When We Touch. Brenda Novak
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amount of risk. For one, the way she was dressed could be misleading. He might assume she’d changed, become promiscuous, like the girls he usually preferred. And what if she fell into her own trap? Brandon was like a meteor. He burned hot and bright as he crashed through a woman’s orbit, but he left a lot of damage in his wake and nothing, no one, slowed him down. Although some girls welcomed the thrill of trying—he never lacked for female companionship—Olivia was already nursing a broken heart. She had no business being alone with this man, especially while she was on the rebound.
On the other hand, she was tired of trying to turn the other cheek. She was also tired of being so darn careful with her love life. Kyle was supposed to have been a wise choice, a man who wanted to settle down and have a family. And look how well that had turned out. He was having a family, all right. With her sister. Noelle was pregnant, hence the rush on the wedding. Her mother wanted Noelle married off before she started to show.
“Are you coming?” Brandon asked when she didn’t answer.
Were they going to be allies? She found that a bit ironic, considering that, after prom, they’d never even been friends. She’d been one of the few who’d understood that wanting Brandon would only end in misery. “If I go to your house, it doesn’t mean I’ll be sleeping with you,” she said, taking a stab at his motivation for inviting her.
He jammed his fists into the pockets of his baggy shorts. “Kyle won’t know that.”
Her injured hand was beginning to throb. She should head to her parents’ house, change into something more sensible and make an ice pack. She was supposed to arrive in time for dinner. But if she showed up there in the next few minutes, they’d question her about her red eyes even if she concocted a good excuse for her hand. She couldn’t stand the thought of that, especially if they cornered her in front of Noelle, who would know exactly what was wrong and take great satisfaction in being the cause of it.
“Do you have an ice pack?” she asked, finally letting him see her injury.
He slid his sunglasses down to take a look, and she felt the full effect of those eyes, which were several shades lighter than hazel. “Do I have an ice pack?”
“You have a lot of them.” Of course he did. As a professional skier, he probably needed one often.
“Come with me and you’ll feel better in a few minutes. I guarantee it.”
She squinted up at him. I think that’s what I’m afraid of, she thought but all she said was, “Thanks.”
Chapter 2
Olivia had never been inside Brandon’s house. Kyle had driven her past it once, when they’d been coming back from a picnic near the old mine. Brandon had been abroad at the time, or they never would’ve taken the chance of running into him. Kyle preferred to have as little contact as possible. Since then, she’d noticed the turnoff that led to his solitary cabin whenever she drove up this way to hike or bike. Brandon had always been a bit of a mystery to her. Or maybe it was just that ever since she’d sat in front of him in Chemistry she’d felt his magnetism as much as any girl. There’d even been a few times over the years when she’d been tempted to swing by his house.
She could understand why he’d like living here, with the peace and quiet and the spectacular view afforded by one wall made entirely of glass. His home reminded her of the Swiss Family Robinson Tree House, probably because it was two stories high and dug out of the mountain—very much a part of nature. As if that wasn’t unusual enough, a telescope held pride of place in the middle of the living room, beneath a giant skylight.
Most people wouldn’t put a telescope in the living room because it would obstruct their view of the television. But Brandon’s TV was in the loft area above. Down here, various geodes and old weapons, artifacts and sculptures lined bookshelves that also contained a surprising array of books, mostly nonfiction. She spotted one on astronomy, another on Buddhism and a third on the history of China.
“China?” she murmured while he was in the kitchen, getting her some ice. She’d never taken him for a scholar. Since he made his living as an extreme skier, he was often videotaped plunging down the steepest slopes in the world. She thought he was foolish to risk his life doing a thing like that once, let alone again and again, but there appeared to be some fringe benefits to his job besides the high pay and adrenaline rush. Obviously it had taken him to many different countries.
“Are you an art collector?” she called, studying several paintings.
He came into the room carrying the most technically advanced ice pack she’d ever seen. “Not really. I pick up what appeals to me. Most of it’s from unusual places. I love to travel.”
“I can tell.” He was consumed by wanderlust. No wonder he’d never, to her knowledge, become serious about one particular woman. It was tough to maintain a relationship under such circumstances.
“What about you?” he asked.
She pulled her gaze from a photograph of an African woman holding the hand of a child in some faraway jungle she’d probably never see. “I don’t get the opportunity very often.”
Although she’d been planning weddings and other events since she’d graduated from Sac State with a degree in business administration, moving to Sacramento had required she take on some expenses that she’d never had before. Not only was she living on her own for the first time since renting a small house with three other girls in college, she’d leased an office and was paying for advertising in the hope of attracting new clients. The money she’d saved while living with her parents once she’d returned to Whiskey Creek needed to be held in reserve, just in case.
“Would you like to see more of the world if you could?” he asked.
She fingered an elephant carved out of wood. “Absolutely,” she replied, but she wasn’t really considering the possibility. She was too preoccupied wondering how the Brandon suggested by this house could be so different from what she’d taken him to be, which was much more the typical jock.
“I’m planning a backpacking trip across Nicaragua in a few weeks.” He bent to look into her face. “You could come with me.”
The idea of escaping held massive appeal. But she wasn’t sure it was a legitimate offer. Most people didn’t extend invitations like that off the cuff. “You’re going across the entire country?”
“Nicaragua’s not that big.”
“I have a feeling it might seem big if you’re walking.”
He smiled. “That’s the best way to see it.”
She didn’t know much about Central America. She’d always been more concerned with the geography she navigated right here in California—especially finding the right place to live after leaving Whiskey Creek. “I wish I could,” she said in a throwaway statement that took for granted he hadn’t been serious.
He didn’t press the issue. He motioned to a soft leather couch. “Have a seat. Let’s get this on your hand.”
She was tempted to choose one of the hammocklike chairs that hung from the ceiling instead. They had, no doubt, come from Mexico or some other country and looked comfortable. But, in deference to her injured hand, she decided against getting into something she might have difficulty getting out of.
Once she was settled in, he examined her hand before putting the ice pack on it. “You should get this x-rayed.”
“I couldn’t have broken any bones throwing a tantrum,” she said, but she knew that was denial talking. She just didn’t want to face that she might’ve caused herself some stiff medical bills and the inconvenience of going home in a cast.
“I’m not so sure,” he responded. “If the pain doesn’t go away in the next day or so, definitely have it checked.”
He should know about broken bones. Not long ago, he’d tumbled off a cliff in Switzerland and broken his right