too,” he said in an
emotionless voice, his closed expression not inviting further
questions. A muscle jerked in his strong jaw. She’d inadvertently
hit another sore subject, actually beyond sore—an open, gaping
wound.
A brother? She’d never heard that before.
Yet he’d said had , as if his brother no longer existed.
Maybe they were estranged. Or something happened to him. Something
Bruiser very obviously didn’t want to discuss. Tons of questions
raced through her mind, but for once she curbed her nosiness.
Everyone had private pain. She should know that better than
anyone.
Mac cranked up the Mariners game, but she
couldn’t have stated the score if her life depended on it. Bruiser
didn’t speak again, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts, and
thanks to her big mouth, they didn’t appear to be pleasant
ones.
Time ground to a turtle’s pace as they made
the short trip to the Simms family’s Lake Washington home. Bruiser
maneuvered his ’Vette around dozens of parked cars along the long
driveway and pulled up to the grand front entry, tossed his keys to
a valet, and strode around the car to the passenger door. Mac
waited patiently while he swept the door open, not because she was
trying to be a lady but because she didn’t dare walk without
clinging to his arm. He held out his hand, and she took it. The
heat from his large, warm palm rocketed through her body like a
missile finding its mark and detonating, engulfing everything in
its path, including her heart and her common sense as she shuddered
in reaction.
“Cold?” He angled his head at her, looking
damned irresistible from the cleft in his chin to the way a lock of
golden hair fell across his forehead. His expression softened and
his mouth tipped up at the corners in one of his signature
smiles.
“Just caught a cool breeze for a second,”
she lied.
He looked skeptical but said nothing. After
all, it was at least eighty degrees. Instead, he tucked her hand in
his forearm and led her to the huge front porch, which looked like
it should be the entrance to a five-star hotel, not a single-family
dwelling. Mac took a moment to appreciate the landscaping and rare
plants flanking the entry. The place was a regular arboretum. The
Simms had to employ a full-time gardener.
Mac glanced up at Bruiser and put on a brave
face. He grinned and winked at her, the familiar, charming Bruiser
taking over. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead, Mac. Just smile and let
me do the talking. Veronica will know exactly who you are by the
night’s end.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Of course, it is. Trust me.”
She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe
he could wave his magic wand and transform her into Veronica’s idea
of a scholarship-worthy employee, but she wasn’t convinced even
Bruiser was that good.
Mac clung to him as they entered the house,
taking in the sights and smells of the party. They paused in the
doorway, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to
play the part she looked, a part she oddly somewhat liked—except
for the heels. A stranger had invaded her body, a stranger who
liked pink, ordered a double-macchiato with caramel, and haunted
downtown Seattle in search of her next pair of Jimmy Choos. Not
that any of those things were true about her, but hey, she almost
felt as if they could be. In some really weird way, she wanted to
be that girl once in a while and do girly things. Was that too much
to ask?
Mac placed one foot in front of the other
with careful precision, attempting to walk like a girl and not a
gorilla, but it wasn’t easy. Drill Sergeant Kelsie’s words played
through her brain: Stand up straight, shoulders back, head up,
and smile, smile, smile like you’re on the red carpet at a world
premiere.
A servant in a black suit with an English
accent ushered them to the back of the house, where a tiered deck
ran the entire length of the mansion. An emerald green lawn sloped
down to a pebbly, low-bank beach
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