Kathie DeNosky - Maternally Yours

Clearing his throat, he focused on the job his father had assigned him, which Brett had been eager to accept. He wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of who had tried to kill his brother Daniel. “When Dad called, he said you wanted to interview the rest of the family to help with your investigation.”

She nodded. “That’s right. Your father told me you’d take care of setting up the times and place.”

He grinned. Being efficient and anticipating others’ needs were the very reasons he was considered one of the best PR men in the textile industry. “I’ve already got the jump on it. I’ve arranged for you to speak privately with each of them in a conference room at Connelly Tower, starting Monday.”

“Good.”

“But it may take several days to get all of them rounded up,” he warned her.

He propped his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand as he watched her brush a strand of silky brown hair from her flawless cheek. He’d have liked nothing more than to touch her soft skin, to run his hands through her hair. The dancing candlelight cast a soft glow on her lovely face, and Brett wondered what it would be like to hold Elena close, to kiss her.

“I understand that it will take several days to speak with everyone,” she said, bringing him out of his delightful musings. She glanced up from making notations on the notepad. “I’d also like to interview some of the employees at Connelly corporate headquarters. They may have information that will aid my investigation.”

“That can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” She glanced at her notes. “Of course, I’ll need to interview you, too.” She gave him a half smile. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t take care of that this evening.”

Heartened by the small gesture, he decided he might not be losing his touch after all. Although it hadn’t been the warmest of expressions, it was a start and gave him something to build on.

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m tired and so are you. Besides, I’m your first interview Monday.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want to throw off my schedule before we even get started, would you?”

She frowned. “I doubt that my taking your statement now will make a difference.”

“Oh, but it would,” he said, trying not to smile. “We wouldn’t be able to enjoy our dinner and I might get indigestion. If I did, it would probably keep me awake tonight and I wouldn’t get anything done tomorrow because of being tired. Then on Sunday I’d have to catch up on all the things I missed doing on Saturday, and…” He tried to affect a pitiful expression. “Well, I think you see how it would throw off my schedule.”

She stared at him for several long seconds before she slowly placed her pen on the table. “Let’s get something straight right now, Mr. Connelly. This isn’t a social—”

Their waiter chose that moment to place a basket of bread sticks on the table. “Good evening, Mr. Connelly. Would you like a wine list?”

When Brett gave her a questioning look, Elena shook her head and smiled up at the man. “No wine for me.”

“A glass of wine will help you relax and take the edge off the day,” Brett said. Turning to the waiter, he added, “Bring two goblets and a bottle of your best wine, Vinnie.”

Elena did a slow burn. Brett obviously had the idea that because he was extraordinarily handsome, very successful and a member of the influential Connelly family, he could control any situation he pleased. Boy, oh boy, was he in for a rude awakening.

Any other woman would probably be down on her hands and knees, thanking the moon and stars that she was dining with the very eligible Brett Connelly. But Elena wasn’t just any woman. Fortunately for her, she was immune to his movie star good looks, his bluer-than-blue eyes and his engaging smile. She’d been down that path before and learned her lesson well. The last thing she wanted to have to deal with was a playboy like her ex-husband.

She started to tell their waiter not to bother bringing a glass for her, but Brett chose that moment to speak to the young man hovering beside him. “And I think we’ll both have a salad with the house dressing and the calamari, Vinnie.”

“Very good choice, sir,” Vinnie said, treating Elena to a grin that said he’d watched Brett in action before.

As soon as the waiter walked away, Elena glared at Brett. “Don’t you think that was a bit presumptuous of you?”

“You don’t like calamari?” he asked, looking shocked. “I thought everyone liked it. If you’d prefer I order something else—”

When he raised his hand to hail Vinnie, she shook her head. “That’s not the point, Mr. Connelly.”

With a recalcitrant lock of wavy black hair hanging low on his forehead and confusion written all over his handsome face, he looked like a little boy who had no idea what he’d done wrong. She almost smiled. She’d bet he didn’t wear that expression very often.

“What is the point, Elena?” He placed his hand on hers where it rested on the top of the table. “And please, call me Brett.”

All thoughts of him looking like an innocent little boy were instantly erased. His warm palm caused the oddest sensation to course through her, and his rich, smooth baritone was releasing a herd of butterflies in her less-than-stable stomach. She quickly snatched her hand away and placed it in her lap. The man deserved every bit of the playboy reputation reported in the society columns. Too bad he was wasting all that charm on her. Thanks to her ex-husband, Michael, she was totally immune to that kind of tactic.

“I told you I didn’t want wine,” she said. The fluttering in her stomach changed to a churning sensation, and her palms turned cold and clammy. “I think it’s time we set some ground rules, Mr. Connelly. I’m not interested in anything but the investigation of your brother’s attempted murder, so you can stop this right here and now.”

One dark brow rose in question as he stared at her. “What makes you think I’m trying to do anything but cooperate with your investigation, Elena?”

“Mr. Connelly—”

“Call me Brett.”

“You steamrolled me into having dinner with you.” She gathered her notepad and pen and jammed them into her shoulder bag. “You decided I could wait to interview you until Monday, then you even went so far as to decide that I’d have wine when I clearly stated that I didn’t want it. Do you see a pattern here, Mr. Connelly?”

“Not really,” he said, mesmerizing her with his guileless blue eyes and sexy-as-sin voice.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” she said, needing to put some distance between herself and Brett Connelly. She quickly rose to her feet, but the room swayed and she had to place her hand on the table to steady herself. “I’m used to being in control and calling the shots when I’m assigned to…an investigation.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, jumping to his feet. To his credit, he looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m…fine.” Elena closed her eyes in an effort to clear her vision. When she opened them again, Brett was standing at her side with his hand beneath her elbow. “It’s been a long trying day, at the end of an exhausting week, Mr. Connelly. I think I’ll skip dinner, catch a cab and go home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No, it isn’t necessary,” Elena said, trying desperately to fight the increasing dizziness. “Please, stay…and enjoy your…dinner.”

Brett studied her for several long moments. He wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he knew for certain Elena suffered from more than just a simple case of exhaustion. Her breathing had become shallow and labored, and her face had become a ghostly white.