The Bravo Family Way Page 9

  She sat up and eyed him sideways. “To do what?”

  “You are the most suspicious woman—to take a shower.”

  “Together?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Nice was hardly the word for it, and he knew it, too. Those smoke-and-silver eyes promised a lot more than “nice.” A flush of arousal swept through her as she imagined the two of them sharing a hot, steamy, leisurely shower, as she pictured soap bubbles sliding down his beautiful chest….

  No way. Couldn’t happen. If they fooled around in the shower, he’d never make it to Celia’s apartment by six.

  And she did need to go home, to recoup and reevaluate.

  He must have read her thoughts in her expression, because he added, “Don’t worry. There are two showers. You can lather up alone.”

  When they were both fully dressed again, he pulled her into his arms.

  He kissed her. At length.

  When he lifted his head, he commanded in a low tone, “Don’t talk yourself out of this. Please…”

  He looked…vulnerable. At that moment she was certain he’d be hurt if she refused to see him again. In spite of her strong reservations, her heart warmed to him. She could almost hope…

  What? She wasn’t quite sure. Maybe for more of him than his gorgeous body. For his deepest secrets, that he might give them to her, to share. For his trust…

  She told him honestly, “If I could talk myself out of this, I would have done it already.”

  “But you couldn’t—you can’t.”

  “I don’t think so. Especially not after today…”

  He traced the line of her jaw, his touch setting off sparks. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

  Going home didn’t help much. The cozy rooms seemed kind of empty and she felt at a loss—for Fletcher. How crazy was that?

  She sat on her sofa and pretended to watch the news and relived every moment of the afternoon before— every sigh, every kiss, every lingering touch.

  The phone rang at nine and she knew it would be him.

  “Hello?”

  “I hope to hell you’re not thinking.”

  Happiness glowed all through her. Was she foolish? Oh, yes. Did she care?

  Not hardly. “I have been thinking, as a matter of fact. Thinking about this afternoon…”

  “I love it when you get that husky tone. I know then that I’ve got you.”

  “As always, you are stunningly sure of yourself.”

  Was he smiling? Oh, yes. She knew that he was. “I’m going to consider that a compliment,” he said.

  “Ah,” she said, because the truth was, her mind was so filled with him, there was no room left for thinking up clever replies.

  “I wish you were here with me.”

  She found, incredibly, that she believed him. “I’m glad,” she answered softly.

  “What are you wearing?”

  She threw back her head and she laughed, then she whispered into the mouthpiece, “Who is this?”

  “A very bad man. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

  She sighed—good and loud, so he would be sure to hear it. “I’ll say this much, I’m looking really glamorous.”

  “I want specifics.”

  “Don’t go there. Keep your illusions.”

  “I said specifics.”

  “You’ll be sorry.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Just remember, you asked for it. I’m wearing ugly old sweatpants.”

  “Sweatpants excite me. What color?”

  “Oh, come on…”

  “What color?”

  She gave in and told him. “Light blue.”

  “Sexy.”

  “If you say so…”

  “I do. What else?”

  “A stretched out KinderWay T-shirt and ratty slippers.”

  “I’m getting that feeling. You know which one I mean?”

  “I could guess….”

  “And underneath the blue sweatpants?”

  “Panties. Plain cotton.”

  “White?”

  “Yes.”

  “I love plain white cotton. So…functional.”

  “Well, yes. It’s that.”

  “Bra?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  “Take it all off. Now.”

  “Fletcher?”

  “What?”

  “Is this phone sex we’re having?”

  “Now you’re catchin’ on.”

  The next morning, Friday, she was in the five-year-olds’ room when he dropped Ashlyn off.

  “Cleo!” Ashlyn ran to her.

  She bent down and caught the warm little body close in her arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  Ashlyn pulled back and laid her small, soft hand so briefly against Cleo’s cheek. It felt absolutely lovely, that fond, trusting touch. The little girl asked, “Can I read to you today?”

  “I would like that very much.”

  “When?”

  “How about morning playtime? I’ll come back here to your classroom.”

  “Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” She rose to her height again, a delicious flush sweeping through her as she met Fletcher’s eyes.

  “Walk me out to the gate,” he said.

  She joined him as he turned for the door.

  Once out of the classroom, they crossed the breezeway and headed down the walk. At the gate he paused and turned to her. “Tonight?”

  Her heart beat in a lazy, deep kind of way. Her blood moved slow and sweet through her veins as she thought of the afternoon before—of last night on the phone. “Yes.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  He arrived right on time. They went to a little Italian place he knew off the Strip, away from the glitz and the glitter. The food was good and the wine even better.

  She held it to one glass. Just being with him was challenge enough to her good sense. He asked her about her years as a showgirl and she told him everything he wanted to know—about the shows she’d been in and the killing hours, working all night, going to school in the daytime.

  “It was tough. I never got enough sleep. After a show, we’d all be keyed up. The temptation was to hang out with the other dancers, have a few drinks, kind of come down. But when I did that, I wouldn’t get to bed until after daylight. In my case, I needed to be at my first class at ten. No way. I had to force myself to go straight home.”

  “You have discipline.”

  She laughed. “There’s not a professional dancer in the world who doesn’t have an excess of that. The work is so demanding. And you just can’t fake it. But for me, well, I was after a different kind of life. And I was fortunate. I managed to take what I knew—dancing—and use it to get where I wanted to go.”

  She asked about how he had gotten where he was now. He told her how he had come up through the casinos in Atlantic City.

  “Dealer, floor supervisor, pit boss, assistant shift manager—you name the job, I’ve probably done it. The irony is, while I was learning the business in New Jersey, Aaron was doing the same thing here in Nevada. We knew of each other, had even met briefly—twice—before we learned that we were brothers.”

  “You’re kidding. You met, realized you had the same last name—and you didn’t even wonder if you might be related?”

  “Bravo’s not that uncommon a name.”

  “But you look a lot alike…”

  He shrugged those wide shoulders. “What can I tell you? The truth was right there in front of us, we just didn’t see it. But then Jonas and Aaron formed the Bravo Group. They were looking for someone to run Impresario. They had me checked out before they approached me and in the process discovered who my father was. It all pretty much fell into place from there.”

  “And that was when?”

  “I moved here two years ago.”

  “Was Ashlyn living with you then?”

  He shook his head. “Her mother was still a
live. Belinda died a few months after I came to Vegas.” Belinda. His ex was named Belinda.

  “That must have been hard,” said Cleo. “For Ashlyn, especially. To lose her mother so young…”

  He watched her. She thought he seemed…wary somehow. Then he looked down. “Kids are resilient.”

  “So people always say.”

  He glanced up again, a sharp gleam in his eye. “You think they’re not?”

  “I think children are tender and open and defenseless. They can be easily damaged. And I think it’s nothing short of a miracle what some kids live through and yet still manage to lead happy, productive lives.” She reached across the table and touched his arm. When he looked at her once more, she added, “And I also think Ashlyn is really something. I think you—and her mother—have done a great job with her. She’s not only bright and beautiful, she’s fun in her own oh-so-serious way and she’s interested in others. She’s a terrific kid.”

  He gave her a slow nod. “Thank you.”

  “Hey. It’s only the truth. Was Belinda sick?”

  He glanced away, then back. “Her death was sudden.”

  “And when she died, you two had been divorced for…?”

  Something had definitely happened in his eyes— something final, like a thick door swinging shut. “About three years.”

  Cleo did the math. “You mean, you were divorced before Ashlyn was born?”

  A pause. He sipped his wine, set the glass down, then gave out grudgingly, “The divorce was final a few months after she was born.”

  “So…you broke up while your wife was pregnant with Ashlyn?”

  “That’s right—how about dessert?”

  “No thanks.” She fiddled with her water glass. “You don’t want to talk about her, about your ex-wife….”

  He looked at her steadily now. “No, I don’t. There’s no point. All that’s in the past.” And then he reached across the white tablecloth and laid his hand over hers. “The tiramisu is excellent here.”

  “No. Really. No more.”

  “Shall we go, then?”

  “All right.” She saw promises in his eyes, erotic ones. Her curiosity about the lost Belinda faded—for the moment anyway. She was all breathlessness, all yearning desire.

  He took care of the check and they were out of there. In the car he glanced over at her. “Come home with me.”

  Oh, how she wanted to do just that. But she was having another dose of second thoughts, thinking again how she couldn’t afford to get too wrapped up in him. “I don’t know. It’s getting kind of late.”

  “A lame excuse if I ever heard one. It’s barely ten and it’s Friday. No KinderWay tomorrow.”

  He was right. And besides, she couldn’t bear to say good-night. Not yet. She suggested, “You could come to my place….”

  “Why? So you can kick me out as soon as you’ve gotten what you want from me?”

  She felt the grin as it tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I would never do that.”

  “Good to know—but I have plans.”

  “And they are?”

  “We can stop by your house. You can pick up what you need for tomorrow. We’ll spend the day together— you and me and Ashlyn.”

  “You want me to stay the night at your place, you mean?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  It seemed…shocking somehow, that he would suggest she spend a whole night in his bed. She wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because of Ashlyn. The day before, he’d been so careful to make sure that Ashlyn was nowhere around while they made love. “Has Ashlyn gone somewhere for the night, then?”

  He took his gaze off the road long enough to send her a puzzled glance. “No. Why?”

  “Well, if I stayed at your apartment, Ashlyn would find me there in the morning.”

  Even in profile his amusement was clear. “Gee whiz. You’re right.”

  “I’m serious. I just don’t…” The words trailed off as she tried to figure out how to finish.

  “You don’t what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Will that bother her if she finds me there in the morning?”

  “Cleo, you’ve taken child-development classes. You know how a five-year-old thinks. Ashlyn likes you. A lot. If you show up at the breakfast table, she’s only going to think that you’re there to see her.” He sent her another glance and his voice went to velvet. “And I promise not to do X-rated things to you unless we’re alone in my bedroom with the door locked.” He looked at the road again. “Say yes. Say it now.”

  She shouldn’t. And she knew it. But she said it anyway. “Yes.”

  Much later, as they lay in his bed, drowsy and contented and thoroughly satisfied, he asked her if she was on the pill.

  She told him no. She hadn’t liked the side effects. “I do have a diaphragm….”

  He smoothed her hair off her forehead and placed a kiss at her temple. “Whatever. Just wondered. I don’t mind using condoms—if you don’t.”

  “Condoms are fine with me.” She rolled so she was on her side, facing him, and snuggled in closer. Funny. Even the mundane and often awkward contraception conversation seemed somehow perfectly natural and easy with Fletcher.

  Maybe because he’s had that particular conversation so many times…

  The snide thought came into her mind and she ordered it away. It wouldn’t quite go. “Fletcher?” He made a low sound, one that told her he was listening. She laid a hand on his hard chest, felt the slow, strong beating of his heart beneath her palm. “Maybe you’ll think I’m backward and conservative. But I do work with kids. It’s part of my job to be…more respectable than most.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, it could be considered suspect. You’re funding my preschool and here I am in your bed.”

  “It’s no one’s business,” he said. “No one’s business but ours. And I’m not going to sneak around if that’s what you’re asking for.”

  She realized she wasn’t. Not really. “I just want you to understand. This isn’t…casual for me.”

  He tipped her chin up to him. “And you assume that it is for me?”

  “I assume nothing.” It wasn’t true. She had made assumptions. And she probably shouldn’t have. She tried a different tack. “Let me put it this way. For as long as it lasts between us…”

  She felt his lips in her hair, the warmth of his breath as he kissed the crown of her head. “Say it,” he whispered.

  “I want faithfulness from you. I want for there to be no other women, only me.” He was quiet. But he did run a finger up the side of her arm, causing warm little shivers to bloom beneath her skin. She tipped her head back so she could see his face. “Well?”

  His eyes burned into hers. “Do I get the same from you?”

  “You do.” She told him the truth. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been faithful to you since the day that I met you.” Something flared in his eyes. Triumph? Possessiveness? She wasn’t sure. She added, “I spent several weeks denying it, trying to keep from admitting to myself that the only man I wanted touching me was you. But I’ve… faced up to it now.”

  “Brave of you.”

  “I think so.”

  “And will you stay faithful to me—for as long as we’re together?”

  Piece-of-cake question. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Fair enough, then. It’s a deal.”

  And he kissed her, gently at first and then more deeply.

  The world centered down to his hands on her flesh, his knowing mouth and his wicked tongue. She could much too easily grow accustomed to spending her nights in Fletcher’s bed.

  The next morning Ashlyn behaved as Fletcher had predicted.

  Her face lit up when Cleo entered the kitchen. “Cleo! You came to my house. I’m so glad.”

  They shared a leisurely breakfast, the three of them. Ashlyn chattered away about how much she liked her school, about her friends, about the story she was “writing.”

  “It’s called The Happy Ladybug.
It’s mostly pictures. I have a very large vocabulary.” She pronounced the big word with obvious pride. “I mean, for a five-year-old, but I can’t spell all those words yet.”

  As Mrs. Dolby began clearing off, Fletcher put his hand over Cleo’s. She reveled in the warmth of his touch. Then he said, “Okay. Time for a confession.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “The truth is, I’ve got to work for a few hours.”

  She frowned. “Now?”

  He looked so charmingly guilty. “Here’s the truth. I was afraid if I told you earlier, you’d leave.”

  Ashlyn piped right up. “But you can’t leave, Cleo. You have to see my book. The happy ladybug is hiding from a big, fat robin. She’s very scared. We have to figure out how to save her. And as soon as she’s safe from danger, then we can play some games.”

  Fletcher’s lean hand tightened over hers. “Please stay. I won’t be too long….”

  So Cleo and Ashlyn retired to the family room, where Ashlyn brought out her work in progress and they discussed ways the ladybug might keep from being the robin’s lunch.

  Then they got down on the floor to play Concentration. Ashlyn was amazingly adept at the game. If she turned over a card, she remembered it.

  “My uncle Cade taught me,” she explained. “Uncle Cade is married to Aunt Jane.”

  “That’s right. I remember.”

  “He’s a gambler, Uncle Cade is. That’s his job. You would like Uncle Cade, Cleo. He’s almost as handsome as Daddy. And whenever I see him, he picks me up and swings me high in the air and he calls me Princess. He says that I can remember cards because it runs in the family.”

  There were only ten cards left on the floor when Cleo’s purse started playing the William Tell Overture. She took out her cell phone and saw that the caller was Celia.

  “Just checking on you,” her new friend said. “I had to make sure that Fletcher is treating you right.”

  Cleo grinned and pitched her voice low enough that Ashlyn, still on the floor with the cards, wouldn’t hear. “You are dying to know what happened—in detail.”