knew she’d killed any living plant she’d ever laid hands on, but caring for the flowers Trish had so lovingly planted seemed elemental and urgent. Like keeping them alive kept part of her sister alive.

“How’d she do last night?” Brad leaned casually against the kitchen counter, tipping his head in the direction of the baby’s room. His body was big and broad and lean, too big for the tiny kitchen, too big in her thoughts. She should have never let him in the house.

“Compared to what happened in Gertie’s, much better,” Olivia said, knowing that a good night for a one-month-old was a very relative term. “Chalk it up to exhaustion after all that crying.”

His gaze strayed lazily over her again. “And how’d
you
do?”

“I . . . survived.” She wondered what he thought of her messy hair, lack of makeup, her old T-shirt and cutoff sweats. While he wore billionaire businessman chic and looked tastier than that cinnamon roll she’d just scarfed down.

But she was not trying to impress him and she might as well be honest. “Look, about yesterday. I’m here to make a plan, to do what my sister asked of me. But I honestly don’t know a thing about babies.”

Brad’s gaze wandered over the mile-high stack of baby care books piled on the kitchen table. Why was it so important that he see how hard she was trying? Even if she was the last person in the world Trish should have picked to be Annabelle’s mom?

“Are you saying you might not keep her?” He sounded hopeful.

“No, I-I just want to learn all I can and do what’s best for Annabelle.”
Whatever that is.
“It’s a little overwhelming.”

She’d expected an argument, but instead Brad flashed a smile. Tiny lines she’d never noticed before crinkled at the corners of his eyes. They lent him an air of maturity that was unbelievably sexy. As if anything about him
wasn’t
. He reached over and smoothed the unruly hair down on the top of her head.

Olivia cleared her throat and backed up a step. “That bad, huh?”

Brad shook his head. “I was just thinking you look like you’re eighteen again. No makeup, your hair wild like that.” She stared at him, watched emotion darken his eyes, and she could not look away. If she were less experienced, she’d think it was the pull of old memories, but Olivia was old enough to know pure, raw desire when she saw it.

Brad bent his head, his gaze locking on her lips. Her breath caught and for a moment she thought he was about to kiss her. She fought the compulsion to drag her fingers through his thick hair, press herself against his big strong body, use him as a comfort from all the confusion that had tipped her world. But that would be unbelievably wrong.

He raised his arm, as if to cup her cheek. Instinctively, she tilted up her head, ready to accept his kiss, but suddenly Brad thrust both his hands into his pants pockets. An awkward silence hung between them.

Olivia stepped far back, chiding herself. What was wrong with her? Drooling after a long-lost memory when a tiny baby who needed everything and had lost her whole world slept innocently one room away?

Brad pulled out a note from his pants pocket and cleared his throat. “I almost forgot. My grandma Effie gave me this to give you.”

He handed over a small square of paper that was folded in fours. Glad for the distraction, Olivia opened it carefully and read the caption out loud. “Baby Care Classes—Mirror Lake Community Center. Starting tonight.”

“Effie thought you might be interested. She used to teach them for years until she retired from nursing.”

Hmmm
. Baby care class. This could be just what she needed to give herself the skills she lacked.

She skimmed down the flyer. “They’re for . . . couples. It says to take a spouse, significant other, parent, or friend.” Great. Alex and Meg had a business meeting tonight. Her father would rather suffer through a bout of shingles than be trapped for an hour in a roomful of pregnant women. And she certainly didn’t have a mother who could step in to help.

Going alone would be awkward. It would evoke pitying stares and solemn head shakes. But she needed the info. Bad.

“I’m not working tonight,” Brad said. “I could go with you.”

Sympathy lit his eyes, and that startled her. Weakened her. Oh, how he could still get to her, especially now, when she felt something she rarely ever felt in her professional life—vulnerable. On the edge of despair. Desperate for someone to hold her hand on this frightening journey.

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” she said guardedly. That would be uncomfortable. Tense. Awkward.
Wrong
. She would do it on her own as she had faced so many other challenges.

“Well, I am her uncle,” Brad continued. “You’d have some company. Maybe you should accept help once in a while instead of going this alone.”

She met his gaze. Brad still had that cool confidence, that easy, relaxed manner he’d always possessed. Olivia couldn’t help being drawn in by those brilliant eyes, green as new leaves, unfathomable as the ocean.

“How about I pick you up at six?” he asked.

“Okay. It’s a date.” The answer poured from her mouth before she could stop it and she cringed at her weakness.
It’s a date?
Where had that come from? From the bowels of her weak, weak resolve, that was where.

On cue, like the every-Wednesday-at-noon test of the community tornado siren that warned of disaster, Annabelle’s sudden cry through the baby monitor rent the air between them. Olivia stepped back at once, snapping out of her Brad-induced trance.

As she rushed down the hallway to get the baby, Olivia groaned. Her mouth had clearly disconnected from her brain. Brad had sensed a weakness and he’d barged right in to prey upon it with his kind concern and his smoking hot body. And she’d fallen for it—her knees were shaking and her hands trembling, just like she was that naïve young girl who thought Brad Rushford held the world in his hands.

How could she suddenly trust him, when yesterday he’d been so angry and upset she’d gotten Annabelle? What on earth had changed, except for a few pheromones in the air that had clearly sucked away all her good sense? She’d fallen back so easily into bad habits. Trusting him when there were red flags everywhere warning her not to put her feet in that ocean.

Life was complicated enough. She could not allow him to complicate it further. She turned around and called his name. He halted at the door with a questioning look.

“I-I’m sorry, but I think it’s best if I go alone. We’re not a couple and I-I just wouldn’t feel comfortable.” She hesitated before adding, “Thanks anyway, though.”

Brad’s brows rose in a question, and he opened his mouth to speak. Instead he nodded his head and tossed her a polite smile. “Okay, Liv. See you around.”

Once he’d left out the kitchen door, Olivia slapped a hand to her forehead. She’d handled that badly. But she’d done the right thing.

Brad Rushford hadn’t lost his old talent to slip under her skin, reduce her to a puddle of melted syrup. And if she wasn’t careful, he’d slip under her panties, too, and that would be a disaster.

He’d certainly changed his tone from yesterday. Apologizing, bringing coffee,
flirting
. It wasn’t like him to suddenly do a complete one-eighty on his feelings. She didn’t know what he was up to, but she was going to find out.

CHAPTER 4

“If I ran my business like this, I’d have no customers,” Brad mumbled as he tapped the hand bell on top of a glass-cased counter at Bridal Aisle, which was filled with girly satin purses, earrings, and beaded shoes.

“Alex! Where the hell are you?” He looked warily around the destination shop his sister-in-law ran with her friend Meg Halloran. The rainbows of fancy dresses, the waif-like manikins with unnaturally skinny waists, and a table piled with bridal magazines made him realize he was in foreign territory, one he didn’t want a passport for.

He was in a mood. Was having trouble concentrating at work, so he’d run over here on a quick errand to clear his head. It was a big mistake to have shown up with coffee this morning for his hot, sexy neighbor. He’d wanted to be friendly, cordial. How else could he convince her to do the right thing by Annabelle? Or find a weak spot he could infiltrate and seize the opportunity to find a better home for his niece?

He’d gone over there with the specific intention of getting on her good side. Catching more bees with honey and all that. But the baby class had unexpectedly created an opportunity he simply couldn’t miss out on. She needed to see firsthand how much time and effort it took to raise a child. How much knowledge she lacked. That would be Step One to make her realize she was not the right person to be Annabelle’s mother.

But he’d ended up being sucked in by her feminine force field, the exact same one that had crushed him when he was eighteen.

Seeing her all tousled made him think of ways to keep her up all night that had nothing to do with crying infants. Their back-and-forth banter kept him on his toes. And there was something about her . . . a steely determination in the face of fear that made every cell in his body want to help her in any way possible instead of to undermine her. Even though she didn’t need it and would balk at the very suggestion of his aiding her in any way.

There he went again. Brad knew every single success he’d earned was due to a laser-like focus on his goals. He was not about to let Olivia’s tight little ass or her melty cocoa eyes make him lose sight of his goal.

Annabelle’s future.

He’d do anything to secure that, including use Olivia’s insecurities to his advantage. He had so little time, and so few tools at his disposal. There had to be a way to appeal to her intelligence, her sense of logic, to make her see the truth.

A pink curtain parted between the shop and the back room, and a pretty woman in a gray suit, hair piled up business-like on her head, approached the counter.

“Quit your fussing, Bradley, we’re not even open yet.” Alex glanced at his hands. “Oh, you brought the doll. Thank goodness.” Her polished demeanor cracked with relief.

Brad waggled the floppy doll he carried. “Found it wedged between the wall and my couch. I have no idea how it got there.”

“Sure you don’t. You’d never roughhouse with my kids, would you?”

Brad pointed innocently to himself. “
Moi?
Never!”

She plucked the doll away. “We spent an hour last night looking for this.”

“A whole hour? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait till you have kids of your own so I can remind you that you actually said that.”

A petite woman with long straight hair the color of black coffee waved at them from across the store. He hadn’t seen her amid the racks of foofy dresses. She bounced a baby on her shoulder while humming a current pop song, her flowery peasant skirt swaying around her calves as she half walked, half danced through the aisles.

“Meg,” Alex called out, leaning over the counter, “I’m pretty sure Olivia said she was only going to expose Annabelle to classical music. Somehow, I don’t think Katy Perry qualifies.”

Annabelle
? Brad did a double take as Meg approached with the pink-clad infant. He was officially outnumbered by a feminine factor of three. At least sweet, ruffly Meg wouldn’t hassle him whereas Alex, cashing in on the privilege of being his sister-in-law, would take free aim. With grenades.

Big blue eyes blinked up at him. He cupped Annabelle’s head in one hand, her soft blonde baby fuzz tickling his skin. He was struck, as always, by her tininess. “Hey there, sugar. You’re looking pretty today.”

Annabelle didn’t quite smile, but she kicked her legs, and Brad felt something in her steady, calm gaze that shot straight to his heart.
Recognition.
She knew who he was and was happy to see him. He
felt
it. A feeling of pleasure and pride ripped through him that renewed his determination to champion her at any cost.

Meg gathered her hair away from the baby’s fists and draped it over her empty shoulder. “Oh, Annabelle’s got to learn to have rhythm. She needs pop music for that, don’t you, sweetie?”

Alex shook her head. “Meg, for as much as you love music, it’s amazing you don’t dance.”

A blush worked its way into Meg’s cheeks. She wasn’t as shy as she’d been in high school, but still hated to be put on the spot. “Not in public, anyway. I never grew up with it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the thrill of the music just the same.”

Had Olivia dropped Annabelle off with her two best friends? Brad scanned the store again. He really didn’t want to run into her, especially after she’d specifically
un
invited him to baby class.

“She’s in the bathroom, taking a migraine pill.” Meg was clearly onto him. “The past week’s been a little rough.”

Tell me about it
. “Anything I can do?” he asked, knowing these two women had it covered. A quick glance at his phone told him he had to get back to work.

“Actually, yes.” Meg handed Annabelle to him faster than a foul ball speeding down the third baseline to an unsuspecting fan in the stands. “Mrs. Kline and Priscilla are going to be here any minute and we’ve got to set up.”

Brad readjusted the warm, sweet-smelling bundle. All of them had gone to school with Priscilla Kline, the mayor’s daughter. Her wedding promised to be the Mirror Lake event of the century. If the minions survived the preparations.

Alex pointed to the back. “Olivia said something about Annabelle needing a bottle. Maybe you can help out for a few minutes?”

Brad really had to go. He had a conference call in fifteen minutes and his seafood supplier was bringing in the daily shipment that he always inspected personally. “Well, I—”

“Olivia’s so sick, she just needs some time for the medicine to kick in before she can function again,” Meg said solemnly.

He suspected a setup from the Two Musketeers, who’d reconnoitered similar missions in the past. Just then, the bell over the door tinkled and a gaggle of women entered, talking boisterously amongst themselves.

He had no desire to run into Priscilla, who’d had a larger-than-life crush on him a few years ago.

Besides, Olivia’s guard would be down. Maybe he could use that to get her to see the error of her ways. Just then, Annabelle stared at him with her stellar baby blues and curled her tiny finger possessively around his pinky.

He always was a sucker for a pretty woman. “Where is she?” he said on a sigh.

Through the curtain, the large storeroom was dim. He spotted Olivia half sitting, half lying, her back to him, on an old velvet-cushioned settee.

“Alex, is that you?” Olivia called. “I’m about to hurl my breakfast all over your antique couch because I can’t open this damn pill.”

Brad bit back a grin. “Pass it over,” he said, coming to stand next to her.

Startled, she looked up, her big brown eyes rounding even larger. She covered her forehead with her arm and slumped down further onto the couch. “Not
you
again. Please God, anyone but you.”

“It’s me, all right.” He took a small foil packet from her and ripped it open with his teeth. “You look pretty stressed. That’s not even all of it. All that gray, pasty skin, bags under your eyes . . .”

She didn’t really look like hell. Okay, maybe a little. Mostly she looked exhausted, and he almost felt guilty for tormenting her.

There was a blotch of formula on the shoulder of her wrinkly white T-shirt and a threadbare spot on the thigh of her old jean shorts with white threads hanging down. She shouldn’t have been sexy. But she was, dammit, even sick and pissed off.

Her toned legs stretched out for miles. He wanted to run his hands all over their smooth softness. Her hair was splayed out and wild around her head, begging for him to plow through its rich thickness. There was something about her reclining on that couch, exhausted, unguarded, yet wary, that overwhelmed him with the need to help her. Protect her. Jump her bones.

The jumble of conflicting feelings tormented him. What was
wrong
with him? He’d have to get his pleasure by tormenting the hell out of her instead.

She snatched at the pill but he held it just out of reach.

Outrage washed across her face in bright hues of red. He almost smiled at how much he was still able to agitate her. “Get these headaches often?”

“No, it’s just the lack of sleep, the stress.” She almost grabbed it that time, but he was still on his game.

“And you aren’t even working now. Just wait till you’ve got to be up all night with a baby then have to negotiate your six-figure deals the next day.”

“Hand me my medicine or I swear to God you’ll die in your sleep tonight.”

“Coming, coming.” He handed her the packet and a paper cone of cold water from the corner water cooler. “Plus you’re a perfectionist who’ll demand a lot of yourself . . . and Annabelle.”

Olivia’s response was to shoot him a death glare over the top of the paper cup.

“Alex said Annabelle needed a bottle. I’d be happy to feed her.” The baby was still in his arms, sucking quietly on her fingers. She was a warm little football-sized bundle, compact and cute as a Christmas puppy. He loved his niece and nephews, but this little thing—well, he’d never had such a strong urge to safeguard anyone from harm.

Maybe it was the baby’s blissful unawareness that the entire trajectory of her life had been altered in a single moment. It was too terrible a blow, and he wanted to do everything in his power to shelter her from any others.

Brad rummaged through the diaper bag. “You know what happens to kids raised by perfectionist mothers.”

Olivia was lying almost flat on the settee, elbow crooked over her forehead. She groaned softly, from aggravation or pain, he wasn’t sure. “Please, please go away.”

“Right after this story. You know Sally Hopkins, don’t you? Drove her daughter up to Julliard to sing for an admission tryout and the poor girl was so stressed, not one sound came out. Like she was mute or something.”

Olivia looked at him like he was a pure, raving lunatic.

“Never did sing in public again. Want to know what she’s doing now?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“She heads up the late show at the truckers’ lounge out on route fifty-four. Heard she does a hell of a rendition of ‘You Light Up My Life.’”

“You can totally leave now.”

“Isn’t there a bottle in here somewhere?”

“Yes, and I can handle it. I really don’t need your help.”

“As I recall, I think you said that before, the other day in Gertie’s, and we all know how that turned out.” He found a full bottle, and took it to the small employee break area where he ran it under some warm water. Then he rummaged through the old corner fridge. “Here you go.” He placed a towel with ice wrapped inside not un-gently over her forehead.

“You’re like the man who rocks the cradle while he pinches the baby. You pretend you’re being helpful, but the whole time, you’re subverting me.”

He bit back a grin. “Honey, I’d love to subvert you, but I don’t have time now. I’ve got to get back to work.”

She sat up, wincing and grabbing her head. Then squinted at him like the dim light in the room was the Red Sox stadium floodlights. “I’m good now. Hand her over.”

He shook his head and pushed her firmly back onto the settee. “So prideful. You’d still rather cut your right arm off than ask for help.”

“Since I’m left-handed, that might not be such a big deal.” He moved the ice bag to better cover her forehead and this time she didn’t fight him. “And
you
still have that same overdeveloped sense of responsibility.”

“Other parts of me are overdeveloped, too.”

“When I saw them last, they weren’t that developed.”

“As I recall, the only complaints that ever passed your lips about my size were that you were afraid you couldn’t take it all.”

“You must be mistaking your ego for your penis.”

He laughed. Couldn’t help himself. Some perverse part of him loved her wit, her humor, her sass
way
too much.

Brad stole a glance as Olivia leaned her head against the cushion. He was glad her eyes were closed, because he couldn’t take his off her. Dark, arched brows, long lashes, a beautiful oval face. He could do wicked things with those full pink lips, taste them and lick them and nip them and thrust his tongue deep until she whimpered low in her throat. Rove his hands over her fine breasts and her flat, taut stomach until they were both begging for more.

A volley of memories shot at him right and left, pummeling him with all the times they’d been desperate for each other, out of control and frantic with need.

He distracted himself by gazing over at the platform where all the brides stood to look at themselves in their dresses. “And then there’s that dais with the three-way mirrors.”

Olivia cracked open an eye. “What about it?” she asked cautiously.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember that time you were working late and we came back here and turned on those runway lights and . . .”

“Okay, okay.”

“Remember when Alex’s aunt came back to investigate the noise?” Brad asked. “We hid in that tiny closet over there.”

They’d been buck naked, he failed to mention out loud. He still remembered the feel of her silky warm skin, smooth and soft and naked under his roving teenage hands.

God, that was the best sex of his pathetic, hardworking teenage life. Weird thing was, maybe it was the best sex ever. And that was just plain scary.