LOVE'S FUNNY THAT WAY Page 3

  "You're not bad yourself."

  "Oh, I'm slow. I'm holding everyone up."

  Kirsten had turned back to rejoin them. "You're not holding anyone up, Raven. This isn't a race."

  Despite her kind words, Hunter knew Kirsten was champing at the bit. A natural athlete, she'd learned to ski—both downhill and cross-country—at the age of three. As Hunter's date, she no doubt considered it rude to leave him in the dust, though Brent apparently suffered no such qualms where Raven was concerned. In fact, Kirsten couldn't have left Hunter in the dust if he didn't want to be left; he was a stronger skier than she. But somebody had to stay with Raven. That was what he told himself to justify his next words.

  "Listen, Kirsten, there's no need for you to hold back. Why don't you catch up to Brent? We'll be along."

  She hesitated, glancing at the tracks left by Brent's skis, as restless as a racehorse at the starting gate.

  "Go on," he urged. "I know Brent thinks no woman can keep up with him."

  That did it. Kirsten's eyes narrowed dangerously. A quick wave and she was gone.

  "You should go on ahead, too," Raven said.

  "No way, I need to catch my breath," he lied. "Looks like we're stuck with each other."

  She glanced at him, then away. She'd done that a few times. Clearly he made her nervous, and he suspected he knew the reason for it. He hoped he knew the reason for it, which was pure idiocy on his part. He should have been hoping the attraction was one-sided, that she only had eyes for his brother.

  His brother, he reminded himself, as he had about a hundred times since Friday night when he'd met her. Family loyalty was high on his list of personal values, a deeply ingrained part of him. You don't mess around with family loyalty.

  Which means you don't even think about messing around with your brother's woman.

  Not that she was Brent's woman, per se. Not yet. This was only their second date, but that made no difference. She was off-limits. End of discussion.

  Which didn't stop him from wondering what had happened when Brent dropped her off at her home Friday night. Had she invited him in? Had they ended up in bed? He could ask Brent, but he didn't think he wanted to hear the answer.

  Hunter planted his ski poles in the snow, shrugged off his backpack and set it at his feet. He pulled out a thermos. "I came prepared."

  "Coffee?"

  "Better." He uncapped the thermos and held it under her nose. Those gilded eyes widened in delight.

  "Hot chocolate!"

  Hunter poured some into the plastic thermos lid that doubled as a cup and handed it to Raven. She wrapped her gloved fingers around the steaming cup, brought it to her lips and sipped. She moaned, very faintly. Her eyes drifted closed, her expression one of rapture.

  "More?" he asked when she handed the cup back. She shook her head and thanked him, said it really hit the spot. A little was left, and she watched as he tipped back the cup and finished it.

  "Your eyes," she said, staring.

  He smiled, pouring more cocoa. "A freak of nature."

  "One blue and one brown." She gave a little laugh. "Like God couldn't make up his mind."

  Hunter spread his arms. "A work in progress."

  Raven opened her mouth to say something, and stopped. He wondered if she'd been about to comment on the state of the "work in progress." Instead she said, "Kirsten's nice."

  "Yeah, she is. I met her on a wine-tasting tour of the North Fork vineyards." He drained the cup.

  "Oh, yeah? Whose ID did she borrow?"

  Chuckling with a mouthful of hot chocolate was a risky proposition. He managed to swallow and said, "Yeah, yeah, I know." He thought of the first impression Kirsten must have made on Raven, with those perky chestnut braids and that high, girlish voice and that wholesome, fresh-scrubbed face. Jail bait on skis. "But she's only five years younger than me."

  "So that would make you what? Eighteen?"

  "Ah, to be eighteen again. Try twenty-six."

  Something flickered in her eyes, surprise or dismay, perhaps a mixture of both.

  "I'm the baby of the family," he said, recapping the thermos and returning it to the backpack. "Brent's the oldest, followed by our sister, Tina. Poor old gal turned thirty a couple of years ago, and we have to listen to her whine and carry on about being a dried-up old maid."

  This statement was met with stony silence.

  "Her words, not mine," he swore, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor."

  "Well, it's terrible that our youth-oriented society makes women so hung up about age. I'm sure Tina's a more interesting person now than when she turned twenty. She should be proud to be in her thirties."

  "Well, maybe when she's had seven or eight years to get used to it like you have…"

  Hunter savored Raven's bug-eyed outrage for a few moments before he cocked his finger at her and said, "Gotcha."

  She made a wry face.

  He asked, "What happened to all that thirty-something pride?"

  "I'm working on it," she muttered.

  "How long have you been working on it?"

  "You get no points for subtlety, Hunter, but I'll tell you anyway. I turned thirty on Wednesday. January 7."

  "Happy birthday. But really. I thought you were around my age."

  "I choose to believe that particular fib. So much for renouncing society's hang-ups."

  Hunter hefted the backpack and swung it onto one shoulder. "Some guys only go for the real young girls. It boosts their egos or something, I guess. I'm not that way myself." Quickly he added, "And neither is Brent. You don't have to worry that he's going to think you're too, uh… What I mean is, he likes all kinds of women. A wide variety."

  One eyebrow lifted. "How wide a variety?"

  "Okay, I know how that sounded." Like the truth. "I just meant he's not picky, that's all."

  There went the other eyebrow.

  Hunter dropped his head back, groaning and chuckling at the same time. And to think he used to consider himself articulate. Then he caught her smirk, and asked, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

  "Payback for those seven or eight years."

  "There's no question my brother has very high standards in women." He tipped his head toward Raven; she rolled her eyes at the blatant flattery. "I only meant he's not one of those guys I was talking about."

  "I know what you meant," she said with a reassuring smile, then hesitated. "As long as you're being so forthcoming about Brent, perhaps you don't mind telling me… My friend Amanda, who he works for, said Brent's been making noises like he wants to settle down. Would you say that's accurate?"

  Hunter tried to imagine Raven Muldoon as his sister-in-law. He'd imagined her in a host of other roles since Friday night, in numerous scenarios involving a variety of exotic settings and more than a few intriguing positions.

  But sister-in-law? That was one he couldn't quite bring into focus.

  "It's accurate." He cleared his throat, struggling to banish the images he'd conjured. "Brent's set his sights on finding Mrs. Right. It's not just women who start thinking about things like that when they get to be a certain age."

  "Just curious." She was blushing now. "I shouldn't have asked."

  He shrugged. "We're not talking about a state secret here. He'd probably come right out and tell you himself if you asked him."

  "Welt I couldn't really do that, but it wasn't fair to pump you for information."

  Raven must feel pretty strongly about Brent, Hunter knew, if she was already thinking along these lines. Which made it all the more likely that Friday night's date had ended Saturday morning over French toast and latte.

  "As for myself," he said, sliding his other arm through the backpack's strap and joggling it into place, "marriage is like world peace. It could happen, in theory, but I wouldn't wager any serious money on it."

  "You never want to get married?"

  "What I want is to get Stitches solidly in the black, book some impressive talent, establish it as the premier club on
the Island. That's my priority, the commitment I made when I started it two years ago. It'll take a few more years, and it's all the responsibility I can handle at one time."

  "Well, you're young," she said, zipping her jacket closed. "You have time."

  "So do you."

  She looked at him.

  "I mean, you don't have to be in any hurry, Raven. The important thing is to make sure it's the right guy. Thirty's not exactly over the hill."

  She said nothing, just snugged her jacket's stand-up collar around her throat.

  "The temperature's dropping." He patted his backpack where the thermos was. "Do you want more—"

  "No. We'd better catch up to the others. They'll be sending the Sherpas after us before long."

  He started off, with her close behind. "I prefer a Saint Bernard with a cask of rum."

  "Not amontillado sherry?"

  He glanced over his shoulder to see her impish smile at this reference to Edgar Allen Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado." He charged ahead, propelling himself over the snow, hollering another of Poe's works at the top of his lungs.

  "'It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea.'"

  Raven's spontaneous laughter warmed him from the inside out. "Don't tell me you memorized the whole thing!"

  Grinning, he bellowed louder. "'That a maiden there lived whom you may know, By the name of Annabel Lee…'"

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  «^»

  "Are you sure I can't help?" Raven asked from the doorway of Brent's kitchen. As soon as they'd arrived at his cozy ranch-style house on Long Island's North Shore, he'd started preparing dinner.

  "Everything's under control." Brent smiled at her over his shoulder as he stirred something in a big pot on the stove. "Did you try that merlot?"

  She lifted her wineglass. "It's wonderful. What are you making? It smells incredible."

  "Jambalaya. What you smell is Cajun-style andouille sausage. I'm going to add shrimp at the end. Unless you're allergic to shellfish?"

  "No, I love it."

  "Great. Just relax. It'll be ready in about a half hour." Brent looked completely at home in the kitchen, as confident and capable whipping up a batch of jambalaya as he was breaking trail through snow-covered woods. He was as genial and outgoing as he was self-assured. Raven had to admit she found the combination appealing, even sexy.

  So why wasn't that special feeling bopping her over the head right about now? Her heart should be racing, she should be feeling light-headed, even a bit tongue-tied.

  Perhaps it was the artificial nature of this arrangement, being set up by her matchmaking friends, that kept the giddy excitement at bay. It wasn't as if their nascent relationship were based on any kind of spontaneous animal magnetism.

  Still, Raven was mature enough, experienced enough, to know that deep feelings didn't happen overnight. Superficial attraction might bop you over the head; true love took time and tender nurturing.

  If she hadn't experienced that spontaneous animal magnetism with Brent's kid brother, there would be no problem. It was a purely physical response, she knew—and fleeting, she could only hope.

  Unlike Hunter, Brent had marriage on the brain. Raven should be pleased, considering how skittish many men were when it came to commitment. However, earlier in the day, when she'd asked Hunter to verify that his brother was indeed in the market for a wife, she'd done so because her gut was warning her not to let Brent get too serious, too fast. Somehow she sensed he might not be as right for her as her friends assumed. The last thing she wanted was to lead him on, only to dash his hopes later.

  Raven was obligated to date Brent for three months. She could afford to put on the brakes and slow things down, to see how compatible they were before going further.

  She backed out of the kitchen, saying, "Well, let me know if I can do anything."

  She entered the living room, which was comfortably furnished in shades of brown and brick-red, with blond wood accents. Kirsten sat on the love seat. She'd unbraided her hair, which now rippled around her face in shiny chestnut waves. If anything, she looked even younger than before, closer to sixteen than the twenty-one Hunter claimed.

  Even twenty-one was a far cry from the big three-oh. Thirty. Raven groaned inwardly. How had she let that happen?

  Hunter sat on the floor between Kirsten's jeans-clad legs, leaning back against the love seat as she rubbed his shoulders, wide and thickly muscled under his wheat-colored sweater.

  Hunter's eyes were closed, but they snapped open when Raven said, "Your brother's in there slaving away. He won't let me help." She settled into a blond rattan armchair.

  "Don't tell me you're complaining," Hunter said with a smile.

  "I can't believe he has any energy left after today. I'm whipped."

  Kirsten said, "And I'm starved. Brent!" she called out. "Feed me before I collapse from hunger!"

  From the kitchen Brent yelled, "So set the table if you're in such a hurry."

  Laughing, Kirsten rose, swinging her lean leg over Hunter's head. "He has no qualms about putting me to work!" She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Alone with Hunter, Raven fiddled with her wine-glass. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, until Hunter finally broke it.

  "Brent's a terrific cook."

  "I can tell," she said. "He's not even using a recipe."

  Hunter glanced toward the closed door of the kitchen, through which they heard Kirsten and Brent's lively banter. Was he wishing his date would return? Was it possible he felt as ill at ease as Raven?

  She brought the wineglass to her lips and took a fortifying gulp. Kirsten barreled out of the kitchen with a stack of plates and flatware, which she deposited on the table in the dining alcove.

  Hunter straightened. "I'll help you."

  Kirsten waved him away. "Relax. I've got this."

  They watched her set the table, every movement as bouncy and energetic as if she'd spent the day lazing around the house. Raven, on the other hand, was stiff and sore from their hours of skiing. Compared to Kirsten, nearly a decade her junior, she felt like a withered crone.

  Hunter's voice broke into her thoughts. "So. What makes hypnotherapy so personally rewarding?" At her quizzical expression, he said, "That's how you described it on Friday."

  She saw something in his eyes that she hadn't seen in Brent's when he'd asked about her work. For Hunter, the question was more than polite chitchat; he really wanted to know.

  She shrugged. "I like helping people. It's as simple as that. Not that all the cases are serious. Some people just want to concentrate better on sports or improve their study habits, that sort of thing. But most come to me with problems that severely affect their health, their ability to make a living, their quality of life. In many cases they've exhausted all conventional remedies."

  "Do you get people who just can't be put under?"

  "Not really. I get people who are nervous, who are under the typical misconceptions about hypnosis—that it's some kind of weird altered state, that the hypnotist can make them do things they don't want to do, stuff like that. First I have to earn their trust, make them comfortable enough to let down their guard and totally relax. That's all hypnosis is, really, a state of deep relaxation when you're more susceptible to suggestion."

  His perceptive gaze seemed to reach deep within. "I bet you're good at that—putting people at ease. You have a gentle way about you. I can't imagine you willingly hurting another person."

  There was a warm intimacy in his voice that both thrilled and unnerved her. Raven's fingers trembled as she set down her wineglass. "There must be something I can do for Brent."

  She fled into the kitchen, where she made herself useful slicing Italian bread and making a Caesar salad. The meal lived up to her expectations. The jambalaya was a heavenly blend of rice, vegetables, shrimp and spicy sausage. The conversation was cheerful and animated. Though she knew it was premature, Raven imagined herself married to Brent, sharing his house
, his kitchen, his bed. His brother.

  Hunter would be her brother by extension—her brother-in-law. Part of her family. She sneaked a glance at him, only to find his eyes on her.

  Oh, brother.

  * * *

  "We can give Raven a ride," Hunter offered, as he zipped up his black ski parka.

  Raven sat next to Brent on the sofa. His arm was draped over her shoulders. Their dessert dishes and espresso cups littered the coffee table.

  "Thanks anyway," Brent said. "I can drive her home later."

  Raven looked at her watch, surprised to see it was after 1:00 a.m. "I have an early client tomorrow. I really should get going." Brent was disappointed, she could tell, but he yielded gracefully.

  "Well, in that case, I'll let Hunter give you a lift." He rose and offered his hand. "Let's go find your jacket."

  As if it needed finding. It was right there on Brent's bed, where he'd tossed it earlier. Raven wasn't surprised when he closed the door to his bedroom. They hadn't had a private moment all day. His smile was frank and affectionate as he approached her.

  "I hope you've had as great a time as I have today," he said.

  "I have, Brent. Thanks. Although…" She rotated her shoulders, groaning and chuckling at the same time. "I may not be thanking you tomorrow. Maybe I should take a hot bath when I get home."

  He cupped her shoulders and massaged them. His smile turned slightly devilish. "I've got a bathtub."

  Raven knew he was offering more than a bath. She knew that if she didn't get in Hunter's car now, she wouldn't go home until the morning.

  She couldn't claim she wasn't tempted. Despite her resolve to take things slow, Brent was a very attractive man. He was smart, attentive and obviously interested in her on more than a physical level. And it had been a long time since Raven had had sex. Of course, she'd never had sex this early in a relationship, but that wasn't the most compelling reason to say good-night now. The most compelling reason was waiting for her in the living room, jangling his car keys.

  This whole thing was too confusing. Her gut told her that if she acted on impulse now, she'd live to regret it.