wielded with a flutter of those sooty lashes? "Maybe not
intentionally, but he's more sensitive than most people."
"I could see that," she murmured. "There's quite an age difference between you, isn't there?"
"Ten years."
She smiled. "I suppose you've always looked out for him."
Sediment swirled in the bottom of his wineglass. "Except for the time he followed me up a tree and fell twenty feet to the
ground—" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted them back. He never talked about the accident. When he
lifted his gaze to see the sympathy in her eyes, he considered leaving.
"When was that?" she asked softly.
In for a penny, in for a pound. "I was fourteen, he was four." In the silence that followed, he drained his glass and refilled it.
"It wasn't your fault, Greg."
He manufactured a dry smile. "Will has said that a thousand times."
She smiled so deeply, that elusive dimple emerged. "He knows when you're hurting. You're very lucky to have Will for a
brother."
Funny, but everyone had always said that Will was lucky to have him. Lana's words resounded in his heart. "Yes, I am." He
squared his shoulders, grateful for the graceful exit she'd given him. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"
"No."
The one word reverberated with a sadness that surprised him. "Are your parents living?"
She nodded. "But they're divorced. My father moves around a lot, and Janet lives in Florida."
"Janet?"
Her laugh was self-conscious. "My mother looks young for her age, so she doesn't like to be called 'Mom.'"
So she had one of those mothers. Maybe that explained why Lana was so…complicated.
"But she's coming to spend an old-fashioned Christmas Eve with me." Her voice was childlike in her mother's defense.
"How will you spend Christmas?"
He shrugged. "At home with Will and Yvonne." It was a quiet ritual he took for granted. If Will found a woman, all their
routines would change—holidays, vacations, perhaps even living arrangements.
"Yvonne?" She seemed intent on removing a spot from the side of her glass.
"Our housekeeper. She was also a friend of my mother's."
"Oh. Your mother is deceased, too?"
He nodded.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice catching in such a way that he wished they hadn't ventured into personal territory.
"You're very young to be alone."
"Well…I'm not alone," he said, flustered. "I mean, like you said, I have Will."
"And he has you."
"Yes."
"That's nice," she said, nodding. "Brothers should stick together. Have either of you ever been married?"
"No." He hadn't meant to sound so vehement. "You?"
A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "No. The single life suits me. I love my business, and I spend most of my free
time on causes I believe in. I don't see marriage in my future."
One of those bald-faced lies that women told, he noted sardonically. Designed to trick a man into thinking he wasn't being
silently measured for a tux. He decided to call her bluff. "If that's the case, then why would an attractive, successful woman
like you place a singles ad?"
She stared at him for the longest time, her mouth pursing and unpursing, then she leaned her elbows on the table. "And why,
Mr. Seriously Confirmed Bachelor, would an attractive, successful man like you answer one?"
Now he'd painted himself into a corner. Once again he considered telling her the truth—that he'd been checking her out for
Will. Now that she'd met Will, surely she would understand his motives. But if he admitted he'd gone on Will's behalf,
wouldn't he also have to admit that he'd chucked his brotherly concern in the face of his raging libido? Debating the lesser of
two evils, Greg chose silence.
And by some miracle, their food arrived to relieve the awkward lapse.
She was either just as hungry as he, or just as reluctant to revisit the subject of their first meeting, because she ate in relative
silence, dividing the black olives from her pasta into a forlorn little pile on the side of her
intentionally, but he's more sensitive than most people."
"I could see that," she murmured. "There's quite an age difference between you, isn't there?"
"Ten years."
She smiled. "I suppose you've always looked out for him."
Sediment swirled in the bottom of his wineglass. "Except for the time he followed me up a tree and fell twenty feet to the
ground—" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted them back. He never talked about the accident. When he
lifted his gaze to see the sympathy in her eyes, he considered leaving.
"When was that?" she asked softly.
In for a penny, in for a pound. "I was fourteen, he was four." In the silence that followed, he drained his glass and refilled it.
"It wasn't your fault, Greg."
He manufactured a dry smile. "Will has said that a thousand times."
She smiled so deeply, that elusive dimple emerged. "He knows when you're hurting. You're very lucky to have Will for a
brother."
Funny, but everyone had always said that Will was lucky to have him. Lana's words resounded in his heart. "Yes, I am." He
squared his shoulders, grateful for the graceful exit she'd given him. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"
"No."
The one word reverberated with a sadness that surprised him. "Are your parents living?"
She nodded. "But they're divorced. My father moves around a lot, and Janet lives in Florida."
"Janet?"
Her laugh was self-conscious. "My mother looks young for her age, so she doesn't like to be called 'Mom.'"
So she had one of those mothers. Maybe that explained why Lana was so…complicated.
"But she's coming to spend an old-fashioned Christmas Eve with me." Her voice was childlike in her mother's defense.
"How will you spend Christmas?"
He shrugged. "At home with Will and Yvonne." It was a quiet ritual he took for granted. If Will found a woman, all their
routines would change—holidays, vacations, perhaps even living arrangements.
"Yvonne?" She seemed intent on removing a spot from the side of her glass.
"Our housekeeper. She was also a friend of my mother's."
"Oh. Your mother is deceased, too?"
He nodded.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice catching in such a way that he wished they hadn't ventured into personal territory.
"You're very young to be alone."
"Well…I'm not alone," he said, flustered. "I mean, like you said, I have Will."
"And he has you."
"Yes."
"That's nice," she said, nodding. "Brothers should stick together. Have either of you ever been married?"
"No." He hadn't meant to sound so vehement. "You?"
A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "No. The single life suits me. I love my business, and I spend most of my free
time on causes I believe in. I don't see marriage in my future."
One of those bald-faced lies that women told, he noted sardonically. Designed to trick a man into thinking he wasn't being
silently measured for a tux. He decided to call her bluff. "If that's the case, then why would an attractive, successful woman
like you place a singles ad?"
She stared at him for the longest time, her mouth pursing and unpursing, then she leaned her elbows on the table. "And why,
Mr. Seriously Confirmed Bachelor, would an attractive, successful man like you answer one?"
Now he'd painted himself into a corner. Once again he considered telling her the truth—that he'd been checking her out for
Will. Now that she'd met Will, surely she would understand his motives. But if he admitted he'd gone on Will's behalf,
wouldn't he also have to admit that he'd chucked his brotherly concern in the face of his raging libido? Debating the lesser of
two evils, Greg chose silence.
And by some miracle, their food arrived to relieve the awkward lapse.
She was either just as hungry as he, or just as reluctant to revisit the subject of their first meeting, because she ate in relative
silence, dividing the black olives from her pasta into a forlorn little pile on the side of her
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