“He is, so the questions are moot,” Brooke mumbled.
“Did you say something?”
Brooke jumped, then cursed. He was right behind her. “I thought I told you I didn’t need your protection!” she growled, swinging the flashlight around and into his face.
He winced and shielded his face with his hand.
Surprised by his reaction, Brooke quickly lowered the flashlight. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be light sensitive after the way you were soaking up the sun earlier.” An image of his bare chest flashed all-too-briefly in her mind.
“I’m not light sensitive.”
“Then what’s the problem?” His hesitation sparked her curiosity.
“I have occasional headaches.”
“Oh.” Brooke navigated the steps and trod through the grass, mulling over his reluctant confession. To her consternation, she found herself wondering if Dee’s baby would inherit the ailment. She shook the silly thought from her head.
Twilight had fallen, and Brooke knew total blackness was soon to follow. In the woods, it wasn’t just kind of dark; it got black dark, the kind where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. She wasn’t afraid, but she wasn’t crazy about bumping around in the dark with him. Why, his chest looked hard enough to crack a walnut. She could imagine what it would do to her head if she should run into him.
A slow, forbidden shiver danced along her spine at the thought. Shame quickly followed. She was sick indeed, lusting after—
She drew in a sharp breath and stopped in her tracks.
Mr. Hard Chest slammed right into her from behind, proving her earlier suspicions about just how hard his chest was.
And not just his chest!
His arms came around her to prevent her forward hurdle. For an alarming moment, they touched from head to toe, and Brooke could feel every hard, shocking inch of him against her.
Just as she gathered her breath to demand he let her go, his hand moved up, covering her mouth and effectively silencing her.
“Be quiet!”
His harsh, urgent whisper chilled her blood. She grew still as her predicament became very clear.
The shifting of power was complete.
****
If Alex had kept his eyes where they belonged as he walked behind her, he might have spotted the man sooner. But her tight little buttocks had distracted him, and now they stood, locked from stern to helm, directly in the path of a mean-looking rifle.
And the man who held it looked alarmingly at ease.
Alex had never faced the end of a barrel, had never come close that he could recall. To experience the same uncomfortable feeling twice in a day stunned him for a moment.
Coincidence? He didn’t think so.
Early on he had dismissed the possibility that Brooke might be the decoy in a more sinister plot to keep him from the factory. He’d scoffed, deciding he would never have considered the possibility if his wildly imaginative secretary hadn’t planted the idea in his head.
Now he wasn’t so certain.
She had brought him here, and she had lured him outside just as Grizzly Adams happened along with his rifle. The amazing coincidences were adding up, and Alex didn’t like the total.
Keeping a wary eye on the man with the rifle, Alex slowly moved his hand to Brooke’s jacket pocket. He wasn’t certain what he would do when he found the gun, but one thing he was sure about, he wasn’t going to calmly go along with the man as he had with Brooke. It was time to put an end to their small-town games before someone got seriously hurt—namely him.
The moment she realized his intent she began to struggle wildly, trying to scream beneath his hand. Alex grunted as her sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
“Let her go, mister,” the stranger ordered.
Instead of answering, Alex tightened his hold and slipped his hand into her pocket, keeping his other hand firmly over her mouth to keep her from alerting her consort. He didn’t think the man would make a move with Brooke in the way. In fact, he was counting on it.
His hand finally found the weapon. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he pulled it from her pocket. At the same instant, she bit down hard on his hand. With a curse, he let her go, instinctively aiming the weapon at the man.
Only it wasn’t a gun, he saw. Not even close. He blinked, his brain slow to believe what his eyes were seeing. It looked like—
He fastened his incredulous gaze on Brooke, who actually had the gall to snicker. “You kidnapped me with your vibrator?”
Another snicker joined the first. When he remained stone-faced, she sobered. “I don’t like guns, and that’s not a vibrator.”
Alex looked at the object again, then back to Brooke. It was like saying a cat didn’t look like a cat. “Then do you mind,” he drawled sarcastically, “telling me what it is?”
She had the grace to blush and duck her head. “It’s—it’s a test model of a...penis. We use it to test condoms at the factory.”
“So you stole it to use for your little scheme?”
“I didn’t steal it,” she began defensively. “I—”
“Are you all right, Brooklyn?” the stranger interrupted, reminding Alex of his ominous presence. “‘Cause if you are, I got a pot of beans boiling on the stove...”
“Yes, I’m fine, Elijah. Thanks.”
“I’ll be gettin’ along, then.”
Alex glanced at the stranger, relieved to note that he’d lowered his rifle. Brooke had called him Elijah, and spoke as if she knew him well, and he’d called her Brooklyn—obviously a pet name. Considering his suspicions, the knowledge didn’t ease his mind. He was beginning to feel like Michael Douglas in The Game.
“Brooklyn? I take it you know him?” He turned back to Elijah just in time to see him blend into the grove of trees as he disappeared as silently as he had appeared.
“Elijah’s called me that since I was a toddler. My middle name is Lynn, so he kind of strung it together. He’s an old friend of my father’s.”
Because of the encroaching darkness, her features were blurred and indistinct, but Alex heard the sorrow in her voice, and felt it in his bones. He immediately hardened his heart. Until he found out what was really going on, he’d keep his sympathy to himself.
“A few years ago, a group of teenagers decided they’d throw a party here. They pretty much trashed the house. Since then, Elijah’s been keeping an eye on the place for us.”
“He lives nearby?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have a phone,” she said quickly. “And he’s hard of hearing—just in case you’re thinking of calling for his help.”
Alex made sure his smile came about slowly and leisurely. He wanted to make doubly certain she understood his meaning when he said, “Good. Then he won’t hear you, either.”
“What—what do you mean?” she asked with an admirable thrust of her chin. She spoiled the effect by taking a step backward.
His smile broadened.
“Meaning you and I are going to have a heart-to-heart. Meanwhile—,” he pitched the test model at her, “—why don’t you give me the flashlight so that we can finish what we came out here to do? That way if we stumble upon another Elijah, I won’t be so surprised.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Elijah wouldn’t harm a flea, unless someone were harming me or my sister.”
Alex ignored her dig. “Forgive me if I have a little problem with people pointing guns at my head.”
“Maybe if you didn’t have such a guilty conscience, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.”
“Still sticking with your story?” He thought he heard grinding teeth and something that sounded suspiciously like a snarl. The flashlight hit his chest hard enough to make him grunt. He caught it before it fell to the ground.
“Still disappointed because I didn’t give you something worth printing?” she countered. “Don’t you want all your newspaper buddies to know what a big, virile man you are?”
Playing the part of the playb
oy did have its moments, Alex decided, because he had the perfect comeback to her saccharin-sweet taunt. “Almost as much as you want to know!”
She gasped. “I do not!”
“Liar.” Playing the womanizer she thought him to be also had its advantages, because it gave him an excuse to do what he did next without feeling the least bit guilty. After all, it wasn’t his fault she didn’t believe he wasn’t the bad guy, was it? He had tried to tell her.
With wicked intent, he started toward her.
Chapter Six
Of course it was fear that made her heart race and her blood pound heavily in her ears as he approached her with that swagger he called walking. It certainly wasn’t anticipation, because Brooke would never be tempted by scum, especially scum like Cliff.
So what was it, then, that made her lips part expectantly when he placed his finger there?
Not anticipation. Never anticipation.
Dee, where are you?
They stood nose to nose in the darkness, the flashlight’s beam pointed toward the ground. He challenged her, and she accepted the challenge by not running for her life. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t cower. She would show him that she was immune to his brand of cheap charm. For Dee’s sake, she would pierce his ego with the sharp edge of her anger. Nothing in the world would make her happier than to show him he wasn’t God’s gift to every woman.
His finger dipped inside her mouth for moisture, then returned to slide erotically along her bottom lip. Brooke kept her gaze wide and still on his, fighting the urge to flick out her tongue.
She trembled because it was growing chilly now that the sun had set.
She quivered inside because she was only now realizing how foolhardy her plan was. But then, she’d never dreamed she’d wind up alone here with him.
And when that same finger dropped abruptly to explore her hardened nipple, and his warm mouth closed in on hers, she responded because—because—Brooke jerked her eyes open, and her mouth from his. With a strength she hadn’t expected to possess, she knocked his hand away. She was breathing hard, but that could damned well be construed as anger, when in reality it was self-disgust. A big heap of self-disgust.
“I lied about Elijah not hearing well,” she rasped. “He can hear very well, and if you touch me again, I’ll scream.”
He responded by taking her hand and placing it on his hard length outlined through his jeans. His bold, unexpected move nearly buckled her knees. Heat burned her palm, and she could feel him pulsing against her. For an insane moment, she drew her hand along the thick bulge. His sharp intake of breath shot a thrill right down to her toes and caused a flood between her legs.
“So you touch me,” he commanded huskily. “I promise I won’t scream. At least not yet.”
His voice jarred Brooke back to reality.
The heat spread from him to her, rising swiftly to her face. Brooke took her hand away—not quickly, but slowly. She looked at him, forcing herself to ignore the droop of his eyelids and its meaning. “Okay, you’ve proved that you’re big and virile and excellent at seducing women.” She didn’t bother hiding her self-contempt. “But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble. I already knew you were from Dee.”
As she let her words sink in to his conceited head, she plucked the flashlight from his fingers and turned her back on him.
She was shaking—and aching in places that made her feel more ashamed. How could she, even for one insane moment, respond to her sister’s boyfriend that way? For six months she had fought Kyle’s hands and resisted his pleas. The timing had just never felt right. Now she was glad she hadn’t slept with him.
One moment with him and she was stroking his—his Hugo!
The breaker box was jammed. Brooke gladly beat the flashlight against it until it gave way. With trembling fingers, she flipped the power switch and slammed the rusted metal door shut, trying to remember how many plates she’d seen in the cupboard. She could always replace them later.
He grabbed her arm before she could stomp by, forcing her to acknowledge his presence when all she really wanted to do was pretend he didn’t exist, that this day had never happened.
“I’m sorry.”
Damn him for sounding sincere. She didn’t want to forgive him! Or herself, for that matter. With a bitter twist of her lips, Brooke said, “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
Her laugh was as bitter as her smile. “Oh, yeah? Maybe not for you, but it is for me.”
“Because we turn each other on?”
A hot denial hovered on her lips. Brooke finally shook her head. Lying at this point would be silly, but she didn’t have to acknowledge his bald statement. “Because Dee loves you.”
“What if I told you she doesn’t?”
For a second hope leaped in Brooke’s heart. Then the sharp image of Dee’s dreamy face squashed it flat. “You’d be lying. Believe me, she loves you. She also wants this baby—your baby, and I’m not taking you back to town until you two get a chance to talk.”
“I could walk.”
Brooke considered his threat. It was true, he could. But somehow she didn’t think he would, at least not tonight. His jumpy reaction to Elijah reinforced her belief. “Like you said before, I could always hunt you down.” She paused before adding softly, “And don’t think I wouldn’t. I didn’t make it to supervisor because of my Amazon build.”
“I admire tenacity.”
“In my case, you should fear it.” It was a joke, really, Brooke realized the moment she said it. She doubted he feared many people, so he certainly wouldn’t fear her, or her stubborn streak. Finding harmless Hugo in her pocket instead of a gun clinched that deal.
“Okay, I believe you.”
“You do?” She slanted him a look full of suspicion. “Is this another trick?”
“No tricks.” He made an X across his heart. “Let’s go inside and talk.”
“About you and Dee and the baby?”
“Hm.” He nodded. “And about the factory. I’m still interested in doing an article...”
****
Alex knelt before the small grate and held a match to the pile of dried kindling. The flame quickly became a blaze as it devoured the pile of sticks. He added a few larger pieces of wood to the pile and sat back on his heels, watching it grow.
The hungry fire reminded him of his own reaction to Brooke Welch. He had to admit he’d gone overboard playing the part of the playboy, but damned if he could help it. She brought out a side of him he hadn’t known existed—a reckless, wild side that if his family had witnessed would have made them clamor for another CAT scan.
No other woman pushed his buttons the way Brooke had. Even now, he was intensely conscious of her moving around in the adjoining kitchen area of the two-room cabin.
Alex turned to watch her.
She was pounding the heel of her hand against a small white packet on the counter. His brow rose. That was another thing about Brooke Welch; she was always doing something unusual.
As if she sensed his gaze, she looked up. A blush crept into her cheeks as she answered his unspoken question. “Hot chocolate. I guess it’s a little out of date.”
“You don’t come here very often?”
She shook her head, bending her gaze to the hard packet on the counter. A silken swathe of her hair fell forward, concealing her features. “It’s not the same...since Mom and Dad died. I think it’s even harder for Dee. She was only fourteen.”
Suddenly, she looked up, pinning him with her molten gaze. In the depths of her honey-colored eyes, Alex fancied he saw flames every bit as hot as the ones that warmed his back. Not for the first time, he was very glad he wasn’t the guy she thought he was.
“But you know all of this, don’t you? Feeling the way she does about you, she would have told you.”
“She didn’t.” At least it wasn’t a lie, Alex thought.
She grabbed a pan from the c
ounter and slammed it onto the small two-burner stove. While the water heated, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms.
For a long moment, Alex held her angry gaze.
Finally, she said, “Maybe you just weren’t listening. Tell me, do you care about Dee at all? Or was she just another piece of ass to you?”
Alex winced at her crudity, but not because of what she said, but because of the acid her remark contained.
The severity of it should have burned him.
He said the only thing he could think of to say, and there wasn’t a nice way to put it. “Maybe you should mind your own business for a change.”
Wrong answer.
“We’ve tried that, remember? And Dee is my business. I’ve been taking care of her since Mom and Dad died.”
“She’s old enough to make her own decisions now.” It was guesswork, because Alex didn’t have a clue how old Dee was, or how long Brooke’s parents had been dead. He figured by the way her eyes narrowed that he might have gotten lucky, though. Like a blind man stumbling through the forest, Alex made it up as he went along, relying on instinct and sheer guesswork. “Maybe it’s also time you let her make her own mistakes—and live with them.”
She stiffened. “It’s not just her mistake, Mr. Sure Shot.”
So, they were back to name-calling again. Alex suppressed a sigh. She was right, too, although she didn’t know that she told it to the wrong man.
And he was sick of defending the creep when what he really wanted to do was find him and strangle him.
He tried changing the subject. “How long have you worked at the factory?” He knew, of course, from her file, but he was hoping to stumble upon some clues.
She took her time answering, filling their cups with hot water and stirring the mixture vigorously. Alex felt himself getting hard just watching her, wondering again if she put that much energy into making love. He accepted the cup she offered, pretending he didn’t notice the hard brown lumps of petrified cocoa floating on top—and hoping she wouldn’t notice his uncomfortable condition.
After she had settled onto the floor beside him, she stared into the fire as she said, “Six years.”
A Perfect Fit Page 5
