How I Met Your Brother (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 5
“Good,” she said. “Yours?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Are you back to giving me one-word answers? I think your family deserves a few paragraphs.”
Did he remember anything about her family? Probably not. Most likely he was just being polite.
“My mom still lives in Yakima,” she said. “And my brother is stationed in Germany.” As far away from their mother as he could get. That way he didn’t have to deal with her phone calls every month when the welfare check ran out. He’d always been the smart one, really.
She threw out a few more bland details, hoping they’d satisfy Dawson’s curiosity. “If I recall, you were going to go to med school. How did that work out?”
He took a sip of his water. “Actually, I went into business. It’s worked out well.”
That was a surprise. He’d been so focused on medicine. “What sort of business?”
“I’m a turnaround specialist. I do corporate takeovers.”
“Sounds violent.”
“It bleeds paperwork. A messy business. But it has its perks.”
“Such as?”
His tone turned caressing. “I can afford to take beautiful women to nice restaurants.” He was flirting with her. A good sign.
She smiled at the compliment, glowing inside. “You never told me how your family is. You must have some good Flynn stories to tell.”
Dawson’s eyebrow quirked up. “What do you mean?”
She’d never met Flynn, but she’d been there when Dawson got some of his texts. He’d offered plenty of commentary about his brother after those.
She fingered the stem of her glass. “What was it you used to call him? Oh yes: your brother and sometimes arch nemesis. It seemed like he was always doing something that bugged you.” As an example she added, “Like how he gave you a bad time about majoring in sociology.”
Dawson’s lips twitched. “He thought there were better majors.”
“And he convinced your father to make some risky business ventures.”
“Actually, those ended up paying off nicely.”
“Flynn was your parents’ favorite…”
“True.”
“… Despite the fact that he was always in trouble.”
“Always is a strong term.”
“Wasn’t there some brush with the law?”
Dawson took another sip of his drink. “He got into a fist fight with some hoodlums, but the charges were dropped.”
“I thought it had to do with too many unpaid speeding tickets.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot about those. He paid the fines, and that was that.”
Belle laughed at his defensiveness. “I take it you get along with him much better now.”
Dawson shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Some of the time.”
The waiter returned, setting their plates down with a flourish. The aroma alone made her mouth water. When she took a bite of her fillet, she knew she’d been right about her theory of pecan-encrusted items.
She took a couple bites, then said, “I’ve spent all night talking about myself. It’s your turn. What have you been up to, besides corporate takeovers?”
He cut a piece of his steak. “What do you already know?”
“Not much. When Daisy unfriended me, I stopped getting updates.”
His eyebrows rose again, this time skeptically. “She unfriended you?”
“Or maybe I unfriended her. I forget how it happened.”
“As I recall you had a fallout around the time of the wedding. It caused a lot of commotion.”
She inwardly cringed. She hadn’t meant to cause any commotion, especially not the sort he remembered years later. “Did it? I’m sorry about that.”
He watched her silently, as though trying to figure her out. “Why didn’t you come to the wedding?”
Did he really have to ask that question? Had Daisy never told him about her crush? That seemed unlikely. Belle busied herself smoothing out her napkin. “It’s been so long, I don’t remember.”
He tilted his chin down. “You’re a terrible liar.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk about it. I told you, I’ve spent enough time talking about me.”
He finished a bite of steak, considering her. “You haven’t kept up with Daisy at all?”
“I heard through the grapevine you got divorced. That’s all.”
He was still considering her. “Does that upset you—the divorce?”
How should she answer that question? Should she feign sorrow and be sympathetic? Did he need a shoulder to cry on? Or should she pretend to be aloof about it? She took a sip of her drink and stared at him over the rim. She’d forgotten how mesmerizing looking into his blue eyes could be. “I guess not. How upset are you?”
He smiled, but it seemed forced. “Getting less upset all the time.” He took a drink then set his glass down. He gave her another smile, this one all charm and sultriness. “Let’s not talk about Daisy or the past. I’d rather talk about you and the future.”
He was definitely flirting with her. The smooth tone of his voice sent tingles through her, made her feel charged with anticipation. She liked the way his gaze rested on her, liked being the center of his attention.
As dinner went on, they talked about places they’d like to travel, books they’d read, and what hobbies they’d take up if they ever had more time. They got along so seamlessly, had so much in common. He enjoyed hiking and theater. How had she not known those things about him?
By the time they’d finished their food, more couples had taken to the dance floor. He saw her watching them and leaned forward in his chair. “Want to dance?”
She hadn’t mentioned dancing as a hobby, but it was one of hers. When she’d first moved to New York, her roommate was a Broadway hopeful. She’d dragged Belle to dance clubs every chance she had. “Yes, let’s.”
They walked onto the floor, the music flowing around them. She was in her element here and could make her body move to the rhythm in a way that made people take notice. And Dawson did notice. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
The surprise was that he was a good dancer too. Ironic. All that time they’d spent together so long ago, and they’d never gone dancing.
Time slipped away as song after song played. Finally, Dawson said, “I’m getting hot. Do you want to walk along the beach for a while?”
She nodded in agreement. Yes, he was getting hotter all the time, and yes she wanted to go out in the dark and walk with him.
He paid their bill, leaving enough money so that it looked like he was putting in an offer to buy the place, then took her hand and led her outside. He’d never held her hand in college but did it so easily now. The feel of his fingers entwined with hers distracted her, made it hard to think of anything else.
Neither spoke for a few moments; they just made their way out to the ocean. The waves had darkened, looking as black and slick as oil. A string of hotels lined the beach, their lights glowing like warm beacons in the darkness. The music from the restaurant spilled into the night, mixing with the sound of waves lapping on the sand.
No one else was around. Dawson led her away from the restaurant and along the sand. With each step, the shush of the waves grew louder.
He didn’t say anything. But then he hadn’t said much all night. He’d encouraged her to do most of the talking.
“I didn’t know you could dance so well,” she said.
“You would have seen me if you’d come to the wedding.”
“Would you have danced with me?”
“Definitely.”
She shook her head. “Now you’re the terrible liar.”
“Am I?” He laughed and squeezed her hand. “And here I’ve always thought I was pretty good. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
Did she detect a challenge?
“You think so?” she asked, tugging his hand to pull him closer. “What other lies were you going to try to get past me?”
She laughed. “You don’t need to lie to earn my interest.”
He stopped walking and pulled her around to face him. “I don’t?”
“No.” She slipped her arms around his neck, fingering the ends of his hair.
He hesitated, watching her, seemed to be deciding whether to kiss her not. Starting a new relationship when the old one was still an open wound had to be hard. Maybe she should be patient. Then again, she’d been patient in college, waiting and waiting for him to make a move.
Patience, it turned out, was entirely overrated.
She moved closer to him. He smelled of cologne and ocean mist. Where his jaw and neck met, she let her lips rest against his skin.
He reacted then, shifted away from her. For a moment she thought he would leave, but then he leaned down and kissed her. At first it was just gentle teasing of his lips against hers. He nibbled on her bottom lip, kissed the corners of her mouth. She felt giddy, brave, and deliriously happy. She unwound her hands from his neck and slowly ran them across his chest. His muscles were hard beneath her fingertips, defined. He’d certainly kept himself in shape over the years. He responded to her touch, kissing her with more passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and leaned into him.
This kiss had been so long in the making that she didn’t care that she was throwing herself into the moment with reckless abandon. He should know; he should realize she’d had these emotions bottled inside her since she was eighteen. Minutes passed. They stayed there under the moonlight, and each moment their kiss grew deeper.
She pulled him closer, pressed her body to his until she could feel heat through his shirt. He let out a soft groan and dropped his hands from her waist, stepping away.
He’d been unruffled all night, smooth and in control. Now he ran a hand through his hair and stared at her as if he were having a hard time thinking straight.
She felt powerful, beautiful. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
His eyes flickered to hers, and a slow breath escaped his lips. “I guess so.”
She took his hand again, threading her fingers through his. “I’m glad we have the chance to reconnect.”
“So am I.” But something else was in his voice. Caution. Perhaps even regret.
Had she come on too strong with that kiss? Was he not ready for another romantic relationship? No, he’d been flirting with her tonight. He’d been an eager participant in the kiss right until he’d groaned and let her go. And it had sounded like the sort of groan that came out of frustration from not being able to do more.
Good. Let him want her. They’d already proven they could have friendship; now he knew they had chemistry too.
He resumed walking along the beach again, loosely holding her hand. “This night has turned out to be full of surprises.”
“Good surprises, I hope,” she said.
He chuckled, and she wasn’t sure if that meant yes or no. Did he regret kissing her? She tilted her head to better see his expression.
His lips lifted into a smile. “I’m so glad I ran into you in the lobby.”
Good surprises, then. “Me too.”
He laughed again, and they continued strolling, feet sinking into the sand. The waves kept at their usual game—pretending to ignore them, and then all of a sudden spilling themselves higher on the shore in an effort to soak their feet. Finally, they took off their shoes, each carrying their own in one hand while they held hands with the other.
“If we’re not careful,” she said, shimmying out of the reach of an ambitious wave, “we’ll be swimming soon.”
“I’d like to swim with you.” His gaze ran over her. “Although not dressed like this.”
“Swimsuits would be more practical,” she agreed.
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Success. This was going exactly the way she wanted. “I’m free all week.”
“Tomorrow, then. We can come back here.”
She peered around them. She couldn’t see any difference between this beach and the one at Playa Del Sol. “The resort has a nice beach. We could go there.”
“No,” he said, quickly. Then added, “Humor me. I want to start with breakfast at Ricco’s. Then we’ll swim, walk along this beach, and at some point we’ll reenact that kiss we had earlier.”
“Okay. I can humor you.”
“Good.” He sent her a playful look that melted her bones, but instead of kissing her again, he kept walking along the shore. He told her more about his company, which had an office in DC.
DC. Another stroke of luck—or a sign that their relationship was meant to be. DC was just a few hours’ train ride from her apartment in Manhattan. They could easily see each other after this week.
She had to keep herself from suggesting as much, hold back from planning out their life together. She was intoxicated—and she hadn’t had anything to drink. Could a person get drunk on possibilities?
He asked more questions about the fashion world, seeming determined to keep the conversation centered on her. She shared stories about uptight models and seams that didn’t hold when they were supposed to. Events that were funnier now that she was telling Dawson about them instead of living them in a panicked blur of pins and tape.
They didn’t talk about Daisy, which was fine with Belle. No point in bringing up a subject that was painful to both of them. Still, an unanswered question sat on Belle’s lips. One that seemed to grow as the night went on.
Why didn’t you like me years ago?
They were getting along effortlessly now. Perfectly. He was witty and interesting, and he brought out those same qualities in her. Why had he never seen her as more than a friend? Was it because she’d been shy and insecure, or was it all because of her looks? Because she’d been plain and unsophisticated back then?
Did appearance matter so much to him?
Every time Dawson squeezed her hand, every time he sent her one of his bone-melting looks, a part of her asked the question all over again. Why now, but not back then?
She wanted to forget the question. She wanted to kiss him again, and was always half-expecting him to pull her close for an early reenactment.
But he didn’t. Perhaps that was for the best. Taking things slower was more sensible.
By the time they returned to the resort, it was after nine. They leisurely made their way across the lobby and down the hall toward the elevator. She didn’t want the night to end, was afraid as soon as he said goodnight, everything would somehow evaporate. When they got to the elevators, instead of pushing the button, they stood looking at each other.
“What time should I pick you up for breakfast?” he asked. “Eight? Nine?”
“Eight is fine.”
“What’s your room number?”
“Six-thirty-four.” If someone had told her a week ago that she would soon be at a resort, giving Dawson her hotel room number, she wouldn’t have believed them.
“Would you rather see ruins instead of going to the beach?” he asked. “Or we can do both.”
It was nice that he was so eager to spend time with her. “I’d like to do both, but if we don’t have time, that’s fine. I know you’re here to spend time with your family.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“You came for a reunion. Won’t your family be mad if you’re gone all day?”
A flash of emotion went through his eyes, gone so fast that she couldn’t identify it. “How did you know about the reunion?”
She blushed, feeling flustered by her mistake. He’d never mentioned the reunion, and she’d forgotten to fake ignorance over why he was here. “You mentioned it at dinner.”
“Did I?” He smiled, but seemed to know she was lying. “Well, my family will just have to understand. Beautiful women trump spending time listening to Uncle Bob’s Navy stories.”
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She swallowed and hoped she wasn’t still blushing. Would he think she’d checked up on him? Would he suspect that she’d come here just to see him?
He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. They’d been holding hands all during their walk on the beach, but it still gave her a tingling feeling. His hand around hers felt like acceptance.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “It was wonderful. The food. The dancing.” She ran her tongue across her lips. “Everything.”
He nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The everything was my favorite.”
“You’re very good at everything.”
He laughed, pulled her closer, and kissed her. Finally. She’d been waiting for his lips to return to hers since he’d let go of her the first time. She felt like a drug addict in need of her next hit—a hit of Dawson, his mouth, his arms around her. She slid her hands onto his shoulders.
When she heard rumble of a suitcase coming toward them, she pulled away. Dawson reached for her hand, and she felt an inordinate amount of happiness at that fact. He didn’t care who saw that he liked her.
Dawson glanced behind her and cursed under his breath. She turned to see who had caught them kissing. And then reality split in two. The man striding toward them, suitcase in tow, was Dawson.
He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt, and his hair was blonder and slightly longer than that of the man who stood beside her. His bangs swept across his forehead in the scruffy way she remembered from college. But his features, his build—if he wasn’t a twin to the man who stood beside her, he should have been.
Was that possible? Dawson had never mentioned having a twin.
She stood there in shock, not breathing, not understanding.
The other Dawson nodded in their direction. “Hey, Flynn,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone to the reunion. Does Mom know?”
Flynn? Flynn? She dropped his hand, nearly flung it away. The real Dawson didn’t see this gesture. He’d momentarily turned to push the elevator button.
He turned back to them and his gaze went over Belle, smiling politely. No recognition. “I’m Marco, Flynn’s brother. Nice to meet you.”
She still couldn’t breathe. This was not the meeting she’d envisioned. He was supposed to recognize her, be impressed, or intrigued—something. He wasn’t supposed to see her making out with his brother. How could she fix this? What should she say?