One Baby, Two Secrets. Barbara Dunlop

around. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I was going to start with the great room.”

      She polished off her coffee. “Lead on.”

      Kate decided that looking for Brody’s watch was a plausible reason to hang around the mansion a while longer. She might get another chance to see Annabelle or a chance to talk to Quentin. Thus far, she hadn’t managed to get the man to stand still long enough to have more than a ten-second conversation.

      Brody pulled up the sofa cushions, checking behind each one. Kate took the opposite end of the room, scanning the floor, the tabletops, the windowsills, eventually making her way into the dining room and hunting around its corners. The cleaners were still working and nodded politely to her as they passed. They seemed used to encountering leftover party guests.

      It occurred to her they would assume she’d had a companion last night. After all, that was the most common reason for a woman to be dressed in a cocktail dress in the early hours of the morning. She told herself not to care. But then she found herself wondering if Brody thought the same thing.

      Had he believed her when she said she’d fallen asleep? Did he think she’d had a one-night stand? He might even think she spent the night with Quentin.

      She shuddered at the very idea.

      She told herself again not to care what Brody thought. What Brody thought of her was completely irrelevant. Still she found herself retreating to the great room to set the record straight.

      He wasn’t there.

      She listened, but she didn’t hear anything. So she headed down the hall, toward the main staircase, glancing into the rooms with open doors. She found Brody in an office, standing behind a desk plunking the keys of a computer.

      “Find anything?” she asked.

      He looked guiltily up, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing.

      “Nothing,” he answered.

      She waited to see if he’d elaborate.

      “I was taking a quick check of my emails.” He hit a couple more keys. “We’ve got a big tour in the works.”

      “Sounds exciting.”

      He shrugged. “Fairly routine. But you know rock stars.”

      “Big egos?” she guessed.

      “Big everything. They need a lot of TLC.” He moved from behind the desk.

      She struggled for an opening to broach the subject, but there was no way to nonchalantly work it in. She decided to tackle it head-on. “I did fall asleep last night.”

      “Huh?”

      “What I said earlier. That was how it happened. I had a few too many drinks and accidentally fell asleep on a sofa.”

      His gaze narrowed, and he looked intrigued.

      “I was telling you the truth,” she said.

      “Okay.”

      “Was that sarcasm?” She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.

      “That was. It’s none of my business.”

      “I wasn’t with Quentin.”

      Brody looked so genuinely surprised that she felt foolish.

      She tried to backpedal. “I was remembering what you said Saturday night. You seemed to...well, allude to me possibly being after Quentin in an unsavory way.”

      “You said you weren’t.”

      “I’m not.”

      “I believed you.” He seemed sincere.

      Now she really felt foolish. “Good. That’s good.” She told herself to stop talking, but for some reason she kept on. “Why?”

      He flexed an amused grin, brushing his fingers along the top of the wooden desk as he moved toward her. “You didn’t look like you were lying.”

      “How does lying look?” What was the matter with her? She sounded silly, and she didn’t seem to be able to quit. “I mean to you. How can you tell?”

      “I don’t know. How does anyone tell?” He stopped in front of her.

      It was too close for comfort, but she didn’t move.

      “Lack of eye contact,” he continued. “A tense, closed expression, halting speech, hesitation.”

      He certainly didn’t look tense. He looked relaxed. He looked powerful, in control, and too, too sexy. She should look away and break the spell. She didn’t.

      “Take now,” he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Your expression is open. You’re not nervous. You’re looking straight at me. It’s like you’re inviting me in.”

      Uh-oh.

      “Like you want me to see your innermost thoughts,” he continued.

      She definitely didn’t want that. Her innermost thoughts were her business and hers alone.

      “Like you’re thinking physical contact...” He brushed her fingers, gently holding the tips of hers with the tips of his. He drew in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

      She felt a warmth rise over her wrist, up the inside of her arm and through to her chest. She didn’t want him to let go.

      He eased in, his intention clear. His hand wrapped itself fully around hers, intensifying the sensations. She lost track of time and place, forgot about everything but Brody as he drew her close.

      His lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle. She hadn’t expected that. His free hand came to rest at her waist, again the lightest of touches. If he’d kissed her hard or pulled her fast and tight, she might have had the presence of mind to break away. But he was stealthy in his approach, slipping past her defenses, his actions so soothing that she didn’t realize her mistake.

      The kiss deepened.

      It felt good. It felt great.

      She stepped forward, bringing her body against his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His hand moved along the small of her back, splaying warm and smooth against her spine.

      Her lips parted, and he groaned, pulling back, breaking the kiss.

      “I’m sorry,” he said.

      She felt her face heat in embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

      Then she remembered the part she was supposed to be playing. Girls like Francie didn’t get rattled by a kiss. So instead of apologizing, she gave him a sultry smile and walked her fingers down his chest before dropping her hand to her side. “No problem. Just so we’re clear on Quentin.”

      Brody looked confused for a moment. Then he seemed to give himself a little shake. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

      She wanted to ask him if it was the question of Quentin that was now out of the way, or if their kiss was the thing that was out of the way. Had he been curious about kissing her? Had he been disappointed? Was he moving on?

      A dozen questions bloomed in her mind, but she couldn’t ask any of them. The kiss was definitely out of the way. It was done. She was moving past it, past Brody, and back on to Annabelle.