by Darcy Burke
“Yes. You should ask me again.”
He looked up and down the street, for the first time giving a shit if someone was watching. Why? Because he was suddenly agitated. Anxious. But in a good way. Anticipation curled through him.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
Her blue-green eyes shone with intent. “Oh, I mean it.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him back under the cover of the doorway.
The force of her action propelled him forward until he was nearly pressing against her. He linked his fingers through hers. “You sure?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” She wrapped her free hand around his neck and tugged his head down.
“Never in a moment like this.” He brushed his lips against hers and slanted his head.
Her fingers curled into his neck, and she arched up into him. Her mouth opened beneath his, and the kiss took off like a rocket.
Their tongues met, eager, almost desperate. Or maybe that was their hands and bodies. She pulled him so that he was snug against her. He let go of her hand and gripped her hip. Her hand splayed against his side, the heat of her palm blistering through his shirt.
Her fingers stabbed into his hair, holding his head as she did ridiculous things to his mouth and tongue. Lights danced behind his closed eyes. He felt every inch of her—the press of her breasts against his chest, the pulse of her wrist against his neck, the push of her pelvis along his. He wanted to bring her even closer so that he could nestle his cock between her thighs.
She ended the kiss to nibble on his lips and drag her mouth and tongue along his jaw, then kissed him again. Holy hell, he was burning for her.
The next time she pulled away, she leaned back against the wall beside the door, her breath coming in heavy pants. His did the same. “Brooke.” The word came out dark and hard. Needful. “I should go.”
She looked up at him, her gorgeous aqua eyes dilated and so damn seductive. He exerted every bit of willpower he had and stepped back, heedless of his raging erection. There was absolutely no help for it. “Unless you want me to stay.” He hadn’t meant to say it. He was trying so damned hard to be a gentleman.
“I do. But…you’re right that you should go.” She blinked, and it dampened a bit of the electricity zinging between them. “I’m probably going to regret this,” she muttered.
He knew he would. “Good night.”
He turned and dashed across the street before what little common sense he had left completely abandoned him.
Chapter Eight
Brooke watched Cam cross the street, her legs shaking and her heart thundering in her chest. Her brain forced her body to turn and go into the building. But even parts of her brain were rebelling, telling her to go after him.
When was the last time she’d been kissed like that?
She tried to think, but her mind was mush. Okay, not that mushy. She wasn’t sure that Darren had ever made her feel that good. Overwhelmed in the best possible way. Absolutely quivering with need. She almost turned and went back outside.
Pushing herself to the elevator, she jabbed her finger onto the Up button. Waiting, she pulled her phone from her clutch and texted her older sister, Rhonda.
I just walked away from a totally hot guy. Give me a reason I should go spend the night with him.
The response came almost immediately.
Rhonda: Because you SHOULD. GO NOW.
Brooke: That’s not a good reason.
Rhonda: You haven’t had sex in years.
Brooke: He’s a player.
Rhonda: So? You aren’t marrying him. Go have great sex.
Brooke: It’s been a long time…
Rhonda: OMG!
Brooke smiled, hearing her sister’s voice yelling at her.
Rhonda: You’re looking for excuses. If you’re asking me for permission, you already want to. So go do it. Will you regret it?
The elevator chimed, but Brooke didn’t walk inside. Instead, she crossed to the other side of the lobby and stared at her phone. Would she regret it? Maybe. They did work together, after all. Things could very well be awkward.
Or they could be amazing, and she’d feel better than she had in years. Just kissing him had made her positively woozy with want. She’d been fine with her solitary, celibate life, but right now she thought she might wilt if she didn’t find satisfaction.
With Cam.
Nothing else would do.
She tapped into her phone again. What about my…problem?
Rhonda: What problem?
Brooke frowned at the phone. Duh, my infertility.
Rhonda: Srsly?! You want to have sex with this guy, not start a family! You said he was a player!
Brooke watched the dots on her phone, which indicated Rhonda was typing. And it was a long text.
You deserve a night of fun. You actually deserve way more than that, but whatever. Please let yourself out of grief jail or whatever the hell you’ve been doing the past few years and LIVE. I can’t even imagine why you’re hesitating. But then I don’t understand a lot of your choices.
Like divorcing Darren because they couldn’t have children. Only it had been more than that. The fertility problems had sent Brooke into a tailspin, and she’d pushed everyone away, especially Darren, who hadn’t been that devastated by her inability to carry a child. She’d been so immersed in her sadness that he’d started screwing one of the legal assistants at the law firm where he was in charge of IT. She’d never told anyone about that. It had seemed like her fault, but suddenly, in this moment, she realized it wasn’t.
Brooke: If you’re talking about Darren, I had a perfectly good reason for leaving him. He was screwing that woman he’s still with.
Rhonda: WTF?! Why didn’t you ever say anything?
Brooke: I just didn’t.
Because she’d been too locked up in “grief jail,” as Rhonda put it. Everything had felt like her fault, like her inadequacy. So she’d taken it as such.
Rhonda: If you don’t go get laid right now, I’m driving up there and kicking your ass tomorrow.
Brooke: How will you know? Apparently I’m a pretty good liar.
Rhonda: I want proof. Send me a pic of his boxers or something.
Brooke giggled. She had a tiny bit of a wine buzz, so this idea was probably funnier—and more stupid—than it ought to be.
Brooke: Okay.
Rhonda: Okay, you’re doing it? YESSSSSS! Go get him!!!!
Brooke rolled her eyes with a grin and stuffed the phone back in her clutch. Then she turned and left the building, barely looking both ways across the sleepy street before she hurried over to his townhouse. The sun had gone down behind the buildings, but it wasn’t fully set so that there was a warm, golden glow over everything.
She raised her hand to knock, but didn’t. What if he didn’t want her to come in?
Oh come on, he was totally into you!
But he’d been the one to break the kiss and suggest they should go their separate ways.
He’d also suggested he could stay!
That was true. And he’d certainly acted as though he was enjoying it. He’d clutched at her body and wrought sensations she hadn’t felt in years, if ever. Plus there’d been the evidence of his insistent erection pressing at her core. Her knees felt weak as she recalled the pulse of lust she’d felt every time he leaned into her.
Without further thought, she knocked.
Nothing.
Her gut clenched. She knocked again.
Still nothing.
Doubt crept in and iced the surge of desire she’d just felt. Clearly she’d made a mistake. She turned, and her purse vibrated. She pulled out her phone.
Rhonda: I hope you aren’t reading this, but if you are, stop vacillating and do it!
She hadn’t been vacillating! She’d been arguing with herself. Surely the difference between those two things was somehow important.
Okay, one more try. She took a deep breath and knocked a
gain. Hard. And long.
At last she heard footfalls. It almost sounded like running followed by a thud. She winced. After a moment, the door clicked and came open.
Cam stood there, a towel draped about his waist, his hair soaked, and his cheeks flushed.
“Uh.” She couldn’t seem to form words. She’d seen his chest before—that day at the winery. And it was just as spectacular now as it had been then. Nearly smooth, but with just the right amount of sexy hair curled in the center. And the muscle definition—that was eye-popping. “I seem to have a knack for catching you when you’re just out of the shower.” She took in the towel wrapped about his lean hips.
“Yes, you do. It’s like you have radar. And a damn useful one at that.”
Damn useful indeed. She couldn’t seem to look up. Her fingers itched to touch him, and her mouth was dry with the need to taste him. Water droplets clung to his flesh, making him look even sexier. Finally, she lifted her gaze. He was staring at her, his green eyes dark and sultry. “Did I interrupt your shower, or were you done?” she asked, rather stupidly.
He shook his head. “You’re not interrupting anything. I just, uh, I needed to cool off.”
He’d needed a cold shower? Made sense, she supposed. She might’ve had to do the same if she hadn’t come back over. Or found her vibrator.
For some bizarre, perhaps prurient reason, she dropped her gaze to his crotch. No tent. Shit, was she too late?
He opened the door wider. “I’m such an ass. You should come in. Please.”
She blinked at him, wondering if that was a good idea.
He pulled her inside and closed the door. “I don’t really want to stand in my doorway in nothing but a towel.”
She blushed then, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, my bad.”
“Why’d you come over?”
“I, uh…” Her sister’s voice sounded in her head: stop vacillating! “I came to have sex. If you want to.” Life didn’t get any more honest than that, did it?
His eyes widened, and she nearly laughed at his shocked expression. “I’m surprised.”
“Clearly.” She dipped a look at his towel again and saw the start of something…tentlike. “I was afraid I was too late.”
“What? Why?”
She looked up at his face. “You were in the shower. A cold shower, I guess. And you weren’t—” Her gaze fell once more. “You looked as though you’d taken care of business.”
He paused the briefest of moments before laughing. “You thought I was masturbating?” He sobered. “Okay, you caught me. You did interrupt—thank God—and then I slipped on the hardwood coming off the bottom of the stairs. That tends to kill an erection.”
Now it was her turn to laugh at the image of him falling. “Did you fall completely? I heard a crash.”
“Oh yeah. Towel went flying, and I hit the wall. Totally unsexy. Hurt like hell too.”
She giggled. “Where?”
He gestured to the wall across from the stairs and the floor beside it. “Here.”
She giggled harder, her stomach muscles contracting. “No. Where did you hurt yourself?”
He joined her in laughing. He pivoted and stroked his hip. “My ass, if you really want to know.”
“I do.” She tossed her purse on a small table, which he’d apparently just missed in his catastrophic spill. “Let me see.”
He arched his brow at her but said nothing. He let that side of the towel go, and it fell across his butt, revealing a perfectly sculpted cheek. With a red mark on the side.
She lightly touched him, caressing his warm flesh. Desire flared through her, along with a burst of anxiety. It had been far too long since she’d seen a naked man, let alone touched one. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “I suppose it would be horribly cliché to ask you to kiss it for me?”
She continued to stroke him. “Horribly.” Nonetheless, she was considering it.
“Did you mean what you said? About wanting to have sex?”
She stared at the hard plane of his lower back, the mouthwatering muscles tapering from his ass to his hamstring. “Yes.” Now more than ever. She wanted to grip his flesh as he drove into her. “Were you really masturbating?”
He wrapped the towel back around his hips, surprising her. What had she expected? That he’d pick her up caveman-style and thrust her against the wall for a good, hard screw? God, that sounded divine. Her thighs quivered in response.
He turned, and the tent was in full effect now. “Guilty. What can I say? I’m not seeing anyone right now, and spending the evening with you is enough to get me pretty worked up, particularly because you’re unapologetically flirtatious. And sexy as hell.”
She licked her lower lip. “That towel is going to have trouble staying in place.”
“Especially if you keep doing provocative things with your tongue,” he growled, catapulting her into an even greater state of sexual agitation.
“I’d like to, but you seem hesitant.” She was still waiting for her caveman moment.
“I just want to be clear. You remember what I told you earlier. This is casual. If we have sex tonight, you can’t expect me to call you tomorrow.” He tipped his head back, and when he brought it back down, his mouth dipped into an almost frown. “Actually you can, because we’ll still be working together. That’s the other thing to consider. Is this going to be awkward?”
Yes, that was something to consider. Maybe the biggest something. “I don’t know. We’re adults, and I’d like to think we can keep this separate. But maybe not. Or maybe it won’t be great, and we won’t have any trouble pretending it never happened.”
He took a step toward her, his eyes intensely green. “I’d bet my life that won’t be the case.”
She would too. This was already one of the most exciting, enthralling, utterly arousing evenings she’d ever had. At the wine tasting earlier, there’d been this sexy undercurrent that went beyond flirtation. She’d wondered if it had just been her, but perhaps not.
He suddenly broke their eye contact. He looked over toward his kitchen. She followed his line of sight but had no idea what he was looking at. When his gaze found hers again, the kinetic sparks were gone.
She tensed, wondering what had happened.
“As much as I’d love to continue this evening toward its certainly thrilling conclusion, I think we should stop.” The planes of his face were taut, his muscles rigid. He appeared physically pained.
Disappointment curdled in her gut. “I see.” Her gaze dipped to his towel tent. He was clearly still aroused. But he was pushing her away. Had she done something wrong? She was out of practice. She wanted to find a hole, crawl inside, and maybe come out next week. Maybe.
She picked up her purse from the table. “Sure. I get it.” Only she wasn’t sure she did. A guy who was notorious for his conquests had just turned her down.
She wasn’t sure it got any more pathetic than that.
You are not pathetic!
No, she wasn’t. She was, however, pissed.
“Good decision,” she said, turning. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
Cam watched her walk toward the door, his mind churning for something to say that didn’t sound lame or patronizing. He moved quickly—too quickly as his towel tried to slide off his hips. He was vaguely aware that his erection was still raging. And that wasn’t awkward as hell.
He caught up to her as she turned the handle and put his hand over hers. “Wait. I don’t want you to be upset.”
She turned her head, and her eyes were blazing. Too late. “You just turned me down. How am I supposed to feel?”
He tried to think of what to say that would soothe the situation. He didn’t want her to be mad. Or whatever else she might be feeling. “Like you dodged a bullet?”
She arched a brow at him in question, and the fire in her eyes didn’t diminish.
“I’m bad news, right?”
She jus
t stared at him. He was not handling this well at all. “Look, it’s the work thing,” he said. “You’re a tremendous asset, and I don’t want to mess that up. Your job is important to you—as it should be—and I don’t want to cause problems for you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Or for you. At least take some ownership here.”
He inwardly winced. “Okay. I like and respect you too much to muck up our working relationship.”
Her upper lip curled. “Since I’m pretty sure you’ve screwed other people you had to work with, I’m not sure how to take that. I guess I should just be happy I rate higher than those other women. Poor them.”
Damn it, she was right. He’d slept with plenty of women he’d worked with, but they didn’t live here in Ribbon Ridge. Across the street. They weren’t in his everyday world. Well, fuck if he didn’t feel like the manwhore everyone had always joked that he was.
Before he could come up with a reasonable response, she dipped her gaze and let out a harsh laugh. “I guess your hand is getting lucky tonight after all. Have fun.” She opened the door and left, closing it sharply behind her.
He stared at the wood, tempted to go after her. But what would be the point? The way his night was going, he’d probably lose his towel in the street and accidentally lock himself out. Absurdly, he laughed, but only for a moment.
Damn it.
That had been a lose-lose situation. If she’d stayed, their work relationship probably would’ve suffered. But wouldn’t it suffer anyway? She was pissed and rightfully so.
She wouldn’t stay pissed, though. At least he hoped not. She’d come to realize this was the right decision, even if he’d probably doubt it for the rest of his life.
That nasty word—regret—reared in his mind again. This was one he’d have to learn to live with. In the meantime, he was getting right back in the damned shower.
He took the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Nine
Brooke slept later than usual on Sunday, then puttered around her loft, emptying the last of her moving boxes and hanging a few pictures. She kept herself from looking out the window toward Cam’s townhouse, lest she happen to catch him coming or going. She’d have to face him sooner or later, but she’d do her best to make sure it was later.
