The Wedding Lullaby Page 5

  To her left was an empty formal dining room. No table, no chairs, no sideboard, nothing except a beautiful chandelier and more stacks of books on the floor. She stared in disbelief.

  Every detail on the exterior of the house had been cared for with such precision. No one seeing the outside would think the inside was empty. How could Brett live here, much less call this barren structure home?

  “I had the floors refinished and the walls painted before I moved in. I’ve spoken with a couple of interior designers, but I haven’t had time to meet with them. One of these days, I will.”

  The neglected interior not only contradicted the well-tended yard but also the thoughtful decor of his office. “What about the person who decorated MGI?”

  “She’s known for her commercial designs.”

  “So?” The bare, stark white walls here didn’t belong in a home. The house was a blank easel waiting for someone to brush the first stroke of color. “Anything has to be better than this.”

  “My mother said the same thing, but I don’t use these rooms, so there’s no rush.”

  Questions filled Laurel’s mind. Where did he sit? Eat? Was she going to be sleeping on the floor tonight? Brett Matthews was becoming more of a mystery to her.

  “Not every room is empty.” He led her down a wide hallway to an open-concept kitchen and family room. On the far side was an immense stone fireplace with built-in bookcases on either side.

  “See”—he gestured to a big-screen television, a leather recliner, and a matching couch—“furniture.”

  Bachelor furniture, he meant.

  Dull, dark, and all-too male.

  This place needed a female’s touch. A potted ficus would fit perfectly in the corner. The spot over the mantel needed a painting or portrait. A small table and lamp against the wall, framed photos and other accessories for the built-in cabinets, and a nice rug to tie the decor together.

  But this house wasn’t hers. Never would be. She needed to shut off that part of her brain.

  “Looks comfortable.” Brett didn’t want her decorating opinion. The less she said about his home, the better.

  “It is.” He pointed to a small alcove situated between the kitchen and the family room. A breakfast nook with a cherry maple table and four Windsor chairs was surrounded by oversized windows. “There’s the table.”

  Yes, but what did he eat?

  The state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen was immaculate. Either Brett was a neat freak, or he never cooked. She was tempted to open the excessively expensive commercial-grade refrigerator to see if there was any food inside. A domestic staff would have to work overtime to keep everything so spotless and shiny. “Very…nice.”

  But very strange.

  If she didn’t know better, Laurel would think no one lived here, given there were no piles of clutter, no pieces of memorabilia, and definitely no character. Oh, the house had architectural character out the wazoo—beams on the ceiling, intricate moldings, wood pane windows, hardwood floors, built-in shelves and cabinets with leaded-glass doors—but that wasn’t enough for such a beautiful old home.

  The house cried out for tender loving care, yet Brett had turned a deaf ear. His neglect saddened and concerned her. Was he superficial—showy on the outside, but empty on the inside?

  One thing was clear, though.

  The interior of his house reaffirmed what her heart knew to be true—he didn’t want a family. Someone who lived like this wasn’t interested in having a home, let alone a wife or child. He was a workaholic who preferred the comfort of his office to that of his house. His misplaced sense of obligation was driving his marriage proposal, nothing else.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m tired.” She was ready to have her bed turned down, so she could call it a night. “Is your staff still on duty?”

  “I don’t have a staff, only a housekeeper who comes once a week.”

  “I assumed…”

  “I’m sure you did.” His steady gaze bore into her as if he could read her thoughts and dreams. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  With his hand at her waist, he motioned her toward the foyer, where he stopped to pick up her suitcase. “Your room has a private bath. Everything you need should be in the cabinets or drawers, including towels and toiletries.”

  As Laurel climbed the stairs, a wave of apprehension swept over her. No staff meant she’d be alone with Brett. She hadn’t expected that. Alaska was sounding more and more appealing.

  Following him to the end of the hallway, she noticed the barren walls. No family photos or paintings that touched one’s heart to remind a person they were home.

  Once again, she was struck by the difference between his empty mansion and his lovely office. Which was the real Brett Matthews?

  “There’s a nice view of the Willamette from your room,” he said.

  “The what?”

  “The river that runs through Portland.”

  “Oh.” When she entered the guest bedroom, she stopped short in amazement. It felt as if she’d stepped into another world, one exquisitely designed and magazine-layout perfect. The classic combination of deep magenta and mahogany suited the English architecture, unlike the starkness of the rest of his house. Pictures in gilt frames sat on the dresser. One of a young boy and a woman—Brett and his mother? Another of Brett in a graduation cap and gown.

  “Make yourself at home. The dresser drawers are empty.” He opened the closet door. “I’ll get more hangers after you send for the rest of your things.”

  “This is all I have.” Saying that left a sour taste in her mouth, like a fine wine turned to vinegar.

  “When you said they were your only assets…” He appeared more embarrassed than her.

  No sense lying. “I’m happy to have a few things left at all.”

  She glanced around the room, not wanting to explain further. Selling the majority of her wardrobe and accessories at a consignment store had been the right decision. She’d needed the money more than she needed designer labels that wouldn’t fit for much longer.

  A crystal bowl filled with fragrant potpourri sat on the nightstand. She inhaled. “Your mother did a lovely job decorating the room.”

  “My mom enjoyed doing it.” His face lit up, telling Laurel his mother meant a lot to him. “I told her to do whatever she desired. I wanted her to create a home away from home for herself.”

  “You should ask her to do the rest of the house.” The scrutiny of his gaze made Laurel self-conscious. Keeping her mouth shut would be the smartest move.

  “If you need anything, I’m next door.” He backed toward the doorway. “Good night.”

  “‘Night.”

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, Laurel plopped onto the bed, exhausted, dirty, and confused. A weight pressed down on her chest. Tears stung her eyes.

  She blinked them away. She’d come too far to break down and cry.

  She rubbed her belly, seeking the reassurance touching her baby usually provided. “Sleep well, my little one. I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”

  The realization worried her.

  Nothing was turning out like she’d expected.

  Especially not Brett.

  Laurel had been fantasizing about the attractive man she’d met and married in Reno, the one who’d given her the sweetest wedding gift—a snow globe with two doves inside.

  Had that been an act? A pretend, attentive groom to go along with the joke of a wedding?

  So many questions, too few answers.

  Laurel kicked off her shoes. Pointing her toes, she sighed as her feet luxuriated in the freedom.

  A shower would allow her to scrub away the grime and whatever else was clinging to her. She would get a good night’s sleep and then be ready for work come sunrise.

  Starting a new job would wipe her slate clean. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life. She couldn’t w
ait.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  The next morning, Brett knocked lightly on Laurel’s bedroom door. No reply. He didn’t hear any movement inside. Either she was sleeping, or she was in the bathroom getting ready.

  He hoped she was asleep. Waking her up before roosters blinked and the sun rose would be a perfect way to start her day. His, too.

  Imagining what her reaction would be, Brett grinned. He would have to be careful not to look too happy at her discomfort, but he couldn’t wait to see her squirm.

  Today was the start of his get-Laurel-to-marry-him campaign. He’d spent half the night planning his strategy. She’d thrown him a curve by declining his marriage offer, but if making a name for himself in the crazy world of financial investments had taught Brett anything, it was how to regroup.

  His first step—showing her that working for a living was difficult. Incredibly early mornings and ten-hour-plus days would allow her to see that marriage was not only the better option but also the only one. Nothing he did would affect her health or the baby’s. She might find herself more tired than usual and wanting to sleep in, nap, or go to bed early. Searching for an apartment would be draining. Doing anything physical would be taxing. And the entire time, he would be by her side to feed her, to listen to her, and to comfort her.

  Yes, this was the perfect plan.

  If he played his cards right, she’d quit by this time next week. Brett rubbed his hands together gleefully, having no doubt he’d easily get what he wanted.

  He placed his ear on the door. No movement inside. Definitely asleep.

  Brett knocked louder.

  Still nothing.

  He turned the knob and then pushed open the door. At least she hadn’t locked it. That had to be a good sign. Maybe she would say “yes” sooner than he thought.

  “Laurel?” he called softly.

  The even rise and fall of her chest told him she was asleep. He crept toward the bed. She’d kicked off the covers, lying curled on her left side. Good, that was the position the pregnancy books recommended. One of those body pillows he’d read about might make her more comfortable. A blanket covering her would be good, too.

  Her oversized pink nightshirt skimmed the top of her thighs. He shouldn’t look, but his gaze kept returning to her. At some point last night, she’d washed away the dirt from her bus journey, leaving behind the beautiful woman who’d haunted his dreams these past months.

  His heart rate quickened. This was the woman he would spend the rest of his life—or at least the next eighteen years—with, the mother of his child.

  He ran his gaze from her shapely legs to her slightly rounded stomach. Not much of a difference from the flat tummy he’d touched and trailed kisses along in Reno.

  But there was one difference now.

  His baby was in there.

  Fingers itching, he touched her belly—well, the shirt covering it—before he realized what he was doing.

  Laurel blinked open her eyes. He jerked his hand away before she had the chance to focus.

  She yawned. “Brett?”

  His face heated, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed. “Good morning.”

  She bolted upright. “I set the alarm for six o’clock. Oh, no. I must have slept right through it. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t sleep through the alarm.”

  “Then why…” She glanced at the east-facing window. The beginnings of dawn crept around the edges of the curtains and blinds. “What time is it?”

  “Four-thirty.”

  Her eyes widened. “In the morning?”

  Her look of utter horror made him smile. Good. Her reaction was what he’d wanted. “I like to be at the office before the market opens. Is that a problem?”

  “I…no.” She rubbed her eyes. “You’re dressed.”

  “You were tired last night, so I let you sleep in.”

  “How thoughtful,” she murmured. Brett could almost hear the eye-roll she probably wished to give him in her voice. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Another minute flashed by. “What time do we need to leave?”

  “Half an hour, forty-five minutes. We can pick up breakfast on the way.” He waited for an outcry. He didn’t get one. Maybe tomorrow. “If you need more time—”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Such certainty, but the way she blinked as if trying to force her eyes wider open suggested she was struggling. “I’ll be in the family room.”

  “See you in a few minutes.”

  Yeah, right. More like sixty. Women like Laurel took at least an hour to get ready. He only hoped they weren’t too late this morning.

  Brett headed downstairs to make use of the time while waiting. He grabbed the remote control, clicked on CNBC, and sat in his recliner. He opened his laptop and logged on to MGI’s server. Time to slog through his e-mail.

  “I’m ready.” Laurel’s voice floated toward him. “If you need more time…”

  Shocked, he checked his watch. No way. She’d gotten ready in less than fifteen minutes. “No, I’m logging off.”

  As Brett raised his head, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t think. She was…beautiful. His pulse climbed faster than an IPO of stock.

  A black skirt fell just above her knees. A short-sleeved black shirt covered her stomach but stopped short of her hips. A scarf added a splash of color. She’d piled her hair on top of her head and then clipped it somehow. No bad-hair days for Laurel Worthington.

  “Something wrong?” Meeting his gaze, she nervously smoothed her skirt. “My wardrobe is limited due to my expanding waistline.”

  “You look fine. Good. Great.”

  “Thank you.” The corners of her mouth curved up slightly. “So, are you ready?”

  More than ready, Brett realized with a start. Ready to forget today was a workday and he needed to go to the office. Ready to remove the clip from her hair to watch the silky strands tumble around his hands. Ready to carry her upstairs to his bedroom.

  Forget about not liking her, not respecting her, and not trusting her.

  He wanted her—wanted her badly.

  Brett shut his laptop, the screen snapping against the monitor. What in the world had he gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Laurel couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Brett. Since leaving his house, he hadn’t spoken, except when he’d stopped at a café and ordered breakfast to go. She’d told him she preferred stopping at a grocery store because that would be cheaper than a restaurant, but he mumbled there wasn’t time and paid for her breakfast before she could protest.

  Maybe he wasn’t a morning person. She hadn’t stuck around long enough in Reno to see him wake up because her mother had needed Laurel home as soon as possible. To be honest, leaving a note while he slept had been for the best. She’d been afraid the magic they’d shared during the night would disappear come morning. She’d wanted the memory of their time together to remain untarnished, something to hold close to her heart when she returned to the real world in Chicago.

  No matter. She wouldn’t let Brett’s strange mood or grumpiness interfere with her first day at work. She wanted to make a good impression and show she was competent.

  As Laurel stepped from the elevator, she noticed a crowd gathered at the receptionist’s desk. Even at this early hour, MGI bustled with activity. She couldn’t imagine who the people were—investors or employees—but Brett led her past the lobby and through the double doors to the private offices and cubicle area.

  Computers beeped and dinged. Telephones rang. People hurried from one desk to another. A contagious energy filled the air.

  Smiling, Laurel could almost taste the money being added to investors’ portfolios. At MGI, she could have a career and earn enough to provide for her baby and herself.

  Her excitement mounting, she followed Brett down the hall. No one seemed to notice her. No covert glances, snide comments, or tactless jokes. For once, she
was grateful to be a nobody about to make a fresh start.

  “I’ll give you over to Danielle,” Brett said, without glancing Laurel’s way. “I have a full schedule today, but if you need something, she knows how to reach me.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Laurel couldn’t wait to get started. The early hours would be something she had to get used to, but she was a working girl now and a soon-to-be mommy. Sacrifices had to be made.

  Brett entered an alcove to the right of his office. “Danielle?”

  His assistant popped her head over the cubicle wall and frowned. Gone was the bubbly high school cheerleader persona from yesterday. In its place was a disapproving suspicion.

  “Morning, boss,” Danielle said, her face downtrodden.

  “Good morning to you.” Brett grinned, appearing more pleased to see his assistant than he had Laurel earlier.

  Jealousy licked at her. A stupid reaction. She had no claim on him. Yet, her skin heated. She wanted to know exactly what kind of relationship Danielle and Brett had outside the office.

  “You remember Laurel,” he added.

  Danielle nodded, without enthusiasm.

  He gazed right past Laurel, as if she were invisible. “I’ll leave you in Danielle’s capable hands.”

  “Okay.” Except Laurel’s voice sounded anything but. The tension emanating from her new boss evaporated any confidence she had. She fought to keep a smile on her face.

  Think about the baby. “Have a nice day, Brett.”

  “You, too.” He went into his office and then closed the door.

  Waiting for Danielle to say something, Laurel adjusted her shirt. She didn’t have a baby bump yet, only a small paunch, and she hoped people would think she was chubby, not pregnant. If possible, she wanted to pick the time to make her pregnancy public knowledge.

  Her boss, however, did nothing but stare. That left saying something up to her.

  “It doesn’t look as if it’s going to rain today,” Laurel said, feeling like an idiot at her stupid comment.

  Danielle shrugged, but the frustration in her gaze was unmistakable. The woman was less than thrilled with her new assistant.