by Shayla Black
The thought was both stupid and real, making his usual rock-solid confidence waver. Goddamn, she looked amazing. And it felt freaking euphoric to have her eyes on him again.
“Oh my God.” She turned and pushed from the booth, and for a sickening second, Keaton was convinced she was going to freak out—and not in a good way. His heart dropped, and he started to lift his hands with words of reassurance forming on his tongue. But her shock flipped to excitement. The kind that bubbled into her laughter and sparkled in her eyes. “Oh my God. Keaton!”
Instead of putting up a wall or acting skittish, she ran toward him. Just freaking sprinted at him and jumped right into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, like this was some fucking romance movie set.
Catching and holding her took almost no effort. And it was all he could do with his brain shocked into shutdown by her reaction. Cascading warmth suffused his chest and loosened all the muscles strung tight with tension over the confrontation at Corner and Keaton’s stress. He closed his eyes and held her tight, soaking in the beautiful feeling of her against him. He’d never even held her that night on the beach, and she’d left town so fast, he’d barely gotten a chance to say good-bye.
God almighty, she felt like wicked heaven beneath the smooth, silky fabric of the thin dress he’d barely had time to see. Only knew it was light with dark polka dots and ended midthigh. Her curves were supple and warm and couldn’t have felt any more perfect if she’d been a supermodel instead of an assistant to celebrities of that caliber.
“I can’t believe it,” she kept murmuring at his ear. “I think about you all the time. I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so good to see you.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” God, he’d needed this. Hadn’t known how badly until that very minute. “I was calling to tell you about your doppelgänger in Austin, then you answered the phone.”
She laughed. A light, happy little giggle. She knew him. She got him. And when she pulled back to look at him, there wasn’t a trace of fear or a nasty thought brewing in her eyes. Christ, her eyes were so blue. And so bright. And so much happiness lived there, just looking at her made him happy too.
And then she hugged him again.
Brooke was pure honey—fresh, real, raw goodness and sunshine. She instantly lightened the weight in his heart. And if she could do this for him after not seeing her for almost a damn year, he couldn’t even imagine what his life would be like to have someone as awesome as Brooke around him every day.
This was exactly what he’d been missing for so long. Brooke was everything he wanted and needed all wrapped up into one sweet little package.
It had just taken him a year and three thousand miles to figure it out.
Two
Brooke had to let go. She knew it. But the last time she let Keaton go, she’d lost track of him for almost a year. Partially because all the Renegades were impossible to track, partially because she’d meant to. She’d had to.
“Am I choking you yet?” she asked, hoping to hide her painfully intense joy with a huff of laughter.
“Never.”
His deep voice rumbled in her ear, and he kept his thickly muscled arms doubled around her, twisting just enough to rock her a little, as if hugging her wasn’t quite enough. As if he could hold her forever. As if the overt show of affection in the middle of a café didn’t embarrass the hell out of him. He made her feel safe and accepted and treasured, things she needed so desperately right now, it brought tears to her eyes.
She pressed her mouth to the soft cotton tee covering his shoulder and breathed in his scent. The smell of leather and wood and citrus and Keaton brought back a rush of wonderful memories and a sudden spill of emotion. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”
They hadn’t been lovers. They hadn’t even dated. If Brooke had to put a label on their prior relationship, it would have to be friends, though she’d known from their very first meeting there was something special between them. Looking back, it had worked out for the best given how quickly she’d had to leave and move across the country.
And even though they hadn’t acted on their mutual attraction—short of that one starlit kiss on the beach—she’d fallen a little bit in love with Keaton during those weeks. So holding him now brought both pleasure and pain.
He dropped his head back and smiled up at her. A relaxed, dreamy smile that turned Brooke’s stomach into an Olympic gymnast and made her want to kiss him so badly, she ached.
“You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” he told her.
She laughed. “And you’re even more charming.” She glanced toward the restaurant’s main door, and when she didn’t see anyone standing there, she asked, “Are you in town for work?”
“Yeah. You too? That gig you took in Florida?”
He remembered. A little thrill bubbled in her belly. “Yeah. Can you stay? I’d love to catch up.”
His smile was wide and warm. “I’m all yours.”
Hers. Keaton Holt, all hers.
In her dreams.
Literally.
He lowered her feet to the floor, and Brooke soaked in every delicious inch of his body rubbing against hers. Especially the generous swell in the range of his zipper.
She slid her hands down his solid arms, curved her fingers around his, and stepped back, taking her first quick but full glance over him. Hunger stirred instantly. All the chemistry they’d built up in LA rushed back as if no time separated them.
She released him and turned toward the table, but Keaton grabbed one of her hands back and pulled her close again. “I’m not letting you go too far.” He wrapped her close by his side before he moved forward. “You’re like a leprechaun, disappearing just when I think I’m going to catch you.”
That was an interesting choice of words, but she wasn’t going to dig into them now. Not when she could slide her arms around his waist and press her head to his shoulder. “I’m certainly not going to argue.”
He gave her a squeeze as they reached the table, then released her so she could slide into the booth. But when she expected him to take the seat across from her, he sat next to her instead. Angling to face her, he bent one knee, resting it on the cushioned bench, and laid his arm across the back of the seat.
Brooke was a little overwhelmed by his complete and focused attention. She hadn’t had anyone this interested in her since…well, since him. She’d tried dating a couple of times in Florida, but between work, her sister, and her nephew, she just couldn’t balance. And the men hadn’t warranted enough interest to try.
Keaton inspired enough interest to get Brooke to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
She didn’t even think about reaching out to touch him, she just did, laying her hand on his bent thigh. “So talk. Tell me everything I’ve missed. What movie are you working on? Who are you doubling? How long are you here? What’s new? How is everyone?” She laughed at his growing smile. “I want it all. I have all night.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she heard their double meaning. But she didn’t backtrack, because both translations were true.
Before Keaton could answer, movement at the edge of the table drew Brooke’s gaze.
Lashonda, the sassy and utterly sweet waitress Brooke had been joking with earlier, paused at the table, and her dark gaze slid between her and Keaton. “Well, this is an interesting choice of company, Miss Brooke.” To Keaton, she used a dry, deadpan tone to tell him, “I hope your sense of humor is as good as Brooke’s, ’cause if it’s not, you’re gonna have to leave.”
Instead of taking offense, Keaton started laughing, and the rich sound shivered through Brooke. He covered the hand she’d laid on his leg with his own and twisted toward Lashonda, turning on the charm he seemed to save for special occasions. “Now, why are you so nice to Brooke and so surly to me? I saw you through the window. I know how big that beautiful smile of yours can get.”
A spark of surprise cut through Lashonda’s dark
eyes, and a reluctant grin tugged at her mouth. Keaton’s intense exterior caused a lot of people to step back from him. He was a big guy and built like granite. And unless he was laughing or smiling, his expressions were serious, bordering on pissed off, when in reality, he was just thinking. On a lot of levels, Keaton Holt was one of the deepest men Brooke had ever met—and she’d met a lot of men in her time on the road with Ellie.
While Keaton tried to charm Lashonda out of her suspicion, Brooke’s gaze drifted to the sight of her hand swallowed in Keaton’s. His was big and scarred and tanned. He had a complex heritage of Japanese and Italian in his background with a smattering of European and Irish. She’d first set eyes on him at one of Ellie’s mixers in Las Vegas. He’d been with his Renegade buddies at the time, and a little on the drunk side too. And with all his defenses down, the man was devilishly charismatic.
His olive complexion was already darker than Brooke’s fair Irish skin, but his work outdoors made it that much richer and more golden. The contrast was striking.
“Brooke’s been in for a couple of days, now,” Lashonda told Keaton. “But I’ve never seen you.”
“I’m sincerely sorry about that, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen in the future.” He offered his free hand to shake the waitress’s. “I’m Keaton. An old friend of Brooke’s.”
“Lashonda, and I like your manners.” She shook his hand with the apples of her cheeks rounding as her smile grew. “Since Brooke seems to like you too, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.” She took her hand back. “Would you like a menu, Keaton?”
“No, thank you, but water would be great.” His gaze settled on the mush that had once been a beautiful pie a la mode that Brooke had been looking forward to all day. Now, she didn’t want anything but time with the man sitting beside her. “And how about a new…whatever that was before I interrupted Brooke?”
“Oh no.” Brooke quickly dismissed it. “That’s okay. I wasn’t going to be able to eat it anyway.”
It was a damn good thing she didn’t have a wooden nose. She’d been so depressed before Keaton had walked in, she’d planned on eating the whole damn thing. In fact, she’d been threatening to buy out the restaurant so she could bring it back to her hotel room and bathe in their homemade apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream.
“I can,” Keaton said. “It looks amazing. And I bet I can sweet-talk a few bites into you too.”
Lashonda gave Keaton her full, approving grin and used her order pad to point at him. “It’s official—I like you, boy.”
He gave her that movie-star grin, complete with a knee-melting dose of charm. “Well, I like you too, Lashonda.”
Their waitress broke into laughter and wandered toward the kitchen, muttering something about Keaton being a character.
He turned his attention on Brooke with a sigh. “Damn, I wish I’d found this place four months ago.”
“You’ve been here that long?”
“Mostly.” He kept one hand curled loosely around hers and used the other to scrape his fingers through his hair. His smooth, thick, jet-black hair. Hair she’d only felt between her fingers that one time on the beach. “I’m doing the fight and stunt scenes in Rogue Justice. Have you heard of—”
“Really?” She almost screeched, barely pulling her voice back a notch in time to save her dignity. She slapped a hand over her mouth and darted an embarrassed look around the restaurant. “I can’t believe I just did that. You’d think I’d never met anyone famous before.”
That made Keaton laugh, and Lord, when the boy smiled, really smiled, Brooke’s heart could have been directly attached to a power plant. His looks put the man solidly in the tall, dark, and panty-melting category. Sometimes he looked Italian, sometimes Greek. His Asian characteristics were there—in his high cheekbones, in the slight taper to his eyes—but no one ethnicity ruled his looks. Not like Brooke with her dark hair, blue eyes, and white skin that burned before it tanned, instantly tagging her as one of the black Irish.
But what made Keaton unforgettable to Brooke was this quirky, funny, warm, intricate side of the man she’d gotten to know during her weeks in Los Angeles.
“I’ll take your fangirling any day of the week,” he told her.
“I love that show,” she said. “Oh my God, I wish I’d known. I can’t believe Ellie didn’t tell me during one of our conversations. Now I’m totally going to marathon the whole season and fast-forward to the fight scenes just to watch you. That’s so awesome. Wow, and intense,” she added, thinking back through the episodes of the action-drama built around a political conspiracy plot. “Those fight scenes are…complicated and violent and long.”
“Tell me about it.” He rolled his right shoulder. “My body is screaming in agreement with you.”
“Oh…” She winced, wishing she could massage out every last ache. “Ouch.”
He waved it away. “Nothing a few meds can’t fix.” He wrapped both his big hands around hers, his fingers loose and warm—like his body. He had a way of being so alert, so intense, so focused, while also being so completely relaxed, so utterly comfortable in his own body. It was the sexiest thing Brooke had ever seen. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me about this new job. How long are you in town?”
Oh yeah. That. That tedious part of her life that had driven her to the apple pie in the first place. The one that felt like an anvil locked around her ankle. She hadn’t been proud of having to take the first and best-paying job she could find, and she was even less proud of who she’d had to take the job with, so she’d asked Ellie to play it down if anyone asked. Evidently, she had, and if Brooke didn’t have to get into the ugly details of it with Keaton, she’d prefer not to.
“We’re scheduled to be here eight weeks,” she told him, pausing while she searched for ways not to talk about a subject so central to both their lives—work.
“Then back to Florida?” he prodded.
She smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”
“So…?” he said, grinning in a what’s up? sort of way. “You’re awfully quiet. We always used to talk over each other. Tell me about this new gig.”
She went for a vague approach. “It’s the best-paying job I’ve ever had.”
“Sweet.” He paused, waited, lifted his brows. “But…?”
“Let’s just say she’s no Ellie.”
His mouth compressed into a commiserating smirk, and he nodded. “Ellie does leave some pretty big shoes to fill.”
“I guess a country music blockbuster with a heart of gold is a little hard to follow.”
“And you hooked up with her from the very beginning. That creates a special bond. You can’t expect to have that with every boss.”
She nodded, dropped her gaze to their hands, and added her free hand to the pile, covering his. “You’re right.”
“You two were also more friends than employer-employee.”
“True, but she was good to everyone.”
“She still is. She’s an amazing person. As are you,” he said with a squeeze of her hand. “Which is why you two were so good together.” He drew a hand from their knot and tucked her hair behind her ear with the softest look in those dark eyes of his. “Change is hard.” He paused, searching her eyes, then asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”
She didn’t understand at first. “As in dating?” When he nodded, she shook her head with a laugh. “Me, no. No time. Between the job, and my family…” She shrugged. Then forced herself to ask the same, even though she really didn’t want to hear the answer. “You?”
“Nah.”
When he blew off the idea, Brooke dug a little deeper. “Should I translate that into you’re still just sleeping around.”
He laughed. “If I had any kind of morals or values, I’d be hurt.” But there was something subdued in his tone, and she wondered if she had actually hurt him. Before she could apologize, he added, “But, seriously, no, I’m not seeing anyone, even casually. I’m in…”
“A funk?” she
asked with a grin, trying to lighten the discussion a little.
“More like a transition,” he said.
Lashonda returned, interrupting the connection forming between Brooke and Keaton. He leaned back as the waitress set a glass of ice water in front of him, then a slice of golden-brown apple pie, partially hidden beneath a mountain of vanilla ice cream. She laid two spoons and extra napkins on the table.
“Good Lord,” Brooke said. “It was supposed to be a piece, not a pie.”
Lashonda propped her hand on her hip. “That’s not what you were talking about earlier. Besides, that’s a growin’ boy right there. I got me three of ’em. I know one when I see ’em.”
“Biiiiig tip comin’ for you, girl.” Keaton’s greedy grin made Brooke laugh. He lifted a fist to Lashonda, who bumped it. “Biiiiiig tip.”
Lashonda nodded, then winked at Brooke and added, “That one’s a keeper,” before she moved to another table, still grinning.
Keaton already had pie and ice cream on a spoon, lifting it toward Brooke, but he called to Lashonda. “Keep talking, beautiful. I’m just gonna leave my credit card on the table here for you.”
Both Brooke and Keaton were laughing as he brought the spoon to her lips. She leaned back, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Oh, I think you can.” He purposely bumped her bottom lip with the spoon, leaving ice cream there. She automatically licked at the cold spot, and the humor in Keaton’s eyes converted to heat, his gaze clinging to her lips. “Open that pretty mouth, Brooke.”
His low, suggestive tone, and the unmistakable sexual hum, licked Brooke’s chest like flame. She opened and took the dessert from the spoon, and swore the world slowed to a fraction of normal speed.
Keaton’s dark eyes watched every move of her lips and tongue—before, during, and after he’d delivered the bite. Brooke had never been so intensely aware of her mouth before. Never imagined she could be so wildly turned on by watching a man watch her mouth as she ate.
But she was so distracted by Keaton that the flavors of the pie and ice cream snuck up on her, coalescing all at once. Cinnamon and sugar. Butter and vanilla. Tart apple and sweet pastry. Pleasure overwhelmed her taste buds in one rich hit.
