The mix of emotions he felt as he told her this was difficult to define.
Fiona’s face tightened and she whispered, ‘How could he treat you like that?’
And Brent realised that for all he’d believed he’d resolved this in his heart and mind long ago, there was still…something there. ‘I—don’t know. I don’t know how he could have done that.’
The glitter in her gaze was anger and other emotions mixed. It made something inside him clench. He curled his fingers because suddenly he wanted to lace them with hers.
‘This explains your ability to concentrate your focus so intensely when you’re producing those amazing landscape designs.’ Fiona drew a determined breath, deliberately seemed to calm herself. ‘I’ve thought that was amazing. Now I understand it.’
She turned Brent on his ear by addressing his condition as though it were of benefit.
God, she was amazing, even if she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. ‘Well—’ Brent realised he was simply sitting there, soaking in her warmth. He would have drawn away from Fiona then. He had to get this back to some kind of ordinary footing before his body started leading the rest of him, short-circuited what his brain knew he had to do, namely leave her alone, and got him in trouble.
‘Please don’t…shift away yet. I need…’ Her words were low, a blend of anger and hurt and heart.
She had a generosity in her nature that Brent couldn’t seem to help responding to.
‘I know…that man revealed something about you that you obviously feel wasn’t my business.’ Her words were low, careful. ‘He had no right to do that, but you can trust me with the knowledge. I’m just…furious about…’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Yet he couldn’t deny his anger and old resentment. ‘I don’t need Charles MacKay’s approval.’
‘Maybe not, but you deserved his love and acceptance.’ Fiona turned to fully face him and all her fury was in her eyes. Her fingers gripped his once again. ‘You probably don’t even want to think about him. We’ll talk about the award. The night we had. It was a good night. You deserved to win. I said you’d get it, didn’t I?’
She probably would have kept going, but he squeezed her fingers and laid them against his thigh and covered her hand with his. Set the award on the floor of the taxi so he could focus solely on her. ‘I dealt with my father dumping me a long time ago.’
‘What happened so that it was only your father making the decision to…stop parenting you?’
To reject Brent? Pass him off into strangers’ hands because he didn’t want to deal with a child who was different? ‘My mother died. I was young. All I remember was he couldn’t cope with my issues. Now he’s got the problem that I grew up, made something of myself, and he doesn’t want to have to acknowledge my existence.’
‘He’s the one who should be ashamed to exist.’ Fiona uttered the words and let him see in her gaze all she was feeling. Her protectiveness towards him that was so sweet when he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.
Yet something down inside him admitted it would be nice. To have a woman’s care.
Well, he couldn’t do that, could he? He couldn’t let himself care or wish to be cared for. Brent could take the hard knocks of life. But setting himself up for the embarrassment of rejection because of his condition—
That was one ‘been there, done that’ he didn’t want to repeat.
Are you sure it’s only about that, MacKay?
Tension pooled at the base of Brent’s neck and he frowned. Of course he was certain. What else would there be?
‘Here we are.’ The driver’s voice interrupted Brent’s thoughts and he realised they’d arrived at Fiona’s block of flats.
Brent still had Fiona’s fingers pressed to his thigh, could feel their warmth. Her body remained pressed to his. Consciousness of her swept over Brent then, and pushed past his guardedness about his condition. His instincts took over and at this moment his autism didn’t come into it. Brent’s hand caressed over Fiona’s. His fingers stroked hers.
A dozen different thoughts buzzed in Fiona’s head, with as many accompanying emotions.
When Brent instructed the driver to wait, climbing from the taxi with her to start the short journey to her flat, those thoughts distilled into pure feeling. The touch of his fingers at her elbow as he guided her along the path, up the staircase and along the balcony that led to her flat.
The beat of her blood in her veins as she tried to decide whether to invite him in, say goodnight, talk about their night, the award, the good parts of the evening.
Of all of it, the trip back here in the taxi with their bodies close to each other had been the best. And for her, she had to admit, the most emotional.
His father had rejected him, abandoned him, all because Brent had a condition he had learned to live with and, indeed, to use to his advantage in business, in his work. His uniqueness only made him all the more appealing.
And right now he had his hand at her elbow and Fiona’s heart was beating a little faster because…she liked that touch.
Liked it too much for her safety? Attraction, that was easy to deal with, but was she more than attracted? Were her emotions involved? Because she really mustn’t let that be the case.
He was her boss. She should say goodnight and walk inside…‘Brent, thank you for tonight—’
‘Thank you for attending the Awards ceremony with me.’ He paused. ‘You got more than you bargained for with our exchange of a family night for the Awards night.’
‘My family situation isn’t even worth words in comparison to what happened tonight.’ She shook her head. How could she even think her paltry difficulties with her family mattered now? ‘Brent, I just don’t know how to comfort—’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’ Though he interrupted her, he did it gently, wrapping his fingers around hers where she’d been toying with her keys. ‘My past is what it is. I’ve moved on from it.’
‘Maybe, but you went on trying to conceal a part of yourself that you shouldn’t worry about that way.’ She bit her lip. Her breath stuttered in her throat and she whispered, ‘I can’t talk—’
About it any more? Brent certainly didn’t want to.
‘Then we won’t talk.’ He uttered the words with an accepting edge. ‘I’d rather do this, anyway.’ He bent his head to hers.
Touched his lips to hers.
A soft, seeking, giving and taking exchange. Lips to lips. How could it be all of this between them? And yet, somewhere inside herself, Fiona had wanted and needed his kiss and not even known how much she did.
Now she knew.
A taste of delight and sweetness and desire and pleasure. Her fingers wrapped around his forearms, and his hands were about her waist.
It felt good and right to have his mouth over hers, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her waist. For a few wonderful moments, she lived in the sensations of kissing him.
His mouth caressed hers as though he needed and wanted to kiss her this way. Their gazes were locked, his lashes dusky crescents that fanned against his cheeks as he focused wholly on her. And then those lashes swept down fully and her eyes closed too, and it was all sensation and feeling and the beat of her heart in her breast and the spread of such warmth all through her.
That warmth told its own story. She had invested emotionally in him, at least to a degree,