Still she wasn't about to turn this into a fairy tale. Light and easy was the best course. "I can't believe I slept here."
He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, the caress so gende a lump formed in her throat.
"As I recall, I asked you to."
He had, when she'd gotten up to let the animals out for a quick walk, with thoughts of sneaking back into her own bed dogging her. But he'd told her to hurry back and when she had, Boris had followed her into the room and naturally so had the cat, which she'd named Spike because of the short hairs standing up on her head. The dog now slept at the foot of the bed and the cat peered at her from the top of Vaughn's pillow.
"For the record, I'm glad I did." He confirmed his words with a long, deep, leisurely kiss that aroused her naked body all over again.
But Annabelle was determined to keep the morning light and carefree, to prove to herself and to Vaughn that last night was nothing more than a one-night stand. Or in guy terms, an easy lay. She winced at the notion, but forced a smile. "What do you say I put something together for breakfast?" she asked, sliding out of his arms and missing his warmth immediately.
He leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Dinner the other night, breakfast this morning. Careful or you'll spoil me." He winked in a way that made her feel all woman and uniquely special.
"Don't let it go to your head. You're just lucky I'm willing to include you in whatever I make." Ignoring her state of undress wasn't easy, but she stood and reached for the teddy she'd left on the floor. It'd seemed like a good idea last night but this morning she wished she had one of her jerseys to pull over her head.
As if reading her mind, he pointed to the dresser – behind her. "You can grab a jersey from the middle drawer."
She shot him a grateful smile and seconds later, fully covered, she felt much better. Less exposed. "F m going to let the animals out first and I'll call you when breakfast is on the table."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Can I ask you something first?"
He nodded warily.
"Did you call Laura back?"
He drew a deep breath, then exhaled. "Not yet."
"Well maybe you should." She hated advocating he establish contact with his ex-wife, but Annabelle knew his reluctance to get close to her emotionally was tied up with his ex. Resolution there could only help her. Though she wasn't so foolish as to harbor hope for more than this brief affair with him.
She turned to go.
"Annabelle."
She pivoted, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes?"
His gaze, velvety soft, met hers. Then he shook his head. "Nothing."
She sensed he'd been as affected by last night as she'd been, but couldn't find the words to explain. Or maybe he was afraid to because, as she thought, he needed closure. In many areas of his life.
Without it, a quickie relationship was all she could expect from him. But that didn't mean she wouldn't enjoy every second of her time here. And last night was just the beginning of their adventure.
VAUGHN WATCHED Annabelle leave. His name on the jersey she wore stared boldly at him as she took her leave, the animals trailing after her. He'd experienced a surreal night in many ways, from the mind-blowing sex they'd shared, to the trust he'd allowed her by confiding his deepest secret and fear, to the connection he'd felt while buried deep inside her.
Sex was nothing new to Vaughn, though he'd become more discriminating and careful with age. Feeling while doing it was something else. And man, he'd felt last night with Annabelle.
But he refused to let himself be suckered by emotion. If he needed any proof as to why, he had only to look to Laura. Which was why he'd stopped himself just now, before he'd said something stupid to Annabelle. Something mushy. Something that indicated last night had been about more than a mutually satisfying lay.
He reached over and picked up the phone, then punched in the numbers on the paper on his night-stand.
The phone rang twice before Laura answered. "Hello?"
Her voice irritated him and he clenched his jaw. "I got a message that you called."
"Brandon, how are you? It's been too long."
He folded his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "Actually it hasn't been long enough. What do you want?"
"Can't I just call to say hello?"
He exhaled hard. "Do me a favor. Tell me what you want or I'm hanging up now"
"Money," she said quickly. "I need money."
He narrowed his gaze. "You got plenty in the settlement agreement and the bars should be throwing off enough to satisfy even you."
Silence followed for a while before she spoke again. "It's not easy to admit this but I've run up some pretty high credit card balances. I need help or I wouldn't be asking. I mean do you think it's easy for me to come to you?"
"No, I'm sure it isn't. I need to think about it, okay?" As much as he resented Laura and everything she stood for, he couldn't help but think how desperate she sounded.
"You're such a doll, Brandon."
"Not exactly the words you used last time we spoke," he reminded her.
She laughed. "Things said in the heat of the moment, you know what I mean? Listen, I'm glad we can put the past where it belongs."
Had he said he'd forgive and forget? As usual, she heard what she wanted to.
"I really do have to go. Don't forget to call and let me know. I'll be forever in your debt, Brandon. I really will."
She hung up before he could reply, which was a good thing since he really didn't want her owing him a damn thing.
From his quiet room, he heard the sounds of Annabelle puttering around, making herself at home in his kitchen. After tossing off the covers, he rose from the bed and pulled on his jeans. He told himself he was going for breakfast and then heading to work, a day no different than any other.
Except he'd be coming home tonight knowing he could make love with Annabelle again, and again if he wanted to. Not even talking with Laura could dim the thrill that thought caused.
So by the time he'd taken a quick shower and headed to the kitchen, he had a dumbass grin on his face and looked forward to the day in a way he hadn't in a long while.
Not even the persistent ringing of the telephone, the caller ID showing his parents* number, could change his good mood. Especially since he'd made the decision to ignore anything having to do with his mother or father, determined to put them and their persistent negativity out of his mind.
He strode into the room and settled himself in a chair beside Annabelle. He glanced at her breakfast choice, surprised. "Cold cereal?" he asked.
Annabelle raised an eyebrow. "What? You were expecting pancakes? Eggs? Waffles maybe?" She shook her head, laughing. "This is as good as it gets in the morning so you'd better get used to it." Her eyes opened wide as she caught her words. "I mean, this is as good as it gets. Period."
"Hey, cereal and milk is fine with me." He ignored the slip-up because everything from her actions to her relaxed smile told him she was comfortable with what had happened between them, and that she didn't expect anything more than this.
They were on the same wavelength, and things couldn't get any better, he thought.
"Are things quiet at the lodge?" she asked.
He nodded. "I'm paying the crews overtime to work weekends, but if it helps us fix the problems and open on time, it's fine with me."
She stirred her soggy Lucky Charms with her spoon. "Look, I've been thinking about the PR and the summer camp you have planned. I understand you're a private person, but there are subtle ways you can help kids with dyslexia to work with their problems all year round." She raised her gaze slowly, obviously unsure if she'd touched a nerve by bringing up the subject.
He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He'd promised himself he'd give her the tools to do her job and not get angry or defensive, but he had to admit, defensive was still his gut instinct, especially after just talking with Laura.
"You had time between last night and this morning to think things through? I must not have kept you busy enough," he said, half joking, half filled with hope she'd halt the discussion.
"Guess you'll just have to try harder." She shrugged and his jersey slipped off one shoulder, revealing bare skin. Whether the move was intentional or not, his body temperature spiked another notch. A smile pulled at her lips. "Now stop trying to get me to change the subject."
He groaned. "Okay, what'd you have in mind?" he forced himself to ask.
"You're a successful businessman and a famous athlete, much as I hate to admit that and boost your already huge ego. But think what the revelation would mean to struggling kids who already look up to you."
"No. I am not doing some exposé on my life." He slashed a hand through the air to emphasize his point.
She pursed her lips in a pout, probably one she hoped he couldn't deny. "Just think about the kids who are too ashamed to admit they have problems and fall through the cracks because of it." Her cereal forgotten, her voice held a pleading edge.
"What I think about are the repercussions at home when you admit you can't learn like everyone else."
"Better to struggle?" she asked, frustration in her voice.
"Better to pretend you just don't like school than to be laughed at for being stupid."
"Then why offer the camp? Why give kids a place to come if you think it's going to stigmatize them?"
He leaned forward on his elbows. "The camp will give any struggling child, dyslexic or otherwise, an opportunity to even the odds of succeeding."
"An equal opportunity camp for delinquents and kids with disabilities alike, huh?" She shook her head. "I don't buy your theory. You're assuming your experience with your parents is the way all families will react to dyslexia or other disabilities. Are you suggesting kids shouldn't be diagnosed at all?"
"I'm suggesting that I don't force the issue. I'd rather give kids a place to come where they can experience the freedom of learning in a nonjudgmental environment, no matter what their problems or issues are."
She pushed her cereal away and rolled her eyes. "Sounds so good, you're definitely full of it. In fact, it sounds like you're running and not just from your parents' reaction." She rose and stood in front of him, her face inches from his. "Who else hurt you, Vaughn? Was it your ex-wife? Is that why you haven't called her back?"
He narrowed his gaze, unable to believe she was this feisty, this frustrating, this gutsy. That she would push him so far angered him beyond belief. But damned if it didn't turn him on, too. "As a matter of fact, I just did call her back."
"Oh."
"She wanted to borrow money."
Annabelle blinked. "I see. So was it her?" she asked softly. "Was Laura the one who hurt you and made you close yourself off?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, though he was afraid she did. Afraid that once again, she'd dug into his psyche and understood him too well.
The truth was that as much as he wanted to help kids like him, he really was afraid to put himself out there for public scrutiny because then he'd risk rejection. Vaughn might have gotten help with reading but it was the psychological scars that remained.
"Okay I'll stop pushing. Just think about it," Annabelle said into the silence, her lips so close he could almost taste her.
Last time he'd agreed to think, he'd opened up and admitted his dyslexia. He feared with Annabelle here, he'd end up doing the same thing again and suffer public humiliation as a result. So instead of answering, he merely inclined his head slightly.
She grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. Now kiss me."
He blinked, surprised but definitely not opposed to her directive. "That won't solve our differences," he reminded her.
"Maybe not, but it'll sure feel good."
He laughed, breaking the tension. She had a way of doing that, easing his mind, making him feel good.
But just when he was about to kiss her, the damn doorbell rang.
"What is it with this place?" she asked. "Phone calls, door bells, interruptions galore. It's like Grand Central Station." She tucked her hair behind her ear and inclined her head toward the entry.
He hit the intercom button on the phone near the wall. "Who is it?"
"I should have known you'd be too damn lazy to answer the door yourself. No wonder you're getting old and flabby. Get the hell out here and let me inside," Yank Morgan ordered with the ferocity of a drill sergeant and a man used to getting his way.
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