Bravo Unwrapped (11 page)

B
uck wasn't the eavesdropping type.

But he'd heard B.J.'s bedroom door bang back, and her footsteps pounding down the hall—the same sounds he'd heard every morning since they'd arrived in the Flat. He'd lain there in bed for a minute or two, debating whether or not to just get up and go ask her what the hell was going on with her.

If she happened to be dying of some obscure disorder that had her wolfing food down at night and tossing it up the next morning, well, he'd really like to know.

Then again, since he was trying to keep it low-key and low-pressure with her, trying to get her to meet him halfway, he had a gut-twisting feeling that confronting her about anything—up to and including whether or not she had some bizarre eating disorder—could mean losing serious ground with her.

Buck couldn't afford to lose ground. Every inch of it was too damn hard to gain in the first place.

In the end, he'd gotten up, yanked on some pants and a shirt and gone out to the hall—just in time to hear Glory say those impossible words:

You're pregnant, too.

After which Bowie's girl had shut the bathroom door—with both her and B.J. on the far side of it.

Buck had moved toward that closed door in what could only be called a daze. He'd stood right where he was standing now, thinking that he had to know—he damn well
had
to know.

Should he have barged in demanding answers?

He'd considered it. A few years ago he would have done exactly that—no considering about it.

But he was a little older now and maybe age did bring wisdom—or caution, anyway. He knew B.J. and he knew that barging in on her at such a moment could have her clamming up tight on him—or going the other, uglier direction, the one where they ended up shouting at each other; lots of noise and carrying-on, no answers.

So he'd opted for the low road known as eavesdropping. He'd put his ear against the door and heard it all. B.J. was pregnant, it was his baby—and she would tell him in a month or two, just not right now.

And, by the way, she would
never
marry him.

A long series of down-and-dirty swear words scrolled through his mind. He thought,
The hell she won't marry me.

So. What to do next?

Why even ask? He
knew
what to do. He was a Bravo. B.J. was having his baby and that changed everything. There could be no more fooling around, no
more taking it slow, no more gritting his teeth and keeping hands off, waiting for her to give it up and admit there was still something important going on between them. It was time for action and that meant his ring on her finger and her tall, slim, sexy body in his bed.

Oh, yeah. It was time, all right. Time to get the truth out in the open between them, time for her to stop hiding the ball. She'd been lying to him by omission for too damn long now.

And speaking of lies, what about that first night here, in the Flat?

That night, they'd discussed Bowie and Glory. And at one point or another, from something she'd said, he'd started wondering if maybe their night in September could have had the classic consequences—wondering if what he now knew for a fact just might be possible.

He'd been direct. Honest. Straight-ahead. He'd asked her right out if that might be so.

She'd flatly denied it.

She'd lied about the baby, lied right to his face, damned if she hadn't.

Tight fury coiled in his belly, a snake ready to strike. Buck reached for the door handle—and changed his mind. He raised his fist to knock—and then let it drop to his side.

He took another step back. He stared at the door that stood between him and the woman he wanted, the woman who also happened to be having his baby.

And hell if he didn't find himself thinking of Bowie.

The damn fool.

Bowie made demands right and left. He chased Glory all over town, bullying her, begging her, putting
her father—and as a result, her whole family—in the middle of what should have been just between the two of them.

So far, Bowie had gotten zip for his trouble. His heman, drag-'em-off-to-the-cave-by-the-hair, no-holds-barred approach simply wasn't working. Rather than bringing Bowie and Glory closer, Bowie's methods were pushing them apart.

There had to be a better way than Bowie's to go about getting a woman to say yes.

Though his blood pounded too hard through his veins and a voice in his head called for action, right now, though his hands itched to break down that door, grab his woman and never let go…

Buck held back.

There had to be a better way…

Shaking his head, Buck turned and quietly retraced his steps to his bedroom.

Once inside, he gently shut the door.

 

In the bathroom, Glory rose from her seat at the edge of the tub. “Listen. Any time you need to talk, you come looking for me. I might not have any answers, but I do understand and I'm willing to listen….”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” B.J. said the words and realized how much she meant them. It
was
good to finally have someone to talk to about all she was going through, someone who understood from personal experience exactly how she felt. B.J. actually grinned. “You know, I almost feel hungry. I might even have a little toast with my apple juice this morning.”

“Hungry is good.” Glory showed some dimples. “Sometimes, in those first weeks, I would have oatmeal.”

B.J.'s poor, abused stomach actually growled. “I don't believe it. Oatmeal sounds good.”

“I'll tell Mrs. B. to make you some.”

“Thanks—and Glory?”

“Yeah?”

“It goes both ways. If you need to talk, knock on my door. I'm up for it.”

“I knew you'd say that. After all, what are friends for?”

 

Forty-five minutes later, as she left her room on the way down to breakfast, B.J. found herself hesitating at Buck's door, thinking that maybe she'd knock, invite him to walk down to breakfast with her.

Knocking on Buck's door…

That would be a first. She'd never once sought him out in the whole time they'd been here. She'd kept their agreement and made herself available to him, never more than that.

No reason to change now.

She started to turn…

But wait a minute. Why not knock?

Dumb question. Knocking, after all, would amount to initiating contact and initiating contact might give him the wrong idea. It could get him thinking that she enjoyed his company, that she had begun to consider letting him back into her life.

She hadn't.

Had she?

Of course not.

And really, it didn't have to mean a thing, that they walked down to breakfast together. After all, their rooms were side by side. It was perfectly natural that she might knock on his door and—

Oh, why was she making such a big deal of this?

She lifted her hand, knocked smartly, and waited, her heart beating just a little harder than it should.

He didn't answer.

She knocked again, leaned close to the door, asked tentatively, “Buck?”

Nothing. She put her hand on the doorknob. It turned. And before she even really thought about it, she was pushing the door inward onto a room very much like her own: identical layout, similar heavy, dark furniture. Morning light spilled through the French doors and a laptop waited on the minuscule desk in the corner.

The bed was neatly made and the cargoes and sweater he'd worn yesterday lay folded across a nearby chair. She could just make out the faint scent of that aftershave he always wore.

No sign of the man himself.

For a moment she simply stood there, in the open doorway, her hand clutching the knob, breathing in the scent of him, taking in the room where he slept.

Then she caught herself.

He's getting to you, you know he is….

“No!” The denial grated in her ear. She'd actually said it out loud.

With a furtive glance to either end of the hallway to make certain no one had seen her peering in Buck's room, talking to herself, B.J. pulled the door firmly shut, yanked her shoulders back and strode purposefully toward the stairs.

There were four guests in the dining room when she got down there, all of them strangers. B.J. smiled politely at the others and took one of the small tables near the door to the central hall. A minute or two later, Glory appeared with her breakfast.

“Here we go.” Glory set down the food with a flourish just as a heavy-set older guy in overalls went by in the hallway, coming from the direction of the kitchen. He carried a red metal tool box. Glory must have noticed that B.J. had spotted him. “The handyman,” she explained. “One of the upstairs sink drains is stopped up.”

“Ah.” B.J. glanced down at her breakfast. “Looks good.”

“Told you so. And you are looking great this morning.” Meaning a lot better than she had earlier, following her daily worship at the altar of the porcelain god. Astounding what a shower, a blow-dry and some makeup could do.

“Why thank you. Have you seen Buck?”

“He was here when I got downstairs, but he left maybe a half an hour ago.”

“Left the house, you mean?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Odd. “Do you know where he went?”

Glory shook her head. “I can ask Mrs. B…”

“No. That's okay.”

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

Very strange. He'd actually left the house without her. Why?

Seriously stupid question.

What did she care why? He was gone and that was a good thing. For once, she'd have a little time to herself during the day. She might even get an hour or two where she didn't constantly have to be on guard against his considerable charm and her own wacko hormones.

Oh, yeah. An hour or two on her own would be great. Wonderful. Fabulous.

One of the guests signaled Glory and she hustled off to refill a muffin basket. B.J. ate her breakfast and then went back upstairs. She called Giles, but he was in a meeting. She considered calling L.T.—but why ask for aggravation?

She booted up her laptop and jotted a few notes to herself about some upcoming features. She answered several e-mails that had lain abandoned in her in-box for five days now, sending them off only to watch them get stuck in her out-box, where they were destined to remain until she returned to civilization and an actual Internet connection.

An hour passed. Two.

B.J. jotted more notes. She looked in the mirror over the desk. Hmm. She really should have made time to get her roots done before heading for the hills.

Not that it mattered. Who in the Flat was going to care if her roots were a tad browner than they ought to be?

Not a soul.

She rewrote her bio. Then she started working the bio into an actual résumé.

Now, what was
that
about?

Wishful thinking? Obviously. Because, no matter how rough it got, no matter what L.T. tried next, she was never leaving
Alpha.

Was she?

What a question.

Of course not. She could not believe the thought had even crossed her mind.

A knock at the door.

Buck! At last. She smoothed her hair and went to answer.

It was Glory. “Housekeeping,” B.J.'s newfound
friend announced, all shining eyes and dimpled smile. “Want your room cleaned?”

Where the hell was Buck? Not that she cared. “Uh. Great idea.” She was getting a little stir-crazy here, alone in her room, anyway. “I'll get out.”

“You don't have to. I can work around you, easy.”

“I think I will, though. I'll get out and get some air—by the way, have you seen Buck?”

“Not since breakfast, but you can check with—”

“Chastity. Got it.” B.J. reached for her small shoulder bag and snagged her jacket off the straight-backed chair by the door. “Thanks.”

Glory grabbed her arm, moved in close and whispered, “Missing him?”

“Hah.”

Glory laughed. “I think you are.”

“Later.” B.J. fled for the stairs.

 

She found Chastity in the kitchen mixing up muffin batter and talking with the handyman, who looked very comfortable sitting at the round oak table, sipping coffee.

Chastity set aside her bowl of batter to introduce them. “Mr. Panopopoulis, this is B.J.”

The handyman set down his cup. “What'd I say? Call me Alyosha. Please.”

“Alyosha,” Chastity repeated. Was Buck's mother blushing?

The handyman pushed himself to his feet. “Nice to meet you, B.J. I go back to work, now. Chastity, thank you very much for the delicious coffee.”

“Anytime…Alyosha.”

The two of them grinned at each other. That went on for at least thirty seconds. Finally, the handyman
bent to get his tool kit from the floor by his chair. “Ah. Well. See you later, huh?”

“Yes.” Chastity went on grinning as the handyman left them through the hallway door. A moment later, they heard the back door open and close.

Chastity smoothed her apron and picked up her bowl of muffin batter. “Now,” she said, suddenly all cheery and brisk. “What can I do for you, B.J.?”

“Just wondering if you might have some idea where Buck went.”

Chastity's spoon scraped the inside of the bowl as she stirred. She frowned, her spoon going still for a moment. “He didn't say anything to me about where he was headed. Sorry.”

“I can't believe he'd just take off like this, I truly can't.” B.J. blew out a frustrated breath—and then realized she was sounding way too much as though she missed the man. She backpedaled madly, “Uh, not that it really matters. It doesn't. Not in the least.” A hint of a smile flitted across Chastity's mouth. “What's so funny?” B.J. demanded, sounding surly and knowing it.

“Oh, nothing. Did he take that SUV you came here in?”