Heat of the Night
Page 26
You are not good enough for my daughter.
Gregory Holmes’s harsh words continued to buzz in his brain. He groaned softly, then pulled his tie from his pocket and hurled it across the room. He stalked into his bedroom, where he tore off his suit and slid into bed, naked and pissed off. The moment his head hit the pillow, the scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, which only made him angrier. Damn Annabelle and her snobby parents and her sexy orange blossom smell and all that sexy sarcasm. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the pillow, and then in an uncharacteristic burst of fury, he threw the pillow across the room. The damn thing hit the stack of DVDs atop his dresser, sending the pile crashing to the floor.
With the instincts of a well-trained Navy SEAL, Matt suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking alert and urgent. “What happened?” he demanded.
Ryan let out a hysterical laugh. “Nothing. DVDs fell, that’s all. Sorry if I woke you.”
Matt studied him, a worried expression filling his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said again.
“You have crazy eyes, man. The same look you had on your face during that last gig in Afghanistan.” Matt furrowed his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to come back from San Francisco tomorrow night?”
“I left early.” Then he thought, to hell with it, and added, “I broke up with Annabelle.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell did you do that? We both know you’re crazy about her.”
He smothered a sigh. “I’m crazy about Jane,” he corrected.
His friend went silent for a moment, confusion practically radiating from his body. “No, you’re not.” A shrewd glint entered Matt’s eyes. “You don’t have that lovelorn little boy look on your face anymore when you say her name.”
“Fuck. Just mind your own business, O’Connor. Annabelle and I are over, and that’s that.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “If you want her around that badly, you date her.”
Matt raised both eyebrows. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” he grumbled.
“You’re in love with her.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. “Would you go back to your room already? I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to sulk.”
“Fuck off, Matt. Just leave this alone.”
Matt shook his head, but rather than pressing the subject, he simply walked away. A moment later, Ryan heard Matt’s bedroom door shut with a soft click.
Damn it. Matt was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Annabelle. He couldn’t be. Two weeks, that’s all they’d spent together. Had some sex, shared some laughs—that wasn’t love.
Was it?
He settled back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in dismay. No, he couldn’t love her. And he just prayed that Matt really would leave it alone. He didn’t need his friend harassing him about this break-up, if you could even call it that, and he certainly didn’t want to think about Annabelle anymore. It was over. Done. Better off forgotten.
But apparently the words leave it alone weren’t in his best friend’s vocabulary, because when Ryan walked into the kitchen the next morning after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he found none other than Jane sitting on one of the stools in front of the narrow counter. She wore a turquoise sundress, her red hair hung in a loose braid down her back, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel a burst of longing when he saw her.
“So how’d you f**k it up?” she asked when she saw him, cutting right to the chase.
He ignored the question, heading for the fridge. He pulled out a jug of orange juice, poured himself a cup, then leaned against the sink as he took a deep swig of juice. “Don’t you have better things to do than bug me at—” he glanced at the clock on the microwave, “—seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Nope,” she replied breezily.
He drained his glass and dropped it in the sink with a clink. “Did O’Connor call you?”
“Yep.” Her blue eyes searched his face. “He said you dumped Annabelle and asked me to come over to slap some sense into you.”
“Trust me, ending it made perfect sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“I don’t believe you.” Her chin jutted out in its usual stubborn pose. “Annabelle is awesome. She’s funny and smart and it was obvious you two really hit it off. So how on earth does it make sense to just dump her like a piece of—”
“Her father tried to bribe me to get out of her life,” he cut in, his voice hard.
Jane’s jaw fell open. For once in her life, she was actually speechless, and Ryan could see her brain working overtime, trying to figure that one out.
“No way,” she finally said, sounding horrified.
“Yes way.”
Hopping off the stool, Jane marched over to him, took his hand and dragged him into the living room, where she made him sit on the couch. She flopped down beside him and said, “Tell me everything.”
So he did. He told her about the trip to San Francisco, about the goddamn palace Annabelle’s parents lived in. The way her mother had looked down her nose at him, the fun chat with Annabelle’s dad. He even threw in Bryce’s surprise the-wedding-is-back-on announcement, just for kicks. When he finished, Jane looked utterly amazed.
“That sounds…terrible.”
Gregory Holmes’s harsh words continued to buzz in his brain. He groaned softly, then pulled his tie from his pocket and hurled it across the room. He stalked into his bedroom, where he tore off his suit and slid into bed, naked and pissed off. The moment his head hit the pillow, the scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, which only made him angrier. Damn Annabelle and her snobby parents and her sexy orange blossom smell and all that sexy sarcasm. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the pillow, and then in an uncharacteristic burst of fury, he threw the pillow across the room. The damn thing hit the stack of DVDs atop his dresser, sending the pile crashing to the floor.
With the instincts of a well-trained Navy SEAL, Matt suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking alert and urgent. “What happened?” he demanded.
Ryan let out a hysterical laugh. “Nothing. DVDs fell, that’s all. Sorry if I woke you.”
Matt studied him, a worried expression filling his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said again.
“You have crazy eyes, man. The same look you had on your face during that last gig in Afghanistan.” Matt furrowed his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to come back from San Francisco tomorrow night?”
“I left early.” Then he thought, to hell with it, and added, “I broke up with Annabelle.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell did you do that? We both know you’re crazy about her.”
He smothered a sigh. “I’m crazy about Jane,” he corrected.
His friend went silent for a moment, confusion practically radiating from his body. “No, you’re not.” A shrewd glint entered Matt’s eyes. “You don’t have that lovelorn little boy look on your face anymore when you say her name.”
“Fuck. Just mind your own business, O’Connor. Annabelle and I are over, and that’s that.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “If you want her around that badly, you date her.”
Matt raised both eyebrows. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” he grumbled.
“You’re in love with her.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. “Would you go back to your room already? I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to sulk.”
“Fuck off, Matt. Just leave this alone.”
Matt shook his head, but rather than pressing the subject, he simply walked away. A moment later, Ryan heard Matt’s bedroom door shut with a soft click.
Damn it. Matt was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Annabelle. He couldn’t be. Two weeks, that’s all they’d spent together. Had some sex, shared some laughs—that wasn’t love.
Was it?
He settled back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in dismay. No, he couldn’t love her. And he just prayed that Matt really would leave it alone. He didn’t need his friend harassing him about this break-up, if you could even call it that, and he certainly didn’t want to think about Annabelle anymore. It was over. Done. Better off forgotten.
But apparently the words leave it alone weren’t in his best friend’s vocabulary, because when Ryan walked into the kitchen the next morning after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he found none other than Jane sitting on one of the stools in front of the narrow counter. She wore a turquoise sundress, her red hair hung in a loose braid down her back, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel a burst of longing when he saw her.
“So how’d you f**k it up?” she asked when she saw him, cutting right to the chase.
He ignored the question, heading for the fridge. He pulled out a jug of orange juice, poured himself a cup, then leaned against the sink as he took a deep swig of juice. “Don’t you have better things to do than bug me at—” he glanced at the clock on the microwave, “—seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Nope,” she replied breezily.
He drained his glass and dropped it in the sink with a clink. “Did O’Connor call you?”
“Yep.” Her blue eyes searched his face. “He said you dumped Annabelle and asked me to come over to slap some sense into you.”
“Trust me, ending it made perfect sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“I don’t believe you.” Her chin jutted out in its usual stubborn pose. “Annabelle is awesome. She’s funny and smart and it was obvious you two really hit it off. So how on earth does it make sense to just dump her like a piece of—”
“Her father tried to bribe me to get out of her life,” he cut in, his voice hard.
Jane’s jaw fell open. For once in her life, she was actually speechless, and Ryan could see her brain working overtime, trying to figure that one out.
“No way,” she finally said, sounding horrified.
“Yes way.”
Hopping off the stool, Jane marched over to him, took his hand and dragged him into the living room, where she made him sit on the couch. She flopped down beside him and said, “Tell me everything.”
So he did. He told her about the trip to San Francisco, about the goddamn palace Annabelle’s parents lived in. The way her mother had looked down her nose at him, the fun chat with Annabelle’s dad. He even threw in Bryce’s surprise the-wedding-is-back-on announcement, just for kicks. When he finished, Jane looked utterly amazed.
“That sounds…terrible.”
