Learning Curves

Chapter Eleven





They rode to the country club in near silence. Brandon tried to get her to talk a few times but other than offering perfunctory yes or no answers, Leanne hadn’t been in the mood to chat.

Her mind still reeled from her confrontation with June. She could hardly wrap her head around the woman’s accusations. She made it sound as if Leanne was some sort of unmitigated snob. She was well aware of her shortcomings, thank you very much, but never in her entire life had anyone dared accuse her of being wrapped up in appearances. That was Gillian’s bag, not hers. And she had never, in the remotest possible way, had anything in common with Gillian.

After all, what could be more public than Brandon accompanying her to this dinner? And she’d even invited him to meet her friends. Hardly the actions of a woman ashamed.

She had reasons—valid reasons!—for keeping her relationship with Brandon quiet, but they had nothing to do with embarrassment or his profession. It was just easier for both of them. Wanting to avoid disturbing their carefully balanced lives wasn’t cowardice.

Right?

Errr…

As she made the turn into the country club’s oak-flanked drive, she felt a shiver of apprehension. Leanne handed her keys to the valet and stepped into the cold night air. She cleared her throat and Brandon turned.

“About tonight…” she began, wondering how she could ever hope to explain the minefield into which Brandon was about to step. Her uneasy relationship with her mother? The bride-to-be?

She lowered her head to her hands and stifled a groan. What the heck had she been thinking, inviting Brandon here? As her date. She must be a glutton for punishment.

“Leanne,” he said, his low voice deep and reassuring. “I understood when you asked me.”

“You did?” He understood how difficult this was for her, coming face-to-face with the proof that she never measured up against her mother’s impossible standards?

“Sure I do. You asked me to come tonight because we’re friends and you needed someone to act as your date.” He took her cold hands in his, rubbing them gently. “It may seem hard to believe, but I do know how to behave in polite society.”

“I know that.”

“So I want you to take a deep breath and let yourself relax. We’ll get through the evening together. I promise it’ll be okay.” He leaned his head close to her ear and whispered, “And no matter how nicely anyone asks, I’ll only take my clothes off for you if there’s dancing.”

She laughed, the sound a little wheezy. The reassurance in his voice melted away the knot of panic twisting in the pit of her stomach. He’d see for himself she wasn’t the sexually adventurous and flirty woman he’d known this past week. Despite her academic achievements, her mother and her friends always made her feel as though she was doing something wrong with her life. Tonight, she’d enjoy showing them something she’d gotten right.

She plastered a bright smile on her face. He squeezed her hand and a warm flood of longing washed over Leanne’s body. Not sharp, driving lust but tenderness miles removed from their usual reckless passion. Even in the bright lights of the lobby, his fingers wrapped around hers felt dangerously intimate.

More worryingly, it felt surprisingly natural to be walking with him hand in hand.

“Well, that’s a relief. Because I kept waiting for you fling yourself out of the car when you realized just what you’d gotten yourself into.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said. For a moment, Leanne wished that it might be true.

Following the signs to the Fields-Saunders Rehearsal Dinner, they made their way across the club’s plush carpet. Brandon’s hand still held hers captive. She cast a questioning glance at him and looked down pointedly at their entwined fingers. Brandon simply smiled, revealing one of his dimples.

“I believe in doing things thoroughly.”

Before she could process his startling words, he pulled the door open and led them into the private dining room. The room was dotted with well-dressed groups of dinner guests, and waitstaff circulated with trays filled with champagne flutes. Her father hurried forward with a hearty greeting. “Leanne, Brandon. I’m so glad you could both make it.”

Drawing them forward, he began to conduct them around the room, stopping to introduce Brandon to Gillian’s parents.

“Barb, Paul, I’d like you to meet Leanne’s new boyfriend, Brandon Myles.”

Leanne opened her mouth to correct her father’s mistake, but before she could speak, Brandon extending his free hand and shook their hands, offering his congratulations on their daughter’s approaching nuptials.

Aunt Barb smiled coyly, her meticulously preserved face agog at the sight of her bookish goddaughter flanked by such a gorgeous man. She wagged a disapproving finger.

“Leanne, you’ve been holding out on us.”

Leanne smiled and settled for a noncommittal shrug. “It’s good to see you, Aunt Barb. How’s everything going with the wedding plans?”

Barbara launched into a saga of incompetent florists, misdirected calla lilies and a venue snafu that had seen the kitchens planning for a dairy-free meal when she’d specifically requested gluten-free.

Through the endless litany, Brandon kept Leanne’s fingers firmly entwined between his, his face never displaying a moment’s impatience.

“But Gillian’s been an angel through the whole process,” Barb finally concluded. “We’re all just so excited to welcome Jeremy into the family.”

“I’m sure.”

“But here I’ve been, monopolizing the conversation. So tell me, any big days in your future? I know your mom would love to help plan a big wedding herself, you know.”

Oh God. Kill me now.

This was why Leanne avoided weddings. It was bad enough having to attend on your own but when you brought a date, everyone asked intrusive questions about your future together as a couple.

But before she could work up a convincing lie, her father interjected. “I probably should make sure I introduce Brandon to Sandra.”

His eyes danced with merriment. Her father knew exactly how eager she was to escape Barb’s inquisition.

“Yes, that sounds good,” she said, ignoring the conspiratorial glance that passed between her dad and her date. But she feigned nonchalance and soon found herself trailing along as her father repeated the introductions to Jeremy’s parents, the entire wedding party and finally her mother.

“Sandy,” her dad called. “Come and I’ll introduce you to Brandon.”

Mom turned from her tête-à-tête with the bride and groom to gaze upon the newest arrivals. Her expression clearly reflected displeasure at being upstaged by her husband’s previous knowledge of this new romance.

“Hello, darling,” her mother said, giving her a restrained hug and taking the opportunity to correct an errant curl. “I was wondering when I’d finally get to meet this new mystery man of yours. Your father has been raving about his dinner out with the three of you all week. I guess you were too busy with school to keep me up to date on your life.” She sighed dramatically and Leanne fought an urge to bolt.

“And you must Leanne’s new boyfriend.”

“Brandon Myles. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Galloway,” Brandon said politely. Leanne noted he carefully avoided confirming the title with his noncommittal greeting.

“Brandon.” Her father interrupted the uncomfortable silence. “You don’t have a drink. What can I get you? Leanne?”

“Rye and Coke.”

“White wine for me, Dad.”

“Lovely. I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry,” Leanne said as she watched her father make his way to the open bar. It sounded more like a fervent prayer than a polite request.



Brandon hadn’t missed the resemblance between Leanne and her father when they’d met at the theater. His eyes, his kind smile, his intelligent gaze all evident in his daughter’s face. But now, seeing Leanne next to her mother, he could see from whom she’d inherited her grace and dark beauty.

He studied the middle-aged woman standing across from him. Instead of Leanne’s riotous curls, her hair was cut short and carefully styled. She moved with the agility of the dancer her husband claimed she’d been in her younger days, and her figure was still trim and attractive.

But it was in her eyes and hands that he saw the greatest resemblance between mother and daughter. They shared the same deep brown eyes, wide and almond shaped, and her hands displayed the same the same slim-fingered elegance.

She’d shaken his hand politely enough, he supposed, but there’d been no mistaking her top-to-bottom appraisal. She taken in everything, from his shined shoes to his pressed dress shirt, and though her eyes had narrowed, she contained their conversation to wedding chitchat.

“Have you met the happy couple yet?”

“No, although Larry introduced us to Paul and Barbara earlier.”

“I’ve known Barb for more than forty years. Gillian’s like a second daughter to Larry and me.”

Beside him, Leanne stiffened, her fingers tightening around his palm, but she didn’t dispute her mother’s claim.

“It certainly sounds like it’s going to be a very nice wedding,” he replied diplomatically.

“Barb never does anything by half measures, and Paul’s real estate success means she never has to.

“Let me introduce you. It looks like Larry’s going to be a while getting your drinks.” She turned, and Brandon and Leanne followed dutifully until she was standing beside a tall man and a glamorous woman in dizzying heels with a perfect, model-like figure.

The couple turned and the man smiled widely. “Sandra. Great to see you again.”

Planting a kiss on the groom-to-be’s cheek, she embraced Gillian with familiarity.

“Aunt Sandy,” Gillian enthused. “And Leanne. How nice.”

That it was anything but nice for either Leanne or Gillian was clear to Brandon but Sandra Galloway seemed immured to the tension simmering between the two young women.

“Jeremy, I know you’ve met my daughter, Leanne, before.”

“Many times. How are you?”

“Very well, thanks, Jeremy.”

“And this is my daughter’s friend, Brandon Myles.”

“Jeremy Fields.”

Brandon shook the other man’s hand, keeping his expression neutral when a Rolex peeped out from his immaculate French cuff. He’d bet a night of tips that Jeremy hadn’t picked the timepiece up for forty bucks at the nearest flea market. Not bad for someone who couldn’t be more than thirty-one or thirty-two.

“And our lovely goddaughter, Gillian.”

Brandon recognized her from the photo on the card she’d slipped him at the club. In person, she was even prettier than the tiny image had suggested. Her blond hair was styled into long, tousled curls. Her makeup played up her wide blue eyes. Her turquoise dress looked expensive and displayed an enticing amount of cleavage. Overall, the entire package had been meticulously crafted to convey an undeniable aura of sex appeal.

But her effort was wasted on Brandon. She’d shown her true colors when she tried to hire his services. Her readiness to betray the man she was about to marry didn’t sit well with him. Of course, he doubted she’d ever connect him with the dancer who stripped at her bachelorette party.

If Jeremy’s besotted look was any indication, she’d gone to great pains to hide her true nature from her fiancé and succeeded. But the eyeliner and mascara couldn’t mask the predatory light in her eyes. He’d seen her type too many times.

Gillian quickly went on the offensive, smiling in a too-bright manner. “Leanne, what a dark horse you are. You didn’t mention you were bringing anyone to tonight’s dinner.” She turned to Sandra and smiled at her godmother. “Lee was so down Saturday night, Aunt Sandy, whenever she talked about the wedding. But I’m glad you found someone who didn’t mind coming out with you tonight. That’s so nice of your friend.”

Brandon’s hackles rose at Gillian’s sarcasm, her pointed emphasis making it clear she’d judged him nothing more than a pity date. He waited to see just how Leanne’s mother would react to the slight against her daughter. To his surprise, she seemed oblivious to the insult, launching in to one of her own.

“Well, it was good of you to invite Leanne, sweetie. She doesn’t get out much.” Sandra frowned as she weighed her daughter’s classically styled dress against Gillian’s over-the-top ensemble.

Brandon was startled. He’d always assumed that his dysfunctional family was fundamentally different from the loving, unbroken ones he’d looked at so wistfully as a child. The obvious love and affection he’d seen between father and daughter beguiled him into thinking Leanne’s family life had been idyllic and without turmoil.

It wasn’t his place to jump in and defend Leanne. It would be presumptuous of him and, knowing her fierce sense of independence, unwelcome. But he could barely believe his ears, listening to the two women speak about Leanne as if she wasn’t even there. Anger on her behalf choked him; he glanced to see how she was handling this provocation.

He grew angrier still. She seemed to have shrunk into herself. Her shoulders were tight and clenched, the humor usually so evident in her face absent. She looked less insulted than resigned, and that fired his indignation more than anything else.

Could her own mother be so oblivious that she couldn’t discern what an amazing woman Leanne was? How vibrant and how effortlessly classy? Was she blind or just jealous? He wanted to growl “Open your goddamn eyes, take another look,” but even as the impulse flashed across his mind, he knew he didn’t have the right. Whatever there was between Leanne and himself—a friendship, a transient sexual charge or…something else entirely—it was only a temporary arrangement. He strongly suspected that she would take a very dim view of his chivalry.

Screw it.

He didn’t care if he stepped over the line. Leanne deserved better than to listen to these two lambast her style, her personality and her inability to attract a boyfriend.

“It’s kind of you to be concerned, Gillian,” he interjected, lifting Leanne’s hand, her fingers still entwined with his, into view. “But actually, Leanne and I have been seeing each other for a while. She didn’t bring it up Saturday night because she wanted the focus to be on you. After all, you’re only a bride once,” he said, pausing before adding, “usually.” He grinned to show he was joking and Jeremy, reaching out to squeeze his intended affectionately, laughed loudly.

His barb may have escaped the groom’s notice but Gillian’s eyes burned with anger at his clever slur. He saw Leanne’s lips twitch, and he felt a surprising sense of satisfaction.

Jeremy leaned forward, his manner open and friendly. “Well, that’s super. Leanne’s a great girl. How’d you meet?” He placed a loving kiss against his fiancée’s temple. She inclined her head, acknowledging the gesture, but her cold eyes never left Brandon’s face.

“Grad school, actually. We’re both students at Wellington.”

Sandra looked surprised and Leanne laughed, the husky sound sending a shiver of attraction down his spine that he did his best to ignore. Now was not the time to get sidetracked by his overactive libido. But just standing next to Leanne, her distinctive floral scent teasing his senses, made focusing on the chitchat difficult.

“I did my undergraduate work at Wellington but I got my MBA at Yale.”

“I guess we’re all Wellies, then. What a coincidence,” Gillian said, using the nickname for Wellington alumni. “Of course, I graduated a number of years after Jeremy but I still I keep in touch with so many friends from those days. After all, in my field, personal connections are so important. I’m determined to crack the top twenty-five in regional sales next year.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the top ten, sweetie,” said Sandra supportively. Leanne rolled her eyes discreetly, her mother’s preference clearly coming as no great shock.

Leanne spoke suddenly. “And your sorority sisters? Do you keep in touch with them too?”

The comment seemed innocuous enough but Gillian froze for a moment, as though startled by the question, but recovered quickly, although her eyes were glacial as she looked across the circle to where Brandon and Leanne stood.

“Of course I do,” she said sharply. “What kind of silly question is that? Delta Delta Phi forever.” She laughed and took a sip of champagne, but she seemed a little less sure of herself now and kept throwing speculative glances toward Leanne, as if trying to discern her intent.

Jeremy nodded. “Gill’s not the only one with her eye on the prize, though, Sandra. Didn’t I see something about you in the latest alumni magazine?”

“There was a profile in the October issue. I guess they ran it because I was short-listed for the Walters Prize.”

“Impressive.” Jeremy congratulated her and Brandon felt a spurt of jealousy at the honest goodwill in his voice. Gillian scowled too, as though unhappy with the friendly praise her fiancé offered. “When do you hear the results?”

“Not until after the public interview next week. I present to the committee on Tuesday.”

“Yes, Leanne’s always been a good student,” her mother offered and Brandon felt heartened by her support until she added, “Just make sure you wear something nice, with strong colors. And don’t forget to smile. A good smile is very important in these kinds of situations.”

Leanne’s lips quirked at the unsolicited advice. Brandon wasn’t sure if a good smile was important in all situations, but right now it was damn distracting, making him think of all the ways he could apply himself to teasing that elusive tilt from her succulent lips.

A lull made Brandon realize he’d missed a good chunk of the conversation. Jeremy was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You were saying?”

“Just asking if you’re in the MBA program. Because they’ve got an excellent program for a midsized university, don’t you agree?” Jeremy rummaged in his breast pocket. Withdrawing a business card, he handed it to Brandon.

Investment banker. No big surprise there. Jeremy’s entire demeanor proclaimed his wealth. Brandon felt a momentary spurt of inadequacy but he quickly smothered it. Everything he’d achieved in his life, he’d earned, and while he didn’t begrudge Jeremy his success, he knew he had nothing to apologize for.

“I wouldn’t really know. I’m not in that field, actually.”

“Brandon’s in the faculty of fine arts.” Leanne spoke up then and Brandon felt an unfamiliar lurch of happiness at her proud defense. “He’s a very talented choreographer, working on his PhD.”

Sandra’s demeanor thawed a few degrees. “I studied ballet before I met Leanne’s father,” she confided. “The choreographer was always the lifeblood of any successful performance. What styles do you work in?”

“I’ve dabbled in all of them at some time or another. Jazz, ballet, even some street styles,” he admitted. “But I really prefer a more modern, free-form style for my own pieces.”

Mrs. Galloway actually smiled at that and her resemblance to her daughter intensified. She was a very handsome woman and Brandon had a sudden premonition of what Leanne would look like in twenty-five years.

Jeremy and Gillian’s faces reflected surprise at his unconventional career path, but Brandon couldn’t care less what they thought. All that mattered was that Leanne was proud of him. As for the rest, they could take a flying leap from the nearest cliff. He wasn’t there to impress them. He was there to support Leanne as a friend.

And more?

He was so startled by the idea that he froze, the hand still holding Leanne’s tightening involuntarily. He saw her wince from the corner of his eye, and with an effort, forced his fingers to loosen. But the question still echoed in his mind and he couldn’t dismiss it.

There wasn’t time to formulate a response to that notion, even for himself, because Gillian, peeved that the focus of the conversation had shifted away from her and clearly still smarting from his not so subtle insult earlier, wasn’t quite yet ready to forgive. She smirked. “Aren’t most of the men doing that sort of thing, well, gay?”

Leanne’s less than ladylike guffaw carried across the room, drowning out the muted conversations and the clink of crystal glassware. Heads swiveled. Brandon saw Larry, carrying their drinks, crossing the room, circumventing the groups of chattering guests.

“Thank you for your concern over my sex life, Gillian, but that’s not something I have to worry about with Brandon.” She turned to him, smiling as though she were enjoying their listeners’ discomfort. “Is it, sweetie?”

Even if he’d been made of stone, he couldn’t have ignored her flirtatious appeal. “No, I don’t think either of us have any complaints in that department, do we, Lee?” An image of her lush breast in his mouth flashed across his mind and he had to work hard to suppress it or risk embarrassing himself. “No problems at all.”

Her mother’s glimmer of approval disappeared, and Jeremy chuckled. Only Gillian failed to react in any fashion. But when he looked at her, he knew she was the type with a very long memory and he felt a spurt of unease at the cold, calculating manner with which she sized him up.



Brandon didn’t know how Leanne could stand twenty-six minutes with most of the people he’d met during cocktail hour, let alone twenty-six years. He’d been forced to listen as guest after guest directed sly digs toward Leanne and her chosen career path. Of course, no one was rude to her face, but in a myriad of subtle ways, they communicated their condescension, and worse, their pity. When a tinkling bell had announced the meal’s readiness, he’d been all too happy escape the inquisition for the fixed arrangement of the dining room.

“Leanne, you sit here,” Barb Saunders directed, pointing to a seat at the far end of the elegant table, so distant from the bride and groom as to be relegated to insignificance. “And your friend can sit beside you.”

“Yes, Aunt Barb,” Leanne agreed, refusing to rise to the bait. Brandon held out her chair and she looked back at him, startled. He winked, waiting for her to accept his gesture. She smiled, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment, and then slipped gracefully into the chair.

Waitstaff descended, bearing salads. Brandon hadn’t even finished pouring the dressing across the elaborate plate of leafy greens before the woman seated across from them smiled.

“So, Leanne. Are you working yet?” she asked, stabbing her fork into a leaf of radicchio.

“No, I’m still in school, finishing my degree.”

“How many years is it now? Six? Seven?”

“Nine. But I expect to defend my thesis this spring.”

“Maybe you should talk to Paul.” She gestured toward the head of the table where the father of the bride sat. “He might be able to find you something in his office. Do you speak Spanish?”

“French and German, actually.”

“Pity,” the woman said dismissively, the thick platinum ropes around her neck and wrists glinting in the low light of the room’s chandeliers.

The elderly matron sitting on Leanne’s left wasn’t any better. Leaning over her, she’d subjected Brandon to a thorough visual examination, appraising his five-year-old off-the-rack suit with shrewd eyes.

In a piercing whisper, she said, “You’re looking surprisingly well tonight, Leanne. I do hope this relationship is more successful than your other ones. But only time will tell, I suppose.” And then she’d sighed, signaling how little faith she had in her own prediction.

Never lifting her eyes from the scallops in roasted red pepper sauce, Leanne nodded politely. “That’s very nice of you, Dora. Did I hear you had surgery lately? How are you feeling?”

The woman quickly launched into a detailed description of her hip replacement surgery, providing enough details to ensure that when the main course of sirloin, roasted fingerling potatoes and vegetable compote was set in front of him, he’d lost what little appetite he still possessed.

By the time the waitstaff carried out the elaborate dessert trays, Brandon’s jaw ached with the effort of holding his tongue. The final insult had been defending himself against the drunken groping of one of the bridesmaids who’d been seated next to him. He jumped as a hand insinuated itself beneath the linen napkin spread across his lap and squeezed his thigh, perilously close to his groin.

“So, are you seeing Leanne exclusively? Or do you have a more open arrangement?” she whispered, favoring him with a blast of the wine she’d been knocking back throughout the meal. The complimentary bottle had already been replaced several times.

Fighting down the urge to flee, Brandon returned the wandering digits to their rightful owner without comment and shifting his chair as far away from the blitzed bridesmaid as possible. She pouted, making a point of refilling her wineglass, but he was in no mood to jolly her along.

He didn’t know when he’d had a more unpleasant time. Only Leanne’s company made the three-ring circus bearable. But worst of all was Gillian. She scrutinized him from the head of the table, where she sat beside Jeremy and her parents, the implacable set of her mouth telegraphing her displeasure at his immunity to her charms. Throughout the meal, she peered at him repeatedly with a puzzled consideration, as if she knew she had seen him before but couldn’t quite place him.

By the time Paul Saunders delivered his toast, he’d had enough. Throwing his napkin down on his chair, he stood. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said into Leanne’s ear.

She looked up at him, concern in her eyes.

“Everything okay?”

He kissed her then, hot and possessive and reckless. Her lips parted in surprise at his unexpected gesture, and he was conscious of the avid onlookers up and down the table watching their display. Brandon didn’t give a damn what they thought.

“I’m all right. I’m just going to excuse myself for a second,” he murmured, looking down at her and admiring her bright color. “You good if I go?”

She smiled, the corners of her wide, tempting mouth turning up wryly. She understood his unspoken question perfectly.

“No problem,” she said, her voice pitched to reach the ears of their audience. Her shoulders straightened and she sat with confidence, a world away from the miserable creature he’d seen only a few hours before. Picking up her fork, she gestured him away. “But I make no promises as to the safety of your chocolate cake.”

He paused and she shooed him away again with her free hand.

“I’ll be here. Go.”

Still conscious of the eyes watching him, he forced himself to walk slowly as he crossed the room and exited into the wide hallway beyond.

He needed a moment to collect himself.

Because if he didn’t get away from that stifling room, he was going to do something to embarrass himself.

Or worse, embarrass Leanne.

And that wasn’t what boyfriends—real, pretend, temporary or otherwise—did at a country club dinner. He just wasn’t sure which of those he was anymore.

“So,” the bride’s voice crooned into his ear, “what I want to know is how much she paid you for tonight.”

Brandon whirled around.

Gillian leaned in the doorway of the lounge he’d retreated to. The menacing expression on her face sent a bolt of fear racing along his spine. “It had to be a lot to get someone like you to pretend to sleep with someone like her.”

“Excuse me?” He tried to slip past her but she blocked his escape. She pressed against him, far too close for his liking, but unless he was willing to manhandle her, he was momentarily trapped in the small room.

Gillian advanced as he retreated, her hips swaying with each step of her sexy heels. A walk clearly perfected with years of practice, designed to make a man think about sex. But for all her allure, all Brandon was reminded of was the mesmerizing sway of a deadly but beautiful cobra.

“You heard me,” she said, her mouth curving in a victorious smile. “I know who you are.”

“You should. We were introduced before dinner.”

She laughed again and wagged an admonishing finger. “Cute but that’s not what I meant. Let me rephrase it for you, shall I? I meant I know what you do, Brandon.”

His body chilled at the threat in her voice but he carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. He tried to move past her once more. “Aren’t your guests expecting you?”

“I’m powdering my nose. No one will miss me for a few minutes.” Her smile widened, the menace clear despite its dazzling whiteness. “Took me most of the evening to put the pieces together but I finally figured out where I recognized you from. You know,” she added flirtatiously, “you have a very distinctive way of moving. Onstage. Offstage. I just didn’t recognize you with all those clothes on.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It is. And now that I know you’re really a stripper and not Leanne’s boyfriend like she’s trying to claim, I want to know how much she’s paying you.”

“She’s not paying me anything.”

“You expect me to believe that? So what, then? You saw her last weekend at my hen party and were so overcome with lust you jumped her then and there?” She laughed. “And of course, since then, you’ve been inseparable, enjoying the wildest sex of your life?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Gillian would never believe that she’d stumbled upon the real sequence of events. The best he could do was string her along and wait for her to reveal her true purpose.

Gillian guffawed and shook her head. “Good-looking, a good dancer and funny? Well, I have to give her credit. She may be a total loser but at least she has good taste in store-bought manflesh. I never thought that goody two-shoes would ever have the nerve to try passing off some himbo dancer as her ‘boyfriend.’” She giggled maliciously. “Of course, she should have thought things through a little better. I mean, anyone taking one look at you would know someone as beautiful as you wouldn’t sleep with a never-run like her. Not in this universe, anyway.”

Brandon’s face hardened into an implacable mask. Behind the pretty veneer, Gillian Saunders was an evil, manipulative bitch. Leanne was down-to-earth and authentic. He felt a surge of pity for Jeremy Fields but ruthlessly tamped it down. If the guy was so stupid as to be deceived by Gillian’s act, he deserved what he got.

But Leanne.

Leanne didn’t deserve to be slagged by this one-dimensional schemer for another minute. He opened his mouth to defend her when a small movement caught his eye. Only with tremendous effort did he contain a start of surprise at the sight of Larry Galloway standing in the doorway. The older man caught his eye and shook his head imperceptibly, signaling that he wanted Gillian’s tirade to continue unabated.

“You don’t know how wrong you are about Leanne,” Brandon said instead.

Her face distorted in a mewl of disbelief. “Leanne? That bitch is a useless waste of space and I’m sick and tired of everyone going on and on about how she’s all that. Even Jeremy couldn’t shut up about her tonight. She’s got it coming to her, believe you me.”

“What did she do to you that was so terrible anyway?”

“She stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. ‘Oh, Gillian, it’s dishonest,’” She mimicked Leanne’s voice in a shrill tone that would cut glass. “F*ck her. She nearly got me expelled. Me! And all I did was get a few wanna-be pledges to write a couple of stupid papers for me. Big deal. It’s not like it was stuff I actually needed to know.”

Suddenly Gillian’s animosity made perfect sense to Brandon.

“She turned you in? At Wellington?”

“She tried to.”

“What happened? You weren’t expelled, obviously.”

“What the hell do you think happened? I cried, told mommy and daddy and the dean it was the stress that made me do it and they sent me to Italy for the summer to ‘recuperate.’ But it cost me the presidency of Delta Delta Phi. It was mine and Leanne made sure I didn’t get it. Hell, she probably planned the whole thing.”

“That doesn’t sound like Leanne.”

“She’s always trying to ruin things for me. Because she’s jealous of everything I have.”

Brandon wanted to laugh. All this woman had were her looks and the morals of an alley cat. But her jealousy and need for revenge made her dangerous and he knew he had to handle her carefully or risk watching her blow up in his face.

Gillian recovered some of her composure. Her face was calm again and she smiled, although it never reached her eyes. “So what I want to know, Brandon, sweetie, are you a full-service male escort, f*cking pathetic women for money, or just an enterprising stripper, doing one sad little job on the side?”

“And what if I am?” he bluffed, pretending to go along with her and keeping a handle on his own explosive anger only by the thinnest of threads. He wanted to throttle her, to show the world the sick, twisted individual she was. But until he knew what she planned for, he needed to play along. He couldn’t bring himself to look toward the doorway, knowing the disgust he would see on Larry’s face now that he’d been revealed. But even if the man would never be able to respect him again, at least he would know that Brandon hadn’t betrayed his daughter.

A cold comfort, but there was little else to be gained as he watched all the goodwill he’d earned with the elder Galloway escape through his fingers like sand.

“Then here’s the deal. Whatever she’s paying you to pretend you’re her boyfriend, I’ll double. No, I’ll triple it!” she promised rashly. “You and I can hook up if you want. But what I really want is for you to dump Leanne Galloway. Tonight. I want you to walk that tight tush of yours back into my party and drop that pathetic excuse of a bookworm right on her fat—”

“Ass?” Larry finally spoke and stepped into the room. Gillian turned on one stiletto heel, her face a comic mask of shock and horror, her blush two scarlet slashes against her colorless cheeks.

“Uncle Larry!” she croaked. “How—how long…I mean, Brandon and I were just…”

“Talking?”

“Yes, about Leanne,” she lied brazenly. “She’s doing so well at university now, isn’t she? I’m sure she’s got you thank for it.”

Leanne’s father brushed aside the flattery without regard. “You’re a nasty piece of work, Gillian. I’ve always known you to be vain, self-centered and shallow. But until tonight, I never knew what a disgusting excuse for a human being your mother and father raised. I’m glad my daughter is nothing like you.”

Gillian’s face twisted at his damning litany. “You think so, do you? Well, do you know your daughter hired a stripper to come with her tonight? That her ‘boyfriend’ is just some man-whore who f*cks women for money?” she said, sailing to the door. At the threshold, she paused. “But don’t worry, Uncle Larry. I won’t tell everyone what a loser you or your daughter are—I’ll let them discover it for themselves.”

And with that, she stalked from the room, leaving the two men standing in silence. Larry stepped to one of the windows, his hands deep in his pockets, and looked out at the clear night sky. Still not looking at Brandon, he spoke.

“Are you?”

Brandon didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t understand the question. “No,” he said, “I’m not. And I never was. But before I hurt my knee, I used to strip for a living. Five nights a week, onstage at the Foxe’s Den.”

“The place on Hunter?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Probably pretty good money.”

Brandon was surprised by how calm Larry was. He’d just heard his daughter called every name in the book and learned their relationship was built on nothing but lies but he’d yet to raise his voice or even swear. Something else had to be going on. No one could be this calm, this accepting. What the hell was this guy playing at anyway?

“I took off my clothes for money. I sold myself so I could pay for my degrees,” he goaded, his voice full of self-hatred. “I’m a stripper sleeping with your daughter. What do you think about that, Larry?”

He turned and looked at him thoughtfully, waving aside the challenge and answering with a simple question of his own. “Did you really sell yourself?” His voice was so steady some of Brandon’s rage began to ebb.

“No. I really did love it. It wasn’t something I boasted about but I’m not ashamed of what I did.”

“Good,” Leanne’s dad agreed quietly. “Because I don’t think you should be either.”

“You don’t?” Brandon was staggered. He couldn’t actually be having this conversation, could he? He must be dreaming or suffering a brain seizure. Anything but reality.

“Does Leanne know? About your career?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. Oh hell, the guy knew everything else. Why not tell him everything and be done with it. Larry couldn’t make him feel any lower about himself than he did now. “That’s how we met. I was dancing, filling in by doing a last-minute shift when Leanne saw me at the club. We—we hooked up and found out later we both went to Wellington.”

Brandon wheeled around and forced Larry to meet his eyes. What he saw there nearly brought him to tears. And he hadn’t cried since the day his grandmother died and he’d been forced to wait on the porch, hoping against hope the EMTs could rescue the only family he’d ever truly loved.

Larry smiled. A thin smile, the fatigue and strain of the past half hour clear. But his eyes were still kind as they gazed at Brandon steadily. “It’s simple, really. I trust my daughter and I trust her judgment in people. I don’t care what you used to do—or even what you do now—as long as you’re honest with my daughter. If she says you’re someone worth knowing, that you’re someone I should consider a friend, then I will.”

The unadorned statement took Brandon’s breath away. There was so much love, trust and acceptance in that straightforward explanation that his throat tightened with envy. He wanted to cringe at his reaction. How could he possibly be jealous of Leanne, of the wonderful relationship she had with her father? She deserved nothing less. But it didn’t change the fact that the sucking void in his chest throbbed with long dead sensation.

How different would his own life have been if he’d had someone who’d offered him the same unconditional love?

“Come on,” Larry said, seeming to understand the struggle Brandon waged within himself. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “They’re probably done with the speeches. I don’t think I’m in the mood to hear them toast the happy couple and I doubt you are either. Sandra won’t want to leave but I’m sure you and Leanne can sneak out early. At least one of us will be able to salvage the evening.”