The Bravos: Family Ties. Christine Rimmer

wouldn’t get to bed until after daylight. In my case, I needed to be at my first class at ten. No way. I had to force myself to go straight home.”

      “You have discipline.”

      She laughed. “There’s not a professional dancer in the world who doesn’t have an excess of that. The work is so demanding. And you just can’t fake it. But for me, well, I was after a different kind of life. And I was fortunate. I managed to take what I knew—dancing—and use it to get where I wanted to go.”

      She asked about how he had gotten where he was now. He told her how he had come up through the casinos in Atlantic City.

      “Dealer, floor supervisor, pit boss, assistant shift manager—you name the job, I’ve probably done it. The irony is, while I was learning the business in New Jersey, Aaron was doing the same thing here in Nevada. We knew of each other, had even met briefly—twice—before we learned that we were brothers.”

      “You’re kidding. You met, realized you had the same last name—and you didn’t even wonder if you might be related?”

      “Bravo’s not that uncommon a name.”

      “But you look a lot alike …”

      He shrugged those wide shoulders. “What can I tell you? The truth was right there in front of us, we just didn’t see it. But then Jonas and Aaron formed the Bravo Group. They were looking for someone to run Impresario. They had me checked out before they approached me and in the process discovered who my father was. It all pretty much fell into place from there.”

      “And that was when?”

      “I moved here two years ago.”

      “Was Ashlyn living with you then?”

      He shook his head. “Her mother was still alive. Belinda died a few months after I came to Vegas.” Belinda. His ex was named Belinda.

      “That must have been hard,” said Cleo. “For Ashlyn, especially. To lose her mother so young …”

      He watched her. She thought he seemed … wary somehow. Then he looked down. “Kids are resilient.”

      “So people always say.”

      He glanced up again, a sharp gleam in his eye. “You think they’re not?”

      “I think children are tender and open and defenseless. They can be easily damaged. And I think it’s nothing short of a miracle what some kids live through and yet still manage to lead happy, productive lives.” She reached across the table and touched his arm. When he looked at her once more, she added, “And I also think Ashlyn is really something. I think you—and her mother—have done a great job with her. She’s not only bright and beautiful, she’s fun in her own oh-so-serious way and she’s interested in others. She’s a terrific kid.”

      He gave her a slow nod. “Thank you.”

      “Hey. It’s only the truth. Was Belinda sick?”

      He glanced away, then back. “Her death was sudden.”

      “And when she died, you two had been divorced for …?”

      Something had definitely happened in his eyes—something final, like a thick door swinging shut. “About three years.”

      Cleo did the math. “You mean, you were divorced before Ashlyn was born?”

      A pause. He sipped his wine, set the glass down, then gave out grudgingly, “The divorce was final a few months after she was born.”

      “So … you broke up while your wife was pregnant with Ashlyn?”

      “That’s right—how about dessert?”

      “No thanks.” She fiddled with her water glass. “You don’t want to talk about her, about your ex-wife….”

      He looked at her steadily now. “No, I don’t. There’s no point. All that’s in the past.” And then he reached across the white tablecloth and laid his hand over hers. “The tiramisu is excellent here.”

      “No. Really. No more.”

      “Shall we go, then?”

      “All right.” She saw promises in his eyes, erotic ones. Her curiosity about the lost Belinda faded—for the moment anyway. She was all breathlessness, all yearning desire.

      He took care of the check and they were out of there. In the car he glanced over at her. “Come home with me.”

      Oh, how she wanted to do just that. But she was having another dose of second thoughts, thinking again how she couldn’t afford to get too wrapped up in him. “I don’t know. It’s getting kind of late.”

      “A lame excuse if I ever heard one. It’s barely ten and it’s Friday. No KinderWay tomorrow.”

      He was right. And besides, she couldn’t bear to say good-night. Not yet. She suggested, “You could come to my place….”

      “Why? So you can kick me out as soon as you’ve gotten what you want from me?”

      She felt the grin as it tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I would never do that.”

      “Good to know—but I have plans.”

      “And they are?”

      “We can stop by your house. You can pick up what you need for tomorrow. We’ll spend the day together—you and me and Ashlyn.”

      “You want me to stay the night at your place, you mean?”

      “Yes. I do.”

      It seemed … shocking somehow, that he would suggest she spend a whole night in his bed. She wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because of Ashlyn. The day before, he’d been so careful to make sure that Ashlyn was nowhere around while they made love. “Has Ashlyn gone somewhere for the night, then?”

      He took his gaze off the road long enough to send her a puzzled glance. “No. Why?”

      “Well, if I stayed at your apartment, Ashlyn would find me there in the morning.”

      Even in profile his amusement was clear. “Gee whiz. You’re right.”

      “I’m serious. I just don’t …” The words trailed off as she tried to figure out how to finish.

      “You don’t what?”

      “Oh, I don’t know. Will that bother her if she finds me there in the morning?”

      “Cleo, you’ve taken child-development classes. You know how a five-year-old thinks. Ashlyn likes you. A lot. If you show up at the breakfast table, she’s only going to think that you’re there to see her.” He sent her another glance and his voice went to velvet. “And I promise not to do X-rated things to you unless we’re alone in my bedroom with the door locked.” He looked at the road again. “Say yes. Say it now.”

      She shouldn’t. And she knew it. But she said it anyway. “Yes.”

      Much later, as they lay in his bed, drowsy and contented and thoroughly satisfied, he asked her if she was on the pill.

      She told him no. She hadn’t liked the side effects. “I do have a diaphragm….”

      He smoothed her hair off her forehead and placed a kiss at her temple. “Whatever. Just wondered. I don’t mind using condoms—if you don’t.”

      “Condoms are fine with me.” She rolled so she was on her side, facing him, and snuggled in closer. Funny. Even the mundane and often awkward contraception conversation seemed somehow perfectly natural and easy with Fletcher.

       Maybe because he’s had that particular conversation so many times …

      The snide thought came into her mind and she ordered it away. It wouldn’t quite go. “Fletcher?” He made a low sound, one that