Bree’s eyes twinkled with an excitement she seemed eager to hide as she surveyed her carefully loaded plate. She picked up her utensils. “Everything smells so good.”
“Tastes even better. Dig in. Don’t be shy.” He couldn’t peel his gaze from her face long enough to carve his own steak, afraid to miss her reaction.
Bree took a bite. An appreciative moan signaled her approval. The deeply erotic, guttural sound triggered an involuntary twitch below his belt. “This is probably the best steak I’ve ever had. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom is an amazing cook. Taught me everything I know.” He took a bite of the steak. It was tender and succulent. Seasoned to perfection. His mother would be proud.
“It’s good she taught you to be self-sufficient. It’s no picnic being with someone who isn’t.” Her brows knitted, as if a bad memory flashed through her brain.
“Something you know from experience, I gather.” Wes sipped of his beer. He didn’t want to delve deeper into her obvious pain. Yet a part of him was curious.
Bree took a generous gulp from her wineglass. “It was a long time ago.”
He took the hint and changed the subject. “So how’s Rebecca’s shoulder? I read somewhere she’d be sidelined for at least four months.”
“Could be a little longer. She’s going stir-crazy, but her physical therapy is coming along.”
“Good.” He put butter and sour cream on his potato. “Dealing with an injury can be tough. Especially late in an athlete’s career.”
“Were you a soccer player, like Liam?” She dug in to her potato, already smothered in butter and sour cream.
“No, rugby was my sport.”
“Amateur or professional?”
“I played at university, then on a lower tier regional league. Definitely wasn’t in it for the money.” He took another swig of his beer.
“Is rugby as rough as they say?”
“Worse. Got half a dozen injuries to prove it.”
“Were you hurt badly?”
Wes winced inwardly at the memory of his last injury, but shrugged nonchalantly. “Sprains and broken bones. Typical injuries in a high-contact sport.”
“Is that why you quit?” She took another sip of her wine, her expressive brown eyes trained on him.
“Never really had a passion for the game. It was something to do in university and I was good at it. Mostly, it was a great way to blow off steam.”
“Let me guess, you were the misunderstood rebel type.” She speared a piece of steak and pointed her fork at him, then put the morsel in her mouth. His eyes followed the motion. He envied that morsel of beef as she savored it, her full lips pursed as she chewed.
“What gave it away?” He chuckled as she eyed the tattoo sleeve on his right arm, part of a large tribal tattoo that also encompassed the right side of his chest and back. “I didn’t consider myself a rebel. Too cliché. On the surface, I was a pretty affable guy. Had a lot of anger pent up inside. Rugby seemed like the best way to release it.”
Wes cut into his steak and took another bite, chastising himself. He’d invited Bree to dinner to repair the damage he’d caused and build a working relationship. Not to tell her his entire life story.
He seldom discussed his past with the women he dated. And never with the women with whom he did business. He preferred to stick to the casual overview. Fish-out-of-water Southern boy raised in London was usually enough.
So why had he cracked open the door to his past to Bree?
Because there was something about her that put him at ease. Made him feel like he could let down his guard. It was the thing he remembered most about that night. He was attracted to her, of course. She was Bree Evans. Tall. Gorgeous. Miles of smooth, glistening skin the shade of brown sugar. Provocative, yet sweet. She was laid-back and genuine with a smile that could convince an Eskimo to buy a truckload of ice. No wonder sponsors fell all over themselves to get her to endorse their products. Lip gloss, facial cleanser, breakfast cereal and workout contraptions.
Keep your head in the game, buddy. This isn’t a date. You’re only trying to create some goodwill.
She broke in to his thoughts with a tentative question. “What was it you were so angry about?”
“Life, I guess. The guys I attended boarding school with had the perfect life handed to them on a silver platter. I didn’t.” He shrugged. “It bugged me.”
“Me, too.” She was quiet, contemplative. “I was the scholarship kid at an elite private school.” She winced, as if the memory caused her physical pain. “Took three buses to get there every morning, but I got an incredible education and a full ride to college because of it. Most importantly, that’s where I fell in love with volleyball. That school changed my life, and I’m grateful for it.”
“But...” There was something she wasn’t saying. The unspoken words were so heavy and dense, they practically hung in the air between them. He should’ve ignored them, but the word tripped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
“It was hard being thrust into a completely different world. Especially for a gangly girl who wasn’t quite sure where she fit in. Who wanted to be liked.”
“How could anyone not like Bree Evans, the quintessential girl next door?” He smiled.
Bree glowered at him, then dug in to her potato. “You’d be surprised,” she muttered.
Dammit. He walked right into that one. He wanted to make her forget what an ass he’d been. Now they’d come full circle right back to that night. His gut churned from the hurt in her brown eyes, when she raised them to his again.
“Look, about that night—”
Bree waved his words off as she shook her head. “It wasn’t the right time for you. I know. I’d rather not talk about it.”
Fine. It wasn’t like the conversation was his idea of a good time, either. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he sure as hell didn’t.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Bree engaged him in small talk about the surprisingly mild weather and her lunch with Liam and few of the locals. He nodded politely and responded appropriately. But he couldn’t ignore the pain in her eyes, knowing he’d caused it.
He was his own worst enemy. Always had been.
“The time wasn’t right because, for me, it never is. Not for anything serious. I’m focused on expanding my business, so I don’t get seriously involved with anyone. Ever.”
He studied her face, gauging her reaction and whether he should go further. Her lips were pressed into a straight line, her expression devoid of emotion.
Wes pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “When the night began, it seemed we were on the same page, but then... I don’t know. It felt like you wanted more. That’s not something I can give you. That’s why I didn’t call. Not because I don’t like you. Because I like you too much to start something I can’t finish.”
Bree drained what was left of her second glass of wine. “Thank you for being so honest and for being so very considerate of my feelings. But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She stood. “Thank you for dinner, but it’s getting late. I’d better get back.”
“Brianna, don’t go. We were having a lovely dinner. I didn’t mean to spoil the mood, but I don’t want you to feel as if I rejected you. That wasn’t it at all.”
“I think I’m still a bit jet-lagged.” Bree was a terrible liar, but he applauded her effort to remain civil. She took her dishes to the kitchen.
“I’ll