Sentimental Journey Page 6

  The floor seemed to rock beneath her feet. Tipping, her head back to look at his malely defined face, Jessica was reminded again that Brodie got what he wanted, one way or another. Resistance seemed futile.

  "Shall we have lunch?" he asked, as if suggesting it for the first time.

  All she had to do was refuse. Since he had revealed his knowledge of her previous deception, she felt trapped. She was honor bound to go with him. Reluctantly she nodded agreement.

  Brodie stepped away and held the door to the outer office open for her. Flipping her blond hair free of the coat collar, Jessica Swept past him. She paused at the receptionist's desk, trying to ignore the imposing man accompanying her.

  "If anyone calls, I've gone to lunch. Be sure to leave that envelope for the printer," she instructed. "I'll be back around one o'clock."

  "Maybe," Brodie inserted.

  Before Jessica could contradict him, he was ushering her outside. The last thing that registered was the faintly envious gleam in the receptionist's eyes. Silently she acknowledged that Brodie was capable of turning heads. He had caught her attention when they had both been waiting at the crosswalk. Because he had seemed familiar, she had continued to stare at him that time, but it had definitely been his commanding male presence that had first drawn her eye. So it really wasn't so surprising that Ann had been drawn by it, too.

  "I thought we'd have lunch at the railway station," Brodie said as he helped Jessica into his car parked at the curb. "Is that all right?"

  "Fine," she agreed with an indifferent air that said she didn't care where they lunched.

  There was no further attempt at conversation as Brodie negotiated the luxury car through the city traffic and onto the street where the renovated railroad station of the Chattanooga Choo-Choo was located.

  "I suppose you've eaten here many times before," Brodie commented after they had parked the car in the lot and entered the station remodeled to house assorted shops and restaurants.

  "Not recently," she replied coolly.

  "I hope you don't mind coming here." He led her to the high-ceilinged restaurant. "I've never been here before—I couldn't afford it."

  It was an offhand statement, without apology, that instantly reminded Jessica of his background. He handled his new status with the ease of one who had been accustomed to having everything he wanted ail his life. She was forced to remember that it hadn't always been so. Brodie had fought his way to the top and shouldn't he underestimated.

  The tables in the restaurant were nearly all full, mostly with tourists. Within minutes, Brodie had persuaded the hostess to find them a table at the window with a view of the gardens. The sun glared through the skylight. Jessica had just opened her menu when the waiter appeared.

  "Two glasses of white wine, please. We'll order later." Brodie set his menu aside.

  "I do have to be back by one," Jessica stated.

  "It won't hurt if you're late," he insisted with infuriating complacency.

  She gritted her teeth for an instant. "I know you believe that because my employer is also my uncle, I can come and go as I please, but that doesn't happen to he true. I have work to do, work that I'm paid to do."

  "Your uncle is not going to object if you take a longer lunch today." He paused as the waiter brought their wine. "Especially since you're lunching with me. After all, I'm a new client and my account with your uncle's firm promises to be very large."

  "That's another thing," Jessica seized on that. "What was all that nonsense about me persuading you to bring the Janson account to us? I had nothing to do with it."

  "Don't be naive, Jessica." His mouth curved above the rim of the wine glass. "You had everything to do with it. You're the reason, the only reason, I ordered Janson to have Dane handle the advertising."

  Jessica swallowed, his bluntness throwing her again. "Why me?" God, she didn't know why she asked that question. She'd give anything to have it back.

  "Because you have blond hair and green eyes. Because you're a woman I want to get to know…very well." The slight hesitation was designed to underline the last two words. Their message was unmistakable. Jessica felt the blood rush hotly through her veins. His observant blue eyes noted her reaction. "Hasn't a man ever made a pass at you before?" Brodie mocked cruelly.

  "Of course." She tried to shrug away his question with a worldliness she didn't feel at the moment. Self-consciously, she fingered the stem of her wine glass.

  "And?" he prompted.

  "And what?" Jessica tried to appear nonchalant.

  "And what would you do if I made a pass at you?"

  A table separated them. Yet the way he was looking at her made her feel he was making love to her in his mind. She could almost feel the caress of his hands causing the curling sensation in the pit of her stomach, and it awakened a primitive hunger that had nothing to do with food.

  "I guess you'll have to wait and find out." She clung to her air of bravado, despite the fact that she was rawly vulnerable.

  "I'll look forward to it. But don't worry." He smiled lazily. "I'm not going to rush you."

  "Am I supposed to be grateful that you warned me?" she retorted.

  "Do you consider it a warning?" An eyebrow quirked thoughtfully. "I thought it was a promise."

  "We'd better order." Jessica picked up her menu, finding she was no match for him in this battle of innuendoes.

  "You've eaten here before." Brodie didn't object to her suggestion. "What would you recommend?"

  "Since I'm not familiar with your tastes. I can't help you." She refused to look up from the menu, her pulse was running away with her.

  "But you know my tastes. I want only the best. Nothing less will do." His disconcerting blue gaze was leveled at her, and she sensed that he wasn't referring to food.

  "My definition of that might differ from yours. You'll have to choose for yourself," she insisted. "I'm going to have the chef's salad."

  Brodie motioned the waiter to their table, gave him Jessica's order and his own for a rare steak. As raw as she felt, she thought his choice was somehow fitting. It was even more nerve-racking to know that he was aware of what he was doing to her.

  "Don't you care for the wine?" Brodie asked.

  Jessica had yet to take a sip of it. "I generally don't care to have anything to drink during the day."

  "But this is a special occasion."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're here together, you and I." He took a drink from his glass and set it down. "I was beginning to think there would always be an appointment, a telephone call to make, something to prevent me from seeing you again."

  "Really?" she murmured.

  "Do you mean you didn't expect to hear from me before today?" His question was faintly taunting.

  "I didn't think about you at all," Jessica lied.

  "Did you really believe I wouldn't be back to claim a good-night kiss?" His gaze slid to her lips and Jessica had to fight an impulse to moisten them.

  "Isn't there something else we can discuss?" she demanded in irritation while her ringers nervously traced a circle around the rim of her wine glass.

  "Something of lesser importance such as the weather?" Brodie asked.

  "I don't care what it is. The weather or the cost of a loaf of bread, it makes no difference," Jessica breathed out impatiently.

  "Then stop playing with the wine glass like that." Her hand jerked from the glass as if it had suddenly caught fire. She folded her hands in her lap and struggled to regain her momentary loss of poise. Fortunately, their waiter chose that moment to arrive with their meal, which smoothed over Jessica's sensation of inadequacy.

  Yet it was a relief when each had finished and Brodie signaled the waiter for their check. She, who had thought herself so experienced, had discovered that she didn't know how to handle this man. Brodie was in control, directing events, conversations and feelings.

  As they left the restaurant, Jessica started toward the exit to the parking lot, but the pressure of
Brodie's hand forestalled her.

  "You still have plenty of time to get back to the office. Why don't we wander through the shops?" he suggested smoothly.

  She hesitated. The trouble was he was right. It was well before one o'clock yet. Still she attempted to wiggle out of it.

  "They just have the usual assortment of things," she said, shrugging.

  He raised an eyebrow. "A woman who doesn't care to browse? That's rare."

  He made it sound like a compliment. Out of sheer perversity, Jessica turned into the entrance of the first shop, determined to look at every single, item. If he became bored, that was just his tough luck.

  After a short time, it wasn't difficult to pretend an interest in the various items. Jessica was aware of Brodie strolling along behind her, pausing when she stopped to inspect something that had caught her eye, but she did a credible job of ignoring him.

  A pair of candlestick holders carved out of oak particularly attracted her attention. The workmanship in the set was flawless.

  "They're beautiful, aren't they?" she admired them aloud, holding one to more closely examine the intricate carving on the base.

  "Yes, they are," Brodie agreed.

  A few minutes later Jessica moved on to several shelves of pottery. Within seconds, she sensed there was something wrong. She turned around and found she was alone; Brodie was no longer with her. She glanced around the shop and saw him walking away from the cash register, carrying a package. A furrow of puzzled curiosity drew her brows together as he approached her.

  "For you." Brodie offered her the package and added the explanation, "The candlestick holders you liked."

  Her gaze jumped from the package to his chiseled features. "But I didn't mean that I wanted you to buy them for me."

  "I know you didn't." He forced the package into her hand. "But I wanted you to have them."

  Jessica unfastened the clasp of her bag and, with one hand, tried to find her wallet. "I'll pay for them."

  His hand curved along the side of her neck, his thumb forcing her chin up. "Didn't your parents teach you how to accept a present graciously?" he chided. "You smile very prettily and say 'thank you.'"

  He touched her without a trace of self-consciousness. It was done with such ease, so naturally, as if he was long accustomed to treating her so familiarly. The sensations his touch created were not familiar to Jessica.

  "My parents did teach me not to take candy from strangers," she offered in defense, fighting the breathlessness that changed her voice.

  His intensely blue gaze commanded that she look at him. "But we won't be strangers for long, Jessica."

  It became easier to surrender than struggle against a superior force. "Thank you. They're beautiful," she accepted the gift with stiff gratitude.

  "Now the smile," Brodie prodded. Only when she gave it to him did he take his hand away from the slender curve in her throat. "Shall we go look at the model-train display?"

  "Yes," Jessica agreed readily with his suggestion.

  Although the pressure of his hand had been in no way threatening, the sensation of danger faded when it was taken away. Her heart continued to beat at an uneven tempo, but she didn't feel quite as weak as she had a minute before.

  Leaving the gift shop, they walked outside onto the platform of the old train depot to the store with the model-train display. The display, which occupied almost an entire room, was a scale model of Chattanooga, complete with train, tracks, tunnels, bridges and detailed structures to scale. Miniature trees forested a replica of Lookout Mountain. Houses had clotheslines and there were women hanging clothes.

  As the model trains, passenger cars and locomotives, raced around the tracks, barely missing each other at switching stations and crossings, there was always some new facet to see. It captured the imagination of young and old alike.

  "It's fascinating, isn't it?" Jessica watched the precise timing that miraculously avoided any crashes of locomotives. "Justin had a model train set up in his room. Nothing as large as this, of course. His was built on a wooden table. Whenever he had it running, he used to let me come in and watch. He always insisted I was too young to operate it."

  "When you were old enough, I imagine you became more interested in boys, pop stars, and girl talk than model trains," Brodie concluded.

  "Something like that," she admitted.

  A little boy's voice echoed clearly through the room. "Can I have that, daddy?" His arm swept out to indicate the entire display.

  "We don't have a room large enough for it," the man holding him answered. "But maybe Santa can bring you one train for Christmas. Is that all right?"

  "Will it make smoke like that one?" the boy pointed.

  "Yes, it will make smoke," the father agreed.

  "That's okay, then. Santa can bring me that." The boy accepted the compromise offer.

  A smile tugged at the corners of Jessica's mouth. "I'll bet every child that sees this wants a train for Christmas." She glanced up at Brodie through the sweep of her lashes, idly curious. "Did Santa ever bring you a train for Christmas, one that blows smoke?"

  "No, I never did get a train." He shook his head briefly, his black hair gleaming. "But there were a lot of Christmases that Santa didn't make it to our house. I'm not sure whether it was because we were too poor or because I was a bad boy."

  Rather than comment on his background, Jessica chose a facetious remark. "Santa always knows who's been good or bad."

  "He certainly knows that I didn't make my father's life any easier." His hands were braced on the railing that cordoned off the public from the display. "My father used to work for the railroad."

  "He did?" Jessica was glad he had changed the subject. The memory of her brother saying that Brodie was no good was still very clear in her mind.

  "Yes. He was hurt in a derailment when I was about five and ended up partially disabled. He never was able to get enough part-time work to combine with his pension to give us enough to live on, and he was too damned proud to go on welfare, so we went without a lot of things."

  "What was your father like?" She tried to visualize an older version of Brodie, but had difficulty picturing a disabled man when Brodie was so vital and robust.

  "Stubborn, proud. The one thing he couldn't tolerate was failure. In the end, he was a broken man." His gaze narrowed on the miniature tracks of the display. "He couldn't work at the job he loved—the railroad. His wife had run out on him. His son brought him pain instead of hope."

  "I'm sorry, Brodie." This time Jessica wasn't offering empty words. "He would have been proud of you today."

  "Yes." Brodie straightened from the rail, his action indicating that he was ready to leave the model-train display. "But it didn't work out that way."

  She marveled that he could accept it so calmly, but he'd had more time to adjust to it. He'd had to put the remorse behind him and carry on with his life, while she was just tasting the bitter pangs of disappointment on his behalf for the first time.

  They wandered outside again, onto the platform. The locomotive of the famed Chattanooga Choo-Choo waited on Track 29 of the 1905 Terminal Station. A collection of dining cars and sleeping-parlor cars occupied more mock tracks within the center.

  "Have you ever eaten in one of the dining cars?" Brodie asked when Jessica slowed her steps for a closer look at one.

  "No." She smiled wryly. "Isn't that typical? You never take advantage of attractions in your own hometown."

  "True," he agreed.

  "My intentions have been good, but I've never been able to get reservations on the night I wanted to go." She shrugged at the thwarted opportunities.

  "We'll both have to correct this oversight, since I've never dined there, either. I'll make reservations to dine here some evening when I'm in town."

  He was taking her acceptance for granted, something Jessica couldn't allow. "As long as I happen to be free the same evening."

  "Of course," he said with a look that expressed confidence that she woul
d be available.

  They continued to stroll along the platform. As they approached a group of tourists occupying much of the platform, Brodie's hand moved to a spot between Jessica's shoulders to guide her through the throng. The vaguely possessive touch sent quivers down her spine, especially when his hand slid downward to the back of her waist.

  "I understand the parlor cars are actually rented out. Couples can spend the night in them," Brodie commented.

  "That's true. I've seen pictures of the interior. They're beautiful—Victorian furniture, brass beds." Jessica told him.

  "When I make our dinner reservations, maybe I should reserve us a sleeping car." His sideways glance inspected her face.

  Jessica felt it grow warm. "No, thank you."

  "Does the thought of making love embarrass you?" Again his candor unnerved her. "Or isn't it proper for women of breeding to discuss such things?"

  She didn't want to answer either question. She was on treacherous footing. The Sooner she reached solid ground, the better off she would be.

  "It must be time for me to get back to the office," she offered desperately.

  Brodie glanced at his watch and mocked, "So it is. Always the conscientious employee, aren't you?"

  "I earn my salary." She refused to sound righteous.

  They turned and started back for the parking lot. "And do you work Saturdays, as well?"

  "No, the office is closed on Saturdays." Her steps quickened.

  "That doesn't mean you don't work. Officially, the office may be closed, but there still may be work to do," he reasoned.

  "So far I haven't had to work on Saturday," was the only answer Jessica could give.

  "What do you do, then? Play tennis? Golf? Swim?"

  "It depends."

  "What will you be doing this Saturday?" Brodie asked.

  "I don't have anything special planned." Immediately Jessica realized she had fallen into another one of his traps.

  "In that case, we can plan something together," he decided.