Page 41 of Conflict
Not that it matters anyway. I can’t even watch porn without wanting to close my eyes and replay the night I spent inside Alyssa. I’m a lost cause. And poor Branson. He’s only just now getting flashes of the woman he met that night.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice whispers behind me.
I turn, wondering who tapped me on the shoulder and why. Then I come face-to-face with a woman I’ve never seen, yet something seems so familiar about her. The attractive brunette stares up at me with wide almond-colored eyes, tilting her head to one side then the other as she studies me. I glance around, wondering where the hell Branson is and when he’s coming back. Because to be honest? The doe-eyed look and the soft, pink lips? I can see him being into that kind of thing. Maybe this woman is just what he needs to get back in the saddle.
“You’re pretty,” she says, pulling my gaze back to her. Then she giggles, a hand covering her mouth for a brief moment. “That’s the second time I’ve said that to a man tonight. Wine makes my lips loose.”
I lift an eyebrow then lean forward. “I can’t say I’ve ever been called pretty before.”
She waves a hand, her forehead furrowing as if she’s concentrating and not coming up with the answer. “No, I guess I wouldn’t usually call you pretty. It’s just… You look like someone I knew once, and he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Her hand comes up to my cheek, and even though I want to step away, I’m riveted to the spot. Her intense gaze unnerves me, and the depth of her eyes sends a thrill through me. Yet the feeling isn’t for her. It’s because of who she reminds me of. “I think it’s your eyes. They’re the same, yet yours aren’t quite as sad.”
If she only knew.
Though it’s funny she mentioned it because her eyes are familiar too. My heart beats faster the more I study her because I know this woman. I know her—or someone who looks exactly like her. Didn’t Alyssa say she has a sister? What are the odds that I’d meet her here, of all places?
Thoughts of introducing her to Branson, in hopes of learning more about her, fill my mind. I’m not one to play games, and I’m not interested inthisgirl, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be good for him.
I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, spotting the giant rock on her finger, my plan spoiled before I could even start it.
“Engaged?” I ask, not becauseIwant to know, but more for him.
She releases a deep sigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, leaning in close.
I nod, intrigued.
“Iamengaged. To Benjamin Cunningham the fourth.”
It doesn’t exactly sound like she’s thrilled with the impending nuptials. I take another look at her and then the rock. Suddenly, it clicks.
And fuck me. That’s why she looks so familiar.
Cunningham and I, unfortunately, run in many of the same circles, though I try and keep my distance from the jackass as much as possible. Rumor has it he’s marrying for money, because rumor also has it that he does a great deal of gambling it away. Though I’m not entirely sure why her father would approve of such a match if he was aware of Cunningham’s problems.
Intelligence and wealth don’t always mix.
I’m about to tell her I know her fiancé, but she continues.
“And the thing is…I don’t love him.”
“Then why marry him?” I ask, wanting to shake the girl and warn her away from the man.
A pensive expression crosses her face. She taps her chin with one finger and gazes up at me. “You know what, pretty stranger? That’s a fine question indeed.”
With that, the familiar brunette twirls around, her hair flowing all around her, and walks away. As I watch her depart, Branson makes his way to my side.
“That’s quite an ass,” he remarks.
“I could say the same about you,” I grumble.
Branson takes a sip of his wine. “Touchy, touchy. You know, you’re the one who wanted to come out, get a change of scenery. So I agreed even though going to wine tastings isn’t really my thing.” He continues to watch the woman walking away. “But ifthat’sthe scenery at these things? Call me a conformer, a connoisseur, a sommelier—whatever it takes to get that one into bed.”
I ask, deciding to call his bluff. “So why don’t you go talk to her?”
Branson waves me off. “Eh, maybe next time. The ink on the divorce papers is barely dry. Not sure I’m ready to go sticking my wick in any ink jars any time soon.”
I could laugh at how terrible of a liar he is right now. I turn to him. “You may talk a big game, Branson, but you forget: I know you better than anyone. Megan isn’t the reason you’re not out there looking for a quick hookup.”
He scowls.
