by D. C. Stone
Her palms smoothed up his chest. Inside, he cried at the loss of it all. He would not taint her. She wanted to be a friend, but he couldn’t accept it. He refused to take any less than what he told her he wanted. They were made for each other, and yet at the same time, them being together was nearly impossible. He wanted her to see him as the love of her life, as something bigger than just a man. Someone worthy to take and protect her heart. But she’d never see him as anything more than a friend. The years they’d spent together told him as much.
Gripping her wrists with a gentle but firm grasp, he drew them away and sidestepped along the wall until she dropped her hands.
“I need a shower, Brooke. Please, let’s talk about this tomorrow. There’s nothing more we can do until my brothers get here.”
A flash of impatience crossed her features and darkened her face.
“Stop it,” she snapped. He blinked. “Why—why can’t I touch you? Have I messed things up so much you can’t accept one hug from a friend?”
He cut her a look. Exhausted, he was no match for this conversation. “No, it’s not that. I need to get clean, get this night off me. Can you understand I just want to wash memories of the last few hours away? Please, we’ll talk about this later. Just let me go.”
Her arms locked in a tightened grip around his waist, freezing him to the spot. Her face pressed to his chest, and her body plastered to his own. He didn’t return the embrace. Instead, he grabbed his upturned face and fought back the rising groan. Torture would be a better reprieve than her sweet curves pressed against the ugliness he had to endure. He wanted to shout to the heavens about the unfairness, wished he could take antibacterial spray and clean her hands. He didn’t want to taint her! She didn’t get it, did she? His world, the night, was one he wished to spare her.
With quick motions, he gripped her wrists from the small of his back, pivoted in her arms, and walked away without another word. He entered the bathroom and shut out the accusing and helpless gaze of Brooke. Her face crumpled just before the echo of the door bounced off the walls.
Damn it.
* * * *
Brooke stared at the closed door as if she could see through it. The easy feeling friendship she and Dwayne had held for over ten years seemed to be crumbling, and their bond hovered on a precipice. One small move and it would tumble down the mountain, forever lost. The line had blurred, and his kiss had pushed her over the edge of curiosity. Feelings she’d never considered festered inside her.
He was easy on the eyes, more than that. He held a smooth grace with an underlying lethal presence that gave his dark looks a wicked edge. A bad boy in play. Only his appearance, always dressed without blemish, gave the illusion of civilized manners. The man she knew, and the one she had grown to know the past few days, was anything but. He held a barely restrained control in his eyes. And she’d felt the tremor of that control under her palms the last time he kissed her.
And—didn’t it figure?—in her usual way, she had not only managed to insult him but also built a wall between them with her words. As well as, it appeared, her actions. Or lack thereof.
How could she be held responsible for any of what she did or didn’t do? Right now she worried about getting her daughter back, bringing Hailey home. She was not in the position to make any sort of decisions about a relationship. But damn it, how could she not?
Spinning away from the door, she paced. Her thoughts fused together with the pained expression she’d glimpsed before Dwayne had turned from her. Was it the night he had gone through, or her, that put that look on his face?
Did he not want to touch her because of what he had done? The thought gave her pause and she sank to the mattress, stared unseeing at the ugly orange wallpaper. He mentioned going behind the scenes but not seeing Hailey. Did he take his built-up lust out on the woman he encountered? Had he slaked the desire he’d been feeling for her?
Oh dear, God.
She closed her eyes against the wave of regret as it spun through her body. Why was she doing this? If she didn’t want to be with him, if she kept holding off, then why did a stabbing sensation occur in her chest to imagine him wrapped in another’s arms? Why did her body call out with distress at the thought of never feeling his touch?
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked off the bed.
She had to give this a shot. Indubitably, she could lay with him and protect her heart, right? After all, she was a healthy woman. More, she craved the distraction from the reality of her world. And even she could admit she wanted him.
She wanted Dwayne, and she wanted what he had been offering her.
Was it the smell of the other woman on his skin that drew this urge? Or perhaps, was it the fact that she had discovered Hailey’s dad cheating in much the same way?
Dwayne was not hers. However, nothing said she couldn’t go along with what he had been trying to convince her of.
Hands at the bottom of her shirt, she whipped it over her head without another moment’s hesitation. The material flung aside and landed somewhere across the room. She pushed her pants and panties down with a single swoop and turned to the bed.
All she had to do was keep her heart out of it and see where this led. This formidable draw to Dwayne and the curiosity to see what it would be like between them. Only this was a solitary thing she’d give. She had to make sure of it.
* * * *
Missing the hell out of his massaging spray showerhead back home, Dwayne stood facing the faucet, head ducked between his shoulders, and allowed the hot water to pound the tight muscles of his neck. Tension wound his body tighter than a mainspring.
The night had brought a lot of it. Nevertheless, he knew most of it had to do with the woman on the other side of the door.
Brooke.
This craving for her was so intense, he was half-afraid he would just take her one day soon. And soon was the key word. It wasn’t a matter of if, but more, when it would happen. He needed to get the hell away from her if he planned to keep their friendship intact.
She had made herself more than clear, as he had with his intentions. Rebuffed at every opportunity, she gave him an unblemished answer of what she thought of that idea.
With a scowl at the reminder, and the water running cooler on his back, he yanked the faucet off and flung open the curtain. He stepped out and wrenched the white, plush towel from the rack.
Regrets, millions of them, pounded into him as he dried off. He should have told Brooke how he felt long ago instead of harboring these impulses. On the other hand, he wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut. Why did he in the first place? Memories long gone because of his exhaustion, he shook his head and bent to retrieve his discarded clothing from the floor.
Running from Brooke had left him without a pair of boxers. As he opened the door, he expected to see her waiting for him, wanting to talk some more. Surprised, he found the room dark, a slither of yellow light sneaking through the parted curtains. A lump lay in the bed, unmoving, covered by the thick hotel comforter.
He crossed on silent feet, bent to retrieve a pair of black boxers from his bag, and pulled them up his legs, all the while keeping the towel around his hips. Dressed, he tossed the cloth aside and turned to the bed. His gaze shifted to the loveseat sitting under the corner as he debated on how smart it would be to join her. He mused the idea for a few seconds. It couldn’t hurt. He shrugged and went to his side of the bed, then slid under the covers.
Settling on his back, he stared up at the ceiling in silence, thoughts screaming through his head. Brooke’s clean scent wrapped around him and, combined with the scent of the fabric softener the hotel used, it calmed his frayed nerves, cocooning him in a peaceful interlude.
The bed shifted and she slid to the side of his body, pressed her very curvy and—fucking hell, very naked—body against him. He hissed and went tight as a bowstring. With a punch, blood surged to his groin and his cock erected with grace at attention in a heartbeat of time.
&
nbsp; He heaved out of her arms and rushed from the bed, standing, then rounding on her.
“What the fuck, Brooke? Christ, you’re naked!”
He slammed his lids shut. It was too late. She’d sat up, and the glow from outside had caught it all. It burned in his brain, fueled the growing need rushing through him.
Thick, long hair splayed across her shoulders like a wash of silk. Desire-lidded eyes stared at him in request. Pert, round breasts on display looked almost as good as he knew they tasted. Her skin flamed brighter than the sun, which would indisputably rise in a few hours. The white sheets twisted around her waist, framed her in an absolute offering.
“Open your eyes, Dwayne.”
“Put on some fucking clothes first.”
“Why?”
He made a strangled noise. The noose around his neck tightened, while the control he normally tried to hold—slipped.
“Why?” he growled. “Christ, you have absolutely no idea what you do to me, do you?” With his sight gone, his other senses magnified. Cool air washed over his damp body. Her soft, rapid breath filled his ears. Her sweet smell invaded his nose. She was the one and only thing he could concentrate on, and his exhaustion vanished.
Her hand gripped his straining cock, the thin barrier of cloth doing nothing to decrease the sensation. Air rushed out of his lungs with a punch. He stilled her wrist, his precarious control waning, and opened his eyes.
Swallowing hard, he tried to extract her, but she tightened around him. Mr. Happy jerked, all too willing to join in the festivities.
“What are you doing?” he whispered with an urgent rasp.
On her knees with one arm reached out to him, she licked her lips. The sight of that pink tongue running along the seam of her mouth, moistening it, drew his attention. He stifled a groan. Her entire body was on display, smooth skin begging for his touch, each glorious curve beckoning and testing restraint.
“If I have to explain what I’m doing, I must be more out of practice than I thought.” One brow lifted.
He let out a strangled laugh. “What? No, that’s very clear.” The high pitch of his voice had him wincing. Christ, dude, really? She’s got her hand wrapped around your cock. She’s staring up at you with desire, and you’re questioning it? What in the fuck is wrong with you?
She kept that flawless, arched brow high and didn’t speak. He fought to find the words. Pretty fucking hard—literally—with her rock solid—yep, again, literally—grip wrapped around his aching loin. He tilted his head back and prayed for strength. Coming into her arms after the night he had would be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, losing himself in her softness, in the pureness she offered, would be heaven to his hell. An answer to the nightmare he experienced.
Yet, on the other, he still felt dirty. He couldn’t imagine tainting her beauty, his angel, in any way. He shouldn’t question why she had unexpectedly changed her mind—what guy would? And the fact that he was, solidified that he needed to go out and buy some tampons, get his nails done, and put on a pair of pink panties. ’Cause he had downright lost it.
Swallowing hard, pulling on every ounce of control, he lowered his head and met her eyes. “Mi angel preciosa, me tientas.” My precious angel, you tempt me. “I have to know why?” He shook his head. “That didn’t come out right. Please.” He gave a gentle tug on her hand. “I’m going to hate myself later, I know it, but I need to understand why now. What’s going through your head? And more, does it have anything to do with where I went tonight?”
Her grip around him loosened. He nodded as her nostrils flared. Yeah, he had struck the spot. Her body’s response told him as much. Hope, that bright spark of a flame, doused, but he held his facial expression in check. Of course it had to do with the fact women had been all over him tonight.
He sighed and pulled her hand away, then slid onto the bed beside her, taking her face between his palms. “Si, Brooke, you forget yourself, and you underestimate me.” He smoothed her hair away. Her warm skin pierced the cold in his hands, and her eyes, even holding their frightened gaze, warmed him to the depths of his chest. This amazing woman, her strength unfaltering, showed more vulnerability to him tonight—something he never thought he would see—and it touched him more than she knew.
“Preciosa, this isn’t you. I understand you better than you think. We’ve known each other for years. This…” He ran his gaze down over her and fought back a smile as her entire body tinted pink. “While it’s lovely, and while I may want you so fucking bad I ache, it isn’t something I want to take because you’re feeling as if I’m slipping away.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t ridicule me and call me an idiot by attempting to argue my point. You’re failing to recall I pulled a double degree also concentrating in psychology. I know what your body, what your words, and what your actions are saying.”
Her expression fell. The change as sure as a comet falling from the sky. And it scared him just as much. His heart thudded, took off like a racehorse without a rider. He could deal with her anger, handle her tears over Hailey, but knowing he put that despair there just about killed him.
Setting countless kisses across her face, he spoke through each contact. “Don’t. Please.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists and drew in a deep breath, then caught his mouth with hers. He froze, every muscle locking up tight as a spring coiled. The air she drew into her lungs released, capering out across his face.
She leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. His heart, which had been pumping on an express train up the tallest mountain, suspended. The yielding mounds of her breasts surged against his chest, twin cushions as soft as warm velvet. Her nipples pressed to his bare chest and he grumbled, felt the ground shift on his control. It stretched, so fucking tight, ready to snap.
She tilted her head, opened her mouth and sucked in another breath against his lips…then breathed, “Please.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooke didn’t understand this…this need, craving, and desire demanding she give in to Dwayne. It pulsed like a living and breathing thing. She had to have him in her arms, had to feel his body against hers, had to relent to this attraction bouncing between them. It was almost as forceful as the balls from the pinball machine a few days ago, slamming against the edges of her consciousness, punching along her skin and pulling her into a vortex of unbridled necessity to finally act.
Green eyes darkened and met her unflinching stare. She could fall into his gaze any day, wrap up in the peace of spring his eyes offered. He was normally so in control, so steadfast in his confidence and attention to what occurred around him. Tonight, though, his expression held something else, a look she wanted to comfort, something she had to wipe away. She’d caught a glimpse into his vulnerability and now that the guise was up, she had an undeniable urge to banish. A strong impulse she had no choice in fighting any longer.
“You’ve comforted me for so long,” she said against his mouth. “Let me provide to you tonight.”
She brushed her lips along his and the tendrils of need developed claws that dug into her body relentlessly.
His large palms wrapped around her upper shoulders, but he didn’t push her away, nor did he pull her closer. Instead, he shook her, a small movement she believed designed to grab her attention.
“I don’t need to be comforted this way,” he rasped. “Do you understand what you’re asking? Do you know whom you’re inviting into your bed? Between your thighs? Have you realized how this will change things?” He slid one hand to her back and tangled it in her hair, then gave a forceful yank. She cried out, not in fear or pain, but more so under the sensual delight the position thrust her under. Face tilted to his, his chin rested on hers and his eyes lit with fire.
“Can you, sweet Brooke, understand how ruthless I will be in demanding you give me it all? Not just what you think you want to hand over? I will take every damn drop, ring every lick of pleasure, and push you until you no longer understand how to deny me any
thing. Are you sure this is what you want? Now? Do you,” he said, dropping his voice until it was practically a growl, “understand you’re inviting a stranger, not who you think you know, but another man entirely, between your thighs tonight?”
She met his unyielding gaze and refused to back down. He wanted to scare her; that much she was sure of. Whatever he had gone through tonight, it was something that had messed with his head. Her heart felt like breaking and as it was a fissure developed under the pain in his voice. She could no longer deny him or turn away, just as she was unable to cease breathing.
Keeping her eyes open, she leaned up, closed the last few inches between them and covered his mouth with her own. An inhuman sound rumbled from his chest as his arms tightened like bands and crushed her against his body. The hand in her hair tangled and pressed her closer, tilted her head, and forced her to submit to his ministrations. The kiss was raw, rough, and involved a demanding tangle of tongues, bites, and growls. She allowed it, refusing to back down as she gave as much as he did. It had been so damn long since she had experienced a touch from a man, even longer since she enjoyed a kiss, and never had she undergone the absolute conquest of her mouth and body. She was his for the taking.
Beneath her hands, his body was inviting. Soft, yet hard. Like stretched velvet, warmed by the summer’s sun and wrapped around stone. His taste, like his scent, was intoxicating. She wanted to drink him in, take her fill of mint, the sweet taste of brandy, and something entirely just Dwayne. While fresh from the shower and smelling of soap, sandalwood filled her nostrils, a scent she’d long ago associated with him.
God, how could she have missed this? How had she been so blind to how sensual he was? He emitted a promise of sex from the way his hands forced her compliance, from the way his mouth conquered hers, and from the slow roll of his hips against her stomach. His erection pressed against her, shameless and unforgiving. He had warned her he wouldn’t hold back, that she’d meet a different man tonight, and so far, his words had never been truer.
