Winning the Right Brother (8 page)

Holly glanced up in time to catch his grin, and her heart skipped a beat. That was one killer smile. And now she’d be seeing it every day.

“That’s because it isn’t morning,” he informed her. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. You slept for twelve hours, beating your son by about forty-five minutes. He’s had his hearty breakfast and is now downstairs pawing through my music collection. What does it mean when a fifteen-year-old likes your taste in CDs? Does it mean you’re really cool, or that he’s kind of a geek?”

“Will is not a geek,” she said indignantly.

“Which must mean I’m cool,” he said smugly, grinning at her again, which made her think it might be a good idea to focus on something else, like her coffee.
She looked down at the big blue mug, three quarters full of steaming black fluid, and added cream and sugar with careful attention.

“Mmm,” she said after the first sip and looked at him in surprise. “You make good coffee.”

“After thirty-five years as a bachelor, yes, I have learned to make good coffee.”

He was looking at the left side of her face as he spoke, and suddenly he leaned forward, running the tip of his index finger lightly over the scratch there. It hadn’t turned out to be very deep or serious after Holly had cleaned it last night, and she hadn’t even bothered with a Band-Aid.

The sensation of Alex’s fingertip tickled a little bit, making her shiver, and Holly turned her head away. But then his fingers were twining around a strand of her hair that he tucked behind her ear. Holly drew in a sharp breath.

“That scratch looks a lot better today,” he said softly, his touch lingering, and Holly felt her stomach muscles tighten. She licked her lips nervously and Alex pulled away, clearing his throat.

“Unfortunately, I don’t make much else other than coffee, although I do manage to eat a lot of fruits and vegetables and reasonably healthy things. I’m just not very creative in the kitchen.”

“Not interested in the culinary arts?” Holly asked, pleased that her voice sounded so normal.

Alex shrugged. “There doesn’t seem to be much point when you live alone. Maybe now that you and Will are here I’ll get inspired. I’ll have to get some more interesting groceries, though. Speaking of shopping, I thought we could hit the mall today to buy you and Will some clothes and other necessaries. I know
we’re not going to be able to replace everything you lost overnight, but at least we can make a start.”

Holly was staring at him. “You’re a good guy,” she said slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. “You really are a good guy. You’re not a jerk.” She shook her head. “I was wrong about you, Alex.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Well, thanks. It’s good that you don’t think I’m a jerk anymore. Let me return the compliment. You’re a good guy, too, Holly Stanton.”

Holly started to smile. He looked so cute sitting there at the foot of the bed, his brown hair a little tousled and his blue eyes crinkling up at the corners when he smiled at her like that. She really
liked
him. How could she have missed out on a potential friendship like this?

“Nope,” she said now, enjoying herself. “Not good enough. I’m going to make you refute every one of the lousy things you’ve said to me over the years. Uptight, for instance.”

He considered it. “Well, you look pretty relaxed right now, so I guess I can take that one back.”

“Stuck up and holier-than-thou.”

“Okay, that I don’t even have to think about. Definitely not.”

“Stubborn.”

Alex snorted. “Sorry, kid, but that one I’m going to stand by.”

Holly made a face at him. “Fine. What else did you call me? Oh, right. Repressed.”

Alex’s eyebrows went up and he grinned again, this time slow and lazy, and Holly felt a sudden blaze of heat that started down low and moved through all her limbs. “Well,” he drawled. “Let me see. I think you blew that one out of water on Saturday night, wouldn’t you say?”

It was her own fault for bringing it up, Holly thought, blushing furiously. She’d been hoping to avoid any references to Saturday night as long as she was staying in Alex’s house, and here she’d gone and reminded him of it.

She suddenly remembered that she was wearing one of Alex’s T-shirts and no underwear. The shirt was huge on her, but it had ridden up above her hips, and right at the moment the blanket didn’t seem like very much protection….

She forced herself to meet Alex’s eyes, trying to think of some way to change the subject, when he leaned forward a little. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re absolutely adorable when you blush like that?”

Now the blush went from head to toe, and Holly had a sneaking suspicion he knew it.

“Darn you, Alex, you did that on purpose. Now I can’t stop.” She pressed her hands against her hot cheeks. “Cut it out.”

He leaned closer, tracing her bottom lip with a fingertip until she shivered.

“Cut what out?” he asked, his voice innocent.

She had to do something to stop this. Her pulse was racing and her breath was trapped somewhere in her throat and her body was on fire, and Alex could not be allowed to know how he made her feel, or at least not the full extent of it, because the humiliation of that would force her to leave, and this was a really comfortable bed and the bathtub was out of this world. Not to mention it would put an end to the friendship that had just begun between her and Alex and which already seemed too important to jeopardize.

She took a deep breath.
“That,”
she said firmly,
pushing his hand away and getting a grip on her self-possession. “I watched you flirt your way through high school and I know it comes naturally to you, but it doesn’t to me and I don’t appreciate it. You’re just going to have to learn how to interact with a woman without flirting. It’ll be good for you.”

She frowned at him in sudden seriousness. “I really want this friendship thing to work, Alex. Will likes you, and
I
like you, which is a new thing and a little weird but nice, and we’re staying in your house. Please don’t ruin it by flirting with me. I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, I know it’s just how you are with women, but…well, I don’t like it. Let’s not mess this up, okay?”

Alex had pulled back, and Holly waited for his reaction. She’d told him the truth—at least most of it—and if he couldn’t deal with it, it was better she find out now.

“Mess this up,” he said finally, taking a deep breath. “No. That’s the last thing I want, too. It really is. I’m sorry, Holly,” he said almost formally, and Holly bit her lip, glad he was okay with what she’d said but wishing she could bring back the easy camaraderie they’d been sharing earlier.

Oh, well, she told herself, it would come back. And it would have gone up in flames if she hadn’t stopped what was happening before. If Alex had gone on touching her like that, there was a good chance she would have jumped him, and that would have screwed her life up in ways she didn’t like to think about. For one thing she would have been scraping her ego off the floor after Alex tried to explain he’d just been flirting, you know, like he always did, and he was sorry but he wasn’t really interested in her that way and besides her son was right
downstairs and my God, did she have no moral fortitude at all?

Yes, I do,
she thought firmly, as Alex slid off the bed.

“Take all the time you want getting up. I borrowed the jeans from a neighbor, who’s a little bigger than you, but they should get you through the day. As soon as you’re ready we’ll go shopping.”

“Sounds good,” she said, and Alex smiled at her briefly before making an exit.

Holly stared at the door he closed behind him, trying not to miss the heat she’d felt just a moment ago.

S
tupid, stupid, stupid. He was a grown man, not some hormone-driven kid.

And yet Alex literally couldn’t keep his hands off of Holly Stanton. When he was with her, he wanted to touch her. It was like a compulsion. Of course it didn’t help seeing her in bed, all sleepy and tousled and wearing one of his T-shirts, but still, he’d only lasted five minutes before reaching out to caress that perfect lower lip. In the next moment he would have put his mouth on hers, hot and hard, and the image was so appealing and so terrifying he was having trouble thinking about anything else.

God, he was such a jerk. Here was a woman who’d just lost her home in a fire, who was a guest in his house, and he’d started to make a move on her.

At least she’d thought it was just “how he was with women.” A little casual flirting on his part.

Alex paused in the upper hallway and leaned on the banister. Thankfully she didn’t know it was anything
but
casual. That no woman had ever affected him the way Holly did.

It was ironic, really. Alex had been with a lot of women, and had fun with most of them. He hoped that most of them had had fun, too. But none of those relationships had ever seemed to matter very much. They were enjoyable while they lasted, and that was it. He never felt as if he was necessary in any woman’s life, and no woman had ever been necessary to him.

Then there was Holly. Almost from the moment they’d met, he’d felt a connection to her. It was as if he had X-ray vision where Holly was concerned, letting him see the passion and vulnerability she hid from the world. Things no one else seemed to care about. And because he could see her so clearly, he’d always felt as if she needed him. Needed him in a way no other woman ever had.

And that was the true irony. She needed him, and he failed her—time after time.

He’d never been able to help her. He hadn’t talked her out of dating Brian; he hadn’t convinced her to marry him when she was pregnant and alone. Hell, she hadn’t even let him change her flat tire.

Last night was the first time Holly Stanton had accepted any kind of help from him.

And here he was, ready to ruin it. Ready to act on an attraction she didn’t share and didn’t need to deal with right now—and to jeopardize a friendship that was less than twenty-four hours old.

Maybe the connection he felt to Holly was always meant to be a friendship. Maybe his desire for her had
gotten in the way of that—even when they were teenagers. Especially when they were teenagers.

Maybe that was why he’d always failed her.

Well, he wasn’t going to fail this time.

Alex sighed and headed downstairs for the living room, deciding to see what Will was up to. With Will, at least things were straightforward. Football. Music. The basics.

Will was literally surrounded with music right now, half of Alex’s CD collection in little piles on the living room floor. “I’m reorganizing them for you,” he explained.

Alex sat on the floor with his back against his over-stuffed sofa.

“We’re going to create categories. Not too many, because then it gets confusing and harder to maintain. Just the biggies. So far I’ve got classic rock, rhythm and blues, punk, metal, modern rock and jazz. We’ll be alphabetizing within the categories, of course. Anything that doesn’t fit we’ll call eclectic and put at the end.”

Alex put his hands behind his head and leaned back comfortably against his couch, thinking about how much he liked kids in general and this kid in particular. “You’re more like your mom than I thought. This is not a compliment, by the way.”

Will grinned at him. “Sure it is. And a little organization won’t kill you. Especially considering all this great raw material,” he added.

“Does Holly like music?” Alex couldn’t help asking.

“Yeah, she does. Actually, my mom’s taste in music isn’t too terrible, considering.”

“Considering her advanced age, you mean?”

“Exactly. It tends more toward the classic rock end, but at least within her limits she has good taste.”

Alex started to get interested. “Like what? Give me some examples.”

Will thought about it. “Well, Bruce Springsteen’s big. ‘Thunder Road’ and ‘Born to Run’ are two of her favorite songs. Then there’s Van Morrison. ‘Moondance’ and ‘Crazy Love.’ Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue,’ the entire album. Everything Aretha Franklin ever did.”

Alex sat up straighter. “Keep going. What else?”

“How come you’re so interested in my mom’s taste in music?” Will asked.

“Well, I’m interested in your mom. I mean,” he added hastily, “I’m interested in being friends with your mom. Considering we’re going to be under the same roof for a while, it’s probably a good idea for me to learn more about her. And music, important music—the kind you’d bring with you to a desert island—is like a map of a person’s soul.”

Will was still studying him, and Alex felt a little uncomfortable. But after a minute he started talking again.

“She likes a lot of eighties stuff.” Will shook his head. “She has this secret passion for Joan Jett, which she thinks I don’t know about. She has…well, she used to have…a couple of albums by Foreigner, and one by Air Supply.” He shuddered in mock horror at that, but Alex had been distracted by something else. The change in verb tense.

“Wow, kid,” he said slowly. “It’s just starting to hit me. You really lost everything last night. All your books, all your music.”

Will made a wry face. “Yeah. The books don’t bother me much but the music’s pretty hard to take. Although from what I see here, I’ll be able to recreate a lot of my collection by copying yours. A lot of my mom’s favorites are in here, too. She’s a big Rolling Stones fan.”

“No kidding,” Alex said, surprised.

“Why is the floor covered in CDs?” Holly asked. They turned to see her coming down the stairs.

“We’re talking about music,” Will said. “Coach was asking what you like. He says a person’s taste in music is like a map of their soul.”

Holly looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

Alex shrugged. “Okay, so I waxed poetic. Even football coaches are allowed to do that once in a while.”

“Sure,” Holly said skeptically, sitting down in an armchair next to the couch. “Okay, then, what does my musical taste tell you about me? Assuming Will actually knows what my musical taste is.”

“Well,” Alex said, leaning back again. “Some of it, we’ll hope, is not significant. Like Foreigner. But there seems to be a clear pattern in some of the other stuff. Joan Jett, Bruce Springsteen—that’s the rebel touch. Bad girls and bad boys. The Stones even more so. But there’s also passion and intensity, hunger for life. ‘Thunder Road’ and ‘Born to Run’ are about busting out, breaking free.”

Holly frowned. “Hey, I just like those songs. I don’t have a secret urge to rebel.”

Alex ignored her. “Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell are all about love. Love that changes you forever, love that burns you up and heals you at the same time. The kind of love you can’t live without.”

He glanced at Holly and saw surprise in her eyes. She probably didn’t think he was capable of using the word love in a sentence. He grinned at her. “Aretha Franklin, on the other hand, is just a woman with the greatest voice God ever bestowed on a human being. You don’t need any other reasons for Aretha. We’ll just put her down to good taste.”

Will was grinning, too. “No deep psychological analysis?”

“Nope.” He rose to his feet and reached out a hand to help Holly up. “So, who’s ready to go shopping?”

At one point during their mall trip they split up, Holly trying on clothes while Will and Alex went to two different music stores. As a surprise for Holly, Alex bought every CD of hers that Will could name. They had a great time, talking about bands and musicians and concerts they had seen and would like to see. And Will had come up with a list of his mom’s all-time favorite songs, or at least as many as he could remember, and Alex had written them all down.

Later that night, after Holly and Will went to bed, he used the list to make Holly a mix CD.

It was a little like being with her, Alex thought as he burned the last song and let it roll over him as he sat back on the couch. The song was Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On,” which was one he’d already had on hand and which happened to be one of his all-time favorites, as well.

He grinned suddenly as he realized he was acting like a lovestruck college student, making a mix tape for his latest crush. Well, at least he’d moved on from high school. He was progressing. By next week maybe he’d be up to his late twenties.

Man, this was a sexy song. Alex closed his eyes and imagined kissing Holly to this song, swaying with her on a dance floor somewhere and feeling every inch of her pressed against him as he tasted her, slow and soft at first and then hard and insistent, bringing out the passion he knew was just under the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

Alex sighed and pressed a cushion to his face. Yeah, he had it bad.

He headed upstairs for bed, pausing as he walked past Holly’s door to lay a palm flat against the wood, thinking of her on the other side, curled up in bed with her red hair fanned out across the pillow.

Then he heard her call out his name.

He froze.

“Alex,” he heard again, distinctly, and there was no question it was Holly’s voice.

Okay, this was weird. Did she know he was out here? How could she? Was something wrong? Did she need him?

Confused, uncertain, Alex turned the knob as softly as he could and slipped inside her room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and moonlight as he focused on the figure curled up on the bed.

“Holly?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. “Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

She didn’t answer him. After a moment or two of listening to her deep, even breathing, Alex decided that she was definitely asleep and that his mind had been playing tricks on him. Time to make his getaway before she woke up and punched him again, this time with cause.

He’d put his hand on the door knob when she stirred, stretching languidly.

“Alex,” she said clearly.

She was still asleep. She was lying in full moonlight now and he could see that her eyes were closed. What the—

And then she said it again, softly.

“Alex…”

There was warmth in her voice and a kind of longing.

“Alex,” she said a third time, a sensual whisper that went straight to his groin. She shifted a little in her sleep.

For one unbearable minute Alex just stood there. Then he turned the knob soundlessly and got the hell out, shutting her door softly and firmly behind him and moving swiftly down the hall.

Alex ran a shaking hand across his forehead. This was bad. Oh, man, this was bad. It had been torture enough just imagining what her voice would sound like saying his name like that. Now he knew, and the reality was more intense than his fantasies, and Alex couldn’t think of the last time that had happened.

He’d courted the torture. Hell, he’d sent an engraved invitation. If he hadn’t been standing outside her door like some kind of lovesick puppy dog he never would have heard her. He wasn’t
supposed
to have heard her. He’d been listening in to her dreams, and if torture was the result, well, it was his own fault.

Maybe he should be glad that at least he knew, now, that she felt some of what he did. But somehow it made it worse, knowing that her subconscious or unconscious or whatever felt something for him, while her conscious had made it perfectly clear she didn’t even want him to flirt with her.

And now the image of her moving in her sleep, her back arching ever so slightly and her lips parting, was burned into his brain.

But no matter what sleeping Holly thought about him, wide-awake Holly had asked him to keep his distance, in very clear and unambiguous terms. And somehow, someway, he was going to find a way to manage it.

Starting tomorrow, he was going to spend every waking hour focused on football and his players. And if that didn’t work, maybe he could pack himself in ice.

That ought to do it.

Holly woke up slowly, feeling a delicious warmth running through her body. She stretched, thoroughly and with pleasure, feeling how delightful it was to move, to use her muscles. She must have gotten a really good night’s sleep, she decided.

Then her dream came flooding back. Alex. She’d dreamed about Alex last night.

She’d fantasized plenty, but she’d never had an honest to goodness dream about him. Or any man. Not like that, anyway. Come to think of it, this was the first sexy dream she’d ever had in her life.

It had been so real. Alex above her, Alex inside her, Alex surrounding her. It had been so real that the sexual languor started to wear off and embarrassment took its place.

Which was ridiculous, of course. She had no control over her dreams. And she was attracted to Alex, even though she had no plans of ever telling
him
that, so it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d pop up in her subconscious now and again.

Holly glanced at the clock. She’d gone to bed early so she’d be able to wake up early, and it had worked. It was six-thirty in the morning; she’d beaten the alarm by half an hour. She could get up, shower, dress, have breakfast with Will and still be at work by eight.

The only problem was, she didn’t want to move. She wanted to lie here with her eyes closed and imagine Alex touching her.

Suddenly disgusted with herself, Holly threw off the covers and slid her legs out to the floor. The weather had turned cooler last night and the floorboards were cold against her bare feet, sending a good bracing shiver through her as she headed for the bathroom. She added a good bracing shower, followed by a careful application of minimal, professional makeup. She picked out the most sober of all the outfits she’d bought yesterday, a dark gray wool pantsuit with a subdued pinstripe of lighter gray. Under it she wore a utilitarian bra and a gray cashmere turtleneck. Add to that her trusty chignon and a pair of low heels and she was ready to face the world.

Her head high and her steps brisk, she headed downstairs to see if Will was up before her. Alex would probably still be asleep, since his day started late and ended late.