Brother's Best Friend Unwrapped Page 8

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that I might turn violent. But it was there. I had to acknowledge it.

  I will not endanger her by putting her up for that kind of treatment.

  In my heart, I could admit I loved Amelia. I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her the way I might, inadvertently, do. So I had the added duty of protecting her also from myself.

  I should go away, I thought wildly. This wasn’t working out right. Every time I saw Amelia, I lost control of myself. I couldn’t maintain the aloof, cold exterior I wanted to.

  Without any conscious thought, I started to pack. The habit of years meant that I could pack my cases in an instant, ready to move on to the next place I was needed. As I rolled my socks into a ball and shoved them into my suitcase, I blinked, shaking myself.

  Carson, stop acting crazy. You can’t just walk out!

  What would Brett say? It was a few days before Christmas and he’d invited me here for the holiday. I couldn’t very well just throw my things into the car, drive off without any farewell. Much as it would have been what I wanted to do to save my sanity from the constant torment of loving Amelia, it wasn’t what I could do.

  You’d regret it.

  I sighed. Dropped the socks soundlessly onto the carpet, lay back on the bed. There was just too much going on in my life to make sense of anything. As it was, I thought miserably, I should probably cut my time here short. It wasn’t like I had no commitments.

  I closed my eyes and felt wretched. I had no idea what to do. Making sensible choices and dealing with interpersonal issues wasn’t something I had a skill set for.

  I even know a bit about defusing bombs, I thought, laughing a little hysterically. But I had no idea at all how to defuse the wild, devastating bomb that was my love for Amelia.

  The thing is that I won’t be the only casualty when it erupts. It’d hurt her.

  The thought of Amelia called her vividly to mind. Her soft skin, that glistening pink mouth that made me want to kiss it as I pressed against her on the bed, my lips chewing the side of her sweet face and moving lower…

  I groaned as my cock responded with some urgency to the picture in my mind of Amelia, nude and defenseless, lying on her back with that alluring look she used to level my way.

  I wanted her so much. She was in the room next door right now, possibly nude and lying on her bed and my mind couldn’t get around that. I gritted my teeth.

  In my mind, I built another picture. Based it on what happened the other day in the kitchen. Imagined Amelia washing up, dropping a plate. Imagined myself turning on her with the same cold fury I had leveled at Brett. I let my mind conjure her response, which would probably, like his, only make me worse. I made myself imagine her crying, wounded irreparably by my hatefulness.

  You see, Grant? That’s how your life would be.

  I sighed. I sat up on the bed. The mirror on the wall revealed me to myself, my brown eyes a little shattered, my face tight with nervous tension. I stood, brushing my brown curls flat. I couldn’t very well go around like that: someone would notice.

  “A shower. Now.”

  I gathered my shower caddy and marched myself to the shower with the same efficiency with which I would have handled soldiers in my battalion. Once inside I showered briskly, shaved and tried not to cut myself, then headed into the bedroom again. The clock by my bedside told me it was around lunchtime. My stomach clenched ambivalently and I decided I had nothing to lose. At least if I went downstairs, Brett and his wife—or the kids—were probably also there, and they might act as a buffer. I had made up my mind that I’d do my best not to be alone with Amelia again.

  “Carson?” Brett’s voice called me as I went downstairs. He was in the sitting room, so I headed in there. He had his laptop open on his knee.

  “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to show you that building I was talking about the other day,” he said peaceably. “And to give you the details of that guy I told you about; the one who went to Logistics?”

  “Oh?” I frowned. I didn’t remember any guy. Probably because I was thinking about Amelia. I felt my mouth twist ironically.

  “Yeah. Preston Brinkley. Here we go,” he added, finding an email address. “Should I forward it to you?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes. Please,” I nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if I had anything to lose, after all.

  He pressed some buttons and then leaned back, brushing faded blond hair out of one eye as he looked up. “What’s it?”

  “Nothing,” I said, blinking rapidly. Why the heck was my face so transparent? “Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing,” Brett said carefully. “Only, everyone seems a bit subdued around here and I was wondering if I’ve done something. Only my wife is normal.”

  “What was that, Brett Carlyle?” a voice called ominously from the kitchen. We both laughed.

  “I said, you’re normal, honey.”

  “And what a cheeky thing to say!” Reese said with a big grin, coming out of the kitchen with her hands stained with some sort of berry-juice. “I’ll have you know, I’m extraordinary.”

  Brett roared with laughter and I had to smile. “Yes, honey,” Brett agreed firmly.

  Reese blew him a kiss. Then she went back to the kitchen, shoulders shaking with mirth.

  I sighed. It was inspiring and bittersweet to see them. I wished, from the bottom of my heart, that I could be like that. Friendly, and simple, and normal. But I couldn’t.

  The war had left big holes in my heart and in my mind. I only had one major scar—a wound high on my chest where shrapnel had struck me. But inside there were so many more.

  “Is…is Amelia around?” I asked. When his eyes widened, I prayed he hadn’t made the leap of linking my odd mood and her.

  “She was,” Brett nodded. “She went up when I came in. Said she had a headache. Why?”

  “No reason,” I said mildly. “Just wanting to know where everyone is, I guess.”

  “Well,” Reese appeared again. “Everyone ought to be here.”

  “It’s ready, is it?” Brett said, sitting up and shutting the laptop quickly.

  “It will be in about two minutes,” Reese said wryly and I smiled.

  “Lunch?” I asked.

  “Yup,” she nodded. “I’m making my famous roast pumpkin, with a berry tart to follow.”

  “Oh!” I smiled. My stomach rumbled and I remembered I was hungry. Brett chuckled.

  “There you go. Sounds good, right?”

  “Sounds awesome,” I agreed fervently.

  “Could you find the kids?” Brett asked, as he stood, taking his laptop over to a side-table. “I just have to go and help with the oven door.”

  “Sure,” I nodded as he headed into the kitchen. I heard low voices coming out of it as Brett and Reese performed some intricate operation around lowering the pie dishes to the oven shelf.

  “Kids?” I called. I tensed at the door to the attic, praying inwardly that Amelia wasn’t in there. I was nervous to confront her alone now, for fear of my resolve wavering.

  “Yes!” Josh appeared immediately.

  “Is it lunch?”

  “Yes,” I answered the inquiry briskly.

  “Finally!” Cayley sighed, making me laugh.

  “We thought that’d never happen,” Josh lisped, rushing past me and into the corridor, heading for the bathroom to wash their hands.

  “Auntie!” Cayley called outside Amelia’s door. “It’s lunchtime.”

  I sighed with relief. At least I wouldn’t have to call her by myself.

  A voice called back through the whitewashed door. “Coming.”

  It was bright and brittle and cheery and, if I hadn’t known Amelia so well, I would have thought she was enthused about the lunch, just like all the rest of us. But I did know her. Too well. So I knew that tightness in her voice and how it covered she’d just been crying.

  I shook my head. I was such an asshole.

  I sighed.
I hadn’t much choice, had I? I could either be an asshole now, and avoid hurting her in future, or I could do what I longed to now—renew our closeness in every way possible and then be an asshole later.

  It will hurt her less if I am an asshole now.

  I walked briskly down the stairs to the kitchen.

  I took a place at the table, sitting beside Brett who looked about expectantly as Reese dished out the steaming roast, then turned to the kids as they swarmed in and took their seats.

  Amelia came in last. Her face was pale and she had combed out her hair. She was quiet and composed and I think it was clear only to me that her eyes were soft and fluid with recent tears.

  “Hey, Brett,” she said, giving her brother a tired smile. She went and sat at the head of the table, the last vacant seat and as far away from me as anyone could get. I winced.

  As I watched her from my place opposite, I felt my heart clench. I wished I could do things differently, but I knew I couldn’t.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Amelia

  Later on, I decided to make a firm resolution to catch up on work. It was my holiday, and I had no reason for doing anything, but work had always been my refuge, so after lunch I took out my laptop and set myself up at the dining-room table. There wasn’t nearly enough left to do, so I resorted to sending Christmas cards to my colleagues and absent acquaintances.

  I just don’t want to think about Carson.

  All these mixed emotions were getting to me. I thought if I focused on the contradictory messages he was sending, I might actually go mad. Corporate finance was a safe, predictable place in comparison to the crazy, unknown waters that were opening up between him and I.

  “Mel?”

  I looked up from the screen of my phone when Brett’s voice cut through my thoughts. I had been busy catching up with my colleagues. My interest in being on holiday had dropped abruptly now: really all I could think about was getting back to work.

  “Mm?”

  “I need to go out with Reese to fetch something from the store—to get her Christmas present, actually. But anyway, could I ask you to keep an eye on the kids? I think Carson’s with them in the yard right now.”

  “Oh.” I blinked, surprised. “Okay.”

  If Carson’s out there, I’m staying where I am until they come inside.

  I had enough of him by now—enough of his confusing ways, his changing attitude toward me. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t exist. At least that’s what I wanted to think.

  “Great! Thanks, Mel. You’re great with the kids. Carson’s good too,” he added, seeming surprised. “I’d better head off now,” he added. He was, I noticed, already dressed for cold weather. “Honey?” he called to his wife.

  “Yes, dear?” Reese’s voice came down the stairs. A moment later I heard the distinctive sound of heeled boots on wood and she appeared in the hallway, wrapped in a coat that looked like it cost a small fortune.

  “There you are,” Brett smiled. I was moved by the softness in his eyes as he looked at her. They had been married for ten years and the love was so evident it touched my heart.

  “Are we going to Barney’s?” she asked, meaning the department store.

  “I guess,” Brett said, grinning.

  “Okay!” Reese said enthusiastically. Brett laughed.

  “Bye,” he called to me. “If you’re looking for Carson, I just saw him pass the back gate.”

  “See you, brother,” I called as he left. I didn’t want to know about Carson Grant.

  “Bye, Amelia!” Reese called out. I heard the key turn in the lock.

  Great. Now I’m alone with Carson.

  I wasn’t going to think about that. Carson Grant didn’t exist. I was going to repeat that to myself until I officially forgot about him. He isn’t here. No, he isn’t.

  I turned back to my laptop and started setting up spreadsheets for next year. I had never worked so far in advance before, but there was no harm in a little work obsession. Especially since I really had to focus on something else. I distantly heard the kitchen door open but I didn’t look up.

  “Uncle Carson! Can’t we go outside again?”

  A small voice piped up, enthused, from the kitchen. The back door closed. I sighed. It didn’t seem like I could have any peace.

  “Aren’t you cold, Cayley?” Carson asked.

  “No! I want to go out again! Josh is hiding somewhere. He’s the enemy…”

  “Well, happy hunting, partner,” Carson laughed.

  Had he been teaching them more military techniques? I sighed. The army might have released him a year ago, but its hold on him was still there.

  My phone made a noise just as Cayley shut the kitchen door behind her and I lost track of time again.

  Calm down, sister, I typed. It’s not the end of the financial year.

  She sent back a laughing face. I know. But my in-laws are here.

  Heck, I sent back.

  Quite.

  We exchanged funny comments and recipe ideas for quite a while. I was buried in Food Network, hunting for a recipe for dressing, when the explosion happened.

  A noise somewhere between a gunshot and a car backfiring went off just outside the kitchen. It was followed immediately after by a whooping yell.

  “Oh, God! The kids…”

  I dropped the phone on the cushion and ran to the yard, hurrying through the kitchen without any thought of the fact that Carson was still there.

  “Kids!” I shouted. “What the heck?”

  I was met by two happy, laughing faces and a spent firecracker.

  “We did it!” Cayley said happily.

  “Let’s do it again,” Josh said, a contented smile on his angelic face.

  I wasn’t sure whether her to laugh or cry. “Kids!” I said harshly. “Don’t play with fireworks! It’s dangerous!” Where was Carson? I was furious. My hands shook with adrenaline and anger and I was met with two miserable faces, Josh’s already crumpling into tears.

  I felt instantly guilty. I hadn’t meant to lose it with them. I was angry with myself, imagining Josh with his hand blown off, or both kids badly burned. How could I have been so neglectful? It wasn’t just Carson’s job to keep an eye on them. Brett had trusted me too. How could I do this?

  “Aw, but auntie…it’s fun!” Josh explained.

  “Yes! Can’t we have one more?” Cayley clamored.

  “No.” I shook my head briskly. “You shouldn’t even have let one off on your own. Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here!”

  They looked miserably up at me, but followed me inside. I sent them upstairs to wash their hands and faces and collapsed, exhausted and weary from relief, into the chair by the kitchen table. It was then that I saw him.

  Carson was sitting on the floor by the sink. He had his legs clasped up to his chest, and on his cheek was the mark of a tear. He was pale, and his eyes were shut. I hadn’t seen him or heard him when I came in.

  “Carson?” I whispered. “Carson?”

  He opened his eyes suddenly, round and staring with fright. Then he stood up, shakily.

  “Um…Amelia! I…no. Oh, God…” He was crying. Carson was crying. He leaned on the counter, face in his hands. His shoulders rose and fell shakily.

  “Carson.”

  Before I could think about it, my arms were around him. I held him close, rocking a little as I would if it was Cayley who was having a nightmare.

  “Shh,” I said gently. “Shh.”

  He sobbed a bit longer, then stopped. Turned to face me. “Oh, God, Amelia,” he whispered. “I…I wish you hadn’t seen me like this.” He covered his face again and his body stiffened as he tried to stop the tears.

  “No, Carson,” I said gently. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  He laughed, shakily. Slid down to sit on the chair. I sat next to him, my hand in his. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, a laugh threading his voice. “Because I’m not sure I do.”

  I didn’t say anythi
ng. Whatever it was, he needed space to talk. Anything I said might put him off. I waited. At length, he cleared his throat.

  “It was the noise,” he explained. “The bomb. Well, the firework. Whatever.” he laughed, shrugging. “It was…suddenly I was there again. In the bullets. Seeing friends die. Seeing Pete…oh, God.”

  He breathed out shakily, his hand gripping mine. I still said nothing. At length, he coughed again.

  “I’m sorry, Amelia. You must think I’m weird. But I…this…this is the first time I’ve cried.”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to think about it. About what he’d been through. He had faced death and seen his friends die, seen blood and injury and destruction in a way most people didn’t in nightmares. He had faced danger and fear and had to walk through them every day. He hadn’t known he would come back alive. Of course, the sound of guns or explosions of any kind triggered him.

  “I’m sorry, Carson,” I whispered. “I really am.”

  He shook his head. His grip tightened in mine. “You’re sorry? Sweetheart, you don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

  I melted. He always called me sweetheart. It reached into my heart and melted it. Suddenly we were kids again, sitting under a tree, telling each other about our love. I sniffed.

  Without thinking about it, I moved and we were in each other’s arms. His mouth came down on mine and his lips were tender as they explored my own. I had forgotten his kisses; forgotten how they turned me to water. His tongue gently probed me, tasting my lips, sliding in. I shivered and leaned back, my mouth soft and welcoming to him. He leaned in and the kiss deepened, becoming passionate in a way that made my heart thud and strange warmth flow from my chest to my loins and back.

  He groaned against me, his arms tight around me. I pressed against him. Then he sat back.

  “I shouldn’t,” he said. His voice was a thread and I think he didn’t mean me to hear it, but I did.

  “Why not, Carson?” I whispered. He shook his head.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said. He stood and pushed in his chair. His eyes, looking at me, were wild. “I…I should go. Forgive me,” he blurted. Then he headed briskly through the door. I heard him taking the stairs almost at a run. I collapsed at the table and sobbed.