“You have more power than you think. And I mean that in a good way. He never listens to me, but you have his ear. Wouldn’t you feel better about this whole marriage if you knew you’d helped Cole get closer to his family?”
“I don’t know,” she’d replied, though it wasn’t true. How could Mariah already have her pegged? There was nothing Brooke would like better than to feel their temporary marriage had accomplished something worthwhile.
“Besides,” Mariah had added, “you might have fun!”
Brooke had found Cole’s mother way too overbearing for comfort, even during the short time they were together in Las Vegas. A weekend with Cole’s parents sounded about as fun as getting a root canal. But she was willing to do almost anything to help Cole. She owed him so much, and the tab was getting higher by the day. Perhaps the amount she reimbursed him could be adjusted for “pain and suffering.” A weekend with the in-laws would certainly qualify.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she’d told Mariah, “but I’m not making any guarantees.”
“I don’t expect any. After all, this is my brother we’re talking about.”
The doorknob rattled, drawing her back to the present. She turned in time to see Cole trudge inside, the dark circles under his eyes attesting to his fatigue. Without thinking, she hurried to his side, and he pulled her into his arms like any newlywed husband who’d missed his wife. For a moment, Brooke basked in his fervent embrace. All her worries melted into nothingness. Then she remembered he was simply performing for his audience.
“We’ll send a full report tomorrow, Mr. Miller,” said Andrea, as she slipped out the door and shut it behind her.
Brooke pushed herself free, as if she’d been pretending, as well. “What can I get you? Have you had dinner?”
“I’m okay. I ate a couple of protein bars.” He collapsed on the leather couch, patting the seat beside him. “I’m afraid I’m too beat to work out with you, tonight.”
She danced a little celebration jig on the inside—all the exercise she needed for the evening.
“Did your meeting go well?” She sat next to him, though not as close as he’d indicated.
“We got most of what we wanted. But I was gunning for a few extra tax breaks. That’s not happening.”
“Would a back rub help?”
Why did I say that?
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’d do that?”
She held her breath to keep from hyperventilating as she nodded her head.
“Let me go shower off, and I’ll trade you a ten-minute back rub for a twenty-minute foot rub.” He stood up and moved toward his bedroom with a bit more pep in his stride.
Frantic, she was on her feet, pacing, trying to think of a way out of her predicament. In what seemed like less than sixty seconds, he was back, shirtless, his hair damp from his shower, smelling so clean and yummy she was tempted to press her nose against him.
Blood rushed into her face, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice. “I’m not great at giving massages.”
“I promise I won’t judge you.”
As he moved closer, she began an intense study of her hands to avoid looking at his bare chest. Exercising with him last night had been bad enough. How on earth would she be able to keep her composure when her fingers were massaging the same delectable muscles that had invaded her dreams and ruined her sleep?
“My nails are probably too long to do a decent back rub.” She cleared her throat, trying to get the squeak out of it. “I should go cut them.”
She started toward her room, but his hand grasped her arm.
“Brooke.” His voice broke. “Look at me.”
Her eyes met his pain-filled ones, and her heart twisted inside her. In the moment, she forgot her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
“Look at my arm.”
Confused, she blinked, her gaze falling to his left arm, where the bare implant extruded from its end. On the table beside him, Shrek lay like something from a science-fiction movie. Cole must’ve taken it off for his shower.
She locked eyes with him again, trying to find the cause of the hurt radiating from his tortured expression. “Did I do something wrong?”
“When my shirt is off, you manage to look everywhere in the room except at me. You did the same thing last night.” His eyes glinted steel. “Is it that disgusting to look at me without my prosthesis on?”
It took a moment for the accusation to sink in. When she finally realized what he’d been thinking, a nervous giggle bubbled out, expanding to full-blown laughter. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed on the couch, still laughing.
“What’s so funny?” His bitter note testified he found no humor in her reaction.
When she caught her breath, she knew she had to confess, no matter how embarrassing it was. “The truth is, I could care less what your arm looks like, with or without your prosthesis.”
“Sorry, but I don’t buy it.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this…” She covered her face with her hands, so her words came out muffled. “The problem isn’t your arm. The problem is you look a little too good without a shirt on, and I’m doing my best to keep my mind out of the gutter.”
After a moment of silence, she peeked between her fingers and spotted a goofy grin on his face.
“And I swear,” she growled, “if I find out you tricked me into admitting that, I’m going to smack that smile right off your face.”
That remark got an outright laugh.
“It wasn’t a trick.” His fingers attempted unsuccessfully to pry her hands away. “I promise I didn’t know.”
“Well, I hope you’re happy now, because I’ll never be able to face you again.”
