Taming Tall, Dark Brandon Read online

  He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that this very wet and obviously freezing cold woman, who was becoming more furious with every passing second, was Ms. Andrea Cunningham.

  “Oh, hell,” Brandon muttered.

  He rushed from behind the registration desk and across the lobby, then came to an abrupt halt in front of the woman, frantically searching his mind for something brilliant to say.

  “Ms. Cunningham?” he said, beaming. “I’m Brandon Hamilton. Welcome to Hamilton House.”

  Before attempting to respond to the syrupy-sweet greeting, Andrea took a deep, much-needed breath, then another, then one more. As she exhaled for the third time, a strange buzzing noise hummed in her ears and black dots paraded in front of her eyes.

  She looked up into the dark eyes of Brandon Hamilton, blinked, then without having managed to speak one word...she fainted.

  “Oh, Lord,” Brandon said, his eyes widening.

  As the woman he assumed was Andrea Cunningham began to crumple forward, Brandon’s arms shot out instinctively. He scooped her up before she reached the highly polished tile floor of the entryway.

  Brandon stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at the soggy bundle now nestled in his arms.

  If this really was Andrea Cunningham, he thought, she was lovely, absolutely beautiful, in a wholesome way. Her eyes, which were now closed, were big and dark, her features were delicate, and her lips were made for kissing.

  She was as light as a feather, even with soakingwet clothes. She was fairly tall, maybe five-six, but she was exactly right for his six-foot frame.

  How old was she? Maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven. The only thing that marred her pretty face were purple smudges of fatigue, or illness, beneath her eyes. She was—

  “Cripe, Hamilton,” he said aloud, snapping back to attention. “Don’t just stand here. Do something.”

  He turned and saw the dining room hostess crossing the lobby.

  “Jennifer,” he called. “I need help.”

  The attractive woman hurried to where Brandon stood.

  “My gosh, Brandon,” she said. “What happened? Who is that? What’s wrong with her?”

  “I think she’s our guest, Andrea Cunningham,” he said. “Please get on the phone and call Ben Rizzoli. Tell him we need a doctor over here...quick. Then have Mickey take that suitcase behind the counter, and find someone to cover the front desk.”

  “Got it,” Jennifer said, then hurried away.

  Andrea stirred in Brandon’s arms as he strode across the lobby and into his office. He kicked the door closed behind him and settled his precious cargo on a soft, beige leather sofa that was placed against one wall.

  “Hello?” he said, hunkering next to the sofa. “Ms. Cunningham? Andrea?”

  My, my, Andrea thought foggily, what a marvelously masculine voice that was calling her name. She was in the middle of the nicest dream, featuring one of the most ruggedly good-looking men she’d ever seen. He was “tall, dark and handsome” personified. The kind of man who appeared only in dreams or on the movie screen, but never walked around loose in real life.

  He was holding her in strong arms against his rockhard chest. He had broad shoulders, thick dark hair, and eyes so dark they appeared obsidian.

  The timbre of his voice was perfect; deep, rich and nimbly. He’d said his name. Oh, what was it? Brandon. Yes, that was it. It suited him.

  “Andrea?” Brandon said. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes. Please?”

  Her name had never sounded so lovely, so feminine, Andrea thought. Brandon’s voice floated over her, caressing her like plush velvet.

  Oh, my, yes, this was a fantastic dream. But like all dreams, it had to end. She had to get up, go to work. She had so much that was waiting for her attention at the office.

  Besides, she was terribly cold, chilled to the bone, in fact. The blankets on her bed felt clammy, as though she’d forgotten to put them in the dryer after removing them from the washing machine.

  She wouldn’t have made up her bed with wet linens, would she? No, of course not. Handsome man named Brandon or not, she’d had enough of this.

  Andrea’s lashes fluttered, then she opened her eyes slowly, taking a steadying breath in the process. In the next instant she gasped as she found herself staring at obsidian-eyed Brandon, the man from her dream.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, attempting to sit up. “Don’t you know the rules about dreams? I’m awake now, so get out of my bedroom.”

  “Easy; easy,” Brandon said, pressing gently on her shoulders to keep her prone. “Are you Ms. Andrea Cunningham?”

  “Yes, I am, but—”

  “I’m Brandon Hamilton. Do you know where you are?” he said. Was she beautiful, but nuttier than a fruitcake? Rules about dreams? She thought she was in her own bedroom? “Just think for a second.”

  “You’re Brandon?” Andrea said, frowning. “This doesn’t make sense. The man in my dream said his name was—” Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my gracious, it wasn’t a dream. I’m in Prescott. This is Hamilton House, and—”

  “And you fainted right after you arrived,” Brandon finished for her.

  Cancel nuts, he thought. Andrea was hitting on all cylinders and was none too pleased with her reality. He had to keep her calm before she became hysterical or did something else that would disturb the tranquility of the hotel.

  “There’s a doctor on the way to see you,” he said. “Everything is under control, Ms. Cunningham. Andrea. May I call you Andrea? We’re not exactly strangers, you know. You fainted right into my arms, just like in the movies.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Andrea said, pressing one hand to her forehead. “I’ve never fainted in my life. I’m mortified, absolutely mortified. I’m going home.”

  “No, no,” Brandon said quickly. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.” He produced his best hundredwatt smile. “You can’t leave. You’re my lucky charm—the guest who filled Hamilton House to capacity for the holidays. Lucky charms have responsibilities, you know.”

  “That,” Andrea said, glaring at him, “is some of the corniest bunch of malarkey I’ve ever heard.”

  Brandon’s smile slid off his chin. “Oh.” He paused. “I have to admit, you scared the socks off me by fainting the way you did. I’ve never had that experience before here at Hamilton House.”

  Andrea closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Brandon again.

  “It’s a first for me, too,” she said.

  A woman could drown in the depths of those fathomless dark eyes, she thought. A strange heat, which was far greater than the cold consuming her, was beginning to pulse low in her body. There was a blatant, masculine sexuality emanating from Brandon that was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

  “No one faints without a reason,” Brandon said, pulling Andrea from her sensuous thoughts. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital if you’re...well, if you’re pregnant and something is definitely not as it should be.”

  “No,” Andrea said, then sighed. “I’m not pregnant. I have no dread disease, nor mysterious ailment. I’m just tired.”

  “Very tired, then,” Brandon said. “Let me guess. Your doctor has ordered you to rest, so you came up to Prescott from Phoenix.”

  “How did you know I’m from-oh, my registration information. I gave you my address.”

  Brandon nodded. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I don’t own a heavy winter coat. I didn’t investigate the weather up here. My doctor suggested Prescott and I came. This trip was not a good idea.”

  “Sure it was,” Brandon said, smiling. “Prescott is a great place to get away from the rat race in Phoenix. What do you do for a living down in the valley?”

  “I’m the vice president of Challenge Advertising.” And she was also a beautiful woman, Brandon thought. Was there a special man in Phoenix, who would be extremely distressed to learn that his lady had fainted into the arms of a complete stranger?
/>   Well, if there was a guy, where was he when Andrea needed him, the louse? Forget the jerk. He, Brandon Hamilton, had been right on the spot to scoop Andrea into his arms. And, oh, man, how fantastic she’d felt nestled against him.

  “Advertising.” Brandon cleared his throat as a bolt of heat rocketed through his body at the remembrance of holding Andrea in his arms. “That’s heavy stuff. Competitive. Pretty stressful, I imagine.”

  Andrea lifted her chin. “I enjoy my work and I’m very good at what I do.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute, but you’ve apparently enjoyed your occupation right into total exhaustion. That, combined with suddenly being at a much higher altitude than you’re accustomed to, is probably what caused you to faint.

  “Your body is talking to you, Andrea, sending signals loud and clear. I’ve been down that road, and I suggest you listen to the message you’re getting from yourself.”

  “Mmm,” she said, frowning.

  “You’re registered to stay at Hamilton House for two weeks, so sit back and enjoy them.”

  “Right,” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I won’t have to worry about being exhausted. I will die of boredom.”

  Brandon chuckled. “No, you won’t. Prescott has a lot to offer. I’m a single man and I find plenty to do, and the people are warm and friendly.”

  “Who are you?” she said. “A representative for the chamber of commerce?”

  Brandon shrugged. “Just stating the facts, ma’am.” He paused. “I’m glad there’s nothing seriously wrong with you, Andrea,” he went on, looking directly into her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  The seconds ticked by and neither moved nor hardly breathed as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. A swirling heat seemed to weave around and through them, pulling them closer together, closer and closer....

  A brisk knock sounded at the door, causing both Andrea and Brandon to jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. A man entered the room in the next instant.

  “Rizzoli to the rescue,” he said cheerfully, crossing the room to stand by the sofa.

  My stars, Andrea thought. Prescott, Arizona, had cornered the market on handsome men. This one was obviously Italian, indicated by his name and olivetoned skin. He, too, was tall, dark and handsome, his rough-hewed features boasting a nose that had obviously been broken at some point in his apparent thirty-odd years.

  There was a subtle difference between the men, though. Brandon Hamilton was wearing what was obviously a custom-tailored suit. He had an aura of class and money, and his features were a tad more refined, smooth.

  She would consider Mr. Rizzoli a diamond in the rough, in his faded jeans, plaid flannel shirt and fleece-lined, tan bomber jacket. His dark hair was also badly in need of a trim.

  But they were a dynamic duo. Talk about mortifying. She now had two handsome men gawking at her. She wanted to crawl into a very deep hole and never come out.

  “I’m definitely going home,” she said, starting to sit up again.

  “Whoa,” Ben Rizzoli said, raising one hand. “I haven’t done my rescue bit yet. I’m Dr. Benjamin Rizzoli, at your service. Call me Ben. Doctors have a terrible need to be needed, so you have to allow me to check you over or I’ll pout. And you are?”

  “Leaving,” Andrea said again.

  “She’s Ms. Andrea Cunningham,” Brandon told Ben. “She walked in the front door and fainted. There’s nothing wrong with her that a good rest won’t cure. A rest she will definitely get by staying two weeks here at Hamilton House.”

  Ben nodded. “Well, Andrea—I’ll call you Andrea and you call me Ben. We’re very laid-back, friendly folks here in Prescott. I already know a great deal about you.”

  “Do tell,” Andrea said dryly.

  “Okay, I will,” he said, grinning. “You’re very organized and efficient. I mean, hey, you might have fainted before you came into the hotel and clunked your head on the snowy sidewalk. The fact that you waited to blink out after you entered this fine establishment proves my point. As for the rest of the diagnosis, it sounds as though Brandon has been doing my job for me. You’re majorly tuckered out.”

  “There you go,” Brandon said, smiling.

  “Do you two practice this routine?” Andrea said, glowering at the pair. “This is ridiculous. I’m going home.”

  “Let’s get serious here,” Ben said, his expression now matching his statement. “As a doctor, I have a few more questions for you, Andrea. Brandon, hit the road. I want to talk to Andrea alone.”

  Brandon planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up to stand eye-to-eye with Ben.

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” Brandon said.

  “Holler if you need me.”

  “Yep,” Ben said. “Go away.”

  Brandon hesitated, looking at Andrea for a long moment, then left the room. He closed the door behind him and immediately began to pace back and forth in front of it.

  What other questions did Ben want to ask Andrea? he thought. Did Ben suspect there was something seriously wrong with her? No. No way. That was not acceptable.

  Andrea. Pretty name. Pretty lady.

  She had felt just so... so right in his arms, as though she belonged there, close to him, protected and cared for by him.

  “Hell, Hamilton,” he muttered. “Where is your mind going? You’re sounding like the fruitcake you thought Andrea was.”

  But there was no denying the feelings of protectiveness and possessiveness he’d registered as he scooped Andrea into his arms and carried her into his office. She was so delicate, had become so pale, which had only accentuated the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

  Brandon halted his trek and stared at the door.

  Come on, Rizzoli, he mentally ordered. What in the hell was going on in there? He didn’t want a major problem to have caused Andrea to faint.

  No, she was fine, just fine. She had to be.

  Brandon frowned and dragged one hand through his hair.

  He was overreacting. Big-time. He didn’t even know Andrea Cunningham. The cold fist of fear in his gut that she might be seriously ill didn’t make one bit of sense, nor did the desire for her that had exploded throughout him.

  Well, yes, maybe it did. He was a decent man, a nice human being. It wasn’t Andrea, the woman, he was tied up in knots over, it was simply one person hoping that another person was all right. And it was simply a normal, healthy man’s libido reacting to an attractive woman.

  Anyone would feel as he did.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Two

  Before Brandon could give further thought to the troubling, confusion-induced question in his mind, the door to the office opened and Andrea appeared, with Ben right behind her.

  “Are you all right?” Brandon said, staring at Andrea intently. He switched his scrutiny to Ben. “Is she all right? You both look so serious. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?”

  Ben laughed. “You’re using up all the air space, Hamilton. I’ve never seen you so rattled, which is very interesting, but how are we supposed to get a word in edgewise here?”

  “Oh,” Brandon said. “Sorry.” He paused. “So? Say something, Rizzoli.”

  “I can’t. There’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. If Andrea wishes to inform you that she is suffering only from complete exhaustion, combined with a dose of Prescott’s altitude, that’s up to her. My lips are sealed.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Andrea said, laughing. “You two are trouble, you really are.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve smiled,” Brandon said quietly, his gaze riveted on Andrea’s face. “Your laughter reminds me of the sound of wind chimes.”

  “Well, I... Well...” Andrea started then stopped speaking as she looked directly into the depths of Brandon’s dark eyes.

  Those eyes again, she thought. They were pinning her in place. She couldn’t move, or think, could hardly breathe. Brandon Hamilton had
the most compelling, mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen.

  She wasn’t freezing cold anymore. No, she was suffused with warmth, with steadily increasing heat that was thrumming low in her body and spreading rapidly throughout her.

  Dear heaven, what was this man doing to her?

  Ben cleared his throat.

  “I hate to interrupt,” he said, merriment dancing in his eyes. “But Andrea needs to get into some dry clothes and to eat something. My prescription is that you, Brandon, as the owner of Hamilton House, extend some extra tender loving care toward this weary guest. I definitely have the feeling that you can handle that.”

  “What?” Brandon said. “Oh, right. Sure thing. Yes. You bet.”

  “You’re so articulate,” Ben said, chuckling. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my office. I have patients waiting to—hey now, here are my favorite girlfriends.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened as she saw two women, who appeared to be in their seventies, bustling toward them.

  The women were identical in size and features—mirror images of each other. But there the similarity stopped.

  One was wearing a sedate gray, long-sleeved dress with a high, old-fashioned collar. The other was adorned in a flashy red satin number that reminded Andrea of pictures she’d seen of turn-of-the-century saloon girls.

  The women smiled as they arrived where Andrea, Brandon and Ben were standing.

  “Andrea,” Brandon said, “may I present my greataunts Prudence—” he swept one hand toward the woman in gray “—and Charity. The Hamilton twins.”

  “Hello,” Andrea said, smiling.

  “Good day, dear,” Prudence said. “We heard you had the vapors, and thought perhaps we might be of assistance.”

  “Why would she want our help, Pru,” Charity said, “when she has two hunks of stuff like Brandon and Ben fussing over her? All that’s missing here is Taylor, our other handsome bachelor-on-the-loose.”

  “To know ‘em is to love ’em, Andrea,” Ben said. He kissed each of the elderly ladies on the cheek. “I’m gone. I’ll check in with you later, Brandon,.”