Donna Alward - Beauty And The Brooding Billionaire

It didn’t stop her from getting wistful and broody around Tori’s newborn, though. And when Tori asked if she’d hold the baby while she popped inside for a light blanket, Jessica had no choice but to say yes.

Little Rose was a porcelain doll, with pale skin and thick lashes and a dusting of soft, brown hair. Her little lips sucked in and out as she slept, and she smelled like baby lotion. Jess cradled her close, looking down at her face and marveling at the feel of the warm weight in the crook of her arm. She did like babies. A lot.

When Tori came back, Jess held out her hand for the blanket, unwilling to give the baby up just yet. “She’s comfortable here and it’ll give you a break.”

“You mean I’ll get to drink my tea while it’s hot?”

Jess chuckled. “Exactly.” She tucked the crocheted blanket around the baby and leaned back in the chair. “Thank you again for asking me to dinner. The food at the inn is lovely, but a home-cooked meal was very welcome.”

“It wasn’t anything fancy.”

They’d had salad, grilled chicken and some sort of barley and vegetable side dish that had been delicious. Jeremy was now inside, catching up on some work while they enjoyed the spring evening.

“It was delicious. Besides, I was hungry. Someone made me angry today, and I went for a run on the beach after to burn off some steam.”

Tori leaned forward. “Angry? Who? Not one of the staff, I hope.”

Tori had resigned her position at the Sandpiper Resort, but she was still close with the staff and popped in on occasion to help with events or answer any questions the new assistant manager had. That was how Tori and Jess had met, and they’d ended up chatting and then sharing lunch on the resort patio.

“No, not staff. You know the lighthouse you told me about? I went to see it. Get some pictures...it’s gorgeous, just like you said. I got that tingly feeling I haven’t had in a really long time. And then the owner showed up. Man, he was a jerk.”

She expected Tori to express her own form of outrage, but instead her eyes danced. “So you met Bran.”

“You know him? Like, personally?”

“He’s Jeremy’s friend.”

Jess lifted an eyebrow. “You might have warned me. What an ogre. Hard to imagine him being friendly to anyone.”

Yet even as she said it she recalled the flash of vulnerability in his eyes. And while his hair was in major need of a haircut, it had been thick and wavy, a rich brown tossed by the sea breeze. Roguish.

“Bran’s been through a lot. He just moved here in February, too. The house is lovely, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t get to see much of anything. I took some pictures of the lighthouse, and then he stomped out and growled at me and made me delete all the photos I’d taken.”

Tori frowned. “He’s usually not quite that grumpy.”

“He was downright rude.” She sighed. “That lighthouse was it. I got the rush I get when I’m particularly inspired. If I could have kept one photo, I could have at least started a sketch.”

Except she did have one photo. The one she’d taken of “Bran,” now that she knew his name. Facing the ocean. She’d looked at it after her run, and had felt his loneliness.

Something else jiggled in her memory. “You said his name was Bran?”

“Short for Branson.” Tori leaned forward. “Do you want me to take her now?” She held out her hands for the baby.

“She’s asleep and fine here as long as you’re okay with it.”

“Are you kidding? When she’s sleeping I get to relax.” She sat back in her chair. “I just don’t want to take advantage.”

Jessica turned the name over and over in her mind. Branson. The dark hair, the eyes...

“Branson Black,” she said, her voice a bit breathy. “That’s him, isn’t it? The author?”

Tori frowned. “He keeps a very low profile here. No one in town really knows who he is.”

“Of course. It’d be like having Stephen King as your neighbor.”

Tori laughed. “Not quite. He’s not that famous.”

Jess tucked the blanket closer around the baby. “He’s pretty famous. And he hasn’t published anything since—”

She halted. She remembered the story now. Since his wife and infant son had died in a car crash.

It all came together now. His isolation. Desolation. Growling to keep people away. He was buried in grief, a feeling she could relate to oh, so well. A pit opened in her stomach, a reminder of the dark days she’d had after Ana’s death. And a well of sympathy, too. How devastated he must be.

She met Tori’s gaze and sighed. “It was in the news.”

Tori nodded. “I don’t want to betray a confidence, you understand. But yes, he’s been struggling with his grief.”

“And values his privacy. I understand now.” And her frustration melted away, replaced by sympathy.

“Do you?” Tori’s eyes were sharp. “Because he’s one of the best men I know. He’s one of the reasons Jeremy and I are together.”

Jess stared into the flickering fire. “A few years ago I lost my mentor and...well, the best friend a person could have. I’m just now starting to paint again. So yes, I get it. Grief can destroy the deepest and best parts of us if we’re not careful.”

Silence fell over the patio for a few minutes. Then Tori spoke up. “I’m sorry about your friend. And I agree with you. Which was why I sent you over there in the first place.”

Jess’s head snapped up. “You did?”

Tori nodded. “He needs someone to stir him up a bit. Looks like you did.”

Jess wasn’t too sure of that. But her heart gave a twist, thinking of what he’d lost, what he was suffering and how alone he must feel. Because she’d been there. And she’d come out the other side.

He hadn’t. And that made her sorry indeed.

BRAN HAD BEEN up for a walk at dawn, made himself breakfast, had thrown in a load of laundry and was now left with most of the day stretching before him. Each day he had the same ritual. Walk, eat, some sort of menial chore. Check email. Anything to procrastinate so he wouldn’t spend hours staring at an empty document. He got through those daily rituals just fine, but the moment he opened up a new file on his laptop, he froze.

He wrote mysteries, and right now, anything dealing with a murder and victims was too much. Even though Jennie and Owen had been in a highway accident and not victims of violence, he just couldn’t deal with the idea of dead bodies. The grief was too much. His memory was too vivid.

Instead, he went upstairs and out on the balcony. The fresh air bit at his cheeks, carrying the tang of the ocean as the sky spread blue and wide above him. The lighthouse stood sentinel at the corner of the property, and he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, thinking of yesterday and the woman who’d shown up uninvited.

She was right. He’d been a jerk. Right now he didn’t know how to be anything else. But he was slightly sorry for it. Maybe would be more sorry if she’d been hurt by his gruffness. Instead, she’d been annoyed, and her eyes had sparked with it. It was hard to be sorry for that. She had beautiful eyes, annoyed or not.

He’d been standing there for twenty minutes when a movement caught his eye, just off the shore. He frowned. Was that a boat? He squinted; the sun glinted off the water in blinding flashes, but yes, there was definitely a boat out there, maybe a few hundred yards off the coastline. Certainly no farther. The sea was still rough, and he watched the boat bob and rock, at the mercy of the waves.

Foolish person. The boat couldn’t be more than maybe fifteen, sixteen feet. On a calm day, and with a skilled pilot, a boat like that could fare pretty well in open water. He’d certainly gone fishing in his and had no trouble at all. But today wasn’t calm. The surf had been high since the storm earlier in the week, and whoever was at the wheel wasn’t looking very competent, either. He frowned, and turned to get his binoculars from downstairs. When he returned, the boat was closer to shore, and still bobbing as it drifted.