Joan Pickart - Taming Tall, Dark Brandon

“Easy; easy,” Brandon said, pressing gently on her shoulders to keep her prone. “Are you Ms. Andrea Cunningham?”

“Yes, I am, but—”

“I’m Brandon Hamilton. Do you know where you are?” he said. Was she beautiful, but nuttier than a fruitcake? Rules about dreams? She thought she was in her own bedroom? “Just think for a second.”

“You’re Brandon?” Andrea said, frowning. “This doesn’t make sense. The man in my dream said his name was—” Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my gracious, it wasn’t a dream. I’m in Prescott. This is Hamilton House, and—”

“And you fainted right after you arrived,” Brandon finished for her.

Cancel nuts, he thought. Andrea was hitting on all cylinders and was none too pleased with her reality. He had to keep her calm before she became hysterical or did something else that would disturb the tranquility of the hotel.

“There’s a doctor on the way to see you,” he said. “Everything is under control, Ms. Cunningham. Andrea. May I call you Andrea? We’re not exactly strangers, you know. You fainted right into my arms, just like in the movies.”

“I don’t believe this,” Andrea said, pressing one hand to her forehead. “I’ve never fainted in my life. I’m mortified, absolutely mortified. I’m going home.”

“No, no,” Brandon said quickly. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.” He produced his best hundredwatt smile. “You can’t leave. You’re my lucky charm—the guest who filled Hamilton House to capacity for the holidays. Lucky charms have responsibilities, you know.”

“That,” Andrea said, glaring at him, “is some of the corniest bunch of malarkey I’ve ever heard.”

Brandon’s smile slid off his chin. “Oh.” He paused. “I have to admit, you scared the socks off me by fainting the way you did. I’ve never had that experience before here at Hamilton House.”

Andrea closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Brandon again.

“It’s a first for me, too,” she said.

A woman could drown in the depths of those fathomless dark eyes, she thought. A strange heat, which was far greater than the cold consuming her, was beginning to pulse low in her body. There was a blatant, masculine sexuality emanating from Brandon that was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

“No one faints without a reason,” Brandon said, pulling Andrea from her sensuous thoughts. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital if you’re...well, if you’re pregnant and something is definitely not as it should be.”

“No,” Andrea said, then sighed. “I’m not pregnant. I have no dread disease, nor mysterious ailment. I’m just tired.”

“Very tired, then,” Brandon said. “Let me guess. Your doctor has ordered you to rest, so you came up to Prescott from Phoenix.”

“How did you know I’m from-oh, my registration information. I gave you my address.”

Brandon nodded. “Where’s your coat?”

“I don’t own a heavy winter coat. I didn’t investigate the weather up here. My doctor suggested Prescott and I came. This trip was not a good idea.”

“Sure it was,” Brandon said, smiling. “Prescott is a great place to get away from the rat race in Phoenix. What do you do for a living down in the valley?”

“I’m the vice president of Challenge Advertising.” And she was also a beautiful woman, Brandon thought. Was there a special man in Phoenix, who would be extremely distressed to learn that his lady had fainted into the arms of a complete stranger?

Well, if there was a guy, where was he when Andrea needed him, the louse? Forget the jerk. He, Brandon Hamilton, had been right on the spot to scoop Andrea into his arms. And, oh, man, how fantastic she’d felt nestled against him.

“Advertising.” Brandon cleared his throat as a bolt of heat rocketed through his body at the remembrance of holding Andrea in his arms. “That’s heavy stuff. Competitive. Pretty stressful, I imagine.”

Andrea lifted her chin. “I enjoy my work and I’m very good at what I do.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, but you’ve apparently enjoyed your occupation right into total exhaustion. That, combined with suddenly being at a much higher altitude than you’re accustomed to, is probably what caused you to faint.

“Your body is talking to you, Andrea, sending signals loud and clear. I’ve been down that road, and I suggest you listen to the message you’re getting from yourself.”

“Mmm,” she said, frowning.

“You’re registered to stay at Hamilton House for two weeks, so sit back and enjoy them.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I won’t have to worry about being exhausted. I will die of boredom.”

Brandon chuckled. “No, you won’t. Prescott has a lot to offer. I’m a single man and I find plenty to do, and the people are warm and friendly.”

“Who are you?” she said. “A representative for the chamber of commerce?”

Brandon shrugged. “Just stating the facts, ma’am.” He paused. “I’m glad there’s nothing seriously wrong with you, Andrea,” he went on, looking directly into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

The seconds ticked by and neither moved nor hardly breathed as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. A swirling heat seemed to weave around and through them, pulling them closer together, closer and closer....

A brisk knock sounded at the door, causing both Andrea and Brandon to jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. A man entered the room in the next instant.

“Rizzoli to the rescue,” he said cheerfully, crossing the room to stand by the sofa.

My stars, Andrea thought. Prescott, Arizona, had cornered the market on handsome men. This one was obviously Italian, indicated by his name and olivetoned skin. He, too, was tall, dark and handsome, his rough-hewed features boasting a nose that had obviously been broken at some point in his apparent thirty-odd years.

There was a subtle difference between the men, though. Brandon Hamilton was wearing what was obviously a custom-tailored suit. He had an aura of class and money, and his features were a tad more refined, smooth.

She would consider Mr. Rizzoli a diamond in the rough, in his faded jeans, plaid flannel shirt and fleece-lined, tan bomber jacket. His dark hair was also badly in need of a trim.

But they were a dynamic duo. Talk about mortifying. She now had two handsome men gawking at her. She wanted to crawl into a very deep hole and never come out.

“I’m definitely going home,” she said, starting to sit up again.

“Whoa,” Ben Rizzoli said, raising one hand. “I haven’t done my rescue bit yet. I’m Dr. Benjamin Rizzoli, at your service. Call me Ben. Doctors have a terrible need to be needed, so you have to allow me to check you over or I’ll pout. And you are?”

“Leaving,” Andrea said again.

“She’s Ms. Andrea Cunningham,” Brandon told Ben. “She walked in the front door and fainted. There’s nothing wrong with her that a good rest won’t cure. A rest she will definitely get by staying two weeks here at Hamilton House.”

Ben nodded. “Well, Andrea—I’ll call you Andrea and you call me Ben. We’re very laid-back, friendly folks here in Prescott. I already know a great deal about you.”

“Do tell,” Andrea said dryly.

“Okay, I will,” he said, grinning. “You’re very organized and efficient. I mean, hey, you might have fainted before you came into the hotel and clunked your head on the snowy sidewalk. The fact that you waited to blink out after you entered this fine establishment proves my point. As for the rest of the diagnosis, it sounds as though Brandon has been doing my job for me. You’re majorly tuckered out.”

“There you go,” Brandon said, smiling.

“Do you two practice this routine?” Andrea said, glowering at the pair. “This is ridiculous. I’m going home.”

“Let’s get serious here,” Ben said, his expression now matching his statement. “As a doctor, I have a few more questions for you, Andrea. Brandon, hit the road. I want to talk to Andrea alone.”

Brandon planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up to stand eye-to-eye with Ben.

“I’ll be right outside the door,” Brandon said.

“Holler if you need me.”

“Yep,” Ben said. “Go away.”

Brandon hesitated, looking at Andrea for a long moment, then left the room. He closed the door behind him and immediately began to pace back and forth in front of it.

What other questions did Ben want to ask Andrea? he thought. Did Ben suspect there was something seriously wrong with her? No. No way. That was not acceptable.

Andrea. Pretty name. Pretty lady.

She had felt just so... so right in his arms, as though she belonged there, close to him, protected and cared for by him.

“Hell, Hamilton,” he muttered. “Where is your mind going? You’re sounding like the fruitcake you thought Andrea was.”

But there was no denying the feelings of protectiveness and possessiveness he’d registered as he scooped Andrea into his arms and carried her into his office. She was so delicate, had become so pale, which had only accentuated the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Brandon halted his trek and stared at the door.

Come on, Rizzoli, he mentally ordered. What in the hell was going on in there? He didn’t want a major problem to have caused Andrea to faint.

No, she was fine, just fine. She had to be.

Brandon frowned and dragged one hand through his hair.

He was overreacting. Big-time. He didn’t even know Andrea Cunningham. The cold fist of fear in his gut that she might be seriously ill didn’t make one bit of sense, nor did the desire for her that had exploded throughout him.

Well, yes, maybe it did. He was a decent man, a nice human being. It wasn’t Andrea, the woman, he was tied up in knots over, it was simply one person hoping that another person was all right. And it was simply a normal, healthy man’s libido reacting to an attractive woman.

Anyone would feel as he did.

Wouldn’t they?

Two

Before Brandon could give further thought to the troubling, confusion-induced question in his mind, the door to the office opened and Andrea appeared, with Ben right behind her.

“Are you all right?” Brandon said, staring at Andrea intently. He switched his scrutiny to Ben. “Is she all right? You both look so serious. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?”

Ben laughed. “You’re using up all the air space, Hamilton. I’ve never seen you so rattled, which is very interesting, but how are we supposed to get a word in edgewise here?”

“Oh,” Brandon said. “Sorry.” He paused. “So? Say something, Rizzoli.”

“I can’t. There’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. If Andrea wishes to inform you that she is suffering only from complete exhaustion, combined with a dose of Prescott’s altitude, that’s up to her. My lips are sealed.”

“Oh, good grief,” Andrea said, laughing. “You two are trouble, you really are.”

“That’s the first time you’ve smiled,” Brandon said quietly, his gaze riveted on Andrea’s face. “Your laughter reminds me of the sound of wind chimes.”

“Well, I... Well...” Andrea started then stopped speaking as she looked directly into the depths of Brandon’s dark eyes.

Those eyes again, she thought. They were pinning her in place. She couldn’t move, or think, could hardly breathe. Brandon Hamilton had the most compelling, mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen.

She wasn’t freezing cold anymore. No, she was suffused with warmth, with steadily increasing heat that was thrumming low in her body and spreading rapidly throughout her.