She wasn’t heart-whole. She was—she was damaged goods, as Stephanie Forrester would say. She’d meant what she’d said last night: she couldn’t make love with a man when her own confidence was so low. She had so much to make up for, so many things to fix. She kept making the same mistakes, over and over again. Always well-intentioned, but always with catastrophic consequences. She and Ridge had held the mutual belief they were meant to be—so Ridge’s marriage with Taylor had ended as a result. She’d fallen in love with Eric Forrester—and his marriage to Stephanie had ended. Even her relationship with Thorne had bloomed during his turbulent time with Macy.
She had done so many horrendous things: she’d slept with men she shouldn’t have and done harm each time—all in the pursuit of her own happiness. She’d managed to justify everything she’d done, and now those actions left a sour aftertaste.
Each time she’d firmly believed he was the one—whichever he it was. Each time she was wrong, and suffered heartbreak as a result. She didn’t want to keep repeating this pattern. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, not by loving the wrong man – or the right man at the wrong time. She couldn’t afford to allow herself to feel anything more for Thorne than fond affection, and a deep abiding friendship. If she’d learned one thing from each of these experiences, it was that her judgment was lacking, and she couldn’t trust her heart. No matter how tempting the cowboy was.
She rose from the couch and padded into the kitchen. She could start setting the table, getting things ready for dinner—make herself useful.
The smell of the casserole in the oven was divine, and Brooke pursed her lips when she realized Rosa had already set the table and cleaned up the kitchen. The woman was a godsend.
A bark sounded outside, and Brooke crossed to the kitchen door. Thorne stepped into the glow shed by the garden lights, his little canine shadow hot on his heels as he climbed the steps and crossed the porch. He came to a halt in front of her, his eyes glittering in the shadows cast by the brim of his Stetson under the light above them on the deck. Thoughts of friendship went out the window as she entertained her own private fantasy of a cowboy in her bedroom.
“I was worried about you,” she said, her voice sharper than she’d intended. She placed her hands on her hips, wishing she didn’t sound so accusing, so forlorn—so desperate—yet fully aware she couldn’t help it. She had been worried—as a friend, of course.
“Well,” Thorne said, his voice low and husky, “with this kind of welcome home, I would have come back much sooner.”
His arms slid around her waist and pulled her to him. She stumbled, her hands flashing out to grasp his arms in an attempt to regain her balance, and his lips were on hers—hot, hard and demanding.
*
Thorne slanted his mouth over Brooke’s, drinking in the honeyed taste of her passion, so close to the surface, so easily ignited. She moaned against his lips, arching into his embrace. Her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest, and he slid one hand between their bodies, cupping a soft mound through her shirt. She wore a lacy bra, he could feel the fine detail through the cotton, and the image of Brooke in one of her sexy, enticing lingerie sets filled his mind and stirred his arousal.
He lifted his head, gazing down at her flushed features, the golden-green glitter of desire in her eyes, the passion … He could take her, he knew it. Swing her up into his arms, lay her down on the kitchen table, and make passionate love to her … But that wasn’t what he wanted.
Well, it was—he wanted to sweep her off her feet, wanted to overwhelm her with passion—but not for just one night, or a period of indulgent lust. And God, he lusted for her. He craved her, on a molecular level, was sensitive to her presence, to her moods, to the hunger he saw in her eyes.
But he didn’t want her on the rebound, not from Ridge. He had to admit it to himself. He wanted Brooke—he wanted to leave her satiated body in the morning, and come home to her in the evening to find her waiting for him with willing and open arms. He wanted them to work together, just as they had today, he wanted her conversation, her provocative ideas …
He wanted all of her.
At the moment, she was hurting, still reeling from Ridge’s rejection. Maybe that was his problem—she still loved his brother. The man she’d thought was her soul mate had chosen another and Thorne could certainly relate to her situation, the dark, dragging tide of emotion that accompanied it. He’d endured a similar circumstance when he and Brooke had divorced, all those years ago. He’d discovered she still had feelings for his brother, but this time—this time seemed different. She was reevaluating everything—she’d told him so herself. She was trying to get some perspective, trying to change.
The last time she and Ridge had split, he’d thought to give her time and space to adjust, to get over the ordeal, and to possibly open herself up to other opportunities, to change—to him.
And then Bill Spencer had come along, and stepped into that void.
Well, Thorne had learned his lesson. He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to convince Brooke that she was meant to be with him. Not Ridge, not Bill—not any other man. Ridge had made her doubt herself—her beauty, her intelligence, her confidence. He was going to make her see what a truly beautiful, strong and inspiring woman she was—and how magnetic that was to men. To him.
And he couldn’t rush things, and risk her bolting, nor did he want to run the risk of a repeat of their marriage.
He smiled down at her, reading her embarrassed confusion as he set her back.
“I’m starving, and it smells like Rosa has cooked up one of her casseroles.” He pressed a final quick kiss to her lips. “I’ll wash up and be out here in a jiffy.”
He ignored her stunned expression and strode down the hall to the washroom, humming a tune he’d heard Silas whistling. That was step one. Remind her he was a hot-blooded man, and not just some platonic friend or former brother-in-law. He was the man she’d made sweet, hot love to once upon a time, and it was time to remind her how good they were that way.
He washed his hands and face, then dried off with the handtowel by the basin. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him, but not take him for granted. He wanted to challenge her on every level—as well as twist her into the same hot knots she’d entangled him in.
He was going to seduce the socks off Brooke Logan.
Chapter Seven
The next few days followed that same pattern. Brooke would work with Thorne on the ranch in the mornings, mainly grooming, feeding and exercising the horses, then they’d go for a ride. Thorne would show her some hidden paradise, and she’d come back and work on her proposal in the dining room during the afternoon, and into the evening
And the whole time, Thorne drove her crazy, pulling at her libido, driving her lust up a notch, all when she was determined not to do what she normally would, and let her body make all the decisions.
But, oh, was she tempted.
He was so casual, so comfortable with her. He’d caress her arm during a simple chat. Slide his arm around her waist and glide his thumb over the skin just above her hips as they leaned on the fence to watch the horses. Every now and then, he’d just kiss her for no reason—unless the reason was to drive her insane with desire. He always pulled back, though, always stopped just before she did—or just before she threw caution to the winds and grabbed him with both hands. She’d hoped those cowboy fantasies would fizzle out as she got her head straight and focused on creating the kind of relationship she could be proud of—instead, they were becoming hotter as time wore on.
Brooke checked her watch, then pulled up her video conference app on the iPad. She fluffed her hair as she dialed in for the Forrester Creations weekly meeting. Had she even bothered with makeup? Her daily cosmetic routine had dwindled to next to nothing, aside from tinted moisturizer with added sunblock, a touch of mascara and a swipe of peach-hued lipgloss. She hoped she didn’t look a mess.
The screen flickered and then Rick’s face came into bl
urry focus.
“Hi, Mom, how’s it going?” he asked as he fiddled with the camera, and then everything became sharply defined. Eric, Ridge, Caroline and Hope sat with Rick around the table, their documents at the ready. Rick and Caroline worked from devices, although Caroline still liked to doodle on a notepad as they talked. Hope had her phone, Ridge had his laptop, and Eric—well, Eric was old school, with a folder, notepad and pencil within reach.
“I’m well, how is everyone doing there?” Brooke asked warmly.
“Great.”
“Missing you,” Hope said, leaning forward to send a little wave. Brooke’s smile widened.
“I miss you all, too.” Her gaze shifted to Ridge. Well, maybe not all.
“Right, then. Let’s get this meeting started,” Eric intoned, and began to run through the agenda. They dealt with the minor business: recruitment was underway for a new operations manager at the L.A. office and Thomas was doing well in the Paris office, but Rick would fly over for a brief visit, just for an update and to see what kind of support the L.A. office could offer with his transition. Rick would also take the opportunity to meet with some of their European distributors. Then they finally got to the business that had kept Brooke up late at night.
“I must say, Brooke, I’m impressed with the information you’ve submitted,” Eric said, holding up a slim folder. “I think the modifications you’ve made to the bras, particularly with the slits in the back and sides, are very innovative.”
Brooke nodded, pleased. “Yes, after discussions with the U.C.L.A. team, and some of their patients, we realized that we’d need those gaps in the material for tubes and drains post-op. We can incorporate them into some of the classical designs, disguised with paneling, or build them into patterns.”
“The hidden pockets were also very clever,” Rick admitted.
Caroline nodded. “I agree—allowing space for pads and breast forms in this way very much mimics the normal construction of the bra, and provides options for the wearer.”
“I’m still not quite convinced on the material, though,” Ridge said, leaning forward. “It looks great—it’s cool, it draws moisture away from the body and would help aid the healing process, and the fact that the U.C.L.A. team can verify the reports is swell—but it’s still incredibly expensive. Making a bra with this material would put it out of reach of our market, particularly if those women are already struggling under the burden of medical bills.”
Brooke kept her features composed. “I understand,” she said, nodding. She took a deep breath. “So I went looking for other manufacturers of similar fabrics, and I found a company that infuses their fabric with nutrients from the Dead Sea. They’re based in Dubai. The minerals extracted from the Dead Sea have similar healing qualities to aloe vera. The U.C.L.A. team were very excited by their tests so far. It’s looking very positive.”
Hope leaned forward. “You know, I’m finding this whole infusing fabric concept a little futuristic,” she said. “It sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie.”
Rick nodded. “I admit, I was skeptical when I first heard of it. Thorne brought it to my attention about two years ago, and back then the cost was prohibitive, but I’ve been monitoring the market, and the costs are slowly coming down. Some companies use them in luxury-end sports gear, and the restorative claims seem to be true.”
So Thorne had been watching the development of the fabric for years. Brooke wondered what other innovations he’d been eyeing that Rick and Eric had possibly discarded. “That’s right. This company in Dubai, though, can produce the material at a much more cost-effective level. I’ve asked the U.C.L.A. team for their review, and I’ve ordered some samples from Dubai. I should get the fabric in the next week or so. Obviously, those results will ascertain whether the material actually lives up to the hype. First and foremost, I want to eliminate any risks with using the fabric, and the U.C.L.A. team already have that information.”
“It sounds like you might be on to something there. If it brings the cost of the bra down, I think it could be ideal for your line,” Eric said. “We could definitely look at manufacturing.”
Brooke nodded. “Yes, I think so, too. If the research backs up what the company claims, I believe they would be open to negotiation.” She cocked her head to the side and looked directly at Ridge. “The question is—would you or Rick be able to source the material for us? I think having either—or even both of you—at the negotiating table would probably be best. Do you have any contacts in Dubai that could help with this project?”
Ridge nodded. “I believe I might know some people.”
Eric tapped the desk. “Good. Once Brooke can confirm the data, Ridge can enter into negotiations with the Dubai company for this fancy fabric.”
Ridge opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when his father gave him a dark look. “Fine.”
“Well, if that’s everything, I think we’re done,” Rick said, glancing around the table.
Caroline raised her hand. “Um, I’d like to speak with Brooke alone, if that’s all right?”
Rick nodded. “Sure, we’ll give you the room.”
Rick, Eric, Hope and Ridge rose from the table, and Hope blew a kiss that Brooke returned as they left.
Brooke kept her gaze on the screen, not bothering to hide her bewilderment. “What can I do for you, Caroline?”
Caroline grimaced. “I got a call from Ruth Parker yesterday,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking around the office, as though to make sure there was no chance of anyone eavesdropping.
“How is she?” Brooke asked, frowning with concern.
“She’s just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer.”
Brooke’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh no,” she whispered, shocked. She’d spoken to the woman three weeks ago, had been sending her email updates on the project. There’d been no hint in any of their communication. “Oh no,” she repeated, then dropped her hand back down to the desk, blinking as she tried to marshal her thoughts. “How is she taking it? How is her husband taking it? What kind of prognosis does she have?”
Caroline held up a hand. “They caught it really early, and she’s having her ovaries removed as soon as they can harvest her eggs. She has a good chance, but obviously she’s going to go through some pretty serious treatment over the next few months—and there’s always a risk, particularly due to her history.”
Brooke closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back at Caroline on the screen. “That poor woman. As if she hasn’t gone through enough hell.” She shook her head. “She and Matt were trying to get pregnant, too.”
Caroline nodded, wincing. “Yeah, I know. She and Matt will store her eggs while they think about IVF, surrogacy, or possible adoption.”
“She’s so young, so beautiful,” Brooke murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. They were such an amazing couple who had faced so many trials and tribulations in their lives, but out of all the people she’d met, she knew their relationship would survive. Ruth had once told her that cancer had a way of stripping off the layers, of burrowing down to the core of a relationship, and they’d found their relationship was built on a foundation of pure, strong, supportive love—but that didn’t mean it was easy.
“She wanted you to know,” Caroline said. “Seeing as you’ve presented this endeavor based on her experiences, she thought you might want to know about the risk to her life.”
“I want this project up and running as soon as possible,” she said to Caroline, putting all the sincerity and determination she could muster into her voice. “Ruth is facing another trial, and getting this Glamazon line out there would be so good for her.” She didn’t need to add that Ruth might not live to see it happen. It was a possibility both were aware of, yet neither wanted to voice.
Caroline nodded. “I understand.” She tilted her head the side. “I would love to help, Brooke,” she said softly. “Would you mind if I tried my hand at some of the designs? I haven’t really done lingerie before, but I’d real
ly like to try—for this line.”
Brooke smiled. Caroline was an incredibly talented designer, and adding lingerie to her portfolio would not only enhance her skills, but also benefit Forrester Creations.
“I’d like that,” she said, warmed by the young woman’s support. “Of course, we have to get the fabric approved.”
Caroline winked. “Don’t you worry. I’ll keep working on any resistance here. You keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. Everyone here is so impressed with the processes you’re outlining—I might need to look at some of those strategies for the Hope for the Future line.”
Brooke nodded. “Well, I’m not doing this on my own. Donna is fielding a lot of emails for me back at the office, and the U.C.L.A. team is going to considerable effort to support this line—and then there’s Thorne …”
Yes, and then there was Thorne—he’d started the ball rolling for her, pointed her in the right direction.
“Hey, is Brooke still there?” a feminine voice said from somewhere out of view, and suddenly Brooke’s sister Donna leaned over the desk to look at the screen. “Hey, sis!” Donna flapped her hands at Caroline, who rose from the chair. “Scram. I want to talk to my sister.”
Caroline laughed. “That’s fine, we’re done. She’s all yours.”
Donna waited until Caroline had left the room, then sat and stared at the screen for a moment. “It’s good to see you,” she said finally.
Brooke smiled, tearing up at the sight of family. “Hey, it’s good to see you, too.”
Donna leaned an elbow on the table and cupped her chin. “You look fantastic. What have you been doing?”
Brook filled her in on her activities, and paused as Donna shook her head. “I’m amazed,” her sister said. “You look so relaxed, and you’re so tan! You left here looking like death warmed up, and now you look like a commercial for some multivitamin campaign.”
Sunset Love: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 8
