A pleasant buzz enveloped Cassandra. She couldn’t regret the last hour she’d spent in Brett’s arms. Even with Michael, she’d never experienced such an intense release. Before tonight, she’d thought she’d had a pretty good sex life with her ex, but now she knew she’d been so wrong.

“What’s that buzzing sound?” Brett asked.

“Huh?” Wasn’t the buzz the afterglow from what they’d just shared?

Slowly the sound penetrated her post-orgasmic glow. She sat up quickly. “Oh shit, dinner.”

Untangling herself from Brett’s arms she reached for the first piece of clothing she could grab, which happened to be the shirt she’d ripped off Brett. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, pushed them up and clutched it closed with one hand as she skipped down the stairs to the kitchen.

She prayed the lasagna she’d made wouldn’t be ruined. It depended on how long the timer had been going off.

A small amount of relief flowed through her when she rushed into the kitchen and didn’t find it full of smoke.

Within a minute, she had the dish out and cooling on the top of her freestanding oven. Apart from the edges looking a little overcooked, the cheese in the middle was bubbling nicely.

“I take it we won’t need to order pizza?”

“No, dinner is saved.”

The next second, a pair of strong arms closed around her. “Good, then let’s go back to bed for round two.”

Cassandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The temptation to give into Brett’s idea was strong. However, there was still the matter of Frank’s phone call. The reason she’d invited him over for dinner in the first place.

But one little taste of his lips again wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Can you stop at one taste though?

Damn that little voice in her head. She knew if she kissed him, dinner and talking would be forgotten. God, she really wanted to go another round in Brett’s arms. See if what they’d experienced had been a one-off thing or would sex with him always be that intense and out of this world.

She turned in his arms and placed her hands on his chest. His bare chest.

“As tempting as it is, we really need to talk.”

“It’s never good when a woman says we have to talk.”

She went up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. “I’ll go put something else on and then serve dinner. Once we’ve finished eating and talking, then we can adjourn to the bedroom. If you still want to, that is.”

Brett laughed. “I can guarantee nothing you say will deter me from spending the rest of the night in your bedroom. And,” he looked her up and down, her skin burning beneath his gaze. “You don’t need to change on my account. I have to say my shirt looks good on you. Even if it’s a little worse for wear.”

Cassandra looked down at his wrecked shirt and then back at him. “I guess I owe you a new shirt.”

“Nah, it wasn’t one of my favorites.” He reached out, hooked his fingers under the material and pushed it off her shoulder a little. His brushed her bare skin. “Although it could be my favorite now.”

It took willpower she didn’t know she possessed to stop herself from falling into a heap at his feet. Not even when Michael had been at his romantic best had he been able to weaken her with seven words. Everything she’d assumed about Brett was wrong. It made her more determined than ever to find out who the real Brett was. There was no doubt in her mind that his visits to Spring Mountain were the key to solving the mystery surrounding him. She just had to work out how to unlock them.

“You tempt me to forget the very reason I invited you over to dinner, Brett Hunter. And that’s not good.”

He moved the shirt again, exposing more of her skin. This time his lips caressed her. “You’ve got to admit this is much better than what you originally had planned.”

It would be so easy. So, so, so easy to rip the shirt off and then do the same to the jeans he’d pulled on before coming downstairs. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t find out what the visits were all about, then Frank would make sure someone else did. At least she could control the fallout from the revelation. Well, she hoped she could.

“As I said, you’re very tempting but,” she injected a resolve she wasn’t feeling into her tone. “This can’t wait any longer.”

“Okay, you win. But you’re all mine later.” He finished off his declaration with a quick kiss.

All of her wished to the universe that after their talk, he would still feel that way.

Forty five minutes later Cassandra pushed her plate away. The lasagna had tasted as good at it looked, even with the burned edges. Turned out, Brett liked the extra crispy bits. They kept the conversation over dinner to random topics. But the original purpose for the evening could no longer be avoided.

“How about we take our wine into the living room?” she suggested.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring up why I’m here. Why didn’t we talk about it while we ate?”

Because I wanted to be able to imprint as much of the evening as I could into my mind. Because deep in my gut, I know what I’m about to say is going to hurt you and I don’t want to hurt you at all.

No, not the thing she could say. Her little inner monologue had highlighted the truth she’d been trying hard to deny—she was falling more and more under the spell called Brett Hunter. It was dangerous for not only herself but also her career. The man sitting opposite her had weaved his way into her bloodstream.

“It seemed easier to eat and then talk.”

As he studied her, Cassandra hoped her face wasn’t giving away her thoughts. “Fair enough.”

With a nod, she stood and picked up her wine glass. “Let’s go sit.”

Brett stood but looked at the table and the remnants of their meal. “What about the dishes?”

“They’re fine.”

It would give her something to do when Brett walked out. Why was she so sure after they had this conversation that everything between her and Brett would go to hell in a hand basket? There could be a totally innocent reason as to why Brett made weekly visits to a nursing facility. Something she’d told herself many times before.

God, she was tired of going around in circles about it. She should’ve pressed him when she first found out about it.

She sat on her couch, smiling when Brett sat next to her and pulled her in close. Being close to him was going to make concentrating on the task at hand that much more difficult. The thought of putting distance between them didn’t appeal, either. Instead, she let his warmth seep into her.

“So, Ms. Fielder, you’ve got my complete attention.”

Focusing on a point above her television set, she took a sip of her wine and started. “I got a call today from Frank. He said he’d received an anonymous tip from an employee of Spring Mountain Nursing Home that you visit the facility every Sunday. This person also said the only times you don’t visit is when you’re away competing.”

The longer she spoke, the tenser Brett got beside her. Perhaps sitting next to him was a good idea. Being this close she could feel everything his body did. While the words that came out of his mouth may not be the truth, his natural reactions couldn’t be hidden.

“So? He doesn’t need to know everything that I do.”

“Who’s there, Brett? Who are you protecting?”

He pulled away from her and she grabbed the edge of the couch to stop from falling on her side. She straightened and turned so she could look at him.

“I repeat. Frank and his company don’t need to know everything that I do.”

Cassandra had expected it would be difficult to get Brett to talk to her about his visits. But she’d hoped, perhaps naively, that after what they’d shared earlier in the evening, he’d be more willing to open up to her.

“Brett.” She reached out and touched his knee. “If you don’t tell me, I can guarantee you Frank will find out some other way. If you tell me, I can control how the information is used. I’ve known about you visiting the facility. I asked you about it and you didn’t say anything to me. I respected that and didn’t push you. But now it’s out there. Tell me, please.”

Brett stood and started pacing around her living room. His agitation reached out to her like an electric charge. He stopped by the window and jammed his hands into his jeans pocket. From where she sat, she could see the tenseness in his shoulders, and the way they hunched in slightly as though he was attempting to protect himself.

Whoever was in that facility was extremely important to him. She felt it in her bones and she couldn’t help the sharp, irrational pain of jealousy stabbing her. Irrational because her immediate thoughts had gone to him protecting a woman by his silence. Maybe she was his first love. Hell, she’d been married, so she had no right to these green-eyed monster feelings over a possible first love of Brett’s.

“If I tell you, how can I be sure you won’t use it against me?”

“Because I didn’t tell Frank today when he phoned that I already knew about your visits.”

She let him absorb the words, praying and hoping that he would accept what she’d said as the truth. Whatever Brett told her tonight, she would find a way to let Frank know what he needed to know without telling him the whole truth. It was a risk to her career, but then again, sleeping with Brett had already put her job in jeopardy, if anyone found out about it.

Cassandra walked over to where he stood and kissed his bare shoulder, wishing with all her heart he could tell how much she cared for him.

“Come on, Brett, come and sit down again. Talk to me.”

He nodded and reached for her fingers. She led him over to the couch and they sat. This time, though, he didn’t pull her close, but she took solace in the fact he didn’t let go of her hand.

“Apart from telling Dan, I haven’t told anyone this part of my life. Her name is Naomi and she’s the sister of my best friend. Or should I say was the sister of my best friend. Dean died in a car accident. An accident that was my fault.”

Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, this wasn’t it. In all the background information she had, and what she’d learned from her own research, there had been no mention of a car accident. How was that even possible in this day and age of technology and the internet, when the whole world knew if you’d sneezed the wrong way?

“Why is she in a home? Where are her parents? When was the accident? What happened?”

Man, could she sound even more like a reporter? The last thing he needed was her throwing so many questions at him. She needed to stop and let Brett tell his story. In his own words. In his own time.

“Sorry, Brett. Ignore my questions.”

His thumb brushed over her palm. “No, it’s fine. Your questions are valid. If our roles were reversed, I’d do the same, I’m sure.”

Cassandra doubted that. As a general rule, men didn’t seem to be as inquisitive as women when someone was trying to tell them a story.

“Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

Silence stretched between them, and for a while she wondered if he would actually tell her the story or he’d told her all he planned to.

“We were young and figured we were untouchable. What you always think when you’re eighteen and the world is laid out in front of you. But one action. One single action can change your world in a way you’d never thought possible. That’s what happened to me that night in September seven years ago. A simple mistake and the lives of three people were changed.”

Cassandra’s heart cracked at the emotion in Brett’s voice. She almost didn’t want him to continue. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that choice. She’d asked for his story, so she had to listen. No matter how hard it could end up being. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand quickly, in silent support, encouraging him to continue.

“It was a Friday night. Dean, Naomi and I had been to a high school football game. Dean and I were talking about how the football guys would never last doing a 400-meter swim because they were always resting in between plays. Naomi was telling us we were dreaming and that footballers were stronger than swimmers. It was harmless fun. I looked away from the road for half a second. I can’t even remember why.”

Brett paused and she held her breath, waiting to hear what happened next. He dug his fingers into his legs. It had to hurt, but he seemed oblivious to his action. Cassandra knew covering her hand with his, this time, wouldn’t help at all.

A breath shuddered out of him and he continued. “Then I heard Naomi scream my name. When I looked back there was a big deer on the road. I hit the brakes and turned the wheel. I was too late, though. I hit the deer and we went off on the shoulder. The car slammed into an embankment and rolled a couple of times. I lost consciousness for a few minutes. I remember waking to this hiss of the engine, Naomi moaning in the back seat. I looked over to Dean.” His voice cracked and tears silently tracked down his cheeks. “His eyes were open, but they were dull. His eyes never looked dull before. I knew then that I’d killed my best friend.”

His shoulders shook and Cassandra wrapped him up in her arms. Saying nothing, just holding him in an attempt to ease the pain, but knowing it wouldn’t help. Brett was wrapped up in his own personal hell. All she could do was sit beside him and give him her silent support.

He took a deep breath and she released her hold on him. “The next time I woke up, I was in the hospital with a severe concussion and some cuts and bruises. Naomi was in a coma. Because of my mistake, I’d killed my friend and basically ruined the life of his sister.”

“Oh, Brett, I’m so sorry.” She swallowed the rest of the words she wanted to say. How what happened was an accident and that even if he had been watching the road, the chances of him stopping before hitting the deer would’ve been slim. Instinctively, she knew those words weren’t what he would want to hear. Instead she asked. “What happened to Naomi?”

“Naomi is stuck in her own personal hell. When she finally woke up, she had no recollection of anything after her ninth birthday. In one fell swoop, I’d erased seven years of her life. Permanent brain damage, the doctors said, with no hope of her ever being able to look after herself properly.”

“What about her parents? How often do they see her?”

“They don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’re dead, too.”

Holy hell, she hadn’t been expecting that. Poor Naomi. No wonder Brett made an effort to go see her as often as he did. Although it couldn’t be easy for him.

“How long had you been friends with Dean for?” Then she asked the questions that were rattling around in her brain. “How is it possible that the story of your accident isn’t in any news archives? Aren’t all fatal accidents investigated?”

How had this been kept so quiet and why?