Page 15 of All My Broken Dreams

“Twenty-two, but my brother says I skew younger because of my condition. He says I’m like a hothouse orchid, too sheltered to survive the real world.”

Deacon laughed. He liked hearing this version of Harry Listowel who was the golden boy of Fuil Bratach, poised to inherit the scepter and crown before he went rogue.

“My age isn’t the reason I have to be the one to call Mrs. Cameron. I’m not allowed to have women guests overnight. I’ll get kicked out.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot about that. Sorry. I never could hold my liquor. Harry used to say I was a lightweight.”

“You don’t look like brother and sister,” he said, and then clamped his mouth shut, realizing he’d fucked up.

Robbie didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been told I take after my mother, but she doesn’t see it. My dad was always trying to think up ways to bring us closer. Once, he brought up how muchwe looked alike, as though pointing it out would soften her to me.”

“And it didn’t?”

“Mom gave my dad a puzzled stare, then looked at me like she couldn’t for the life of her see what he was talking about.” Robbie’s laugh was rueful. “Harry got the looks in our family. He’s dark like his father’s side of the family. Mom has photos, but she won’t show them to me. Not even Harry knows what his real father looks like. I love my mother, but she can be impossible at times.”

“Like now, when it would have helped to know more about your brother’s paternal family before flying across an ocean to find him.”

“Yes, like that.” Robbie yawned. “She should have thought of that before freaking me out. He’s probably with them right now, enjoying a dish of haggis.”

Deacon grinned. “Haggis is the best. That’s what we’ll have for dinner tomorrow night.”

Robbie’s eyes rested on his again, this time for an uncomfortably long stretch. “How do you know what my brother looks like?”

His guts twisted. He pushed his luck with the sherry. She was obviously not too drunk or sleepy to remember his slip up. “I don’t. I wondered if you looked alike.”

“But that’s not what you said. You said: ‘You don’t look like brother and sister.’ Quote, unquote.”

He moved to the kitchenette to wash up. “Did I? My mistake. I meant it like a question. I wondered if you looked like him because you said you had different fathers.”

“Okay…. Well, we do and we don’t, I guess. I’m not eating haggis either. I can find a place to stay tomorrow, Deacon. I don’t want to disrupt your whole weekend.”

He dried a dish on the towel. “It’s no problem. You want to get into Harry’s room tomorrow, right? That might take longer than you expect. Saturday is Mrs. Cameron’s regular shopping day. She won’t get here until after lunch.”

Robbie groaned. “I can’t believe this. My brother is missing and I can’t even get into his room.”

“If anyone is inside Number One, they’ll see your note. Harry will know you’re nearby. Personally, I don’t think he’s being held hostage, but we won’t leave it to chance.”

She smiled at him and Deacon felt his chest contract, alarming him. It was like he was having a heart attack in the best possible way.

“You’re staring at me,” she said softly. “Do I have sauce on my chin?”

Deacon flushed with heat and turned back to the dishes. “No, you’re fine. I was just thinking that your mother is a lucky woman if she looks like you.”

His skin felt like it was on fire.

“I’m not used to compliments,” Robbie said. Her voice carried quietly from her place on the couch.

He turned to gaze at her, the dish towel dangling from his hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Her mouth opened, as if needing to inhale and he watched as she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips to moisten them. Her eyes met his and she held his stare.

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

The world stopped spinning. There was no sound.

A powerful, almost sickening feeling went through him of arousal, sexual, lust, ache, desire, longing–want.

He wanted her. The sensation hit Deacon with such force that he was grateful he had the dish towel to hide the damage.

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