by Avery Flynn
As if he could hear her question without her even uttering a word, he turned and looked at her and then started walking directly for her, sending a lightning bolt of awareness right through her.
Nick didn’t bother to stop when he got close, just slid his palm across the small of her back and started walking them both toward the french doors. “Let’s get out of here.”
“We can’t leave.” No matter how lovely that sounded.
“What good is being the heir to an earldom if I can’t throw my weight around and get us out of this mess?” He didn’t stop their forward progress out the doors and to her little car, where he held open the driver’s side door. “Come on. Take me away from all of this before Mace talks me into being a one-eyed zombie with a drooling problem.”
She didn’t have any plan in mind when she turned the keys in the ignition—she just drove, trying to ignore the way his masculine, woodsy scent filled the car, reminding her of how her pillows had smelled of him after they’d swapped rooms the first night. She’d sniffed that pillow a lot—too much for a grown woman to ever admit out loud.
They ended up at the Bowhaven Forest, which almost smelled as good as Nick—calling Dr. Freud. Serious hikers mostly left it alone, but there was a tree-lined path dotted with huge hand-carved wooden foxes, frogs, bats, and owls that didn’t require hiking boots. That’s where she took Nick, hoping the beauty of the walk could keep her distracted enough that she didn’t give in to the growing urge to pull him behind a tree and have an outdoorsy repeat of the other night. If the path had been deserted, she might have, but as it was, they talked about his inventions and her plans to run for village council as they walked past the families with kids on the rough-hewn wooden swings and the couples on blankets taking in the last warm days of the season. It was nice being here with him, almost like they were just a girl and a guy, not the earl’s heir and the earl’s secretary. Looking up at the sunrays peeking through the branches, she realized that this was about as relaxed and happy as she’d been outside of her family’s pub since Reggie. It was almost as if that part of her life had never happened. God, wouldn’t that be a dream.
Someone at a picnic table had brought Bluetooth speakers and was playing one of the older songs that her parents had danced around to in the kitchen. Like Pavlov’s dog, she was singing the da-da-da-das along with the band until the music faded away.
“I love that song,” she said, unable to keep the grin off her face as they stopped in front of a giant carved wooden sheep, complete with intricately carved wool.
“Are you kidding?” Nick asked, shaking his head. “It’s the worst. Like anyone would actually walk five hundred miles for someone else.”
“It’s nice to think that someone would, though.” That someone would always have to be on your side, dependable, solid. She knew what the opposite of that was like and couldn’t help but hold out hope that she’d find it.
“Lady Lemons,” he said, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Are you a closet romantic?”
“Not anymore.” At least not that she’d ever admit.
He looked down at her with enough heat and hunger in his brown eyes to make her knees weak, her mouth dry, and her panties damp. When all she should be doing was running the hell away from him, all she wanted in the world was to have him lean down and kiss her until the rest of the world disappeared. God, what this man did to her wasn’t fair. She really needed to watch herself or she was going to fall—and fall hard—for the last man in the world she should want. And that was the exact moment when she realized it was too late. She already was falling for him—probably had started before he’d even landed at the airport with those emails and texts she’d read a million times.
“Fuck me,” she hissed under her breath.
Nick arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “We should get back.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, trying desperately to remember who she was (publican’s daughter), who he was (earl’s heir), and that anything between them wasn’t meant to be because life wasn’t a fairy tale and women like her didn’t end up with men like him.
…
“Surly” didn’t begin to cover the black mood Nick had been stuck in since yesterday’s walk in the woods with Brooke. When she’d looked up at him with that expression on her face like she thought there was something more to him than just a good fuck and that she was down for it, he’d been about three seconds from giving in, from dipping his head and kissing her so that he blasted away every last thought she’d ever had about any other man in the world but him. He didn’t just want to fuck her—he wanted to claim her, and that wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy. In that way, he really was his father’s son.
“The clock’s ticking on this place,” said Karen, yanking Nick back to the task at hand. She was one of the local electricians Paul had recommended when Nick went to find out how Webster had done with the voice recordings—shitty, it turned out. “This wiring has got to be fixed, and it’s not going to be cheap.”
Of course it did and of course it wasn’t. “What happens if it isn’t?”
Karen didn’t utter a word, but the horrified grimace on her face said it all.
“Are we talking no lights or a fire hazard?”
“The latter,” Karen said. “Maybe not for years. Maybe sooner. No way to tell.”
Fucking A. This was not what he needed. He could afford to get it fixed, several times over, but getting the earl to agree to the work that would mean a lot of holes in a lot of walls was going to be like punching himself in the face repeatedly for months. Every time he’d brought it up, the old man had glared and said he was earl and would decide what was to be done.
He no sooner had the thought than the earl came steaming right at them. Karen, her sense of self-preservation obviously well honed, didn’t bother to stick around. She just gathered her stuff and got out of there faster than a race car on the last lap.
The earl took one look at Karen’s retreating form and launched into a verbal attack. “Whatever it is, absolutely not.”
Christ on a cracker. He was not in the mood for this bullshit. “The electrical needs to be updated.”
“I’ve told you repeatedly, it’s fine.” The old man narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his thin chest, daring Nick to argue.
It was all so unbelievable—no, wait, totally predictable. “Why do you have to stick your heels in the dirt about everything?”
“Don’t be impertinent.” The earl waved a hand dismissively in the air.
“You’re right,” Nick said, actually feeling the moment when the last thread holding his temper in check snapped. “I shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about this place. God knows no one who ever lived here gave a rat’s ass about me.”
“That’s not true,” the older man said, his face ashen. “Your father—”
“Left.” The single word landed like a punch that hit both of them.
His grandfather winced. “He couldn’t stay.”
And they both knew why.
Lost to the fury only an abandoned child can feel, Nick said, “Because. Of. You.”
Temper snapped in the old man’s eyes, and he straightened to almost Nick’s height, staring his progeny in the eyes. “Because he had responsibilities.”
To an old pile of rocks that was more important than Nick’s mama or him? Good to know, not that he didn’t anyway. “You know what? You’re right. The electrical in this dump doesn’t need to be updated.”
Without waiting for the old man to utter another word of bullshit, Nick strode out of Dallinger Park, powered by a visceral anger that had spent too many years swirling under the surface. The old fury, it hadn’t ever gone away. It probably never would. The gravel drive crunched under his boots as he cro
ssed to the stable house, a single light shining from a window. He stormed in through the front door and slammed it behind him.
Brooke stood in the hallway, light from the kitchen outlining her form and casting her blond hair in an ethereal halo.
“Nick,” she said, her voice soft and unsure. “Are you okay?”
No, he wasn’t. Not even close. He was across the room before he knew it, every part of him aching to lose itself in her, in the sweet oblivion of her silky skin, her breathy moans, and the tight grip of her orgasm as she came all over him. He needed to feel her, to touch her, to make her want him. Still, he kept his hands at his sides, knowing that touching her, even once, would break the resolve he was holding on to with the last ounce of his tenuous self-control.
“Say the word and I’ll leave you alone. I won’t ever bother you again. We’ll just be friends,” he said, hating every single syllable coming out of his mouth. “Say it. Tell me you don’t want me the way I want you.”
Chapter Twenty
The rawness in his words and the untempered need in his dark eyes stole the breath from Brooke’s lungs. Even if she’d been able to deliver that lie right now, she would have hated herself afterward for it. The truth was that she wanted this man and she was done pretending otherwise.
“Please, Brooke.” He closed his eyes, his entire body coiled so tightly that the tension within him buffeted her like a gale-force wind. “Say the words.”
She pressed a palm to his chest, over his quickly beating heart. “I can’t.”
His eyes snapped open, and she had no idea how in the world she didn’t burst into flame from the intensity of the want she saw there. In that half second, the world stopped turning, her heart stopped beating, and breathing became optional. Then she was against the wall, his strong hands cupping her ass and holding her up so her feet didn’t touch the ground as his mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that should have burned the whole stable house down.
Wrapping her legs around his waist, she angled her body so her core rubbed against his hard cock trapped inside his jeans. Electric sensation threatened to shatter her as she circled her hips, his hands digging into her ass. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Desperate for more, she tore at his T-shirt, yanking it from his waistband. There wasn’t enough room between their bodies for her to make much headway when it came to feeling the bare heat of his skin. Just the sensation of his happy trail against her fingertips was all she could get and she wanted—needed—more.
Nick broke the kiss, not letting her go but resting his forehead against the wall above her shoulder. “Damn, Brooke. We shouldn’t—”
She cupped his dick through his jeans. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Surprise battled with lust on his face before the latter won out. “Bossy, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” She ran her palm across his length, feeling his heat through the denim. “Put me down.” She unwound her legs from around him, hating to lose the feel of him against her but needing more than the hint of him through the layers of their clothing.
He gave her a questioning look but lowered her until her feet hit the ground. She didn’t stop there. Continuing downward, she kept her attention focused on his face until she was on her knees, undoing the button of his jeans.
“Hands on the wall,” she said, hot desire like lightning in her veins.
He arched an eyebrow, and for a second she thought he was going to try to wrestle back control. Then, slowly, he lifted his arms to shoulder height and pressed both palms to the wall.
“I see you can follow the rules when properly motivated,” she said, lowering his zipper.
“There’re more rules?”
“With me?” She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down to his ankles along with his jeans. “Always.”
His cock was at mouth level, just where she wanted it, hard, the head swollen with need and a few drops of pre-cum glistening on the tip. God, it was glorious.
“You’re going to want to put your hands in my hair, hold me in place, and fuck my mouth.” She wet her lips. “You don’t get to.”
Something primal flashed in his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because that’s for later; right now I want to taste and tease and take what I want.”
“You want my dick that badly?” he asked, challenge in his tone.
“I want all of you that badly.”
Whatever he would have said next came out as a groaning hiss when she opened her mouth and took him in deep. He kept his eyes open as her lips traveled all the way down to the root, but it was a fight. His entire body tensed with the effort not to move, not to rock in and out of her. She loved this, not the power of having a man like this but the thrill of giving Nick what he needed because she knew it—understood it—down to the depths of her soul. They weren’t that different, the two of them. They needed to be wanted.
“Fuck, Brooke,” he said, his hands curling into fists but not leaving the wall above her. “Your mouth.” He let out a lusty groan when she flicked her tongue against his balls. “Your tongue.”
Spurred on by the desperation in his voice, she continued moving her mouth along his shaft in languorous ups and downs. It was blissful agony for both of them, the best kind of mind-melting torture that made her wet and achy. The whole time she watched him, she saw the expressions fly across his face—hunger, need, ecstasy. She wrapped her fingers around his base, her fingers not quite touching, and released him from her mouth. Never tearing her gaze from his face, she pumped her hand up and down his cock wet from her mouth and licked the tip, relishing the salty liquid there.
Nick’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got ten more seconds.”
“What happens then?” she asked, continuing to stroke the hard length of him.
“I move my hands from this wall,” he said between gritted teeth.
Her heart sped up and her core clenched. “Breaking the rules, are you?”
“I’m American; it’s what we do.”
The rough timber of his voice made her nipples tingle.
“What else do you do?” she asked, a breathy excitement in her voice.
“This.” His hands captured hers and he yanked her to her feet, trapping her between him and the wall with her arms above her head. “Your time is up.”
“Now what?”
“My turn.” Keeping her wrists pinned with one of his hands, he trailed a fingertip down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Don’t move your arms.”
She would have answered if she could, but he was unbuttoning her jeans and shoving them down. He traced a finger across the damp center of her knickers.
“Did sucking my dick make you wet?”
Her breath hitched. “Yes.”
He hooked a finger in the back of the silk between her legs and pulled it taut so it pressed against her clit. “Are you soft and ready for me?”
Her body screamed yes even as she could only muster a soft, “Yes.”
He kissed the length of her throat, stopping at the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck and nipped the delicate skin. One hand cupped her breast through her shirt, and she closed her eyes and moaned her approval. Then he was gone, his heat replaced by cool air.
She opened her eyes and saw him standing a foot away, stripping off his clothes. The view was impressive. He was all barely reined-in intensity and tight control as he grabbed behind his head and pulled off his T-shirt.
He gave her a long look up and down. “If you like those clothes, you better take them off or I’m going to rip them off you.”
She kept her arms aloft, unable to back down from the challenge. “And here I thought you were Mr. Lazy Carefree Doesn’t Care About Anything.”
“I care about getting you naked.” He reached out and snapped the elastic band of her knickers. “Now.
”
She could tease him some more, draw it out, drive him right to the edge, but just like she knew the moment he walked through the doors that he needed her, she needed him just as much. This attraction, this thing between them, it wasn’t just about need, though. It was more, and that scared her, but not nearly as much as the thought of being anywhere else than with him at this moment. He may not have wanted to come to England and she may not have ever wanted him to be here, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore. She brought her fingers to the bottom button of her shirt and slipped it free.
…
It took the very last bit of Nick’s self-control not to reach out and pull Brooke’s shirt apart and send the buttons flying across the hallway.
But instead of giving in, he gripped his cock and slowly stroked it as she unbuttoned her shirt, let it slip from her body, and stepped out of the jeans pooled around her ankles. God, she was beautiful, and she wanted him.
The realization of just how much he needed not just someone but Brooke to want him almost knocked him to his knees.
This wasn’t how he worked. Before he’d come to England, he was a man with few friends—though the ones he had were as solid as oak—whose life was his work, his boat, and the lake behind his house. Now he’d been adopted by a village that had actually started to feel like home, was in line for an English title, and had a family again—even if that family consisted of one of the most bullheaded men he’d ever met who’d never have claimed Nick if he’d had another choice. However, none of that mattered to him nearly as much as the woman standing in front of him in her white bra and panties with her blond hair falling around her shoulders.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, taking a step forward and closing the distance between them, her fingers skimming down his abdomen.
“I want more.” He reached down and sent her silk panties fluttering to the floor. “I want all of you.”
The caveman inside him roared in agreement, and he swept Brooke up off the floor and strode with her in his arms—her mouth on his neck, his collarbone, his chest, anywhere she could reach—to his bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, settling her across his lap with her knees on either side of his hips. Gliding his hands from the smooth curve of her ass and up the line of her spine, he didn’t stop until he reached the hooks of her bra. He made fast work of the damn thing while she rocked her wet core against his aching dick, sliding it up and down on him while rotating her hips and driving him to the edge of sanity. If he didn’t change things up, he was going to come on her instead of in her, and that wasn’t going to fucking happen.
