by Susan Fox
“Brooke?” His fingers stroked her chest above the towel, making her quiver. It felt so good to be touched, to be touched sensually, to be wanted sexually, by this man. “Just lie down with me,” he urged.
Oh, how she wanted to. She wanted to turn out the light and slip under the covers and press her soft body against his hard, virile one. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more. Not even a drink.
“You blow hot and cold,” he murmured. “Why is that?”
It was true. That afternoon, when she’d been on the phone with Jess and he’d been undressing, she had been flirting. Somehow she’d felt safe, with the phone in her hand. She’d been fine, playing her sexy role, until she hung up. Until he took her in his arms. And then she’d panicked. “I don’t mean to be a tease.”
“I know. But what are you scared of?”
It was a darn good question. Was she scared he’d find her ugly? Not really. He’d seen the wrinkles on her face; a couple of stretch marks across her belly weren’t likely to put him off. She wasn’t a centerfold but she wasn’t soft and saggy either.
She wasn’t married; he wasn’t married; they were consenting adults. Besides, they weren’t even going to have sex tonight. Not real sex.
She shivered at the thought of what they might do. If they’d had condoms, the outcome would be easily foreseen. Actually, when she thought about it, it was more tantalizing this way. People could do a lot in bed besides have intercourse. She remembered.... And with the memories came the certainty that she could please this man.
Suddenly she found herself grinning down at him.
He looked so surprised that she smiled even harder, until he grinned back.
“What am I afraid of?” she said. “That I might like it too much.” Laughter bubbled up in her and she let it flow out.
“I sure hope so,” he said, his smoky eyes gleaming a sultry mauve.
No strings. Just fun. One night—maybe more—of feeling utterly alive as a woman. Sexy memories to bring a secret smile to her lips in the years of grandmotherhood.
Yes, Jake Brannon was exactly what she wanted right now.
She took a step back so his hand fell away from her towel, and then she leaned forward and tapped him on his sheet-covered hip. “Shove over, John Doe, Arnold, Jake, whatever the heck your name is.”
He gave a hoot of laughter and obeyed as she reached to flick off the bedside light.
“Hey!” he protested, but she dropped her towel and hurled herself into bed beside him, and that shut him up.
Brooke caught her breath as her body came up against Jake’s. For a few moments she reveled in pure sensation, feeling the sleek hard press, the crispness of hair, inhaling the musk of aroused male. She buried her nose in his chest and breathed deeply, then sneezed as a few curls of chest hair tickled her.
They lay on their sides facing each other, and gradually their bodies adjusted and intertwined. Jake’s arms came around her and she hugged him back, wrapping her arm high on his rib cage, avoiding the bandage at his waist.
His face was in her still-damp hair and he dropped tiny kisses on the top of her head. “Ah, Brooke, you feel wonderful.” His hand swept slowly down her back, dipping into the curve at her waist, stretching out to cup a buttock. Urging her body even closer so his erection was pressed tight between them.
She wriggled upward a couple of inches, seeking the intimate contact her body yearned for. Between her legs she felt the moisture of desire, a sensation she’d forgotten until Jake entered her life. She pressed that dampness against the base of his shaft and he thrust convulsively, stroking against her swollen lips, the aching bud of her clitoris.
She whimpered with pleasure, with need, amazed at how quickly arousal had built. Was this the effect of so many years of celibacy, or was it Jake? Who cared? All she knew was, if he kept doing what he was doing, she’d explode in seconds.
He groaned, thrust again, then grabbed her hips and shoved her away. “Too fast,” he gasped, “too much, too fast.” He took a couple of noisy breaths. “It’ll be over before I’ve even kissed you.”
How exciting to know he was as aroused as she was. “Oh,” she whispered, “you wanted kisses, too?”
He chuckled. “I want everything. I want to taste you from head to toe, and especially in between. I want my hands to know every inch of your body. And I wouldn’t mind too much if you explored mine.”
Here in bed, with the lights out, she wasn’t a sedate, recovering alcoholic, a grandmother; she was just a woman. A sexy woman. “I’m not averse to exploring,” she murmured throatily. “Hmm, where should I start?”
Too hot now, she tossed off the sheet, then boldly wrapped her hands around his penis. “Would this be a good place?”
Oh my, he felt amazing, filling her hands with his pulsing heat. Like the rest of his body, this part of him, too, was bigger than Mo had been. She could imagine him inside her and the thought made her squeeze her thighs together. She wanted to stroke up and down his shaft but guessed that, if she did, he’d climax in two seconds flat.
But who said one orgasm meant the end? She had a feeling Jake would recover quickly. And while he did, maybe he’d follow through on that promise about tasting her. So why not, for once, let go caution and fly where impulse took her?
She curled her fingers around him and began to slide them up, then down. Slowly. She circled the velvety head with a fingertip, found drops of moisture, and spread them. He groaned, muttered a protest, but she kept moving. And as she stroked him she imagined he was thrusting inside her.
Jake’s hips pumped convulsively and she knew there was no stopping now. She just wished . . .
And then his fingers were on her, between her legs, stroking too, and pressure built inside her. She whimpered and writhed against his hand, and then his fingers found her swollen bud.
So many sensations. And contrasts. The throbbing, thrusting organ in her hand, his finger circling, squeezing gently, driving her body into a frenzy of need. Any moment now . . .
Oh, yes! The climax erupted in waves of exquisite sensation, rocking her body, arching her into the hand he’d cupped tight around her.
She rode delicious waves of sensation. How had she lived without this feeling?
When her breathing slowed, she realized her hand still circled him. She’d become so focused on the pleasure he was bringing her, she’d forgotten to keep stroking him.
He was still hard—achingly hard, she guessed—and when she tightened her grip he groaned, “Yes, Brooke.”
He’d brought her such ecstasy that she wanted more intimate contact. She released her grip and shifted position, kneeling beside him, leaning over. She circled the tip of him with her tongue, tasting him, amazed at how smooth and satiny his skin was. She circled faster and his hips began to pump again. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside.
He shuddered and gasped, “Brooke, I . . .”
She slid her lips up and down, ran her tongue along his shaft, and he groaned again, then exploded. Wanting all of him, she swallowed as he pumped again, and again, emptying himself into her.
Finally, when he was done, she lifted her head.
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and hauled her up and across his body. “And now we kiss,” he muttered just before his mouth fastened on hers.
This was no lazy, satisfied, after-sex caress; this was a hungry, demanding kiss, almost an assault on her mouth. It told her, in no uncertain terms, that Jake Brannon wasn’t finished with her.
She kissed him back with equal hunger. Since she first saw him she had wanted to kiss those sensual lips, had wanted—if she was honest—to be naked with this man. And now she had it all, and she was going to enjoy it.
Jake woke to see sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains at the window. Pale peach-colored curtains. Not the grungy miniblinds in his Vancouver apartment. Brooke’s curtains.
Her body wasn’t touching his but he felt her warmth, heard soft breath whisper aga
inst her pillow. He grinned to himself, then rolled over—Christ, did he hurt, from the major ache of the bullet wound to the minor one of the lip he’d gnawed—and gazed at her. She was curled on her side, facing him, still asleep. Silky brown lashes dusted the upper curve of her cheekbones; tangled blond curls hid her ear. Her lips were curved in a smile.
His grin widened. Dynamite. They both had plenty of reasons to smile. Last night had been dynamite. She was dynamite. He couldn’t remember having sex that good with another woman. Was that because of, or despite, the fact they’d never actually had intercourse? Today he’d buy condoms and tonight they’d find out.
The morning sun was gentle but still revealed the delicate lines etched near her eyes and mouth. He’d been messing around with a grandmother.
The sexiest grandmother on the whole damned planet.
Hell, she was Brooke. She wasn’t a bunch of labels like “grandmother” and “recovering alcoholic”—she was Brooke. And she was dynamite.
He had the hard-on to prove it. He’d have thought that, after the number of orgasms he’d experienced last night, his cock would’ve been in shock and resting, but that sure wasn’t the case. He wondered what imaginative things Brooke might find to do with this particular boner....
Then he remembered that she’d intended to get up early and bake mini-quiches. Probably she normally set an alarm or maybe woke with the morning light, but last night had obviously worn her out.
He grinned again. He’d found one or two imaginative ways to make her come, too.
She deserved to sleep, but he knew she’d be annoyed with herself if she didn’t make those appetizers. If it’d been him, he’d have just gone to the store and bought something, but he figured that wasn’t her way.
He leaned over her, wincing at his assorted aches and pains. Funny how he hadn’t noticed them last night. He touched his lips to her cheek, then pulled back.
She wrinkled her nose, scowled. A hand drifted up, brushed at a curl of hair, then fell back again.
He kissed her nose and retreated.
Her eyes squinted tighter shut and then her lips curved. She remembered whom she was with. And, thank God, she was glad.
“Hey, faker, I know you’re awake,” he murmured, kissing her ear.
She didn’t open her eyes but her smile widened.
He put on a used-car-salesman voice. “Have I got a boner for you.”
She gave a splutter of laughter but kept her eyes closed.
“Or you could teach me to make mini-quiches.”
“Oh!” She darted upright, her eyes wide with horror. “I forgot. How late is it?”
The covers pooled at her waist and, for the first time, he saw her naked body. Half of it, anyhow. And it was as lovely as he’d imagined when he’d explored it in the darkness. But half wasn’t enough. He flicked the covers back and studied her. He’d seen women with bigger breasts, flatter tummies, but he’d never seen a naked female body that aroused him the way Brooke’s did. He reached out to trace a silvery stretch mark.
“Jake!” She reached for the covers.
He gave another flick and they fell to the floor. Now he, too, was revealed in all his naked—and appreciative—glory.
“Oh!” She gaped at his erection. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it. “We really did . . . I mean, last night we . . .”
“We sure did.”
She transferred her gaze to his face. “Oh, my gosh.”
“To put it mildly.”
He leaned forward to touch his lips to hers.
Her hands came up and she held his face between them, gazing into his eyes. “Oh, Jake.”
He kissed her again and her mouth opened under his. Despite his arousal he made it a tender, gentle kiss and she responded in kind.
“Good morning, Brooke. And thank you for an incredible night.”
“You, too.” She ducked her head. “Incredible is the right word.”
He lifted her chin. “No regrets. Please?”
“No. No! How could I regret it? I’m just feeling . . . shy.” She gave an unladylike snort. “Boy, is that silly. After the things we did to each other.”
“We’re lovers now. No shyness, no regrets. Deal?”
“Lovers. I like that. All right, Jake, it’s a deal. And now I need to shower and head down to the kitchen.” She scrambled out of bed, giving him a fantastic view of her slender back, curvy butt, and shapely legs.
“I’ll come with you.”
She tossed a seductive look over her shoulder. “To the shower?”
He clambered out of bed. Took a look at his erection. “If you make it a cold one.”
She stood waiting as he walked over to her. Then she wrapped her fingers around his cock and he gasped at how good it felt.
“Or not,” she murmured.
Brooke backed her car down the driveway and into the road. She glanced at her house, saw Jake standing at the living room window, and waved. He waved back.
Her lover. She had the contented ache between her legs to prove it, and her mouth couldn’t stop smiling.
She forced herself to concentrate on the road, to negotiate traffic when she hit the highway, to make a donut stop as private penance for deceiving her boss.
Kate greeted her with a hug. “Golly, the rest did you good. You look great.”
Sex would do that, Brooke thought. Especially sex with a considerate, imaginative, utterly sexy man like Jake. She thrust out the bag of donuts. “Jelly and double chocolate.”
“Yummy.” Kate reached into the bag and pulled out a sugar-coated treat. “Jelly first, and chocolate for dessert. How about you?”
“Maybe later. I spent the last couple of hours making mini-quiches for the Heritage Committee fund-raiser and I can’t face food at the moment.” It had been fun working in the kitchen with Jake. Flirting, touching. Surprisingly, the quiches had turned out fine.
“Isn’t it great news about Jessica’s pregnancy?” Kate said.
“It sure is. I can’t wait to see her. Speaking of which, don’t book me too late tonight. I’m going over for dinner. And, by the way, I have good news of my own.”
“Is that why you’re looking so sparkly?”
“I guess. Well, combined with having a grandchild on the way. Anyhow, I’ve got a cousin coming to town for a few days. He should arrive this afternoon.”
“A cousin? Well, won’t that be fun for you.”
Brooke tried not to blush. “His name is Arnold Pitt. He’s an accountant in Vancouver and has been thinking about moving to a smaller town and setting up his own practice.”
“What perfect timing, with Ellen leaving town.” Kate brushed sugar off her fingers with a napkin, then reached into the donut bag again.
“That’s why I mentioned it to him.”
Waving a chocolate donut, Kate said, “Wouldn’t that be great having your cousin living in town? I can’t wait to meet him.”
“You’ll get your chance. He’s driving up and I told him to come into town and find me here.”
“You’ll want to leave early and take him over to your house.”
“No need. I’ll give him directions; then he can head over and settle in.” Brooke opened the appointment book. “Who’s booked for today?” She tapped a finger between two appointments. “Is it all right if I take lunch here? I need to run a couple of errands.” Like pick Jake up and drive him to Zephyr Lake, where he’d get his car and identity papers from Jamal Estevez.
“That works fine.”
Kate poured herself a cup of coffee to go with her second donut, and Brooke donned her Beauty Is You smock and slotted the tools of the trade into the appropriate pockets. The bell at the door tinkled and she went to greet her first client. “Morning, Maria. Come on in. Want a cup of tea or coffee?”
As she went through the familiar routine, Brooke had a growing sense of unease. She felt like two people. Kate and Maria were interacting with her the way they always did, and she was behaving normally too.
But she didn’t feel normal. She wasn’t normal.
When Maria left, Brooke hurried into the washroom and stared at her face in the mirror. Same old face, yet a different person stared out of the eyes. Overnight, she’d become a woman who was involved in a murder investigation, a woman who was lying to her friends. A woman who was having hot sex with a younger man.
She felt jumpy and excited, and it scared her. Could she be cycling toward a manic spell despite the lithium? She was tempted to take an extra pill but she’d promised her psychiatrist she wouldn’t self-medicate. Perhaps she should call and ask him if the dose should be increased temporarily. Panic surged through her. She couldn’t cope with this. What on earth was she thinking?
The shop bell tinkled and she guessed it was Chester Morton, who was scheduled for a trim. Hurriedly she splashed cold water on her cheeks, then went to greet him.
Chester was a quiet man and she was thankful for that as she worked on his graying hair and tried to suppress her panic. Maybe she should call Anne, her A.A. sponsor. Except she wasn’t craving a drink; she was just edgy.
After Chester came Mrs. Battison, one of the dear old ladies who got her hair cut and permed every few months. She was a widow who lived alone, and this was a social outing for her. She’d been a barrel racer many decades ago, and Brooke always enjoyed hearing her reminisce about her days on the rodeo circuit, before she won the event at the Williams Lake Stampede and also captured the heart of one of the judges. Bill Battison had persuaded her to hang up her saddle in Caribou Crossing. Today, Brooke was too jittery to concentrate, and settled for making periodic “mmm-hmm” sounds that she hoped she timed appropriately.
When she’d rolled Mrs. Battison’s white hair onto curlers and applied perm solution, Brooke went into the tiny office and called her psychiatrist, Dr. Allenby. Fortunately, he wasn’t with a patient. His wife, who managed his office, put Brooke through to him.
