Read Online Winning It All by Wendy Etherington - Free Book Online
Authors: Wendy Etherington
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Why had he?
“Mitch?” Leanne asked, raising her eyebrows at his continued silence.
He forced himself to smile. Regrets were for old men, and he had plenty of life in him yet. Maybe he’d even visit the dang florist and order some flowers for Leanne.
A T SIX-THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING, Darcy knocked on Bryan’s door.
And knocked. And knocked.
Finally, she heard pounding footsteps. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as he flung open the door.
With all six foot two inches of him standing before her, hair rumpled, wearing nothing but faded, low-slung jeans, she tried to swallow around her dry throatand wound up coughing. She managed to gesture to the room service waiter behind her. “Feeding you.”
“At six-freakin’-o’clock in the morning?”
“You have to be at the track in little more than two hours, don’t you? You need a healthy breakfast before we go.”
He started to close the door. “I can grab a doughnut at the track.”
She stepped forward to block the opening and waggled her finger in front of him. “Oh, no. There will be no eating from the doughnut family today. There will also be no cheeseburgers, fries or soda.”
A spasm of guilt crossed his face before he settled on disbelief. “How’d you find out?”
“After last night’s menu changing, the hotel kitchen has been directed to inform me of everything you order.”
He sighed. “Parker.”
Unconcerned with his anger and frustration, Darcy studied her fingernails. “You could always transfer out of this palace to the local fleabag motel. Then you could have whatever you want. Since it’s race weekend, I’m sure they wouldn’t charge you more than three hundred dollars a night.”
He said nothing, and she found herself disappointed. His spirit was broken in so many ways.
Summoning every professional instinct she possessed, she hardened her gaze. “So, because you chose not to eat healthy last night, we will start again this morning.” She paused significantly. “With oatmeal.”
Glaring at her, he shook his head. “No way, sister.”
“Come along, Ming,” she said to the waiter. She stood against the open door, so the waiter could push his white-linen-covered cart into the room.
Bryan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his bare chest. The sharpness in his eyes had turned them pewter-gray and spoke of a restful night, even though his expression was pure, raging thunder.
Truth be told, he was incredibly sexy when he was angry. Maybe it was all that energy and power so tenuously held behind a crumbling dam. Maybe it was simply a chemical thing between the two of them. Regardless, Darcy thanked all the saints for Ming’s presence.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked, hoping to diffuse the tension.
“Fine.”
“Better than usual?”
“I guess.”
Mr. Communicative. Good grief, he tried her patience. “How’s your knee?”
“Fine.”
“No pain?”
“No.”
“Does it usually hurt in the morning?”
She watched him struggle between the truth and his pride. Thankfully, he chose honesty. “Yes.”
“I wonder what you’ve done recently to cause the change?”
Not waiting for the answer, she crossed to Ming and signed his check so that he could get on with his day.
She glanced around the room, which was decorated in steel, wood and neutral colors. The clean-lined furniture, skillful lighting and interesting shapes in art and other accessories fit the progressive California lifestyle. With little effort, she imagined the same furnishings in a 1930s art-deco apartment and had little doubt that Parker had approved of the design personally.
Bryan, by contrast, had probably taken no notice of his surroundings. He was a single-minded man. Her husband, Tom, had been that way about his job, about protecting the lives and property of people in their community.
He wouldn’t have given a hang about the room decoration, either.
Startled by the direction of her thoughts, she waited for
“Mitch?” Leanne asked, raising her eyebrows at his continued silence.
He forced himself to smile. Regrets were for old men, and he had plenty of life in him yet. Maybe he’d even visit the dang florist and order some flowers for Leanne.
A T SIX-THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING, Darcy knocked on Bryan’s door.
And knocked. And knocked.
Finally, she heard pounding footsteps. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as he flung open the door.
With all six foot two inches of him standing before her, hair rumpled, wearing nothing but faded, low-slung jeans, she tried to swallow around her dry throatand wound up coughing. She managed to gesture to the room service waiter behind her. “Feeding you.”
“At six-freakin’-o’clock in the morning?”
“You have to be at the track in little more than two hours, don’t you? You need a healthy breakfast before we go.”
He started to close the door. “I can grab a doughnut at the track.”
She stepped forward to block the opening and waggled her finger in front of him. “Oh, no. There will be no eating from the doughnut family today. There will also be no cheeseburgers, fries or soda.”
A spasm of guilt crossed his face before he settled on disbelief. “How’d you find out?”
“After last night’s menu changing, the hotel kitchen has been directed to inform me of everything you order.”
He sighed. “Parker.”
Unconcerned with his anger and frustration, Darcy studied her fingernails. “You could always transfer out of this palace to the local fleabag motel. Then you could have whatever you want. Since it’s race weekend, I’m sure they wouldn’t charge you more than three hundred dollars a night.”
He said nothing, and she found herself disappointed. His spirit was broken in so many ways.
Summoning every professional instinct she possessed, she hardened her gaze. “So, because you chose not to eat healthy last night, we will start again this morning.” She paused significantly. “With oatmeal.”
Glaring at her, he shook his head. “No way, sister.”
“Come along, Ming,” she said to the waiter. She stood against the open door, so the waiter could push his white-linen-covered cart into the room.
Bryan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his bare chest. The sharpness in his eyes had turned them pewter-gray and spoke of a restful night, even though his expression was pure, raging thunder.
Truth be told, he was incredibly sexy when he was angry. Maybe it was all that energy and power so tenuously held behind a crumbling dam. Maybe it was simply a chemical thing between the two of them. Regardless, Darcy thanked all the saints for Ming’s presence.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked, hoping to diffuse the tension.
“Fine.”
“Better than usual?”
“I guess.”
Mr. Communicative. Good grief, he tried her patience. “How’s your knee?”
“Fine.”
“No pain?”
“No.”
“Does it usually hurt in the morning?”
She watched him struggle between the truth and his pride. Thankfully, he chose honesty. “Yes.”
“I wonder what you’ve done recently to cause the change?”
Not waiting for the answer, she crossed to Ming and signed his check so that he could get on with his day.
She glanced around the room, which was decorated in steel, wood and neutral colors. The clean-lined furniture, skillful lighting and interesting shapes in art and other accessories fit the progressive California lifestyle. With little effort, she imagined the same furnishings in a 1930s art-deco apartment and had little doubt that Parker had approved of the design personally.
Bryan, by contrast, had probably taken no notice of his surroundings. He was a single-minded man. Her husband, Tom, had been that way about his job, about protecting the lives and property of people in their community.
He wouldn’t have given a hang about the room decoration, either.
Startled by the direction of her thoughts, she waited for
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