Page 21 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

K yle cleared his throat, not sure he was ready yet to transition to the lecture part of the evening, but knowing she was onto him. “You don’t think I brought you here just to see my gallery?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Nope. It’s very nice, but that’s not what this is about.”

“Thank you.” Kyle sighed and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “All right, Meg. I brought you here because I wanted you to see for yourself how much heart and soul and sweat and tears and dedication and love and personal experience goes into an artist’s work.”

“I can see that,” she said, her voice wary now.

“And I wanted you to consider my mother’s case from that point of view. From Matt’s point of view.”

She stared at him for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling. When she turned back to him, her expression was guarded.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you taking her side? You and your mom have never gotten along that well. Or is it about taking Matt’s side?” She frowned at that notion, seeming to consider it. “But the two of you were always at each other’s throats. Literally , at least once that I remember.”

She didn’t need to say anything else. Kyle remembered the fight like it was yesterday, even though it had happened nearly six years ago.

They’d been drinking beer and bullshitting about a gallery opening they’d attended the week before.

When Kyle made the mistake of telling Matt his new metallic print of a race car looked a little over-processed, Matt had responded by shoving Kyle.

He’d tried to pretend it was playful, but Matt’s words had been anything else.

At least I’m earning a living off my art, baby brother. Just last week, I had a photo on the cover of Men’s Health , and here you are three months behind on your power bill.

Meg had been the one to pull them apart, ordering them to separate corners of the room like a pair of squabbling children. In hindsight, Matt’s bouts of temper were probably a sign of the depression lurking deep in his big brother’s psyche, but that hadn’t occurred to Kyle until years later.

Kyle cleared his throat. “I remember the fight, Meg.” He felt his chest growing tight and he folded his arms over it to keep his heart in. “Obviously, that wasn’t the proudest moment for either of us. Matt or me.”

“Obviously.”

“He was still my brother.”

They both let those words hang between them a moment, neither of them willing to concede. Clearly, this battle wasn’t going to be won tonight. The lawsuit or any of the rest of it. Maybe it was best to just drop the subject and let things shake out in the court system.

But didn’t he owe it to Matt to at least take a stab at defending his legacy? Didn’t Matt deserve his loyalty, after all?

Meg dropped her hands to her sides. “That cookbook was my baby, Kyle.”

“I know that. But it takes more than one person to make a baby.”

She looked at him, then shook her head slowly. “You know, that’s actually a good analogy. You seem to be looking at this whole cookbook thing like Matt and I rolled around naked together and produced it.”

Kyle winced, wondering if she knew that the idea of his brother rolling around naked with Meg was the last thing he wanted to imagine.

“But the thing is,” Meg continued, “it wasn’t like that. I know you weren’t privy to our conversations, so it’s my word against your brother’s. But the way it happened was more like a sperm donation.”

“You’re equating Matt’s photos to that ?”

“In a way, yes. I went to the sperm bank, paid my fee, went home with the turkey baster and?—”

“Okay, I get it,” he said, not sure whether he was more annoyed or turned on by the picture she was painting.

Meg sighed. “I know we didn’t have legal contracts in place, and believe me, I regret that.

But this is like the sperm donor’s family coming after the baby.

Or not even the baby—more like the income the baby makes when it suddenly becomes a stockbroker and makes millions in spite of the fact that the sperm donor and his family scoffed at the baby and never believed he’d amount to anything and?—”

“Okay, Meg,” he said. “You’ve made your point.

” Her words had touched a nerve, though he didn’t want to admit it.

He felt something tearing him in two. Half of him wanted to prove loyalty to his brother, to make up for some of the shitty things between them over the years.

But part of him knew what it felt like to be that damn baby.

Or to produce a baby no one believed in or?—

Hell, he was getting lost in the damn metaphors, and maybe this whole conversation was pointless anyway. He raked his fingers through his hair, not sure where to go from here.

It was Meg who extended the olive branch first. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish things were different.”

“Me, too.”

“I want us to be friends again.”

Kyle felt his heart twist. “So do I.”

“How about we agree not to talk about this stuff? About the lawsuit or the cookbook or anything having to do with your family.”

“That seems like a tall order.”

She shrugged and shoved her hands in her back pockets, which gave her a softer, more approachable look. Not that Kyle should be approaching her. Not that way, at least.

“I’m willing to try,” she said.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Friends?”

“Friends,” he confirmed.

The silence between them stretched out for a good long while, making it clear the friendship thing was easier said than done. A clock jittered loudly in the corner, and Kyle wondered if he should just take Meg home. It was getting late, and it had been a helluva long day for both of them.

“Why did you ask me to bring the ring?”

Her voice startled him, and it took him a moment to figure out what the hell she was talking about.

He’d almost forgotten, but it seemed like the perfect chance to move on to something more constructive.

“I’ll show you,” he said, moving past her and into the hallway.

He flipped the lights off in the gallery and heard her hustling behind him to catch up.

She was only a foot or two behind, but he still gave a start when she touched his arm.

“Oops,” she murmured, clutching his shirt sleeve. “I have terrible night vision.”

“My fault—I should get lights in this hall.” He stopped walking and fished in his pocket. “Dammit, I left my phone in the studio.”

She laughed. “You’re going to call an electrician?”

“No, I was going to use it as a flashlight.”

“It’s okay, I can just hang on to you.”

She held tight to his sleeve, and Kyle looked down at the dark outline of her hand on his arm, conscious of how very close she was.

It was too dark to see her face, but he could feel the heat from her body and it made his blood begin to simmer.

A wisp of her hair floated on a current from the heat duct overhead, and Kyle fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

What was it about being alone in the darkness with him that brought out the urge to do foolish things?

He heard her breathing beside him and felt the warmth of her fingers through the thin cotton of his shirt. It seemed unusually hot in the hallway, and the scent of flowers in her hair was making him dizzy enough to do something dumb.

Meg must have read his mind. “You’re thinking about that kiss in the closet, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Because so am I.” Her grip tightened on his arm.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it all day.”

“Me neither.”

His heart throbbed in his throat, and he tried to remind himself of the million and one reasons this was a terrible, horrible idea.

But all the reasons clouded together and jumbled with the singular thought of how very, very badly he wanted to kiss her again. To twine his fingers in her curls and angle her mouth toward his, to run his hand up her side and feel her hot and alive beneath his palm.

Meg’s hand slid up his arm, moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull back, to remind them both why they shouldn’t do this.

But it was all over the instant her fingertips grazed the back of his neck. Something primal took over, and Kyle backed her up against the wall, not sure if she pulled his face to hers or he boosted her up to meet his kiss. He didn’t care whose idea it was. He didn’t care who started it.

All he cared about was kissing Meg again.

Meg felt the moan deep in Kyle’s throat as he pressed her up against the wall and claimed her mouth with his.

I’m kissing Kyle again , she thought and wondered how she’d ended up here twice in one day after a decade of not allowing herself to even consider it.

There was less hesitation now than there’d been a few hours ago, though she wasn’t sure if that was his doing or hers.

This wasn’t her ex’s funeral, and this wasn’t her ex’s brother.

Not now, anyway. This was just Kyle— Kyle —kissing her in his space, on his terms, and not because he felt sorry for her, either.

He wanted her, if his hands on her ass were any indication.

He cupped both cheeks and boosted her up against the wall, and Meg started to protest. “You’ll hurt your?—”

The word back got smothered as their mouths collided, and he was kissing her too hard for the protest to make a difference.

She felt her legs twine around his waist by instinct.

She was no hundred-pound waif. Years in the kitchen sampling her own creations had seen to that, and her boobs alone probably weighed more than half the girls he’d dated over the years.

But he didn’t seem to be struggling and hadn’t dropped dead from exertion, so Meg let herself relax as Kyle’s fingers found the hem of her T-shirt.

She thought about sucking her stomach in, but who was she kidding?

He’d seen her in a two-piece at least a dozen times, and he didn’t seem repulsed.

Actually, he seemed to revel in her skin, his fingers skimming her curves, taking their time to savor her flesh before moving upward to get to the good stuff.