Page 30 of Legally Ours

Chapter 7

Two hours and three batches of fried eggplant later, I was sitting alone at the breakfast bar nursing a glass of wine with Sade playing in the background. My finished concoction sat in the oven. It was almost nine o'clock, and I was feeling ridiculous and a little bit drunk, having polished off most of the first bottle of wine by myself.

Jane had helped me do my makeup well enough to cover the remaining bruises over my face and neck. We had chosen an outfit that was both comfortable and sexy, something I knew Brandon liked: a short black sack dress with spaghetti straps and a back that was low enough I had to go without a bra. It showed off the parts of my anatomy Brandon favored: my ass and my legs. Jane had helped me blow out my hair into tousled waves, which we'd clipped back onto one side and allowed to flow down my other shoulder.

So, I felt like I looked as close to the best version of myself as I could considering my injuries. But inside, I was a ball of nerves.

This was ridiculous. He was two hours late and hadn't even bothered to call. So, he'd called me "Red." It was a nickname, probably just used out of habit. Did I really think making him dinner was going to solve everything?

I should just go to my room, I thought. That stupid fucking room, with its stupid fucking walls that felt like they were closing in on me every night. Leave him a plate on the counter and call it a night.

So wrapped up was I in doubt that I barely noticed when the elevator doors rang open at 9:03. But then Brandon's footsteps filled the room, and I couldn't have not looked at him if I tried. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and lavender shirt, with his tie partially undone and his jacket slung over his briefcase. His golden hair was rumpled, and he had just a taste of five o'clock shadow that sent all sorts of very inappropriate thoughts through my head. His blue eyes, though tired, glowed.

"Had a rough day?" I asked.

I swayed a bit on my stool. Several glasses of wine on an empty stomach wasn't doing much for my bodily control.

Brandon practically jumped at the sound, dropping his briefcase in the foyer. He was clearly not expecting me to be sitting there. But when he caught sight of me, his surprise quickly turned heated as he took in my bare shoulders, legs, and back, plus the stiletto heels I'd put on despite the fact that at the moment, I couldn't walk in them to save my life.

"Hey," he said softly, too tired, it seemed, to put up the mask he'd been wearing around me most of the week. "Sorry I'm late. Fundraiser went over. You, um, look nice."

I glanced down at my dress, then back up. "Thanks."

It was a garbage apology. He hadn't tried to call, and we both knew it. This was a test.

The thought angered me, but I shoved it aside, choosing instead to focus on how delicious his forearms looked where they tested the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves.

"You look nice too," I said as I slid off the stool.

I landed on my good foot and stood there for a moment, basking in the interest he couldn't quite mask as he took in my simple outfit, my exposed legs. He hadn't forgiven me––not even close––but it was good to know I could get at least some reaction out of him this way.

Then I tried to take a sultry step forward and fell spectacularly toward him as my bad ankle twisted.

"Jesus!" Brandon yelped as he caught me just before I smacked my face on the hardwood floors.

He swept me up in his arms, but before I had time to enjoy his sweet, masculine scent, he deposited me on the island countertop. He kept his hands on my arms to make sure I was stable.

"What are you thinking with those things?" he asked, nodding at my heels. "You can barely walk without them as it is."

I looked lamely at the shoes, then kicked them off. They clattered onto the floor, leaving me barefoot, one knee crossed over the other in a way that bared most of my thighs.

"That better?" I asked with a raised brow.

Suddenly we were both acutely aware of the fact that we were touching for the first time in days.

"I need to get away from you," Brandon said suddenly. He took a step back and loosened his tie even more while he swallowed heavily.

I pressed my lips together and sighed. This was definitely going to be a one-step-forward, two-steps-back process. I gestured toward the plates I'd carefully set up around the dining table, the candle that was now sadly burned out.

"Dinner's ready."

Brandon walked to the table curiously. "You did all of this for me?"

His tone of voice made me hopeful and sad all at once.

"You sound like no one's ever made you dinner before," I joked as I slid off the counter and limped into the kitchen.

He had been married for fifteen years. I found it hard to believe that in all that time Miranda, his wife, had never done something as basic as this.

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