Tempting Brooke: A Big Sky Novella

by Kristen Proby

  This year, however, has been a Mother Nature shitshow.

  I have several fans oscillating in each room, all of the doors and windows open, and I’m still a sweaty mess.

  It’s not dripping off of me, but I’m shiny for sure.

  I’m in tiny shorts and a tank top. I can’t make my clothes any smaller, unless I get naked. And right now, that doesn’t sound half bad.

  Just as I’ve decided to go take a dip in the lake, there’s a knock on the front door.

  “Hello?” Brody calls through the screen.

  “Hey.” I hold it open, gesturing for him to come inside. “Enter at your own risk. I’m living inside an oven.”

  “Is your air conditioning broken?” he asks, but my eyes are on the cold beer and pizza in his hands.

  “No, I don’t have it. Are we having a party?”

  “The game’s on,” he says with a grin. “It’s been a while since we watched the Cubs together, so I grabbed some game food and came right over.”

  I feel the smile slip over my lips. He thought to come here to watch the game with me.

  Brody always was the sweetest guy I knew. Seems that hasn’t changed.

  “Fun,” I reply. “I’ll grab some plates. We should sit on the floor.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s cooler down there.”

  He blinks at me, considering, and then shrugs one shoulder and sets the pizza in the middle of the floor, sits, and opens the box.

  “Thin crust pepperoni,” he says. “I hope this is still your favorite.”

  “It is. I’ll be right back.” I hurry into the kitchen to get the plates, and take a moment to lean on the countertop, my hand over my chest, to catch my breath. If he keeps this up, I’ll fall in love with him, and that can only lead to disaster.

  He’s leaving.

  “The Cubs are winning,” he calls from the other room. I grab our plates and join him, sitting a few feet away, and reach for a slice of pizza.

  “O’Shaughnessy has been badass this year.”

  “He’s badass every year,” I reply around a bite of food, and then laugh when he frowns at me. “What? It’s true.”

  “Hmm.” He swigs his beer, and we fall into a comfortable silence, eating and watching baseball. “Oh, come on! You should have caught that!”

  “You always did get riled up watching baseball.”

  He smiles at me, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “There’s no other way to watch it. God, you weren’t kidding. It’s damn hot in here.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. We could go somewhere else to watch the game.”

  “No, I like having you to myself,” he replies, surprising me. “I’ll just take my shirt off.”

  Before I can find enough brain cells to form a sentence, he whips his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the couch.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Times a million.

  I blink rapidly, trying not to stare at the tanned, toned, muscley goodness that is Brody Chabot, but it’s impossible.

  He’s like the most glorious work of art in the world, and I’d challenge anyone to be able to look away.

  His arms, his abs, his freaking shoulders, flex as he moves to grab another slice of pizza. How he can eat while all of my synapses are exploding one by one is beyond me.

  I think I just lost all bodily function.

  And I haven’t even seen him all the way naked. This is just the upper half.

  I bite my lip and take a sip of my beer, trying to distract myself.

  If I thought it was hot in here before, it’s officially lava-level now that Brody’s taken off his shirt.

  And I’m a puddle of melted goo.

  The Cubs hit a homerun, and Brody thrusts his fists in the air, whooping in happiness. I smile at him, and then roll my tank top up my stomach and tuck it into the band of my bra.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “Boob sweat is a thing, and it’s damn uncomfortable.” I sigh as my shirt soaks up some of the moisture and relieves me from the horrible stickiness.

  But I come up short when I glance at Brody and find him with his beer halfway to his lips, and his eyes pinned to my flat stomach.

  Interesting. I’m not the only one attracted.

  Thank God.

  No, this is bad. Bad! He’s leaving soon.

  However, my body gives zero shits about Brody’s travel plans as his eyes rake up and down my scantily-clad body, and he swallows hard.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, setting his beer and plate aside. He moves over to me, unapologetically crawling over me, until I have no option but to lie flat on my back and stare up at him, both of us breathing hard, heat coming off of us in waves, and it has nothing to do with the temperature outside. “I’ve been keeping my hands off of you for days, when all I want to do is touch you.”

  “I’m not saying no,” I reply softly, reaching up to brush my fingertips over his mouth. He pokes his tongue out, wetting his lips and my fingers, and the next thing I know, he lowers his face to mine and slides that mouth over my lips, starting slow and then sinking right into me.

  Oh my God. I was right. He’s an Olympic-level kisser. His lips are sure and skilled, sliding back and forth. He uses his tongue sparingly, just teasing me with it rather than jamming it down my throat.

  That is the only point of contact between us, and I yearn for more. I want to feel the weight of him on me. I need to feel his skin.

  With one hand on his forearm by my head, I glide my other palm down his toned back and slip it between his shorts and ass, squeezing in delight.

  Holy hell, he’s just hard everywhere.

  And when he leans his hips in to rest in the cradle of my thighs, I notice that that’s not all that’s hard.

  I moan against his mouth as he moves one hand down my sternum to my belly, pressing on my bare skin.

  I want Brody Chabot more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.

  “My God, you’d tempt a saint,” he whispers as his talented mouth moves along my jawline to my neck. He nibbles the sensitive skin there, giving me system-wide goose bumps. “And I’ve never claimed to be a saint.”

  “Good.”

  I feel him grin against me and his fingers slip lower on my belly, headed under my shorts to the promised land just as there’s a knock on my front door.

  We both freeze, our eyes pinned to each other.

  “Ignore it,” I whisper. “They’ll go away.”

  “Your door is open,” he whispers back.

  “Doesn’t matter. They’ll go away.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Maisey says loudly. “Every damn window and door is open, Brooke. I can hear you. Now open this damn door.”

  I sigh, but neither of us moves for a moment. Brody brushes his nose against mine and then grins.

  “To be continued.”

  I smile at his promise, and then we both roll away from each other, right our clothes, and I stand to head to the door.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “I’m excited to see you, too,” she says with a laugh as I unlatch the door and open it for her. She’s carrying a white pastry box. “Hey, Brody. I’m glad you’re here. I need both of your opinions.”

  She doesn’t even bat an eye at the fact that she just interrupted us rolling around on the floor together. It’s as if she doesn’t care in the least, or she walks in on things like this all the time.

  Neither of those is true, and I know I’ll get the third degree later. But I could kiss her for being so nonchalant about it.

  Because I’m chalant as hell right now.

  Maisey marches right past the pizza mess on the floor into the kitchen and lays the box on the table.

  “I just came up with two new recipes, and I need to know what you think before I start offering them to customers.”

  “I’m your guy,” Brody says with a grin and winks at me over Maisey’s head. He put his T-shirt back on, but I can still see his naked torso in my head, and it makes me more than hot and bo
thered.

  I was already hot.

  Now I’m bothered.

  In a really, really good way.

  “Brooke,” Maisey says, bringing me out of my lust-filled haze.

  “Sorry, what?”

  She smiles softly and holds a cupcake in her palm. “Here’s the peaches and cream cake with whipped frosting.”

  “Fucking delicious,” Brody says, already going back for a second one.

  Maisey and I laugh as I peel the paper off of my cupcake and take a bite. I sigh in happiness, and take another bite. Then another.

  “Jesus, Maise,” I say, licking my lips. Brody has stilled across from me, watching my mouth as I enjoy the cake. “This is damn good.”

  “Yay, that’s a yes. Now, try the white chocolate raspberry with vanilla ganache.”

  “Wow,” I say as I chew the first bite. “The raspberry is really good.”

  “But is it as good as the peaches?”

  I frown, take another bite, and look to Brody for his opinion. He shoves the whole thing in his mouth and reaches for another.

  “I need to eat more to decide,” he says, smacking his lips around the cake. I know he doesn’t normally eat like this, thank God. He’s just in cake rapture, and I totally get it.

  Maisey can bake the hell out of a cake.

  After we each eat one more of each flavor, we decide peaches and cream is our favorite, but that they’re both winners.

  “Excellent,” Maisey says as she cleans up the cupcake mess. “Thanks, guys.”

  “I can’t imagine that you’ve ever had a flop,” Brody says, wiping his mouth.

  “Oh, she has,” I reply with a laugh. “Remember when you tried to make jalapeño cupcakes for Cinco de Mayo?”

  “Yeah.” She scrunches up her nose. “Ew. They weren’t a hit.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound fantastic.”

  “I also once tried to do a salted caramel that I just couldn’t get right. I think I used the wrong kind of caramel.”

  “You should try that one again,” I add as I reach for a sponge and wipe the crumbs off my table. “I bet you could tweak it and it would be awesome.”

  “Maybe,” she says with a shrug. “I’m going to add these two to my fall lineup for brides.”

  “They’ll be a hit,” I assure her. “Are you ready for Saturday?”

  She grins brightly. “Oh yeah. It’s going to be fun.”

  Maisey and I love weddings. We have since we were kids, and I can’t wait to see how it all shapes up.

  “Okay, guys, I’m out of here. Go back to whatever it was you were doing. Just be safe.”

  She smirks and walks right out of my house. Brody and I stay in the kitchen, staring at each other until we hear her car start and she drives away.

  And all of the doubts start to sink into my brain, now that it’s functioning again. Maybe having Brody here for a whole week isn’t such a great idea.

  “I guess the moment is gone,” he says softly, but reaches over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “You know, Brody, you don’t have to stay for the rest of the week.”

  He scowls, and I cringe, then pace away.

  “I’m not saying this right. Well, I am, but I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that.”

  “You don’t want me to stay?”

  “I do.” I bite my lip and turn, and he’s looking all tall and gorgeous in my kitchen. “But I’m letting you know that if you don’t want to stay, I’ll be okay. I’ll figure something out for the shop. You’re not responsible for all of this anyway—”

  “Stop talking,” he says and crosses to me, wraps his arm around my low back, and pulls me to him. “I’m staying, Brooke. I don’t know what this is exactly, but I feel it all the way to my bones, and I’m not willing to leave until we figure it out.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard, watching his mouth. “Okay.”

  “Are we on the same page?”

  I nod, unable to say anything more when I’m pressed body-to-body with him. He brushes his lips to mine in a chaste, but still hot, kiss, and then backs away.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  My fingers are still on my lips when I hear the screen door close behind him.

  Chapter Six

  ~Brooke~

  For the past three days, Brody and I have spent time together at the shop, delivered flowers, and stolen kisses here and there, whenever we found time alone.

  Which, to my chagrin, hasn’t been as much as I’d like.

  He’s had to spend time at the hotel in the evenings, working on his regular job, since I’m monopolizing so much of his days.

  Part of me thinks I should feel a bit guilty for that, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’m enjoying him, more than I expected.

  Brody and I were friends when we were kids. We always got along well, and if I said I never had even a tiny crush on him, I’d be lying. But I was a young girl, and before I knew it, Brody stopped being my friend.

  And then he was gone.

  But I’ve quickly learned over the past few days that the young man I enjoyed so much is still there. Not only that, but he’s grown into a sexy, kind, smart man, and it seems my body is more than a little hot for him.

  I haven’t felt tingles in my nether regions like this in, well, ever.

  Brody Chabot is potent.

  “How many of these are we doing?” Brody asks, pulling me out of my sexy reverie.

  “Nine,” I reply, then laugh at his look of shock. “This bride has nine bridesmaids. I already finished the bride’s bouquet last night.”

  “You worked late?” he asks.

  “Oh yeah, it was Thursday. I always work late into the night on Thursdays and Fridays in the summer. Saturdays are always booked up with weddings, and they take extra care and time.”

  “I offered to stay and help,” Micah reminds me, his eyes pinned to the boutonniere that he’s painstakingly putting together.

  “You need rest too,” I remind him. “Plus, you help me out a lot by spending all day on Fridays here.”

  “If I wasn’t taking college classes this summer, I’d work full time,” he says and then shrugs apologetically. “But you’re the one who insisted I take the stupid classes.”

  “Because you’re brilliant and that’s what you should be doing,” I reply, setting the finished bridesmaid bouquet aside and immediately starting the next. “I’ve thought about hiring weekend help.”

  “I have a friend who could use the work,” Micah says, looking up at me now. “She’s my age, she’s smart and reliable. I can vouch for her.”

  “Have her drop in to talk to me,” I suggest and smile at the sweet boy. Micah’s been with me for a year and a half now, and frankly, I don’t know what I’ll do when he goes away to college.

  “Cool. She needs the money. Her dad’s a jerk.”

  I feel Brody stiffen beside me, but he doesn’t say anything. Micah takes the box of finished boutonnieres to the cooler.

  “You okay?” I ask Brody.

  “Fine. Who chooses sweet peas for their wedding flowers?”

  I laugh up at him. “That’s what the bride wanted. They are a challenge, though, because they’re fragile. Much more so than roses or peonies. But these should be fine for tomorrow.”

  “What happens after we do these?” he asks. He steps back, crosses his arms over his chest as he examines his handiwork, then returns to it, tweaking it just a bit.

  My God, I want to climb him. He just fits here, tall and sexy, and frowning a bit as he concentrates on getting the bouquet exactly so.

  I wonder if this is the look on his face when he’s designing bridges.

  “These will go in the cooler, and then we take the heartier flowers to the venue to decorate the space. The whole space. It’ll be a late night for us, but I love it so much.”

  “I’m fine with that,” he says with a grin. “Everyone’s out of my office for the weekend, s
o I’m all yours.”

  All mine.

  If only.

  I admit that I don’t just like Brody. I’m falling hard and fast, very fast, for him. I can’t help it.

  “Well, good, because I have plenty of work for you.”

  “Tell me what you love about weddings.”

  “What’s not to love?” I ask with a chuckle. “Maisey and I have loved them since we were little, which is convenient, given the professions each of us chose.”

  “True. It would suck if you hated this.”

  “Exactly. I guess I love that it feels like a fresh start. A new chapter. I know it sounds trite, but it’s true. Anything is possible after that day for these two people.”

  “And the wedding itself is an expression of them.”

  “You mean the bride,” Brody says with a smirk. “Because I don’t believe that men have much say.”

  “I disagree. You’d be shocked how many men have very specific ideas about what they would like to see at their wedding. Granted, some of them might get vetoed by their bride if it doesn’t jibe with her vision, but they usually want to have a say.”

  “Interesting.”

  I nod. “So whether it’s a big, lavish event like the one we’re working on today, or something simple and intimate, I enjoy it.”

  We continue in silence for the next two hours, perfecting the last of the bouquets. Micah has moved on to the centerpieces. When we’re all finished, I toss the moving truck keys to Micah, who runs out to drive it around to the front of my shop.

  “We’re not taking your car?” Brody asks.

  “No, I rent a refrigerated truck for weddings,” I reply. “I have too much to haul, and the flowers have to sit for a while as I move them. It’s better if they’re cold.”

  “You should buy a truck.”

  I laugh as Micah comes inside, ready to start loading the flowers.

  “That’s on my list of things, but I’m a small business, Brody.”

  He just nods, and the three of us work quickly to move the flowers in the summer heat to their cool reprieve in the truck.

  Once everything is loaded, Micah drives the truck and Brody and I follow him in my car.

  “You let him drive the moving truck?”