High Plains Wife. Jillian Hart
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don’t believe it! Someone has snared my little brother? The man who always said it would take one resourceful temptress to steal his bachelorhood? That was the most inviting thing about you and the girls, you know. You were unattainable.”
At that precise moment, Sunny threaded her fingers through her tawny locks and raked the chin-length riot of blunt-cut, windswept hair back from her temple. Her smile, patient and unaffected as she waited for him to get off the phone, accelerated his heartbeat. Their gazes collided and in that brief pause he saw something in Sunny Robbins that he’d never before recognized—a vision that coincided with the remark Phillip had made about his “resourceful temptress.”
“Yes, well, I’m one step closer to giving it up,” Brett confirmed, determined to stick to the charade but equally uneasy about the direction his wild ploy was taking him.
“Who is this woman?” his brother pressed. “What does she do? Where is she?”
“Actually, she’s right here,” Brett declared recklessly. “Sunny,” he said, “blow my brother a kiss, will you, luv?”
Sunny blinked and a frown popped onto her brow. “Excuse me?”
“Blow him a kiss. From your lovely lips to my only brother, half a world away.”
“Why?” Sunny slanted him a dubious look.
Brett grew magnanimous, as he always did when he carried a plot too far. This one was going to get him in big trouble, he knew. He could just feel it. “Because he wants to meet you! Tell my brother I love my job, I love my life. Blow him a kiss and assure him all is well with the world. That all is well with you.” He handed Sunny the phone.
She stared at it as if he’d taken complete leave of his senses. When she finally, reluctantly, accepted it, she put it to her ear and listened, as if she expected to hear something absurd.
Then, to Brett’s delight, she made a sloppy smacking noise into the receiver.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said tentatively.
Brett’s smile grew, and his confidence multiplied. He couldn’t help it; he looked at the conference call button and popped it on.
“And I hear you’re living with my brother.”
“I’m what?” Sunny exclaimed, stiffening as she yanked the phone away from her ear.
Brett punched the button off, effectively silencing his brother, and quickly made a dive for the phone. “She didn’t want anyone to know. Not just yet,” he hastily explained to Phillip.
“Sunny? What kind of name is Sunny?” his brother pressed.
“Hers. Solely, uniquely hers.” Brett shook his head and flapped a hand at Sunny. He didn’t want her to run out the door without an explanation. “I’ll be done in a moment,” he mouthed. “Look, explain to Mother and Father about this, will you, Phillip?” he said, raising his voice. “I mean, they’re going to find out anyway, and it would probably be best coming from you.”
Phillip chuckled. “I expect I’ll need to tell them to book a hotel, too. Under the circumstances.”
“Do that,” Brett agreed.
They said their goodbyes, but Brett’s gaze was fixed on Sunny the entire time. She was rooted to the spot, and her eyes were huge. There was barely any color in her face save for a spot of red staining each cheek. Her chin was raised at a defiant angle, and her shoulders straightened, stretching the sheer fabric of her blouse and making the tiny buttons between her breasts shift.
Uh-oh. He may have gotten away with it with his brother, but he wasn’t going to get away with it with her.
Brett carefully placed the phone back on the hook and set his hand on the file folders. He tapped them impatiently. “Thank you for dropping these off, Sunny—”
“It’s my job,” she emphasized.
“And about this other little thing…I’m in a bit of a fix.” He waited for her reaction. There was none. “So…since you were in here, I thought you could help me out.”
“Your brother said—if I heard him correctly—that we were living together?”
Brett rose up out of his chair slowly, so as not to alarm Sunny. “Now, there’s the thing. We could, actually. If you wanted to.”
Sunny’s curvaceous lips parted and her jaw slowly dropped.
Before she could protest, he quickly came around the desk and added, “My parents are pushing me to wed a woman I simply don’t love, you see. A nice woman, a nice family, nice connections, nice everything. Too nice, too convenient and too unfeeling. I made up this story about my girlfriend in Boston—and then, when that worked, I embellished it. To the part where we’re living together.”
“Embellished?” she repeated.
“I had to. No other choice, really.” He threw up his hands. “My parents are coming for a visit. And they’re threatening to bring Lady Harriet.”
“Oh, my.” One of Sunny’s exquisitely arched eyebrows rose slightly, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
Brett sighed heavily and glanced at the open door. He moved toward it. “There are some things you don’t know about me, Sunny.” He quietly closed the door. “None of them bad,” he assured her quickly. “Actually, I’ve had a great life, and my parents are good people. But they’re not…average people.”
Sunny’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Say it, Mr. Hamilton.”
“There. Right there. That’s the thing. In England, my friends know me as—” he cleared his throat before continuing “—Lord Breton Hamilton, son of Lord Arthur and Lady Miriam Hamilton. I regret to say it, but my family is titled.” He uttered the last four words as if they were an extraordinary burden.
Sunny didn’t move a muscle, not one. There was not so much as a wiggle of her lips or a flicker of an eyelash. “So you’re rich,” she said finally.
He shrugged. “I won’t be, not if I’m disinherited, as they threaten.”
“But I don’t understand what that has to do with me blowing your brother kisses, or why we’re living together.”
The way she said it gave him a glimmer of hope. She hadn’t dashed cold water on all his outlandish plans. And those plans were just beginning to take shape—with her help.
“Sunny, sit down. Please.” He pulled up an overstuffed chair for her, then sat in the one opposite it. “I’ll try to explain it all, but it’s complicated. And the truth is I’d rather just be me. Brett Hamilton. I haven’t told anyone over here about my heritage because I don’t really want anyone to know.”
“You’re asking me to keep your secret.”
“If you would.”
Sunny offered up a half laugh, as if the situation was beyond ludicrous. “I’m not going to go running up and down the halls, claiming to know that Brett Hamilton is an English lord. Who would believe me?”
“Thank you.” He impulsively reached for her hand, but just as quickly reined himself in. It would not do to become familiar with Sunny, not under the circumstances. “Along with my title comes some responsibilities. My brother called because he’s just learned that the doctor predicts they are having their fourth girl. It doesn’t matter to my brother and his wife, but my parents really wanted an heir. A child to inherit and carry on the family name.”
“Ah, one of those archaic, gender-oriented issues.”
A jolt of pleasure rose in Brett. Maybe this woman shared his beliefs. “Exactly. They are pressuring me to marry—and they’ve pretty much selected my future wife. Lady Harriet. The woman has it all—the family, the title, the connections. It would be a match—but one without