What was it about that time with Jordan that haunted her so? A sense of control in that moment, of equality. Except by the morning after she’d felt so out of control, she’d run from him, was running still.
Her eyes gravitated to the open door. Jordan must have checked on her after she went to sleep and then left the door open. She stared through at the books of fabric samples resting by the small sofa in the sitting room. He’d given her choices, but that didn’t stop her from feeling smothered.
She glanced away only to see a blue wrapped package propped along the edge of the couch. Vaguely, she recalled Jordan had been carrying something—that—when he’d entered the room. So he’d bought her a present to win her over.
She munched on the pear and studied the gift with trepidation. With the dream having left her pensive and vulnerable, she wasn’t sure she could take more of Jordan tonight.
But curiosity nipped and nibbled.
Tossing the rest of the pear into the trash can, she kicked free of the sheet and swung her feet to the floor. Her satiny nightshirt slithered over her skin in a sensual caress that reminded her all too well of her dream, of the real-life night that had been anything but a dream, yet most definitely fantasy material.
She padded across the room and sat on the edge of the sofa. Her fingers fell to rest on the top of the gift and tapped restlessly. If only she had her impulsive twin here to help her decide what to do next.
Memories of childhood Christmases shuffled through, of Brittany picking up each wrapped present, touching it, shaking it, then confidently proclaiming what she suspected it contained. Fifty percent of the time, Brittany was right. The other half, her guesses were so deliberately outrageous, no one bothered to tease her over being wrong.
Brooke stared at the package. Not jewelry. Not clothes. Too big to be a photo album. Too small to be furniture, even unassembled.
Finally, curiosity won out over caution. She tugged the present around and began tearing the blue-striped paper away to find—bubble wrap. Lots and lots of bubble wrap protecting something underneath. No wonder she’d been unable to hazard a guess.
She ripped at the tape securing the covering. She slowly realized some kind of framed artwork was inside. He’d bought her a picture? Or a painting?
Without question, he was showering her with attention. He was trying. But she didn’t want to start off their relationship with the notion that she could be purchased. A last swipe cleared away the plastic …
And stole her breath.
He hadn’t bought her some exotic piece of art. Instead he’d chosen a watercolor—obviously meant for a nursery—of two little girls playing on the beach, making sand castles.
Jordan remembered her telling him about the happy memory from her childhood.
The thoughtfulness of his gift touched her as firmly as his hands ever had. This side of Jordan she simply couldn’t resist. Not tonight with the dream still teasing at the corners of her mind, not with an ache of loneliness and yearning for more stirring inside her.
Resting the painting carefully along the sofa, Brooke stood, her eyes and intentions firmly planted on the connecting door leading to Jordan’s bedroom.
Nine
Jordan woke the moment he heard his door hinges creak.
He held still, watching through narrowly open eyes as Brooke made her way across the room toward him. Even in the near pitch-dark he could see she was not in any distress, so he kept his silence, biding his time to discover what she had in mind. He never knew anymore around her, and that bothered him.
She stopped by his bed, seemingly unaware that he continued to study her through the veil of his eyelashes. She plucked at the edge of the covers.
Holy crap. She couldn’t be about to …
Brooke slid in beside him. He couldn’t stop the rush of air gusting from his lungs any more than he could contain himself from reaching to wrap an arm around her. The flowery scent of her hair teased his nose as she snuggled against him.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked. His hand slid to her stomach and began rubbing soothing circles. “Is the future soccer star kicking you awake?”
Bad idea, touching her. Especially when this could lead nowhere.
She settled alongside him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Something woke me up. Not the baby though.”
“Can I get you anything?” He smoothed his hand from her belly to her back. He’d noticed she’d begun pressing a hand to her lower spine over the past week.
“I needed to be with you.” She flattened her palm to his chest.
His body tightened in response to her cool fingers on his overheated flesh. The rasp from the ring on her thumb seared along his skin, and what a time to think of how he could envision the vine pattern etched on the ring. He’d come to know her that well.