by Diane Roth
Leave it to Etta to draw things sharply into focus.
Cara rolled to a sitting position and drew a deep breath. "Exercising ... or maybe exorcising demons. Not sure which."
Etta's eyes went round and her penciled brows arched halfway up her forehead. "What're you talkin' about, girl?"
"I'm talking about losing my mind because my brother-in-law kissed me."
Etta's eye grew even larger.
"And I liked it way too much, and now I think it's going to ruin our relationship and I don't know what to do about it ... and I haven't slept all night for wanting to drive over there and rip his clothes off and have my hot, sweaty way with him." That pretty much summed it up, Cara thought.
"Greg? Mr. Hottie with the gorgeous eyes, brother-in-law, Greg?"
Cara nodded. "Yeah, that would be the one."
"Lawd, child," she said, dragging a folding chair across the room and settling herself in it near Cara. "I can see this is gonna take a while. Wish I'd gotten me a donut."
Cara waved her off. "Oh, no, Etta. You don't need to be listening to me when you're on your way out of town. Go on. I'll be fine. Had to blow off some steam, that's all."
"Are you kiddin' me? Destin ain't got nothin' on this, girl." She took a long suck on her straw and settled in, dropping her purse from her shoulder to the floor. "Come on. Spill it."
So Cara did, telling every detail from the first kiss he snuck from her, to the way he smelled as she pressed herself to his back on the bike yesterday, to the fear she felt when she thought of ruining their relationship. And Etta, intelligent and wise friend that she was, listened raptly. When Cara had finally spilled the tale in all its heartworn glory, Etta took another long gulp of soda and pondered for a time.
"You know ... that relationship thing ... it's changed already. For better or worse, what y'all used to have, baby, is gone." She said it as a matter of fact, not conjecture. And Cara recognized it as truth, feeling it drop into her gut like a ten pound dumbbell. " 'Cause you are not ever gonna look at him the same after y'all done been up on each other like that."
Well, yes. There was that, too. Cara nodded.
"So what you gotta do now is decide if you care about one another enough to have a real relationship, and what it's gonna to do to your family when you lay this big fat juicy secret out on the Thanksgiving table."
Cara pursed her lips and nodded again.
"Whoo, girl ... I can only imagine what Miss Barbara is gonna say about this here."
"Actually, I'm more worried about my kids. This is going to be weird for them. Good Lord, it's weird for me," Cara said, and laid back down on the floor, her hands coming to cover her face.
Etta was thoughtful for a quiet time, then asked the most sentient question of all. One Cara hadn't had the nerve to ask herself. "Are you in love with him, Cara?"
Cara was quiet herself for a time. "I don't know, Etta. I know I care for him." She shrugged. "He's Greg. He's been a part of my life for so much of my life. But I've always loved him as Jason's brother. You know ... just the family thing. And there's so much to love about him. He's been there for me without fail. And he's good with my kids. So good, in fact, I sometimes feel guilty relying on him so heavily."
"I know he's been a big help to you since Jason died. No doubt."
"No doubt, at all," Cara said, remembering those first horrible days and weeks after the funeral. Greg had been an absolute rock. Always there, always ready, always wise with advice. How she might have made it without him didn't even bear thinking about.
"But how did it change so suddenly? How did it shift from that familial love to this incredibly hot attraction? What changed?" Cara asked, speaking to the Universe at large, as much as Etta.
Etta waved a bejeweled hand at her with a rattle of bangles. "Whatever, girl. Y'all been sparkin' on one another long as I've known you."
Cara sent her a look of incredulous doubt. "What are you talking about?"
"Seriously, Cara. I remember y'all horsin' around at the Fourth of July party at your house a few years ago. He was poppin' you on the behind with that towel and you were eggin' him on. It was all teasin' and fun stuff." She took a quick drink of her soda and cut her eyes at Cara. "Or not."
Cara shook her head decisively. "Oh, no. There hasn't been anything like this until now. Oh, we might have talked a good talk, but there was never anything beyond sexual banter."
Etta gave her that humming, "Mmm, huh", her lips pursed up in a disbelieving moue.
"Seriously, Etta. I never cheated on Jason. Ever," Cara said.
"Oh, baby, I know you didn't cheat on Jason. I'm just sayin' the attraction's always been there. Y'all didn't do anything with it because y'all were both married." She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. "Y'all just talked about it. Played with words instead of deed. It was a safe sex kinda thing, I'm thinkin'."
"Well, there never was any sex, for sure. It was just talk."
"But now you ready to step it up, seems like."
"I don't know, Etta. I'm so afraid," Cara said, hugging her knees to her chest.
Etta studied her for a long minute. " 'Fraid of what?"
"Afraid of messing up this relationship."
"Baby, we done covered that. You think he ain't over there sweatin' to the oldies 'cause y'all been mackin' on each other? You can bet he is. And he's not gonna look at you the same no more either. It's a done deal." She arched one dramatic brow at Cara. "You need to break you off a piece of that, sister."
Cara had to laugh at that. Etta had more euphemisms for sex than anyone Cara knew.
"And after you do the mattress mambo, you got to text me in Florida and tell me how it was.
Now Cara's eyes went round. "I don't think so, girlfriend."
"Oh, come on. I just know he's gonna be good. I think I had a dream about him one time," Etta said, getting a sultry look in her eye. "Damn, that man is hot."
"Don't I know it. What do you think's kept me up all night?"
"I'm sure, baby. Hope he can keep it up all night, too," she said, and laughed that beautiful Etta belly laugh, cracking herself up.
Chapter Four
Greg knew it was a chicken shit way to deal with the situation, but after wrestling with this thing since he'd climbed out of her pool last night and catching hardly any sleep, he was beyond clear and rightful thinking. He'd send her a text. While it was cowardly and juvenile, he had to give her an out about the reunion tomorrow night, but he wasn't up to hearing her voice this morning.
His mind was a mine field about Cara. He felt like he'd awakened two weeks ago in an alternate universe, where Cara was the sun, and everything was just a hair off kilter. She looked the same and acted much the same, but he was attracted to her with a gravitational pull he couldn't escape. And like the sun, she'd become something he couldn't seem to do without.
He'd mucked things up kissing her in the first place, then kissing her again in the pool last night. He'd actually thought, in his temporarily irrational mind, that really kissing her, tasting and experiencing her would possibly fix the malfunction in his brain. That once he'd found out she was a woman like all the others, he'd be able to dismiss it and get back to thinking of her as his brother's widow, the mother of his niece and nephew, and all would be right with his world.
Wrong, Brooks. Utter fail.
He hadn't ever felt like this. Never. He'd never desired a woman like this ... burning and churning in his gut, his muscles, his cock until he could hardly think of anything else. And it scared him spitless to think he'd irrevocably changed the relationship they'd shared in the past year with his stupidity.
He finished typing the text and hit Send before he could change his mind, and dropped his phone on his desk. He honestly hoped she'd reply and tell him to forget about taking her to the reunion. He only hoped she didn't tell him to forget about her altogether. Because any Cara was better than no Cara. That, he wouldn't be able to deal with.
He mindlessly shuffled some papers around on his desk, hardly able to concentrate on anything. He hadn't been productive in two weeks, truth be told. Hell, he was going to get so far behind if he didn't get straight. Coffee. He needed industrial strength coffee. He got up to get coffee, and his phone buzzed on his desktop. A text.
He read it, but didn't know how to feel about it. There was a lot left to the imagination with this media. She still wanted him to take her to the reunion and said she knew they could be adults about all this, but he couldn't glean much beyond that from what she'd typed. He sighed, feeling no relief at all from the exchange. Well, at least, there was no angry insult for what he'd done to them. At least, there was that.
By Saturday evening, he'd managed to quell the worst of his symptoms with some strong self-control and a workout and six mile run in the morning. It had knocked the edge off anyway. He'd decided to treat the evening like he would have before the fundraiser. They'd take the bike so they wouldn't have to talk much on the way, and once they were there, he'd get caught up with old friends and she would, too. They'd hardly have to interact at all. He could get through it, he told himself. And after that, he was taking some time off and going somewhere and getting her out of his system. He didn't know how yet, but he was a damned resourceful guy when he needed to be. He'd manage somehow. He was confident.
Until she opened the front door.
She looked like someone had invaded his dreams and created the perfect woman of his fantasies. She'd highlighted her auburn hair with chunky streaks of honey and it fell in soft curls around her shoulders, and her skin made him think she'd been in the pool all day with her sun-kissed, pink cheeks and golden soft tan. She wore a lightweight, gauzy, print sundress that buttoned all the way down the front and had a flirty, flowy skirt that showed off a sexy length of those beautiful thighs, and she wore cowboy boots with it, which made it even sexier. He stood there a defeated man. Doomed to a night of total torture.
She looked stricken at his reaction. "What is it?"
He couldn't have fooled her for trying, so he didn't. "You just take my breath away, girl."
She didn't know what to do with that, he could see, as he watched her chew on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she'd had all her life. He had to try to salvage the moment. "You're gonna turn some heads with your forty-year-old self tonight, Cara."
She smiled softly, and he could see her breathing was a little too fast, her pulse a little too pounding against the thin silver chain around her neck, and her dress unbuttoned a little too far, the swells of her breasts trembling with each breath. But she said nothing.
"Hope you don't mind I brought the bike. If you'd rather not, we'll have to take your car," he said in light of her wearing a dress.
"No, I'm fine with the bike. It'll be fun."
Fun was not what he would have called it when she climbed on behind him and scooted up close, her warm parts snuggled in to his backside, her thighs squeezing in on his. He hadn't taken this into consideration.
Gunslinger's Saloon was an old establishment in Austin, one in which they'd all spent their time and money in years passed, and it had been aptly chosen for the gathering spot tonight. It was a real Texas honky tonk with a weathered bar, wizened barkeep, Gus, who'd been there since before Greg was drinking age, and sawdust on the dance floor so your boots didn't stick. It looked to be a good turnout when Greg and Cara entered the place. Country music blared from the bandstand and already, couples were taking a turn around the dance floor.
In an instant, Cara was hailed from a group of women off to one side and engulfed in hugs from old friends. Greg spied a couple of guys he knew at the bar and made his way in that direction, hoping to put his plan for distance between himself and her into action.
He ordered a drink and visited with a few guys from his class and met a spouse or two. He hadn't been prepared for the number of times he was offered condolences on the death of his brother. Why he hadn't prepared himself, he didn't know. He hadn't seen many of these people in years, and nearly none since Jason's death. He should have expected it, but he hadn't. And it didn't add to his mood, which had him riding a razor's edge already.
He looked around the gathering, noting old friends and acquaintances and how time had not served many of them well. The men were all paunchy and most were, at least, thinning on top, if not outright chrome domes. The women fared a little better, though not much. Most carried too much weight and looked frumpy.
All but one.
And she looked absolutely edible, Lord help him.
"Is that Cara you came in with, Brooks?" Mike Saxby asked him, nodding in Cara's direction across the dance floor.
"Yeah."
"Is she doing okay since Jason passed?"
Greg nodded. "She's doing fine. Took her a while, but she's doing fine now."
Mike nodded, his appreciative gaze firmly on Cara. "She looks fine." He shrugged a little, then grinned at Greg. "Just sayin'."
Greg wanted to push his toothy grin right down his throat. "Man, that's my sister-in-law."
Mike turned apologetic, his hands flying up in a stop motion. "Sorry, Greg. I didn't mean anything. She looks good, that's all. I'm glad to see her looking so well, that's all."
Greg felt like an idiot. He scratched at the back of his head and willed his temper back down.
"Sorry, Mike. I'm a little protective of her since Jason died."
"No sweat, man." He shook his head then took a drink of his beer. "Completely understandable."
But Greg knew he didn't understand at all the feelings that were tearing him apart. There was nothing understandable or rational about how he was feeling about Cara. Not the protectiveness, the hammering desire, the tenderness, the pride. None of it added up to how a brother-in-law should feel.
The scenario repeated itself in one fashion or another as the evening progressed. Greg fought off man after man who came sniffing out information about Cara. How was she? Did she still have that dance studio out off Bee Caves Road? Didn't she and Jason have a couple of kids? Was she seeing anyone lately? Greg had answered all their questions through gritted teeth and didn't give a crap that they all thought him ridiculously over-protective and more than a little unfriendly, if not hostile to one of the better known jerks in their class.
Oh, how he wished he'd backed out of this promise. It couldn't get much worse than this night was turning out to be, he thought, and turned to face the bar. He just might drink himself to oblivion.
The band took a break and the deejay put on something more current, more upbeat. It took only seconds for the dance floor to fill up with line dancing females.
"Entertainment time, boys," Saxby said with a greedy chuckle, leaning his elbows back on the bar and making himself comfortable. "I love to watch the wenches line dance." The string of men who'd been bellied up to the bar suddenly turned around to watch as well, but Greg stayed the course, nursing his beer. "Come on, Brooks. You don't want to miss this, I promise," Saxby told him, nudging him with an elbow.
Greg turned around on his barstool and began to watch, his gaze drawn unerringly to Cara. She might have been all alone out there for all that he could see. He didn't miss a single move, mesmerized by her strong, sexy legs and natural talent for dance. But it was the hem of that filmy little short skirt that garnered most of his attention, tantalizing him with the hope, and simultaneous fear, that it would fly up and give him a glimpse of that gorgeous ass of hers. He'd always been an ass man and always would be, he figured. And it just so happened that Cara's was one of her best assets. Another strike against him tonight, he decided as he watched her own that dance floor for the next few minutes, easily the best-looking and most talented dancer out there.
When the dance ended, several of the women made their way to the bar, including Cara. She spoke with Saxby and another man whose name Greg couldn't recall, but she lingered for a short time before seeking him out.
"You're looking rather miserable over here, Grego
ry," she said for his ears only. And that made him miserable. Lord, what a pathetic sot he was tonight. He almost laughed at himself.
"I'm beginning to be sorry I made you promise to come tonight. This is clearly not your scene," she continued.
"Are you having a good time?" he asked, unable to deny her accusations.
She shrugged. "Sure. It's all right." She searched the crowd for a moment. "There are a couple of people I wanted to see who aren't coming. I'm disappointed about that. But it's good to see some of the others. Some I haven't seen in years."
"Are you getting a lot of questions about Jason?" he asked.
"Sure. I expected it, so it's not bothering me too badly." It must have occurred to her that he hadn't expected it. "Is that what's got you looking so forlorn over here?" she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know ... yeah, probably," he said, knowing it to be partially true, at least.
"I'm sorry, Greg." Her beautiful brown eyes were full of tenderness and comfort, and he couldn't look at them and get lost in that goodness knowing she was offering it because his brother ... her husband, was dead. Damn, this was so convoluted.
