Page 5 of My Fiancé's Brother

“Could have fooled me.”

I never talked like this. I was quiet and unassuming. Why I had chosen the most intimidating man to exert my cheekiness with was beyond me.

His eyes flickered over me. And then in an answer, he dropped the duffle bag on the floor with a heavy thud.

“Just let me get dressed.”

Back in my room, I caught sight of my reflection. My long copper red hair stuck up in every direction. I had a big pillow crease on theside of my face. My tank top was so thin the material was practically see through.

I tried to remember what Matt had told me about Jackson. Something about a tree fort and another story about a schoolyard fight? Matt said that they’d grown apart because they were so different.

That was an understatement.

Matt was a young liberal, urban lawyer. He dressed his lanky frame in expensive suits, he could talk about wine for hours, and he had a constant, impatient vibe to him. The fierce man downstairs, with a body like a solid fortress, didn’t even seem human. His intensity made him unapproachable. He intimidated me. I could not imagine him and Matt having anything in common.

It baffled me that Matt had invited him to stay with us. For how long? Was Jackson just passing through town?

I squared my shoulders. If Matt wanted his friend to stay with us, I would make him feel as welcome as possible.

CHAPTER 3

From my vantagepoint on the stairs, I could see Jackson sitting at the island. His glance up at me was brief, but I immediately felt self-conscious. To compensate, I bustled into the kitchen, and asked in a bright voice, “What would you like for breakfast?”

“You don’t have to bother.”

“It’s no bother,” I pulled a pan out of the oven drawer. “Omelet?”

“Anything is fine.”

I felt unnerved by his presence. My kitchen was huge, but when he watched me, there wasn’t room to breathe. I did my best to ignore him and started to cook. I wracked my brain to think of something to say, but I came up blank. So I just concentrated on what I was doing.

“Do you want some coffee?”

Did my voice sound breathless? I took a few calming breaths.

“Sure.”

I looked over my shoulder. “I can do a cappuccino, or a latte and Matt has some coffee syrups.”

He didn’t answer me, so I walked over to the espresso machine and started reading off the labels. “He has Bourbon Caramel, Brown Sugar Cinnamon, Mojito Mint, and Sweet Heat.”

A long pause hung between us, and finally, he asked, “What’s Sweet Heat?”

“I’m not sure,” I picked up the bottle and read out loud, “fiery heat of ghost peppers with the sweetness of pure cane sugar.”

More silence. I glanced over my shoulder. He had no expression. “Just a coffee.”

“So an Americano?”

He gave a short nod.

I made him a coffee which he took black. Of course, he did. Then I slid fruit and an omelet in front of him.

“Where’s your plate?”

I set a bowl of fruit down. “I’m not much of a breakfast eater.”

He waited for me to sit, before he picked up his fork.

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