Something to Prove Page 18

  “That must have upset him,” she murmured.

  “Yeah. Harrison wasn’t happy with my decision, either. But they approached me, and I wasn’t about to say no to them.”

  “You dropped off the tour for two years. What did you do then? Did you know you weren’t done with the sport? What will you do when you are done?”

  Brody leaned his head back. These were questions he’d spent hours thinking about. But he had to tread carefully. “I…rehabbed during those years. The truth was, when I left the tour I was injured…my ankle and my knee. I didn’t want anyone to know, so I didn’t talk about it.” His heart was pounding. Get it together. He sat up straight and stared at that gorgeous full moon. “Back home, I even went to college for a semester because I thought I’d never get back to form, that I’d never fully heal. But school taught me my life will always have something to do with skiing. It’s in my blood. I don’t ever want to leave it completely.”

  He gazed over at the mountains. “It will always be in my blood.”

  “What did you study?”

  He smiled at the irony. “Sports psychology. I was interested in applying motivational theories to coaching other people, but all it taught me is that it’s impossible to even think of coaching as long as MacArthur heads up the federation. Besides, I wasn’t ready to retire.”

  And then, because she deserved it, he turned and teased her by laughing at her questions. “You know, I learned enough basic psychology to know you’re tossing me real softballs, Amanda.”

  She reached over and turned off the voice recorder.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She stood and walked over to the woodstove, hugging herself and huddling over the glowing embers as if she couldn’t get warm enough.

  “Manda?” He went to her. Maybe she was sick. Maybe her head was bothering her.

  He pressed close to her back and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was shaking from the cold. But as he lowered his head and rested his cheek against hers, he felt the dampness of her skin.

  She was crying? Why?

  “Manda, what—?”

  “I hate this,” she whispered. “This is so personal to you and I feel dirty having to write about it.”

  He stared at her, stunned. She hadn’t given him the impression it hurt her to question him. And the questions she was asking him…wasn’t that what she did every day? Wasn’t that her job?

  Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Do you know what I have to do now? Of course you don’t, because you don’t understand basic journalism. These aren’t softballs, Brody, I have to work with facts. And the fact is, I do have to call that prison. I do have to verify your father is there. And that school question…that wasn’t a softball, everything is a fact to check, to see if you’re telling me the truth, but I know you’re telling the truth—”

  She broke down crying.

  “Holy hell, you’re crying about me,” he whispered.

  “Who else would I be crying about?” she shouted.

  And he could only shake his head. She didn’t get it. Nobody cried about him. Nobody ever had, not for real anyway, not for the guy he was beneath the skiing trophies and the world championship globes.

  That guy was nothing more than a con artist’s son.

  And now she knew it.

  SHE HAD TO PACK HER BAGS and get out. She would write her article elsewhere. She couldn’t face Brody anymore. Couldn’t look him in the eye because she was so sorry and sick of what she had to do. Of what they had to do to each other, just to do their jobs.

  There was no sugarcoating the pain she felt over opening up this very private man.

  But Brody’s hands were touching her, running over her cheeks and smoothing her hair. “Manda,” he was whispering. “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t okay, and it never would be okay. “It’s not fair to you,” she insisted. “Don’t you see? Who could stand to have someone poke through their childhood pain—I couldn’t. What if you had to ask me about the difficulties and the shame with my father and then write it up for the world to see?”

  He clasped her tighter, and a laugh rang in his throat. “I love that you really do understand me.”

  “I didn’t before tonight!”

  He just smiled, as if she was the most beautiful thing on earth to him, and he would indulge her to the moon and back.

  Because, of course, how could she have been expected to understand any of this before tonight?

  Not before she’d had to ask him these questions, sitting and pretending that he wasn’t who he was to her. That she hadn’t spent the past three days immersed in him, and he in her. That he hadn’t pushed and challenged her to understand what drove her own actions. That she hadn’t enjoyed and been fascinated by him, getting to know his heart and to appreciate him as she’d never appreciated another person.

  To want him as she’d never wanted another person.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I’m glad you know these things about me, sweetheart. I’m glad I told you.”

  “Was it for m-me, or for the article?” She needed to know.

  “For you.” He grinned at her. “No one else would’ve gotten any of this, and you know it.”

  Yes, she did. To any other reporter, he would have stubbornly said nothing, no matter what Harrison told him to do. The way he had in their very first interview. She started crying again, big, wrenching sobs. “I w-wish it had been just for m-me. Not as a r-reporter.”

  “It is just for you. You’re the only person who has ever lived, who will ever live, who I trust to tell my story.”

  She couldn’t help it, she flung her arms around him. “I bet you say that to all your reporter groupies.”

  He buried his face in her hair, sifting it between his fingers. “You’ve never been a groupie to me, Manda. Not for one minute. Not even on that first day.”

  The honesty of his admission made her stop sniffling and just stare at him.

  “You were the only woman I never wanted to walk out on me,” he said, his voice low. “That’s why I made love to you that night, even though it went against my intentions. I didn’t want to rush things and make it seem like my interest was casual. Because it wasn’t.” He stroked his hand against her cheek. “And then when you walked out on me anyway, I knew I’d messed up.”

  “You…wanted me to stay?”

  “I still want you to stay.” The words came out clear as a bell, no stumbling, no hesitation. He’d apparently made his decision. He picked her up and carried her to the couch. Turned out the interview area she’d so carefully arranged also managed nicely as a cozy place for love.

  Love she craved. It was part of her, the person she was and the career she wanted. Love with him didn’t have to be either/or. She felt as though he was showing that to her by bringing her here, to this place, and that touched her heart.

  With the moonlight bathing his features, he sat and drew her on top of him, and she melted into his heat. He cupped her chin and brought her close to his face, where he caught her lips in his and kissed her thoroughly.

  She moaned and felt her body taking over, letting her feelings be rushed along and merged with his. But a small part of her mind stood out. You are a journalist and he is your subject, it said in a firm, authoritarian voice that sounded suspiciously like her father’s.

  She jerked back from kissing him. “I’m a journalist,” she repeated dumbly.

  “Yes,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

  “You’re…my subject.”

  “Yes.” Again, that patient voice.

  Why shouldn’t she make love to him? He accepted the situation, and he accepted her. She knew that, she was grateful and humbled, but to the world around them?

  “I can’t,” she whispered, drawing away from him. “After I file the article, people will find out I slept with you and they’ll judge me for it.”

  “They won’t know,” he said, putting his finger to her lips. “Because I won’t tell
your story. I’ll never tell it. Never. To anybody.”

  He wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. Because he was a man of his word and he’d shown that to her.

  And this time, she was the one who was crushing him to her, kissing him and tearing into his clothing. Tugging at his buttons and fumbling with his belt buckle.

  And then his hand was on hers, steady and firm, as he pulled the belt away and stripped off their clothes. They were naked, skin to skin with the fleece blanket beneath them and the stoked fire roaring beside them and the moonlight bathing them in a golden-white glow.

  She needed to be close to him. Body and soul. She needed to feel his body join with hers.

  He brushed back her hair and stared into her eyes. A slight smile lit his features, and she gazed back at him, drawing her end of their connection tight. She felt as if they were joining their lives together, and it made her shiver.

  In the warm comfort of his embrace, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, she said a prayer that she’d be okay.

  That she could trust Brody Jones not to hurt her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TWO DAYS LATER, HARRISON RICE drove his rental Mercedes up the winding mountain road leading to Hans Zimmerman’s chalet. Brody heard the engine before he saw the rooster-tail of slush spraying from the tires. He paused with his hand on Amanda’s shoulder while his agent wheeled the snow-splattered sedan into the shoveled-out space behind Brody’s RV.

  Amanda stood from the toboggan cushion and frowned, staring at Harrison. She and Brody had been sledding down the back hill on an old-fashioned wooden toboggan he’d found in Hans’s woodshed. Before that they’d made love. All morning. Several times, in fact. He’d never felt more satisfied or more ready to race.

  “Brody!” Harrison stepped out of the Mercedes and slammed the door, then trudged down the path. “Party’s over. Are you ready for a World Cup race in two days?”

  He felt Amanda stiffen beside him, so he squeezed her waist in reassurance. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll tell him you’re with me, and he can follow us down the mountain in his car if he wants.”

  “You haven’t told him yet?” she whispered.

  “I haven’t turned on my phone in three days.”

  “Me, neither. Not since I got permission from Chelsea to stay in Italy through the end of your race.”

  She smiled sheepishly at him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her. He could kiss her all day, and it was going to be difficult to cut back now that they were in public again.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Harrison stop with a shudder. Negligent! he could almost hear his agent berating himself.

  Welcome to reality, Brody thought.

  “Hello, Harrison.” Amanda waved at him. “How are you doing?”

  Harrison looked as though he was choking, but after a moment he got hold of himself, pasting on a smile and waving back. He bounced another step down the slope but then halted, his wet loafers and suit pants causing him to reassess.

  Brody bit the inside of his cheek as Amanda chuckled beside him. He counted to ten, letting his agent suffer for the obnoxious comment about the party being over. Then he figured there was no way around it. He had to face the music sometime, so he ambled up the hill, pulling down his shades to shield him from the bright morning sun.

  When he came to Harrison, he crossed his arms. “They only lifted the avalanche ban an hour ago. You must have driven like hell to get here as fast as you did.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Harrison said. “But we have a meeting with your ski sponsor’s representative this afternoon, and she cannot be present.”

  Wrong attitude, pal. Brody took off his shades and let Harrison know how it was going to be from now on. “I already told Amanda she could come. I want her there. She’s going on with us to the race, too.”

  Harrison’s eyes widened. He wasn’t happy, but Brody hadn’t expected him to be. “Brody, there are special circumstances that need to be discussed first.”

  “Fine. The motor home is packed and we’re on our way. You and I can talk about it when we get to the factory.”

  “What’s going on?” Amanda joined them. He slid his arm around her and pulled her closer. Yeah, he was making a clear signal. His life had changed, and Harrison needed to get used to that.

  “May I speak with you alone, please?” Harrison asked Brody.

  He shrugged. “Speak away. Amanda is writing an article, which you directed me to cooperate with, as I recall.”

  Harrison glowered at him. “I also told you to wait for me before you said anything to her.” He turned to Amanda. “This conversation involves aspects of my agency contract that I don’t feel comfortable discussing before a third party not on my payroll or my client list.”

  “He’s speaking legalese, this can’t be good,” Amanda said to Brody with a smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting in the RV.”

  His heart welled up. She really was one in a million. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Sure I do, just this once, until he’s used to me.” She winked at Harrison. “I’m not a spy, you know. I won’t telegraph Brody’s race plans to the competition.”

  “Of course you won’t,” Harrison said. “The journalistic community is inherently fair-minded.”

  But Amanda simply laughed in good humor. “I’ll be warming up your seat,” she said to Brody. He watched her cute behind as she climbed into the RV.

  “Don’t ever be rude like that to her again,” he said when she was out of earshot. “I’m giving you fair notice.”

  “When is her story due to be filed?” Harrison demanded.

  “She has a few facts to check and she needs some quotes from the guys. She’s writing the bulk of the article this weekend while I prepare for the race.”

  Harrison blinked at him in disbelief. “You gave her the interview?”

  “Yeah, I gave her the interview. Now it’s done and out of the way. Don’t be a jerk about it.”

  Harrison let loose a string of obscenities. Then he held out the screen of his phone. “You had better read this.”

  “Is this Amanda’s article on major league baseball? Because you already sent it to me, remember?”

  “And you don’t see the problem with it?” Harrison looked apoplectic. “This article has destroyed at least one career that I know of. Are you telling me you told her the truth about you?”

  Brody looked at the jumble of words on the phone, and then he looked at Harrison. He felt the blood draining from his face.

  “Brody, I’m asking you. Did you trust this woman with the secret that will end your life, my life and the life of every guy on your team as we know it?”

  He sucked in the cold mountain air. There wasn’t a coherent thought in his head.

  “Brody?”

  “No,” he spat out. “No, of course I didn’t tell her that.”

  Harrison relaxed. “You had me worried.”

  But Brody needed to sit. His world was spinning. He looked to Harrison, but there was nothing Harrison could say or do that would ever help him accept that word in connection with himself.

  To his horror, Harrison grinned from ear to ear. “That’s my boy. You conned her.”

  “I did not. I told her everything about me. I told her stuff you don’t even know.”

  Harrison winked at him. “Yup. You conned her.”

  “You son of a bitch. I don’t con anybody, ever, and that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

  “And thank God smart men keep secrets from their women.” Harrison slapped his back, but Brody jerked away.

  “You’re wrong. That’s not me,” he said. Because he wasn’t the con artist; his father was.

  “We all do it,” Harrison said, shrugging. “You, me, everyone. We con people when we need to, including ourselves sometimes. Just ask yourself this question—can you ever tell her, under any circumstance?”

  Brody fought to find an answer, but he couldn’t. He felt hi
s eyes glazing over, he felt his chest turning numb.

  I did not con her.

  But hadn’t he? He’d deliberately talked about his childhood in exchange for keeping her off the trail of the other, worse thing.

  How badly had he been fooling himself? Who was he?

  “The answer,” Harrison said, “is that you can’t tell her. Plain and simple, you never can.”

  He put his arm around Brody, and this time Brody was too sick and destroyed to shrug him away.

  “Believe me,” Harrison said, walking Brody toward the Mercedes—frog-marching him, really, “if you follow my lead, then you’ll be okay this weekend. We’ll handle it together. You have your priorities straight now, and that’s the most important thing.”

  It wasn’t. Brody couldn’t speak.

  “You have guys on your team who rely on you, Brody. I rely on you. Those kids who get your scholarships rely on you. Think of everyone you’ll be letting down if the truth comes out. You think it’s just you with something at risk? It isn’t. We’re all in the same boat, supporting each other. Aren’t we your family?”

  The bottom seemed to be falling out of his life. That word…it could never be associated with him. Not at any cost. Not for any reason.

  “Don’t think any more about it,” Harrison said, patting his shoulder and opening the passenger door of the Mercedes. “I’ve got your back. You’ll be okay.”

  Amanda. Brody glanced to the RV where she waited.

  And that’s when Harrison shoved it into his arms. His World Cup trophy from two seasons ago. The one he’d never felt he’d earned.

  “Alto Baglio, Brody,” Harrison reminded him. He looked pointedly from the trophy to the RV. Then he stared back at Brody. “If she cares about you at all, don’t you think she’ll understand that proving yourself in your next race is the most important thing?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE FARTHER THEY DROVE from the chalet, the more Amanda realized that whatever had happened these past three days between her and Brody was changing, as surely as the landscape shifted from mountain villages to town life.