by Lisa Childs
“That’s not why you don’t believe me,” he said. “It’s not because you think I’m a playboy. Or that I’m just trying to get you into bed—”
“You’re not?”
He grinned now, sheepishly, and dropped his arm from the couch to her shoulders. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’d like to….”
She tensed and shifted away from him, into the corner of the couch. “I know you’re bored, being home in Trout Creek, but there are other single women besides me.”
“I don’t want just any woman,” he said. And he stopped, stunned, as he realized he spoke the truth.
She cocked her head, scrutinizing him as if he was some kid trying to sell her a sorry excuse for losing his homework. “Brooks…”
“This isn’t about me,” he insisted. “It’s about you. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“You’ve known me since kindergarten,” she reminded him.
And because Trout Creek was so small, they had had many classes together. But he shook his head. “I didn’t know you.”
“We didn’t exactly move in the same social circles,” she agreed.
“No, I was a dumb jock who didn’t realize how special you are. I’ve never known anyone who cares so much about everyone else but herself.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion. “I don’t….”
“Yes, you do. You pitch in wherever you’re needed at the school. I’ve seen you helping out in the cafeteria, answering phones in the office. And when a teenage girl’s crying, she heads right to you, knowing you’ll give her a shoulder and some sound advice.”
“You make me sound like Dear Abby.”
“You are,” he said. Dear to everyone who really knew her. “Not only are you selfless but you’re so damn beautiful…”
She laughed now, but it sounded false. “You really must have lasting brain damage from that fight.”
“I have a concussion,” he admitted. “That knocked some sense into me.”
“I think it knocked you for a loop,” she said, her eyes warming with sympathy. “You’re scared that you’re not going to be able to play anymore, that you’re going to be stuck here in Trout Creek.”
He sighed. “That may be true, but so is everything I’ve just said about you.”
“You’re a charmer, Brooks Hoover. And a heartbreaker.” She smiled. “Always were. Probably always will be. I know better than to get involved with you—and especially not to fall in love with you.”
He should have been relieved, but something tightened in his chest. It wasn’t that he wanted her to care about him. As she’d said, he didn’t want to be stuck in Trout Creek.
“That’s fine,” he assured her and himself. “That’s good. Then it won’t get messy.” He leaned closer, his chest nearly touching her breasts.
She expelled a shaky breath that teased his lips. “What won’t get messy? What are you doing?”
“I’m going to show you just how special you are.” He closed his arms around her shoulders again, pulling her closer.
But she shoved her hands between them. “I don’t want to get involved with you.”
“We won’t get involved,” he said. “We both know we’re not right for each other.” He was pretty damn sure he wasn’t right for anyone. “But we can have some fun. When’s the last time you let yourself have fun?”
Her forehead creased, as if she were considering his question. Then she shook her head. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “You’re my boss.” He leaned even closer and skimmed his lips across the corner of her mouth. Her breath sighed out across his skin. “But don’t worry. I won’t sue you for harassment.”
“Who’s harassing whom?” she pointed out, her hands grabbing his shoulders. But instead of shoving him back, she clutched him closer. “If this is some joke…”
His control snapped, and he swung her up in his arms. After checking to make sure Faith slept peacefully, he carried Priscilla to her bedroom. When he’d picked up his daughter that Saturday four weeks ago, he’d noticed the oval mirror standing in the corner of the small room. He set Priscilla on her feet in front of it now, her back to him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, twisting her neck to stare up at him.
He pressed his thumb under her chin and tilted her face back toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. I don’t think you’ve ever really seen yourself, Priscilla.”
“It’s my mirror.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’ve looked in it before.”
“But you haven’t seen what you really look like,” he insisted. “You haven’t seen what I see.”
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Beauty. True beauty. The kind that goes beneath the surface.” Beneath the unflattering clothes. He clenched his fingers in the waistband of her thick gray sweater and pulled it up and over her head.
Goose bumps appeared on her pale skin as she stood between him and the mirror, wearing only her skirt and bra. It was white and no-nonsense—just like her.
His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the clasp of her skirt before it dropped to the floor next to her sweater. Like her bra, her underpants were plain and white.
Heat rushed up, flushing her face and breasts. “You’re used to women who shop at Victoria’s Secret,” she said.
“I don’t care about your clothes.” He cared about her, and that realization staggered him. But to prove the point about her underwear, he unhooked her bra and pushed down the straps so that it fell away from her breasts. He shuddered slightly with appreciation and desire. “You are so beautiful.”
His fingers shaking, he slid her panties over her lean hips until they pooled around her heels. “Damn, woman…”
In the mirror, her gaze met his—her eyes wide with surprise and acceptance. “I am beautiful,” she murmured, her voice soft with awe as she surveyed her image in the mirror.
He slid his hands over her skin, his so dark against her pale complexion. She shivered, as if chilled, but her flesh was warm to his touch. Hot, even. “You’re gorgeous….” Inside and out. He skimmed his hands over her nipples until they pebbled against his palms.
“We—we can’t do this,” she said. “Faith is just in the other room.”
“She’s out,” he reminded her. Priscilla gave the baby a sense of security he was afraid he would never be able to offer her.
“Brooks.” She turned in his arms.
He grimaced at her tone, worried that she was going to push him away again. But instead, she wound her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. Her lips trailed across his cheek, her breath warm in his ear. “Let me kiss it,” she suggested, “and make it all better.”
That pressure settled on his chest again, but he didn’t feel trapped. He just felt. She’d said she wouldn’t get involved. But what about him? Would he—could he—fall in love?
Her silky lips brushed across his, once, twice, teasing, before she pulled back. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said. “Seeing you on the ice like that scared me.”
She probably hadn’t been half as scared as he was right now. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted them, sliding them over her bare back. He pulled her closer, tight against his chest, his heart pounding fast and hard. “I’m all right,” he lied.
“I’m glad,” she said, her arms tightening around him. “Because I expect you to show me a good time.”
That was all she expected from him. And she was all right with that, Priscilla realized. She had been so serious, so driven for much of her life, and all it had ever brought her was disappointment. Now she didn’t want to think about anything—that the infant sleeping in her living room wasn’t hers, or that this man was not the one to love her forever.
She wanted to push those thoughts from her mind and just feel—everything that Brooks’s touch promised her she would feel. Her hands shaking with adrenaline, she yanked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. Bare skin stretched taut ov
er sculpted muscles. She dipped her head and pressed her lips against his chest.
He groaned and clutched his fingers in her hair, tugging her head up. His mouth covered hers with such passion her lips parted with a moan.
Damn, the man could kiss….
And his hands…He touched her everywhere, his fingertips caressing her skin, raising goose bumps of excitement. His tongue slid between her lips and then over them, stroking and caressing just like his hands. She shivered in anticipation, unable to back out now.
She wouldn’t shove him away again. She couldn’t. She wanted him so much and wanted what he could make her feel even more. Pleasure…
He carried her to the bed, laying her atop the flowered, flannel sheets. Then he shucked off his jeans and briefs and followed her down, his hard, muscled body covering hers. Like his face, his body bore faint scars. Skin puckered where stitches must had pulled it together. But those marks only added to his sexiness. She ran her fingertips along a ridge on his side and another over his hip. His body had taken so much abuse.
“I love the feel of your hands on me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “The way you touch me…”
She loved touching him, stroking her fingers across skin stretched taut over finely honed muscle. Since he’d kissed her, she had dreamed of having him like this, naked in her bed. But she hadn’t believed it would ever happen.
He kissed her again, so deeply and passionately that she moaned once more. Her body trembled, pressure already building inside her.
His hands moved over her again, over the tips of her breasts and the curve of her hip. His fingers stroked through her curls and then slid inside her. She shuddered and cried out, nipping at the hard muscles of his shoulder.
He groaned. So she touched him intimately, too, wrapping her fingers around the thick length of him. Then she pumped her hand up and down. He pulled away. “Slow down, we can take our time.”
He pushed her back and moved over her, slowly, using his mouth to love every inch of her. He kissed her throat, slid his lips along her collarbone and then closed his mouth over the tip of her breast.
Priscilla arched off the mattress, into his mouth. “Please…”
She needed more. She needed everything he could offer her. She needed Brooks.
Foil rustled, then tore. His erection, sheathed, pushed gently inside her. She arched again and shifted, trying to adjust to him. He was so big. So Brooks. While he thrust inside her, he pressed his lips against hers, imitating with his tongue what he was doing to her body.
She met each thrust, in perfect unison with his every movement—as if they had made love many times before. But even though she’d been married, she’d never felt like this. Pleasure wound through her with unbearable pressure, pulling at her nipples, curling her toes until it broke free, shattering her.
Before she could cry out, he covered her mouth with his. Then he thrust once more and stiffened—and groaned against her lips as he came, too.
Priscilla fought back tears as powerful emotion threatened to overwhelm her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against her ear.
She nodded. “Fine, fine…”
“You’re more than fine,” he said, “you’re amazing.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then pulled away and walked naked from the room.
Even though he’d just given her more pleasure than she ever remembered feeling, desire wound through her again, quivering low in her stomach. But moments later, water ran in the adjacent bathroom. Was he leaving?
Of course he was leaving. He wasn’t the type to spend the night with a woman, not after she’d given him what he wanted. It was her fault that she wanted more….
A CRY STARTLED PRISCILLA, awakening her from a dream. But she wasn’t sleeping. He was, lying naked and beautiful on the tangled sheets beside her. Dark circles beneath his heavily lashed eyes were the only things that detracted from his masculine beauty.
She slipped from beneath Brooks’s possessive arm and pulled on the shirt that she’d dragged off him. Brooks Hoover in her bed? She had to be dreaming.
The baby cried out again. That was a sound Priscilla had heard only in her nightmares. Until now.
She hurried into the living room. Kicking her short legs and pumping her fists in the air, Faith wailed lustily. Recognizing the cry as one of frustration, not pain or illness, Priscilla expelled a sigh of relief. Then she lifted the tiny wriggling body from the portable crib. As the baby snuggled against her, Priscilla’s heart wrenched with emotion. “You haven’t been letting your daddy get much sleep, have you?”
“You called me her daddy,” Brooks said, his voice gruff.
He stood just behind her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Even though he looked exhausted, he’d awakened at his daughter’s cry.
“You are,” Priscilla stated.
“The DNA results aren’t back yet,” he admitted.
“No?”
He shook his head. “There was some kind of mix-up at the lab. I had to give another blood sample.” He shuddered as if remembering the needle.
She smiled, remembering how the big strong hockey player had blanched when Trudy had administered his flu shot.
“I can’t believe it’s taking so long,” she said, more for something to say than because she doubted him. And to distract herself from the jeans he’d tugged on, which rode tantalizingly low on his lean hips.
“You know what I can’t believe,” he said, stepping closer to her and wrapping his arms around her waist beneath the now-sleeping Faith. “That you’re still single. There must be no eligible men in Trout Creek.”
“Except you,” she reminded him, then chuckled as his body tensed. “Just kidding. I know you’re not the marrying kind.” Had Faith’s mother gotten pregnant to try to trap him into marriage? But then why not tell him about it? Why just leave her precious baby on his doorstep?
His lips skimmed over the skin exposed by the gaping neckline of his big shirt. “I’m serious. I don’t understand how you’re still single.”
She drew in a breath, then confessed, “I wasn’t always. I’m divorced.”
His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “He’s the one, huh?”
She tilted her head to look back at him and see what he was talking about. “The one what?”
“Your ex,” he replied, as if that explained everything.
“What about my ex?” Not that she really wanted to discuss Owen or anything else about their brief marriage.
“He’s the one,” Brooks repeated, his voice deep with disgust, “who made you feel less than you are.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“You have no idea how special you are,” he reminded her. “How smart, how beautiful…”
He’d made her see it—standing her in front of that mirror, his hands pulling off her clothes, then gliding over her naked body. She’d never been so turned on or so awed. And although they’d made love, she’d realized that he was right. Brooks Hoover couldn’t love her like she deserved to be loved, like her husband should have loved her.
She smiled, though, touched by his compliments. “Brooks, you already got me into bed.” If not for the baby in her arms, she would have led him back there. “You don’t have to keep charming me.”
“Priscilla, what we did…”
“Wasn’t serious,” she assured him. “I know. We were just having fun.” And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d forgotten her guilt and her pain and her responsibilities the way she had in his arms.
“Was it fun?” he asked.
“It was…” Amazing. Beyond anything she could have imagined. But she didn’t want to worry him that she was falling for him. “Fun.”
“I can be more than fun,” he said, as if she’d offended him.
“Brooks…”
“I can be your friend,” he offered.
Even though s
he’d kept her thoughts to herself, he must have picked up on how much making love with him had meant to her. So now he was going to give her the just-friends speech?
“You look like you could use a friend,” he continued. “He really hurt you, didn’t he?” He reached around her and ran his fingertip over his sleeping daughter’s cheek.
“Who?” she asked, distracted by his display of tenderness. Here was a man who’d started many a fight on the ice, but he couldn’t have been more gentle with the baby or with her.
“Your ex,” he said. “I’m not the only one who came home to Trout Creek to heal.”
How could she have considered a man as perceptive as Brooks Hoover to be a dumb jock? She’d been back for five years, but no one besides her sister had noticed her pain.
She tilted her head again to look up at his handsome face, which was soft with affection as he stared down at Faith. Then his gaze met Priscilla’s—and the tenderness was still there.
“Let me be your friend,” he persisted. “Tell me what happened, why you’re still hurting.”
Faith’s tiny body tensed, and she opened her mouth and emitted a high-pitched wail. For once the baby’s crying didn’t send Priscilla into a panic. Brooks took the little girl from her arms. His biceps rippling, he rocked his daughter back and forth.
Priscilla was panicking, but not over the baby. She was afraid that she wanted more from Brooks Hoover than friendship.
Chapter Eleven
Priscilla stood at his side, but Brooks felt as if he’d lost her. She had closed herself off from him, treating him like a stranger despite the fact that he’d just touched and tasted every sexy inch of her.
“Tell me about your marriage,” he implored her, wondering what kind of guy would be lucky enough to marry her and then stupid enough to let her go. She was so generous, so loving, so smart….
So tense. She shrugged stiff shoulders. “There’s nothing to talk about. In fact, hardly anyone knows I was ever married. It didn’t last very long.”
“Why not?” he asked.
She didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her attention was focused on the baby.
“Was it over kids?” he asked. She had probably wanted a dozen.
