His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,11
father’s former office, ready to work with her brother to fix the mess he’d left behind.
“She’s here?”
Teague’s voice rumbled from just beyond the door, his low baritone distinctive and clipped as he spoke to Jerline, the receptionist his father had left behind with his practice and a bunch of pissed-off clients. Taylor’s stomach clenched tightly, the sharp edge of the reaction surprising her. She was nervous to see her own brother. There was something really wrong and sad about that. They’d been close at one time, but distance, time, and opposing views about the way to live had created a gap she’d been unable to close over the years.
Teague’s footsteps grew louder as he headed toward the door, and before she was ready, he filled the opening. Tall, built like the runner he was with long limbs and whipcord muscles, her brother was a long line of tension from the tips of his toes to the pinched corners of his hazel eyes.
“Mary-Taylor.” He moved fully into the room, setting the briefcase down on the floor beside the couch and standing across the room, his gaze flickering between her face and the place where her feet rested on the desk. He wouldn’t make the first move. Teague was like their father in that way, so she popped up from behind the desk and vaulted over it to tackle-hug her big brother.
Her heart sank a little in her chest when he remained unmoving, hesitating a fraction of a second before his arms lifted and wrapped tightly around her frame. She hugged him hard. She couldn’t cover seven years of distance in this one hug, but she was sure as hell taking the first step.
“Hey, Boo.” Teague buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tight and using her childhood nickname. The wetness on her lashes was a surprise. She wasn’t a crier, and she wasn’t really sure what they were about. But there were so many damn things to cry about lately. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Your last voice mail sounded like you were going to set fire to everything and watch it burn if you didn’t get some help.” She released him, the awkwardness once again edging back into the space between their bodies. “I hitched the first plane off the big island. You know how much I love a bonfire. I even brought marshmallows.”
“Right.” Teague stepped around her, easing behind the desk to lower himself into the chair. He looked so much like their father at that moment—successful, confident, the king of the world—or at least this little corner of it. In fact, he looked really good. Life in DC was treating him well, she supposed. When he smiled, she saw a little bit of the big brother she remembered, and it eased the residual tension in her chest.
“How long are you here?”
“About three weeks. It’s all I can spare from the spa.” She paused to laugh at the face he pulled, his lips twisting into a grimace. She wasn’t sure if it was aimed at the shortness of her visit or her choice in occupation. Teague didn’t think she was using her college degree to the level she should—another thing that contributed to the distance between them. “But I wanted to come help with the house. I figure I can get it packed up and cleaned out.”
“Oh, thank you baby Jesus.” He reached up and loosened his tie, relaxing back into the leather seat. “I hired packers, but I didn’t know how I was going to get it all sorted. There is a ton of shit in that house—expensive shit, but a ton of it.”
“No sweat. I’ll trash what needs to go, store what we want to keep, and sell the rest. I’m highly motivated. I need the money.” Taylor plopped down on the couch, her feet going up on the coffee table. She gave Teague points for not telling her to take them off. It was killing him. His jaw tightened and the muscle jumping there gave away the effort it took to remain quiet. She stretched, loosening up her lower back from a night spent in a strange bed. “With the cash from the sale, I can buy into a spa in Honolulu. I’ve got a group of investors and they’ve given me a sweetheart deal with a tight deadline to accept or reject it. Can you look at the papers for me?”
“Sure, no problem.” He rummaged in the desk drawer, emerging with a stick