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“Advertising.” Brandon cleared his throat as a bolt of heat rocketed through his body at the remembrance of holding Andrea in his arms. “That’s heavy stuff. Competitive. Pretty stressful, I imagine.”
Andrea lifted her chin. “I enjoy my work and I’m very good at what I do.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute, but you’ve apparently enjoyed your occupation right into total exhaustion. That, combined with suddenly being at a much higher altitude than you’re accustomed to, is probably what caused you to faint.
“Your body is talking to you, Andrea, sending signals loud and clear. I’ve been down that road, and I suggest you listen to the message you’re getting from yourself.”
“Mmm,” she said, frowning.
“You’re registered to stay at Hamilton House for two weeks, so sit back and enjoy them.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I won’t have to worry about being exhausted. I will die of boredom.”
Brandon chuckled. “No, you won’t. Prescott has a lot to offer. I’m a single man and I find plenty to do, and the people are warm and friendly.”
“Who are you?” she said. “A representative for the chamber of commerce?”
Brandon shrugged. “Just stating the facts, ma’am.” He paused. “I’m glad there’s nothing seriously wrong with you, Andrea,” he went on, looking directly into her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
The seconds ticked by and neither moved nor hardly breathed as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. A swirling heat seemed to weave around and through them, pulling them closer together, closer and closer....
A brisk knock sounded at the door, causing both Andrea and Brandon to jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. A man entered the room in the next instant.
“Rizzoli to the rescue,” he said cheerfully, crossing the room to stand by the sofa.
My stars, Andrea thought. Prescott, Arizona, had cornered the market on handsome men. This one was obviously Italian, indicated by his name and olivetoned skin. He, too, was tall, dark and handsome, his rough-hewed features boasting a nose that had obviously been broken at some point in his apparent thirty-odd years.
There was a subtle difference between the men, though. Brandon Hamilton was wearing what was obviously a custom-tailored suit. He had an aura of class and money, and his features were a tad more refined, smooth.
She would consider Mr. Rizzoli a diamond in the rough, in his faded jeans, plaid flannel shirt and fleece-lined, tan bomber jacket. His dark hair was also badly in need of a trim.
But they were a dynamic duo. Talk about mortifying. She now had two handsome men gawking at her. She wanted to crawl into a very deep hole and never come out.
“I’m definitely going home,” she said, starting to sit up again.
“Whoa,” Ben Rizzoli said, raising one hand. “I haven’t done my rescue bit yet. I’m Dr. Benjamin Rizzoli, at your service. Call me Ben. Doctors have a terrible need to be needed, so you have to allow me to check you over or I’ll pout. And you are?”
“Leaving,” Andrea said again.
“She’s Ms. Andrea Cunningham,” Brandon told Ben. “She walked in the front door and fainted. There’s nothing wrong with her that a good rest won’t cure. A rest she will definitely get by staying two weeks here at Hamilton House.”
Ben nodded. “Well, Andrea—I’ll call you Andrea and you call me Ben. We’re very laid-back, friendly folks here in Prescott. I already know a great deal about you.”
“Do tell,” Andrea said dryly.
“Okay, I will,” he said, grinning. “You’re very organized and efficient. I mean, hey, you might have fainted before you came into the hotel and clunked your head on the snowy sidewalk. The fact that you waited to blink out after you entered this fine establishment proves my point. As for the rest of the diagnosis, it sounds as though Brandon has been doing my job for me. You’re majorly tuckered out.”
“There you go,” Brandon said, smiling.
“Do you two practice this routine?” Andrea said, glowering at the pair. “This is ridiculous. I’m going home.”
“Let’s get serious here,” Ben said, his expression now matching his statement. “As a doctor, I have a few more questions for you, Andrea. Brandon, hit the road. I want to talk to Andrea alone.”
Brandon planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up to stand eye-to-eye with Ben.
“I’ll be right outside the door,” Brandon said.
“Holler if you need me.”
“Yep,” Ben said. “Go away.”
Brandon hesitated, looking at Andrea for a long moment, then left the room. He closed the door behind him and immediately began to pace back and forth in front of it.
What other questions did Ben want to ask Andrea? he thought. Did Ben suspect there was something seriously wrong with her? No. No way. That was not acceptable.
Andrea. Pretty name. Pretty lady.
She had felt just so... so right in his arms, as though she belonged there, close to him, protected and cared for by him.
“Hell, Hamilton,” he muttered. “Where is your mind going? You’re sounding like the fruitcake you thought Andrea was.”
But there was no denying the feelings of protectiveness and possessiveness he’d registered as he scooped Andrea into his arms and carried her into his office. She was so delicate, had become so pale, which had only accentuated the dark smudges beneath her eyes.
Brandon halted his trek and stared at the door.
Come on, Rizzoli, he mentally ordered. What in the hell was going on in there? He didn’t want a major problem to have caused Andrea to faint.
No, she was fine, just fine. She had to be.
Brandon frowned and dragged one hand through his hair.
He was overreacting. Big-time. He didn’t even know Andrea Cunningham. The cold fist of fear in his gut that she might be seriously ill didn’t make one bit of sense, nor did the desire for her that had exploded throughout him.
Well, yes, maybe it did. He was a decent man, a nice human being. It wasn’t Andrea, the woman, he was tied up in knots over, it was simply one person hoping that another person was all right. And it was simply a normal, healthy man’s libido reacting to an attractive woman.
Anyone would feel as he did.
Wouldn’t they?
Two
Before Brandon could give further thought to the troubling, confusion-induced question in his mind, the door to the office opened and Andrea appeared, with Ben right behind her.
“Are you all right?” Brandon said, staring at Andrea intently. He switched his scrutiny to Ben. “Is she all right? You both look so serious. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Ben laughed. “You’re using up all the air space, Hamilton. I’ve never seen you so rattled, which is very interesting, but how are we supposed to get a word in edgewise here?”
“Oh,” Brandon said. “Sorry.” He paused. “So? Say something, Rizzoli.”
“I can’t. There’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. If Andrea wishes to inform you that she is suffering only from complete exhaustion, combined with a dose of Prescott’s altitude, that’s up to her. My lips are sealed.”
“Oh, good grief,” Andrea said, laughing. “You two are trouble, you really are.”
“That’s the first time you’ve smiled,” Brandon said quietly, his gaze riveted on Andrea’s face. “Your laughter reminds me of the sound of wind chimes.”
“Well, I... Well...” Andrea started then stopped speaking as she looked directly into the depths of Brandon’s dark eyes.
Those eyes again, she thought. They were pinning her in place. She couldn’t move, or think, could hardly breathe. Brandon Hamilton had the most compelling, mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen.
She wasn’t freezing cold anymore. No, she was suffused with warmth, with steadily increasing heat that was thrumming low in her body and spreading rapidly throughout her.
Dear heaven, what was this man doing to her?
Ben cleared his throat.
“I hate to interrupt,” he said, merriment dancing in his eyes. “But Andrea needs to get into some dry clothes and to eat something. My prescription is that you, Brandon, as the owner of Hamilton House, extend some extra tender loving care toward this weary guest. I definitely have the feeling that you can handle that.”
“What?” Brandon said. “Oh, right. Sure thing. Yes. You bet.”
“You’re so articulate,” Ben said, chuckling. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my office. I have patients waiting to—hey now, here are my favorite girlfriends.”
Andrea’s eyes widened as she saw two women, who appeared to be in their seventies, bustling toward them.
The women were identical in size and features—mirror images of each other. But there the similarity stopped.
One was wearing a sedate gray, long-sleeved dress with a high, old-fashioned collar. The other was adorned in a flashy red satin number that reminded Andrea of pictures she’d seen of turn-of-the-century saloon girls.
The women smiled as they arrived where Andrea, Brandon and Ben were standing.
“Andrea,” Brandon said, “may I present my greataunts Prudence—” he swept one hand toward the woman in gray “—and Charity. The Hamilton twins.”
“Hello,” Andrea said, smiling.
“Good day, dear,” Prudence said. “We heard you had the vapors, and thought perhaps we might be of assistance.”
“Why would she want our help, Pru,” Charity said, “when she has two hunks of stuff like Brandon and Ben fussing over her? All that’s missing here is Taylor, our other handsome bachelor-on-the-loose.”
“To know ‘em is to love ’em, Andrea,” Ben said. He kissed each of the elderly ladies on the cheek. “I’m gone. I’ll check in with you later, Brandon,.”
“Goodbye, Benjamin,” Prudence said.
“See ya, hotshot,” Charity said.
Ben laughed as he strode away.
“Andrea needs to get settled into her room,” Brandon said.
“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Andrea said to the women.
“Oh, you’ll be seeing us again,” Prudence said. “We live here in Hamilton House. How long will you be with us, dear?”
“Two weeks,” Brandon said. “Come on, Andrea. We’re not following Ben’s orders by standing here. You need dry clothes and some food.”
“Two weeks?” Charity said. “Don’t you have a family that will miss you over the holidays?”
“Charity,” Prudence said, “that is none of our business. You’re being terribly nosy.”
“Well, how am I supposed to find out what I want to know if I don’t ask?” Charity said. “Andrea?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t have any family, Miss Hamilton.”
“Well, you do while you’re here,” Prudence said. “You call me Aunt Pru, dear, and Charity will be your Aunt Charity, and Brandon will be... well, just Brandon.”
“He’ll see to it that he’s more than just Brandon if he has half the sense he claims to have,” Charity said.
“Charity, hush,” Pru said. “Mind your manners. You’re being naughty.”
Brandon gripped one of Andrea’s arms and propelled her forward at a rapid pace.
“‘Bye,” she said over her shoulder to the aunts.
“Ta-ta, dear,” Aunt Pru said.
“Put some makeup on,” Aunt Charity said. “You’re as pale as the ghosts who live in this place.”
“Ghosts?” Andrea said.
“Ignore that,” Brandon said.
At the registration desk, he released Andrea’s arm and moved behind the counter.
“I’m sorry about my aunts,” he said. “They can be a bit much at times.”
“They’re darling,” she said, smiling. “For being twins, they certainly have different personalities.”
“No joke. Forget what Aunt Charity said about ghosts. She just likes to keep things stirred up. Both Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity have hearts of gold, though.”
“And you love them.”
“Well, I... Yes. Yes, I love them very much.”
Their eyes met across the gleaming counter that separated them.
Oh, Lord, Brandon thought, there it was again...the heat, that coiling heat, tight and low in his body. Andrea’s great big dark eyes did unnerving things to his mind and, heaven help him, his libido.
“Sign this,” he said, tearing his gaze from Andrea’s. He shoved a card toward her. “I’ll have Mickey show you to your room, and carry your suitcase for you. Would you like some hot soup and a sandwich sent up?”
“Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.” Andrea paused. “Brandon, I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused since I arrived.”
“Don’t give it another thought. You haven’t been one bit of trouble.”
No, the trouble stemmed from the strange and unsettling impact that Ms. Cunningham had on him. All she had to do was gaze at him with those big, expressive dark eyes of hers and he was consumed by a flash of heated desire.
Emotions he was very unaccustomed to were not doing anything for his peace of mind, either. That protectiveness and possessiveness he’d felt toward Andrea had come out of left field.
Oh, Andrea Cunningham was trouble, all right. He was going to have to keep his distance from the enchanting Andrea during her stay at Hamilton. House.
He had an etched-in-stone rule about never becoming involved with a guest in the hotel. Not only was it tacky from a business angle, it was also potential heartache. Patrons checked in, then checked out. Poof. They were gone.
Jennifer came rushing to where Brandon stood behind the registration counter.
“I’m sorry, Brandon,” she said breathlessly. “I was covering the desk, but got called to the dining room to solve a seating problem.”
“Where’s Teddy?” Brandon said.
“He went home with the flu. He was fine one minute, a sick puppy the next.” Jennifer looked at Andrea and smiled. “I hope you’re feeling better, Ms. Cunningham.”
“It’s Andrea, and I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Wonderful,” Jennifer said. “That means you’ll be able to enjoy your stay at the hotel and take part in all the Christmas activities in Prescott. You picked the perfect place to be for the holidays. Oh, I’m Jennifer Mackane, the dining room hostess.”
“She’s more than that,” Brandon said, smiling warmly at Jennifer. “She keeps that dining room running like a well-oiled machine. I’d be lost without her.”
“How... admirable,” Andrea said, smiling politely.
Jennifer Mackane was also beautiful, she thought, with a tumble of wavy, strawberry-blond hair that fell in fetching disarray to just above her shoulders, and pretty, sparkling green eyes.
She was tall, with a Barbie doll perfect figure, accentuated by a green wool holiday dress that had a stylish drape to it.
Brandon would be lost without her? Did he mean that literally? Was this the woman of importance in Brandon Hamilton’s life?
Oh, for Pete’s sake, Andrea, she admonished herself. What difference does it make? Who Brandon might, or might not, be romantically involved with was none of her business, nor did she care one iota.
She was simply having a typical feminine reaction to Jennifer Mackane. The hostess was stunning, while there she stood looking like a drowned mouse who had staggered in from the snow.
Enough of this nonsense.
“I really would like to go to my room and get settled in,” Andrea said.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Brandon said. “I’ll page Mickey right now. He’s our teenage jack-of-all-trades, Andrea.”
“Mickey is across the street in the parking lot changing a tire for one of the guests,” Jennifer said. “I’ll cover the desk, Brandon. You can take Andrea upstairs.”
Damn it, Brandon thought. He didn’t want to. He’d just vowed to keep his distance from the woman. Seeing her to her room certainly wasn’t following his own rule. Well, there was nothing he could do about it.
He retrieved the key packet from a drawer, picked up Andrea’s suitcase and rounded the registration desk.
“Shall we go?” he said, looking anywhere but at Andrea.
“Gladly,” Andrea said. “I’m already envisioning a hot shower, shampooing my hair, and putting on lusciously dry clothes.”
Don’t think about Andrea standing naked in the shower, Hamilton, he told himself, stifling a groan. The warm water would cascade over her delicate body, then she’d raise her arms in an oh-so-feminine gesture to shampoo her hair.
She might close her eyes in ecstasy at becoming warmed through after being so cold. She’d sigh, a womanly sigh of pleasure and—
“Come on,” he said gruffly, starting across the large lobby.
“Gracious,” Andrea said, hurrying to keep up with him.
Jennifer propped her elbow on the counter, cupped her chin in her hand and watched the pair heading for the elevator.
“Interesting,” she said, smiling. “Very, very interesting.”
Hamilton House was five stories high, and part of Brandon’s restoration plan had been to create Victorian-era rooms, each with a slightly different decor. It had taken a seemingly endless number of hours conferring with a decorator to accomplish the feat, but Brandon was immensely pleased with the results.
Brandon’s suite of rooms were on the fifth floor, as were the ones where Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity resided. Walls had been knocked down to create the two apartments, leaving only two rooms for guests. Andrea had been booked into one of those rooms.
After a silent ride in the elevator, Andrea smiled in delight when she finally entered her room. She swept her gaze over the charming area.
There was a dark wood, queen-size sleigh bed, a matching desk and dresser, a small round table with a chair, and an overstuffed easy chair. The walls were decorated in pale green and vanilla-striped wallpaper, with the bedspread a shade darker green. The plush carpeting was a lovely salmon color.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” she said, turning to face Brandon where he stood just inside the closed door.
“I’m glad you like it.” He placed her suitcase on a wooden luggage rack by the door, then put the key packet on top. “I’ll have your food sent up in about an hour. Will that give you enough time to take your shower and... to do all that you are going to do?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Fine. Just call down to the desk if there’s anything you need, want, whatever. Goodbye. Oh, welcome to Hamilton House. Forget that. I think I’ve said it to you about fifteen times already.”
“Brandon?” Andrea said, frowning slightly. “Is something wrong? You seem to be...I don’t know... angry all of a sudden.”
Brandon took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks in the process.
“No, I’m not angry, Andrea,” he said quietly. “I realize that I’m not behaving properly in my role as owner of Hamilton House. I’m sorry.”
“It must be difficult,” she said thoughtfully, “to have to always be on.”
“I’ve been doing it for six months, ever since the renovations were completed and we had the grand opening. This is the first time I’ve let my professionalism slip.”
Brandon shook his head.
“You have a strange effect on me, Ms. Cunningham. You’re a spell-weaver. I look at you and I... You’ve felt it, too, haven’t you? The pull?”
Andrea wrapped her hands around her elbows. “Yes,” she whispered.
“We have to ignore it, to pretend it isn’t there. You realize that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she said angrily. “You’re speaking to me as though I’m an adolescent with uncontrollable hormones. I’m not a child, Brandon Hamilton. I’m a woman.”
“Believe me,” he said, a weary quality to his voice, “I’m very aware of that.”
“This... this whatever it is that has taken place between us is very understandable.”
“It is?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “This ought to be good. Why don’t you explain it to me, since you have it all figured out.”
“Certainly,” she said, lifting her chin. “In my case, my overreaction reaction—”
“‘Overreaction reaction’?” Brandon interrupted with a burst of laughter.
“Do you mind?” she said with an indignant little sniff. “I have the floor.”
“I humbly apologize,” he said, curbing his smile. “You were saying?”
“Yes. Well, my rideculous reaction to your... masculinity is due to the fact that I am in a state of total exhaustion. I’m a tad vulnerable, not conducting myself as I normally would.”
“I see,” Brandon said, stroking his chin. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“Indeed it does. Granted, you’re a very attractive man, but I deal with good-looking men every day in my profession. They don’t cause me to be unable to think, make it impossible for me to move, or breathe, when they look at me.”
“But I do?” he said, grinning again.
“Would you stop it?” she said, planting her hands on her hips.
Brandon cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Once I’ve rested,” Andrea continued, “I’ll be fine. No problem. You’ll just be another handsome man in a long line of same who cross my path and whom I ignore.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Is that a fact?”
“It is,” she said with a decisive nod.
“And my overreaction reaction to you? Would you care to explain that, as well?”
“It’s very simple, Brandon. Fainting in your arms brought out the Tarzan-Jane, knight-in-shining-armor instinct in you. It’s nothing to get all in a dither about.”
“Let me be certain I have this straight,” Brandon said. “I’m suffering from a massive machismo rush because you fainted?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll view me as just another man in the multitude of men out there once you’ve overcome your state of exhaustion?” Brandon started toward her slowly. “Have I got that right?”
“Well, I guess... Well, yes, that about sums it up,” Andrea said, taking a step backward as Brandon continued to advance.
A shiver coursed through Andrea. Was this fear? she thought frantically. Brandon seemed suddenly like a sleek panther stalking his prey—her. Was she frightened? No, it was a strange, sensual excitement that was consuming her, causing that thrumming heat to pulse low in her body once again.
This was insane! She should stand her ground, demand that Brandon Hamilton leave her room immediately. Yes, that was exactly what she should do.
But she wasn’t going to.
Because a part of her that she hadn’t even realized existed wanted to know, had to find out, just exactly what Brandon intended to do when he finally closed the distance between them.
Brandon stopped in front of Andrea and cradled her face in his large hands. He looked directly into her dark eyes, and his voice was deep and rumbly, and very, very male when he spoke.
“Your grand theories may be on the mark for all I know,” he said. “I really don’t have a clue. What I do know is that I resent being heaped with every other guy in a pair of pants. That’s totally unacceptable.”
“I certainly didn’t intend to insult you,” Andrea said, her voice trembling slightly. “I was just explaining my theory about what’s happening between us.”
“Mmm. Well. put this in your data bank, Ms. Cunningham, and see if you don’t come up with a rather different conclusion.”
Oh, my gosh, Andrea thought, he’s going to kiss me. No!
Brandon lowered his head and captured Andrea’s mouth in a searing kiss, parting her lips, delving his tongue inside the sweet darkness to seek and find her tongue.
Yes! Andrea thought, her lashes drifting down.
Their bodies were inches apart, not touching, yet the heat of rising passion wove around and through them, as though they were one entity.
The kiss went on and on, and desires soared.
What in the hell are you doing? a voice thundered in Brandon’s head.
He was allowing his damnable male ego to run roughshod over common sense and decorum.
For Pete’s sake, man, get a grip.
Brandon broke the kiss, took a ragged breath, and dropped his hands from Andrea’s face. Without speaking, he turned and strode from the room, closing the door behind him with more force than was necessary.
Andrea blinked, placed one hand on her racing heart, then rested the fingertips of her other hand on her tingling lips.