Brandon could sense the resolve in those words. He could easily understand the sentiment behind them, too. But he was afraid that Kyle’s background and misguided nobility were pulling him into a nightmare of catastrophic proportions.
So how should he answer? What Kyle did or didn’t do wasn’t any of his business. He’d spent the past decade telling himself he didn’t really care about his stepbrother. But...he couldn’t help admiring Kyle’s determination to fall on his sword. He was a much better person than Brandon had ever given him credit for. Maybe Bob had a right to be so damn proud. Brandon couldn’t have made himself marry Noelle.
But no one—even Olivia—knew her the way he did. Although he was trying to believe she’d grown up and changed, he’d seen her at her worst, when she was obsessed and unrelenting and so narcissistic he couldn’t even like her. He’d done everything he could to discourage her from pursuing him eight years ago, to let her know he wasn’t interested. But it made no impact whatsoever. If anything, she became more determined. He’d come home to find her waiting in his driveway, turn to see her staring in his window, “bump” into her so many times a day she could only be following him. He couldn’t imagine a woman so out of touch with reality and the wants and desires of other people being successful in a marriage, even to a white knight like Kyle, who was willing to do 90 percent of the work.
I wish you’d listen to me, he wrote. There’s something missing in Noelle.
I already know she had a crush on you. She was just being young and stupid and too forward.
Too forward? Her behavior went far beyond that. You’re saying the Noelle she is now would never cross the lines she crossed back then?
Of course not, Kyle responded. Anyway, I could never undo the damage I’ve done. I can’t go back to Olivia while Noelle has my baby. I might as well have some integrity and stand up and take responsibility for my actions.
Brandon wanted to reiterate that he’d be sorry if he married Noelle. But what good would it do? Kyle had made up his mind and nothing was going to change it. Then you need to let go of Olivia.
Again, Kyle’s answer took a while to arrive. But Brandon waited because he knew it would come.
Won’t be easy.
Olivia woke up to a splitting headache. It took effort just to open her eyes. Thank God the room was dark. She could see sunlight peeking around the cracks in the blinds, enough that she could make out an overburdened desk, a computer, a ship in a bottle and some tribal masks on the wall—but she didn’t recognize any of it. Where was she?
Then it came to her. She’d gotten drunk last night, and Brandon had brought her home. She could remember him fighting to keep her clothes on. She could also remember trying to kiss him. She’d wanted him so badly....
Surprisingly enough, he was the one who’d resisted. “You’re not interested?” she’d breathed.
“Not like this, sweetheart,” he’d told her and helped her remove only her shorts before tucking her in. She’d gotten the impression he’d been tempted despite those words, was fairly certain he’d almost turned back at the door. But she was embarrassed all the same. Now both of the Arnold girls had thrown themselves at him.
Kyle’s actions had knocked her on her butt and she couldn’t seem to get her legs under her again. She never would’ve behaved like that otherwise.
Brandon interrupted her moment of regret with a brisk knock. “Olivia? You awake?”
She cringed at the fact that she was going to have to face him, and so soon. She’d made a complete fool of herself last night, first by getting drunk, then by trying to get him into bed. She still wasn’t sure what he’d meant by, “Not like this.” Was he saying he didn’t want to take advantage of her while she was under the influence of alcohol? Or that he didn’t want to become a surrogate for Kyle?
She couldn’t imagine he’d refrain because of Kyle. Brandon probably preferred she be in love with someone else. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling in love with him.
“I’m awake, but I’m not very happy about it,” she replied.
He poked his head inside. Freshly showered and wearing a black V-neck T-shirt with a pair of well-worn jeans and flip-flops, he looked better than ever—which was saying a lot. She wasn’t sure what accounted for that, unless just getting to know him made him more and more attractive. Maybe it was that she finally had some respect for him, since he’d rejected her advances.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She shoved a hand through her messy hair. “Like roadkill.”
He chuckled. “I was afraid of that. Would you like something to eat?”
Could her stomach tolerate food? She didn’t dare take the risk. “No, but a pain pill would be nice.” She knew he had some; he’d provided it yesterday. “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine.”
“Oh, no!” She shot out of bed, then staggered and nearly fell.
Somehow, he managed to get inside the room quickly enough to catch her and guide her back to the bed.
“I’ve missed my first appointment,” she explained, raising her good hand to her pounding head. “I was supposed to meet Abby, the event planner at the Pullman Mansion, at eight. I’ve got to go!”
He frowned at her. “I don’t think you’re up to it.”
She’d been stupid to drink last night. She wasn’t used to that much alcohol. “I don’t have any choice.” Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy. “Have you seen my phone?” She glanced around but couldn’t locate it.
“Your purse is out on the counter.”
When she started to get up, he pressed her back. “I’ll get it.”
He returned with a glass of water, two ibuprofen tablets and
