The Right Choice(10)
Author: Carly Phillips

“Training. Is that what they call it these days?”

“What?”

“See this?” Her arm swept the table loaded with food that smelled amazing. Between the canned food he’d eaten overseas and the takeout he’d feasted on since his return, Carly’s table looked like manna from heaven.

So did she. A silky lemon yellow pajama set—pants and a long-sleeved top—draped across her soft curves and smooth skin. The material rustled as she crossed the room.

“Chicken, gourmet salads, caviar and assorted desserts. All your brother’s favorites.”

He glanced from the food to her stricken expression. “He stood you up?” That thought was as sickening to him as the thought of Carly greeting his brother dressed for bed.

“No, that would have hurt,” she admitted. “He wasn’t at fault; I was. I broke the ultimate taboo.”

Her cheeks burned with color and a range of emotion flared in her eyes. She was, Mike decided, either angry or on her way toward drunk. He couldn’t determine which. He glanced at the bottle, but the deep green obscured the level of the liquid inside.

He turned back to Carly. “And what was that?” he asked.

“I showed up unexpectedly, dinner in hand for my overworked fiancé.”

“He ignored you for work?” The selfish bastard. Mike stood, crossing the room until he was close enough to breathe the intoxicating scent of vanilla. Who needed champagne when a man could get drunk on this?

“Nope. Guess again.”

He rubbed his forehead, wondering what his moron brother, who cared about but didn’t love Carly, had done now. “Was he angry you surprised him?”

“Nope. Guess again.” A smile quirked around the edges of her mouth. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

Mike tossed his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. “I give up. What happened?” If his brother had hurt her, Mike would ring his stuffy neck.

“He was already eating.” She paced the floor. Her hips swayed beneath the opaque material.

He already knew he could span her waist with his bare hands. “And?”

“And laughing.” She whirled around to face him. “Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Peter was laughing with that associate in training—who, by the way, needs as much training as Flipper.”

Mike walked up beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Was he doing anything… wrong?”

She shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Anything… unethical maybe?”

Again, she shook her head. “But he laughed.” She leaned against a pink marbleized wall and sighed. “He never laughs with me.”

The admission cost her, Mike could tell. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “And I can’t remember the last time I laughed with him.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I could have told you that.

He placed a hand around her waist, ignoring how easily she fit her body to his, how soft and right she felt in his arms, and led her to the oversized pillow on the floor.

Seating himself next to her, Mike took her hand in his. “If you think you’re making a mistake, now’s the time…”

“No!” Carly jerked her hand back and rubbed it against the silk pants. “I didn’t say that. It’s just that with planning the wedding, things have been tense. His work, my work… you know how it is.”

Oh, yeah. He knew. And he had a strange feeling she did, too. So why push so hard for something that wasn’t right? That would only make her unhappy for the next fifty or so years? And why didn’t his intelligent brother, who’d attended college and law school on scholarships, see the truth?

Mike sighed, reminding himself that he’d be back touring the world in no time and Carly’s pain would be a distant memory. Or would it?

“Okay, then. Let’s eat and help you plan. After all, you’ve only got three weeks left until the big day.”

“Later. Right now I just want to relax.” She busied herself loading up two plates with food, setting one down in front of Mike and refilling the champagne glasses.

For the next hour, he amused her with tales about his less than glamorous assignments, some of the more squalid places he’d slept and the interesting people he’d met along the way. Though he hoped the stories would bring back a wave of nostalgia for the life he’d left behind, all he felt was an aching emptiness for all he lacked—and that, more than anything else, made him nervous.

He helped Carly clean up her living room and put the half-full bottle of champagne into the fridge. Since she’d had one glass and he’d shared a fair amount himself, he realized Carly’s earlier fit hadn’t been made while drunk. It had been made while hurt and angry at his insensitive brother. Mike’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

While she replaced what appeared to be volumes of magazines on top of her cocktail table, Mike indulged his curiosity. He examined the wall of bookshelves, astounded at the number of self-help books crammed into the narrow space. Then he appraised the apartment with a photographer’s eye. Moonlight filtered in through a bay window, catching vibrant colors in its wayward beams. The oversized recliner matched the comfortable sofa and picked up the pale pink shade on the walls.

Organization offset by plush comfort. Everything said touch me. Nothing had the stark, hands-off feeling of Pete’s apartment, a place where Mike slept but had yet to feel at home. That he did here didn’t surprise him. Shook him up some, but what was one more punch in the gut when everything around him seemed to be falling apart?

His career—hell, his life for that matter—was in shambles. This engagement between two polar opposites shouldn’t have any effect on him, yet he cared for both people involved… one of whom he’d known for one week. In three weeks he’d be her brother-in-law.

“Mike?”

Her light touch on his arm startled him. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You seem a little… I don’t know. Out there.”

He smiled. “I’m fine. And you ought to get some sleep.”

She nodded, watching him with those deep brown eyes as he headed for the door. He turned back to find her close behind him. Her scented perfume drifted around him, causing his body to stir in an unbrotherly way. Captured in a sensual haze, he remembered the moment she’d fixed his cummerbund, when her body had jerked against him. His hands had itched to cup her br**sts, to pull her close and bury himself deep inside her. If not for the fact that they’d been in a public place, he would have.