A Man She Couldn't Forget

Brady squared his shoulders—they were big and broad, too. Jonathan mirrored the gesture. Clare didn’t need her memory to feel the animosity crackle between them. And it made her stomach clench.

“I sent the woman who showed up home,” Brady said. “Aides are for people who don’t have family and friends. We’ve all arranged to be here at various times, so Clare doesn’t have to surround herself with strangers. And her sister is coming in when she gets back from France.”

Which was why, apparently, Clare’s only blood relative hadn’t come to her bedside. Despite the explanation that Cathy was in Europe, Clare had wondered about that.

Fists curled at his sides, Jonathan asked, “What gave you the right to decide all this, Langston?”

Brady’s palm hit the doorjamb hard.

At the sound of the slap, blinding pain shot through Clare’s skull. Leaning into the wall, she closed her eyes. Brady reached out and touched her arm. “Clare, baby, you okay?”

“Now look what you’ve done.” She heard Jonathan’s voice but it was far away. “Come on, Clarissa, let’s get you to bed.”

Eyes still shut, her stomach roiling, she could only brace herself against the wall. Then she felt strong arms slide beneath her legs and around her back. She was picked up and cuddled to a warm, hard body. Nosing into his shirt, burying her head in his chest, she breathed in his scent. It was familiar and calmed her dramatically.

She felt herself being carried and heard mumbling behind her, but she closed it off and reveled in the safety of being in this man’s arms. It was something she hadn’t truly felt since she’d woken up in that hospital and recognized nothing.

Soon, she was set on a bed and covered. “Sleep, sweetheart,” Jonathan mumbled.

No, wait, that wasn’t Jonathan’s voice. She pried her eyes open. Brady stood over her bed. And in her gut, she realized she knew this man well. Very well. But her lids got heavy and closed on their own. Maybe she could figure all this out when she awoke. Lips brushed her forehead just before she drifted off.

FOR CLARE’S SAKE, BRADY TRIED to collect himself before he left her bedroom. At least Harris had waited out in the living room and not upset her anymore with this aide thing. Taking deep breaths, Brady knew the guy would go on the attack with him—Brady would do the same if their roles were reversed—so he prepared for a fight but preferred to be in control.

He found Harris staring out the big bay window in the back, on his phone, of course. “Yes, I’ll be there late afternoon. Tell the Chef’s Delight people my plane leaves in ninety minutes.”

When the guy clicked off, Brady spoke. “You can go anytime, Harris. I got it here.”

Harris spun around, and there was fire in his eyes. So Brady tried even harder to stay cool. Rocking back on his heels, he stuck his hands in his jeans pockets.

“What the hell are you trying to pull, Langston?”

Innocently, he raised his eyebrows. “Nothing. I’m Clare’s best friend. I’ve made arrangements to take care of her.”

“You may have been her best friend before, but we both know things changed over the last year.” Harris started to punch in a number on the phone. “I’m getting the aides back.”

“Not after you see this.” Feeling smug, Brady turned away and strode into Clare’s office off the living room. He found what he was looking for in the tray of her fax machine. He’d gotten the form in case Harris tried to pull something. Brady skimmed it to be certain Clare’s sister, Catherine, had done what he’d asked. She’d been thousands of miles away when the accident had occurred, shocked and frustrated when he’d called…

“OH MY GOD, IS SHE OKAY?”

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

“Brady, I can’t come home from France. I’m with fifteen people who depend on me.”

“You don’t have to come home. I’ll take care of her. But I need something from you.”

After he told her what, she asked, “Why do you want to do this, Brady?”

“Because we’re her friends.”

“I know, but after what she did to all of you. To all of us.”

“None of that matters. And she needs you now, too.”

“I know. I wish I could come back sooner.”

“Leave it to me, Cath. Send the fax, and come to Rockford when you get back…”

QUICKLY, HE READ THE SHEET of paper. Perfect. He left the den, crossed to Harris and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“A notarized directive from Clare’s sister, who’s her only living relative and has power of attorney in case something happens to Clare.”

Harris cocked his head. “I thought they were estranged. That’s why I’ve never met her.”

“You thought wrong.” Brady folded his arms over the chest of the shirt Clare had given him for Christmas one year. She thought the color matched his eyes. He thought it might bring him good luck. “Wrong about a lot of things, I might add.”

Raising his chin, Harris scowled. “I’ll have my attorneys look into this.”

“You do that, Jon.” A name he knew the guy hated to be called. “Meanwhile, we’ll take care of Clare.”

“Don’t you dare try to keep her from seeing me when I get back from my trip.”

“Go ahead, see her. We’re starting with a clean slate, at least for a little while, and this time, I’m not giving up on her.”

As he’d done before, which had been a huge mistake. One he’d tried to rectify the night of the accident and felt slicing guilt over now. He pushed the thought away.

Harris drew himself up to his six-foot height. If Brady were to sketch him, he’d put a sheen over him that conveyed the word polished. Right from his expensively styled blond hair down to his Armani suit to the wing tips on his feet. For a second, Brady glanced at his jeans and sandals. No, he wasn’t going to do this again. “Shall I show you out?”

The guy spat an expletive, which only made Brady laugh at his loss of composure. But when Harris finally left, Brady stopped laughing and sank onto the expensive leather couch Clare had bought a couple of years ago. He preferred the tapestry one and matching love seat he and Max had carried up the stairs years ago.

Watch out, you’re going to hurt your back.

I’m tough, babe. No worries.

She’d laughed, and cooked them all dinner that night.

God, he missed how she looked, how she smelled, how close they’d been. He’d give anything to have those days together back.

And now he had a chance to make that happen.

JONATHAN SLID INSIDE HIS JAG but didn’t start the engine, despite the plane he had to catch to meet with the people from Chef’s Delight. They’d approached the station about Clarissa using their products on her show and he intended to close the deal, once more getting her exactly what she wanted. His fingers curled tightly on the steering wheel in an effort to bring himself under control. He was furious at Langston for his shenanigans. Clarissa would want a nurse, someone impersonal to take care of her needs. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type they all thought she was. Delia Kramer, Max Mason and her sister, Catherine, didn’t know the real Clarissa. At least the person she’d evolved into over the past few years, when she’d finally come into her own. The person she was when she was with him. No longer was she a simple chef in an ordinary restaurant or even a mildly successful writer of cookbooks. She was a star; her show on TV was considered Rockford’s Rachael Ray clone. And Jonathan had big plans for Clarissa to go to the top of her profession. He’d already made inquiries about syndication. Even the brass from the Cooking Channel, the crème de la crème of food networks, had indicated some interest.

They had big plans, too, as a couple. Or he thought they had. A sick feeling in his gut at the idea of losing his chance with her immobilized him. Damn it, he’d always gotten whatever he wanted in life, and he’d gone after Clarissa with the same verve with which he’d pursued a business degree at Wharton and ownership of WRNY TV. Sure, he’d been born into a wealthy family, but he’d worked hard to get the degree. And though trust funds from his beloved grandparents had helped him buy the station, he’d put in long hours to make it successful. When Clarissa had come to work there, he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her. She was a diamond in the rough, and he’d helped her polish her exterior until she shone like a brand-new gem. She’d appreciated him for it.

He glanced at the house. Damn those people. He’d been on the verge of getting her to move out of the condo into a lovely home in a more upscale neighborhood of Rockford. Though she’d been on the fence about it, he’d bought the property and had pretty much talked her into moving there with him. That he might not get to do that with her now because of some quirky twist of fate made him sad and angry.

Forcefully, he pushed out of his mind the images of the night Clarissa had been on the expressway and her car had skidded on the slick pavement and hit a guardrail. An unfortunate accident, the police and papers had called it. He could barely stand the thought of her being hurt, the fact that she could have been killed.