Ramsay(25)

CHAPTER ELEVEN




Lydia



"Good morning," Brogan said, glancing back over his shoulder quickly as  he flipped a pancake on his griddle. "How are your feet?"

My eyes ran down his jean-clad backside. God, I'd forgotten what an  amazing ass Brogan had. He was wearing a brown T-shirt that showed off  his back and arm muscles. I dragged my eyes away before he caught me  staring.

"Better," I said, taking a seat at the bar and twisting my still-wet  hair up into a messy bun and securing it with a rubber band from my  wrist. In actuality, my feet were still sore, although I wasn't limping  any longer. A good night's sleep and a long soak in the tub this morning  had helped my feet and my muscles. My mood was buoyed by the fact that  we were finally going to talk tonight and perhaps my life could resume  again-at least in some manner. I would think about how I was going to  attempt to solve what would be a new set of problems once Brogan laid  out his terms. "You cook?"                       
       
           



       

"I can manage the basics," he said, smiling at me. I blinked. Brogan  Ramsay just smiled at me-a sincere one. I had even caught a glimpse of  teeth, the slightly overlapped front tooth causing my heart to speed up  just as it had always done. He must really be feeling guilty to show me  teeth. Well good, he should. Although he still hadn't actually  apologized, I wasn't going to try to force him to. Like I'd told him  last night, yesterday had evened the score between us. Now I was hopeful  he'd return De Havilland Enterprises and come up with a reasonable  payment plan. We could both go on our merry ways, no permanent harm  done. So why did that thought bring a twinge of disappointment, no  merriment at all? It wasn't as if I'd enjoyed more than a moment or two  in Brogan's company this week. And yet . . . I believed in being honest  with myself. There was still something between us-something I was having  difficultly defining. Perhaps it was only a physical attraction,  unrequited lust, the possibility we'd make sexual magic together if we  really had the opportunity this time around. And whatever it was would  never be fully known because our relationship-if you could call it  that-was of a temporary nature and based on the exaction of revenge. I  chewed at my lip, considering my mixed emotions.

Brogan brought a plate piled with fluffy pancakes to the breakfast nook  and placed it on the already-set table. I saw there was already a plate  of bacon, a plate piled high with potatoes mixed with what looked like  onions and peppers, and two glasses of orange juice at each place  setting.

"That's a lot of potatoes," I noted.

"I'm Irish. I like potatoes," he teased. "Coffee?" I nodded, and he  poured two cups from a pot on the counter, bringing them with him to the  table where he took a seat across from me.

"Thank you for this," I said, nodding at the food.

"My pleasure." We both dished up plates and the next few minutes were spent eating.

"God, this is good," I said, spearing another bite of fluffy pancake. "I  didn't realize your domestic talents were on par with your gardening  abil-" My eyes widened and met his, my stomach dropping at my own  mindless, rude comment. "You know what I mean."

Brogan finished chewing. "Lydia," he said, an amused look on his face,  "it's okay. The last time you knew me, I was a gardener. Actually, not  even a gardener. A gardener's assistant. It's fine."

"Assistant or not, you were the hardest worker I've ever known," I said  softly. "I'm not surprised you're so successful now. You did the work of  two men on our property."

He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "You noticed that?"

"I noticed everything you did," I said, my cheeks warming. I lifted my  chin. "I was a proper stalker. I took my job very seriously."

He tilted his head, his expression slightly bewildered. Had he really not known? I didn't think I'd been that subtle.

I took a sip of juice. "Anyway, you're a businessman now. Will you tell me about what you really do?"

He finished chewing. "We can get into all that later tonight."

"Okay. But I'm holding you to this conversation," I said, raising a brow.

He gave me another small smile. "As you should. What are you going to do  today? I noticed my sock drawer hasn't been organized by color." His  lip quirked. He was teasing me. Huh. I grinned. He was a man, there were  only two colors, black and white. Therefore, a two-minute job.

"I can get to that this afternoon. But um . . . I have an errand I was going to run today while you're working."

"An errand?"

I nodded, picking up a piece of bacon, dipping it in my syrup, and  biting off the end. "Actually, I'm going to go see my old house. My  friend Daisy told me the family that bought it from Ginny moved." I took  another bite of bacon and chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I  won't be able to go inside, but I'd just like to walk around."

Brogan was studying me intently. "Why?"

I shrugged, trying to go for nonchalant. "My father died my first year  of college. It was more sudden than anyone thought it would be. He'd  been lingering . . ." My voice drifted away as I pictured receiving that  terrible phone call, Stuart's voice choking back tears as he delivered  the news, collapsing on my bed, and sobbing into my pillow. I'd been  alone. Somehow I'd picked myself up and made flight arrangements.  Somehow I'd picked myself back up a dozen times since then. I took a  deep breath. "Anyway, I came home, of course, but everything happened so  quickly. It was as if I were in a fog, you know?" I gave Brogan what  felt like a sad smile. "I went back to school, but then we found out  about the debt . . . Ginny put the estate up for sale and it sold  quickly . . ."                       
       
           



       

"You never got to say goodbye," Brogan supplied. I never got to say goodbye.

I met his eyes. "No," I whispered. "I never did. Not to my father, and  not to the home I'd grown up in. After graduation, I came home from  college and it was just all . . . gone." I did a fluttering movement  with my fingers, a gesture that came from sudden sadness, nervousness at  sharing this part of myself with him. I stilled my hand, replacing it  on the table. "I just thought I'd walk around a bit. Maybe it's stupid,  but I feel like I need to. And I don't know if I'll ever get another  opportunity."

"It's not stupid," he said, reaching his hand across the table and  placing it on top of mine. His skin was warm and lightly calloused, and  suddenly, the only part of my body I was aware of was the small portion  of skin he was touching. His hands were beautiful. It was something I  remembered first noticing about him as I watched him work in our  gardens. His fingers were long and slender, his hands elegant but  strong. When I glanced up, our eyes met and held for several beats. I  cleared my throat, removing my hand from under his. It took me another  moment and a sip of coffee to get my bearings.

"I'd like to go with you."

I frowned. "I don't know if that's-"

"I won't get in your way. I'll just accompany you. I guess maybe I never  really got a chance to say goodbye either." I watched his face, a  bleakness moving through his eyes and I swallowed, a sudden lump in my  throat as I recalled that long-ago evening: watching Brogan stride  across the lawn, his head down and his shoulders tense even as the  sprinklers drenched him.

"Okay," I said softly. "It's big enough for the both of us to wander separately I suppose." He gave me a small smile.

We finished our breakfast, and I offered to clean up while he did what  he needed to do in his office. Once that was accomplished, I went  upstairs and blow-dried my hair and put it in a ponytail. I was wearing a  pair of linen, army-green shorts and a black blousy, button-down shirt.  My feet were not going to tolerate anything other than my flip-flops so  I slipped those on, grabbed my wallet and sunglasses, and went  downstairs to meet Brogan. He was just coming out of his office.

"Just give me a second, and I'll be ready." I nodded, not knowing why  exactly I felt nervous. I guessed because it was the first time I was  going somewhere with Brogan. Strange because I'd been living in his home  for the past week. Not that he'd been living here, too, though. But  either way, this felt different. Maybe it was because of where we were  headed together.

Brogan came downstairs a minute later with his shoes on and held the  door open for me as he grabbed his keys out of a basket on the table  right next to the door. I followed him to his car, and we drove the  twenty minutes to my old home in relative silence as I watched the  scenery out the window. This was the place I'd grown up and still loved  so much, from the miles of gorgeous shoreline to the sprawling back  country. As we neared the Merritt, the landscape became more pastoral,  with green, rolling hills, beautiful stone walls, and large pastures  where horses grazed. It was an extremely affluent area, but what I'd  always loved the most about this part of Greenwich was the charming  country feel, even though it was so close to New York City. Everything  around me whispered home.