To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(29)

“What about you? What did you want that she wasn’t offering?”

His eyes came back to her, and Brooke suddenly felt just a tiny bit breathless. No, it definitely wasn’t the vodka that was her main problem. It was him.

“I want stability,” he said quietly. “I want someone who won’t offer up any surprises. Not that Nadia was volatile; I just didn’t know what she was thinking. I like to know. Everything.”

“So, your ideal mate is a robot,” Brooke said.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Believe it or not, I do understand just how unreasonable I must sound. It’s why I’m not exactly holding my breath to get married anytime soon. Or ever.”

“At least until they come out with an attractive cyborg model,” she said with a little wink.

They were sitting closer now. Just inches separating them. When had that happened? How had that happened?

And yet Brooke didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Belatedly, she realized they were steering into personal territory. She had to think of this as a business meeting between two associates, that was all. So she had to get back to the business at hand.

She cleared her throat. “So where does Maya fit into all of this? What if Neil can give her what she wants?” she asked. “What if she and Neil both benefit from the marriage? Excuse me, merger.”

He gave her a ha-ha look, but he answered her question seriously. “Maya wants what any woman with no parents and a crusty brother wants. A companion. My sister is . . . she’s lonely.”

“Not a word I’d use to describe her,” Brooke said slowly. “But I suppose you’d know better.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “She has plenty of friends. And me, of course. But even when she was young, Maya was always one of those people who flocks to others. Not because she needs them; she just likes them. She gets her energy from those around her—specifically, from people who love her.”

“And you don’t think Neil Garrett is that guy?”

“Honestly?” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not even sure Neil Garrett is Neil Garrett.”

Brooke stiffened. Seth meant his comment off-the-cuff. As far as she knew, he didn’t have a clue about her history with Clay beyond what she’d told him.

But his words brought up bitter memories, memories of a man who wasn’t who she thought he was. Not in person, not in intentions . . . not even in name.

“Since I’m going to be practically spying on the poor guy, I need to know—what makes you think that about Neil? Why don’t you trust him?” she asked Seth, keeping her voice calm.

He picked up his drink, studied the dark cherries before taking a thoughtful sip. “I don’t know. Hunch, mostly. Everything about him is so vague. His family. His job. His past. All of his social media profiles were created at the exact same time, about a year ago.”

“Plenty of people were late to the social media game,” she said. “Including yourself.”

He gave her a curious look, and she blushed as she realized what she’d just given away.

Seth leaned toward her slightly, his smile devilish. “Why, Ms. Baldwin. Have you been researching me?”

“I research all my clients,” she answered in a clipped voice.

His smile only widened. “What is it that you wanted to know?”

She didn’t look away. “What made you tick. What your angle was.”

“My angle?”

“That first day,” she said, not breaking his gaze, “you were so reserved and yet so forward. The contradiction was puzzling, and I wanted to know what you wanted.”

“I think you know exactly what I wanted, Ms. Baldwin.” Very slowly, Seth’s hand extended toward her, his large finger gently touching her jaw. “What I still want. And perhaps more to the point . . . I think you want it, too.”





Chapter Eleven





SETH HAD PUSHED HER too hard.

Too fast.

The entire ride back to Brooke’s apartment, he kicked himself for misgauging the situation.

It was rare for Seth to make a misstep, but he’d definitely made one tonight, and Brooke was making him pay for it with the silent treatment.

The second he’d touched her and pushed her to admit she wanted him, she’d turned skittish on him and clammed up, offering only a tight little smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes before she abruptly changed the subject. They’d stayed at the bar long enough to finish their drinks, but the mood had been deliberately impersonal on her part as she’d rambled on about flowers and bows and canapés, in what he knew was a deliberate attempt to keep him at bay.

Which was fine.

He didn’t have time for a dalliance with anyone, much less his sister’s ditzy wedding planner.

But then she wasn’t ditzy, now was she? Behind those practiced smiles and guarded eyes, Brooke Baldwin was . . .

Well, she was a surprise.

She was a romantic, sure, but she was also deliberate in her romanticism. As though her unshakable belief in happily ever after was a conscious decision rather than a default fantasy born out of na?veté.

And even more puzzling was her admission that what she wanted—all she wanted—was someone good to love her.