Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,42

getting lost in the conversation and forgetting myself… and my conversation partner.

My gaze lifts to Brett and I find his eyes are already on my face, studying me from the couch across the coffee table. His stare is intense — it seems to fill every molecule of space in his private study, where we’ve been sitting for the past forty minutes discussing art and totally neglecting the binder of pieces I’m supposed to be convincing him to spend a godforsaken amount of money to purchase.

“Come in,” Brett calls, not looking away from me. I watch the muscles of his throat work and feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. God, I’m a nerd. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here with the (second) hottest guy I’ve ever met, talking his ear off about art. What I can’t figure out is why he let me.

Before I can wonder too much, the door to the study swings open, and a man is standing there, filling the frame. Literally. He’s so big, I can barely see space around his body, but it’s not his size that makes him scary.

One look at his face, and the breath catches in my throat.

He looks like The Incredible Hulk except his skin isn’t green and he’s got a long, thin, white scar running across his jugular, as though someone tried — and failed — to choke the life from him with a piano wire. His beefy limbs have been stuffed into a suit that must’ve been custom made because I’m pretty sure even those Big & Tall stores don’t make clothes that gargantuan. It’s his eyes, though, that really terrify me — they’re empty, totally. Just black, vacuous circles in his head, staring through me for a brief moment before locking on Brett’s face.

“Five minutes out,” The Hulk says without preamble. “Ten at the most.”

Brett nods. “Good. Let me know when it’s time.”

“Yes, sir.” The Hulk nods at Brett, in confirmation of something he doesn’t bother to explain, then lumbers back through the frame and closes the door behind him.

My eyes move to Brett, and I see he’s smiling to himself, a real shit-eating grin, which is weird. But not as weird as the fact that Bruce Banner is apparently a member of his staff. And definitely not as weird as the fact that he doesn’t even address The Hulk’s interruption — he just turns to me and launches back into conversation.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he says, his attention totally riveted once more.

My mouth gapes. “What?”

I’d much rather talk about Monet than myself.

His eyes narrow on me. “Who is Gemma Summers?”

“Oh, um…” I cross my legs, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Brett’s stare. My eyes skitter away from his, coming to rest on the coffee table between us. It’s a stunning piece — gleaming oak, definitely an antique, definitely an expensive antique, from the looks of it. The kind of furniture you admire as artwork, and would never think of putting your drink or a pile of magazines or, god forbid, your feet on. “I’m not really anything special.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

My eyes lift back to his. “Really, I’m nobody.”

His gaze sharpens, reminding me of a hawk or some other predatory bird narrowing in on its prey from so high above, the poor, fluffy, soon-to-be-meal doesn’t even stand a chance. “My cousin doesn’t think so. In fact, it seems he’s taken quite an interest in you.”

And there it is: the real reason I’m here. He thinks my presence is a dig at his cousin.

Does no one watch the goddamn news, anymore?!

My mouth tightens as memories of Chase’s cruel words replay in my mind.

Let’s just say, if I ever am going to settle down… I doubt it will be with a girl like Gemma Summers.

After meeting the blonde this morning, I can see why.

Anger thrums through my veins as I refocus on Brett, my eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you should confuse pity with interest.”

“I’ve known my cousin all my life – I can read him better than most. We even lived together, for part of our childhood.”

I raise my eyebrows, communicating yeah, so what? without words.

“When we were fifteen, sixteen, we used to ride our grandfather’s thoroughbreds when we were home from school for the summer. We’d go to the stables and pick out our horses and, after a while, Chase grew particularly fond of one of the young stallions, a great, black, monster of a horse. I could see it in his eyes, in the