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“Sit.”
Max slowly lowered his wagging haunches to the floor.
Leslie patted his head. “Good boy.”
Humor sparkled in Brent’s eyes. “He doesn’t always behave but what he lacks in manners, he makes up for with enthusiasm.”
That makes two of you, she thought, but resisted the urge to say it out loud. After the way Brent had rescued her this morning, that would be unfair.
And at least Max hadn’t turned out to be the woman she’d seen him with at the deli. She’d seemed a little young for Brent, anyway. They had been sitting at a table that Saturday morning, his arm draped across the back of her chair. They were leaning close and gazing into each other’s eyes, and then she’d dipped her finger into the foam of her cappuccino and offered it to him. From the way he looked at her and took her finger into his mouth, it was obvious the two of them had spent the night together.
Brent hadn’t seen Leslie, so she’d quickly moved to the counter, her back toward him. After she’d made her purchase and chatted briefly with old Mr. Donaldson, she turned away from the counter and caught Brent watching her. His smile had been a combination of surprise and his old good-natured, happy-to-see-you charm. She’d given him a brief nod in return and hurried out of the shop. In high school she’d had to spend a certain amount of time with him because he was her brother’s best friend. This was no longer high school, and she was glad to see that he’d found someone to be with.
Half an hour later she’d finished shopping and was loading her purchases into the trunk of her car when she saw Brent helping Cappuccino Girl into his old blue and white truck. His hand had curled over her butt and lingered just a little too long.
Leslie withdrew her hand from the coarse, wiry fur on Max’s head and pulled the denim jacket more snugly around her shoulders as she shivered.
“You must be freezing,” Brent said. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
She glanced at him warily.
He rolled his eyes again but didn’t comment on her reaction. “Maybe a hot bath while I see if I can find some dry clothes that will fit you?”
“A hot bath would be wonderful.” She set her shoes on the floor and was again aware of the puddle that her dripping dress had made. “Look at this mess. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just water,” Brent said. “I’ll wipe it up, if Max doesn’t get to it first. The bathroom’s through here.”
Max leaped to his feet and trotted next to him, through an archway that led to a small space that couldn’t really be called a hallway, since it was only as long as it was wide.
Leslie followed, noticing for the first time just how tall and broad shouldered Brent was.
Most of the tiny bathroom was taken up by the biggest claw-foot tub she’d ever seen. She could hardly wait to get out of the cold, wet dress and into a tubful of hot water.
“There’s a shower if you’d prefer that.” He indicated the curtain suspended from a brass rail over the tub.
She shook her head.
Without a word, he inserted a plug in the drain and turned on the taps.
Max settled himself on the bath mat.
“Help yourself to towels,” Brent said, pointing to a wall shelf, “and anything else you need. I’ll see what I can find for you to wear.”
“Thank you.” She hoped he meant something of his because she would die of embarrassment if he produced another woman’s clothing.
Once he was out of the room, she slipped his jacket off her shoulders and hung it on a hook on the back of the door. The cool air raised goose bumps on her arms and shoulders.
Shivering almost uncontrollably, she stretched one arm over her shoulder to unzip the back of her dress. It was just out of reach. She extended her other arm around her back and still couldn’t unfasten it. Getting into the thing hadn’t been a problem because Allison and Candice, her bridesmaids, had been there to help. At least, Allison had helped. Candice, not so much.
An inviting cloud of steam rose from the water in the tub. Maybe she should just climb in, dress and all. Or find a pair of scissors and cut her way out of the damn thing. The very idea sent a giggle rising up her throat. Not even in her current state could she destroy such a beautiful and expensive gown.
Max’s dark, soulful eyes stared up at her.
“Whatever you do, don’t ever get married.”
“Excuse me?” Brent stood in the doorway.
“Sorry. I was talking to Max.”
“Ah, I see. I don’t think there’s much danger of him doing anything rash. He and I have already had that talk, and besides…” Brent shielded his mouth with one hand and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “He’s been fixed.”
She refused to let herself be baited again. “You’ll have to give me the name of his surgeon. I know someone who would benefit from that procedure.”
“Ouch. I’ll have to be careful to stay on your good side.”
“Good plan.”
“All right, then.” He handed her a pair of gray sweatpants, a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and a thick pair of black cotton socks. “This is the best I can do. The pants have a drawstring,” he said, glancing at her waist. He stepped closer and she quickly backed away, narrowly missing Max’s paw.
Brent leaned over the tub and turned off the taps.
“I can look after that,” she said.
His sharp glance had her wishing, yet again, that she could stop overreacting. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“No trouble. While you’re in the bath, I’ll run out and pick up some more clothes for you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can—” She paused. She could do what? Go back to her town house and deal with Gerald and her mother? No way. “Thank you. But please keep the receipts and I’ll pay you back.”
He gave her an odd look. “I wasn’t planning to go shopping. My mother collects clothing for the homeless shelter, so she always has things on hand. Everything will be secondhand, but it’ll be clean and mended.”
“Oh.”
“Unless that’s not going to work for you.”
What he meant was, unless that’s not good enough for you. She could hardly blame him for having such a low opinion of her.
She squared her shoulders and wished she could stop shivering. “Since I’m temporarily homeless, that’ll work just fine. Please thank your mother for me. When my life gets backs to normal, I’ll have the clothes dry-cleaned and return them.” Under the circumstances, it was the least she could do.
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” He looked as though he’d like to say more. Whatever it was, she was glad he kept it to himself. She was on the verge of tears again, and the last thing she wanted was for him to try to console her.
He fished his keys from his pocket, and Max jumped up right away. “Sorry, boy, not this time. You stay here with Leslie.”
The dog’s tail-wagging—assuming there was a tail under all that fur—subsided only slightly as he looked from Brent to her and back again.
“You can take him with you. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be. Still, I’ll leave him here. He’ll let you know if anyone comes to the door and he’ll keep barking until they leave. You won’t have to bother answering, and you’ll know when they’re gone.”
“Are you expecting someone?” Since she was absolutely certain that no one would come here looking for her, she could only assume that Brent didn’t want any of his potential visitors to know she was here.
“No one in particular. Your brother’s been known to show up, though, and I just thought that given what’s happened…”
Of course. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Good thinking. I don’t want to see anyone right now.” Especially not her family.
“I don’t get a lot of company, so it looks like you’ve come to the right place.”
She looked longingly at the steam rising from the tub. “Thanks again,” she said, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. “I really do appreciate this.”
“You’re freezing. I’ll get out of your way.” He was out the door before she remembered the zipper.
“Brent?”
He looked back. “Yeah?”
She turned sideways and pointed over her shoulder. “Um…I can’t reach the zipper. Would you mind?”
He looked as though he’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear, but he slowly stepped back into the room. “Turn around,” he said gruffly.
She complied and stood stock-still. The day had been filled with unexpected situations. What was one more?
Firm fingers brushed her skin. She closed her eyes, as if that might somehow block out his touch. No such luck.
The length of time it took him to undo the hook-and-eye closure at the top of the zipper was proof that the tiny device had not been designed for big workman’s hands. When it finally gave way, his breath came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding it, and sent a delicious shower of warm air down the back of her neck.
The zipper gave him no trouble at all and when it neared her waist, he let go all of a sudden and backed away. “You can manage the rest.” And then he was gone.
Startled, Leslie opened her eyes.
The front door opened and banged shut.
Max’s ears perked up and he dashed out of the room.
For a few seconds she’d actually forgotten where she was, and who was undressing her. No, that wasn’t the truth. Every heightened nerve ending and every inch of chilled skin had been perfectly well aware of who was doing the undressing. Careful, she warned herself. That’s one place you never wanted to go, and now is not the time to consider it.
She had every intention of having a quick bath and being dressed by the time Brent returned, but just to be safe she closed the bathroom door and turned the lock.
She shimmied out of the dress and let it fall to the floor. The air against her damp skin made her shiver. She quickly unfastened her wet bra and dropped it onto the dress. She tried to slide her panties down her legs. The damp fabric stuck to her thighs but she finally managed to roll them off.
She stepped into the bath and lowered herself into the water, gasping slightly as her cold skin adjusted to the warmth. Then she rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. The dangling, diamond-studded strands of her earrings grazed her shoulders. She slipped them off and reached for the clasp of the necklace. The jewelry had been a wedding gift from Gerald. She reached over the edge of the tub and tossed them onto the dress.
She slid deeper into the tub, hot water swooshing around her shoulders. She wanted to be furious with Gerald, but she was having trouble mustering any real anger. Loathing. Disgust. Definitely those. As the wedding date had drawn closer, she’d started to feel antsy and unsure of herself. She didn’t believe in premonitions, but maybe her subconscious had been picking up things that she hadn’t wanted—or even been ready—to acknowledge.
Things like what a two-timing, no-good son of a bitch she’d almost married. Luckily she’d found out about his affair before the ceremony and not afterward.
She was even grateful for the bizarre twist of fate that had landed her here. Brent’s timely rescue had bought her some precious time. No one knew where she was, and when she finally did see her family and her good-for-nothing slimeball of an ex-fiancé, it would be on her terms.
By now Gerald would have figured out that she’d seen him with another woman. And not just any woman, but one of her bridesmaids, one of her best friends. Meanwhile he’d be trying to convince everyone that today’s disastrous events had been her fault.
She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of the two of them in the back of the coat room at the church.
A big, fat tear rolled down her cheek. You will not cry, she told herself. Gerald Bedford III and Candice Bentley-Ferguson deserved each other. Not only were they cut from the same bolt, they’d each chosen someone who was bound to cheat on them.
Leslie opened her eyes and reached for a bar of soap. The ring on her left hand sparkled.
Damn it.
It was a gorgeous ring. She’d been the envy of everyone she knew, and probably lots she didn’t. When Gerald had given it to her, it had represented everything that was right about their relationship. They were young successful professionals with brilliant futures. They had everything going for them.
Why wasn’t that enough? Better question. Why wasn’t she good enough for him?
In spite of her best efforts to hold the tears at bay, her eyes filled up and the room blurred. Today she was supposed to cross number five off her Life List. She slid the ring off her finger and tossed it into the soap dish. She’d earned the right to a little self-pity, as long as she got herself under control before Brent came home with her hand-me-downs.
BRENT SLAMMED the gear shift into Reverse and backed out of the driveway as fast as a ton of lumber would allow. Leslie probably thought he was a lunatic for tearing out on her like that, but he’d had a hard-on that would stop a train and there had only been two possible outcomes.
Either he’d do something he’d regret, or he’d get the hell out of there before he did something he’d regret.
The feel of her skin, the scent of her damp, sweet-smelling hair and the sight of her lacy white bra were now branded into his brain, and still had his libido on full alert. Which might account for his uncharacteristically bad driving, although it would make a lousy defense if he crashed into someone. He eased off the accelerator and brought the truck to a stop at a red light, chiding himself for being such an idiot.
She’d always made it abundantly and sometimes scathingly clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. In the seventh grade, at Candice Bentley’s birthday party, he’d finagled his way into playing seven minutes in heaven with her. That kiss had lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of four seconds.
Leslie had been a little slip of a girl in those days but she’d packed a mighty wallop.
Undaunted, he’d pursued her through high school. It had actually turned into a game, and he’d always been the loser.
He would ask her out. She’d say no.
He’d call her. She’d hang up.
He’d tuck a note into her locker. She’d scrunch it into a ball and toss it in the trash.
A horn honking behind him told him the light had turned green. He was glad to have an excuse to get away from her for a while. Too bad it meant going to his mother’s place though. She would question his sudden need for women’s clothing, and he’d never been any good at flying under her radar.
Maybe she wouldn’t be home, he thought. He could just help himself to whatever he could find and she’d be none the wiser. He pulled up along the curb and spotted her ancient Dodge station wagon in the driveway. No such luck.
He sprinted through the rain to the back door and let himself in. “Mom? You home?”
“In here, dear. What brings you by this morning?”
He followed his nose into the kitchen. She was making chicken stew. “It’s almost lunchtime. And since when do I need a reason to visit the most gorgeous woman in Collingwood Station?”
“Since you’re blocking the street with a truckload of building materials and trying to use that sweet talk on someone who knows better than to fall for it.”
“We were supposed to start a new job on Monday. I have to deliver that load to the site sometime today, so I won’t be here for long.” He crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
“What do you mean by ‘supposed to’?” she asked.
“I might be tied up with something else for a few days.” He reached over her shoulder and snagged a piece of raw carrot from the pile on the chopping block.
