Free Bravo Unwrapped by Christine Rimmer Page A

carefully, she turned her head in his direction.
    They regarded each other through the glass—a stare-down. Her gorgeous frosty eyes sent a clear message: Go away.
    He held up the brandy and the two snifters.
    She pinched her mouth tight and shook her head. He nodded.
    At last, she stood and came toward him.
    â€œChilly out here,” he said, when she pulled open the door.
    She stuck her head out far enough to peer around toward his side of the balcony. “I didn’t know we shared the balcony,” she muttered glumly.
    â€œLet me in. We’ll have some brandy.” He stepped forward. Reluctantly, she moved back.
    â€œI don’t want any brandy.” She shut the doors. “Why are you in my room?” He set one glass on the nightstand and poured a nice, stiff drink into the other. Heheld it out to her. She didn’t take it, asking instead, “What part of no do you find confusing?”
    He shrugged—elaborately—and drank from the snifter himself. It burned all the way down to his stomach where it spread out to become a warm and satisfying glow. “This is excellent.”
    â€œOh, I’m so glad. I’ll ask a second time. Why are you here?”
    A small wing chair waited across from the bed. He dropped into it. “You asked me a question back at the restaurant, remember? I’m here to answer it.”
    â€œNever mind my question. It wasn’t important. And now that that’s settled—” she flung out a hand toward the French doors “—you can go.”
    Other than to set his brandy on the little table by his chair, he didn’t move.
    â€œI’m serious,” she said. “I don’t need to know why you boxed me into coming here.”
    â€œI think you do.”
    â€œHow charming. Now you’re telling me what I need.”
    â€œOkay, okay. Let me put it this way. I need to tell you.”
    She turned from him, wrapped her arms around herself and stared out at the silver ribbon of river, the shadowed pine-thick hills, the unreadable face of the moon. When she spoke this time, there was no sarcasm. “Buck. Please. It’s no good.” She looked at him then. “When are you going to accept the truth? That night in September? Never should have happened. I regret it. I honestly do. It was a mistake. A huge one.”
    A mistake. A huge one…
    Okay. That hurt.
    Yeah, he’d already known she felt that way. How could he help but know? He’d called and called and she’d never answered, never called him back. Still, to hear her say it right out…it cut. A ragged cut made by a rusty knife.
    â€œA mistake?” he repeated, keeping it light, relaxed, not letting the hurt show. “I don’t think so.”
    He watched her slim throat move as she swallowed. “It was…just something that happened, something that shouldn’t have. Because you and me, well, that was over a long, long time ago.” He sipped his brandy and didn’t say a word. She must have read what he was thinking in his expression, because she insisted, “It is, Buck. It’s over. Long over. You have to accept that.”
    He set down the snifter and said what he should have said years ago. “I’m sorry, B.J.”
    She blinked and put her hand to her throat—and then pretended to misunderstand. “I meant what I just said. It was one of those things. It happened. No more your fault than mine.”
    He laid it right out for her. “I’m not talking about that night in September. I’m talking about that other night—the one six years ago.”
    She fell back a step. “Buck. Look…”
    He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’m not the least sorry for what happened in September. As far as I’m concerned, that night was long overdue.” She whirled for the glass doors again, for the cool, silvery face of the moon. He called her back.