by Theresa Weir
But he’d genuinely wanted to have dinner with her and discuss all things wedding. What was the matter with him? Brooke had an engaging charm of her own. It was her big, compassionate heart. The way her eyes looked when he was talking about his parents’ deaths. He got sucked into that vortex of support and caring; just like he’d gotten sucked into the memory of his mother when he’d smelled apple and cinnamon in Brooke’s apartment. Even now that memory tempted him.
He shook it off. He had a job to do, and that job entailed getting Brooke to settle out of court. He couldn’t go soft now.
Once inside the homeless shelter, he strode up to the counter. There were a few people getting the evening meal ready, and he spotted Brooke working with a large pan of mashed potatoes. He took the apron someone handed him and made his way behind the counter.
As she struggled with the weight of the pan, he grabbed it to steady it. She looked at him with a smile on her face, genuine and welcoming, until she did a double take when she saw it was him.
“You are stalking me.”
“I just volunteered yesterday. How was I supposed to know you’d be at this shelter?”
Her eyes narrowed, and it was clear she didn’t quite believe him, but that was okay. This was about getting close to Brooke. Getting to know her and how she thought and what was keeping her from settling out of court. “I guess it’s your time you’re wasting chasing me around. I don’t know how you guessed where I would be, but I find it difficult to understand why you keep pressuring me.”
“I’m here to work at this shelter. That’s all. It’s a coincidence we’re here at the same time.”
She looked him up and down. “Next time you come here to..umm…work, you might want to change out of your thousand-dollar suit. You might get it dirty. Oh, and watch out for your fine wool coat. Cashmere, right? I’m sure you wouldn’t want it stolen.”
She jerked the pan out of his hands and staggered a bit. Turning her back, she set it on the counter next to the gravy.
The manager greeted him with a hearty hello and told him he’d be ladling out the gravy after Brooke gave out a serving of the potatoes.
People were lined up out the door. The night was cold, and for a moment he thought about all the people here who had no homes, and fear writhed in his gut like worms.
Who knows what would have happened to him and his sister if his parents hadn’t had a substantial bank account and insurance? His father had provided for them, and that had allowed Drew to finish his BA and go on to law school. He had worked hard, but if it weren’t for the luck of the draw he could have been standing in that line.
Seeing them only reinforced his need to snag that coveted partner slot by ensuring Brooke’s cooperation in settling out of court. Once he was sitting in that corner office, he wouldn’t have to worry about security anymore.
He couldn’t help noticing that Brooke was a natural at this, and all of a sudden he didn’t feel good about what he was doing. With an effort he pushed away those thoughts and ignored his conscience. She smiled and doled out the food with genuine warmth.
Standing here now, listening to her voice, which managed to be both soothing and no-nonsense, and looking into eyes that were quick to crinkle at the corners, yet easily held her own when challenged…yeah, he wavered in his rationale and found it a little harder to stay on target.
His body was also not cooperating with his stand-back-and-manage-the-situation agenda, and that made it even more difficult. But, since he was a guy, that part wasn’t surprising. No one could really blame him for noticing things like how her hair glowed a dark coffee brown in the overhead lights, which occasionally highlighted veins of mahogany red. She tucked a strand behind her ear, drawing his eyes to her creamy throat and the perfect shell of her ear, which he had the overwhelming urge to nibble.
Or how the jeans she wore gloved her curvy butt when she leaned over to reach an outstretched plate to deliver her dollop of mashed potatoes.
“You’re a natural at this,” he croaked, then cleared his throat.
She gave him a sidelong wry glance as if she suspected some kind of put-down in his words.
“Thanks. I’ve been working here for some time. I know a lot of these people.
“Who are you trying to kid? You’d be just as warm and pleasant with people you didn’t know.” He’d actually meant it as a compliment, but he was aware how it must have sounded to her. No surprise when her eyes went skeptical. Damn, he was getting soft.
“I’m not sure I’m happy when the faces change, though. I wonder what’s happened to the people who used to come here. I admit that I worry about them.”
He might have groaned a little at her kind and genuine words. He was finding it difficult to resist her sweet personality. Think about the food. And only the food. Not about touching Brooke, stroking his hands over her, and finding out how generous she could be on a one-to-one basis.
“Aren’t you a handsome one?” A tiny woman with crazy blonde hair interrupted his thoughts. “I like an extra smidgen of gravy, if you don’t mind.”
Drew smiled and delivered the extra gravy. “Thank you, handsome,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him before moving on.
“Oh, look out. Rosie is a heartbreaker,” Brooke whispered loudly.
“Well, I ain’t as pretty or accomplished as Brooke, but I’d give her a run for her money where you’re concerned,” the blonde quipped, glancing over her shoulder at Drew and wiggling her eyebrows.
Brooke smiled, and he thought he saw something in her gaze…something that his male instincts told him was female interest. She wasn’t what anyone who knew him would describe as his type. Drew usually sought out high-powered women who tracked their schedules on their smartphones and wouldn’t even consider spending a good chunk of their precious time volunteering in a homeless shelter.
Brooke’s calendar was littered with charity work, and she spent quite a bit of her time at this particular shelter. He wondered why she felt the need to overextend herself this way.
But he couldn’t really ask that, because it would give away his inside information. She was certainly smart enough to put two and two together and realize he was the one who snatched the calendar off her counter that day he was in her apartment. But until that happened, he had to keep his cards close to his vest.
“You’re doing a good job,” she said after the food in the pans and the people who needed to eat were exhausted.
His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, clamoring for him to do something—anything—about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn’t his type when the sexual tension between them would probably steam up the area where they stood any second.
“Well, at least I’m doing something right,” he said, not wanting to be charmed by her. Needing not to be. Despite his body’s obvious and unwanted response, he felt firm about this. Getting involved with Brooke on a personal level would be wrong. Leading her on was okay as long as they weren’t intimate. “This has been a humbling experience,” he confessed. “I sometimes wonder what would have happened to me and my sister if we hadn’t been lucky enough to have parents who planned for disaster.”
She glanced at him, looking briefly surprised at his words. He had to admit he was surprised himself.
“You can console yourself with the fact they loved you deeply enough to have given a great deal of thought to your welfare in case something should happen to them.”
And how in the hell had they gotten onto this topic, anyway? He was supposed to be finding out more about her, not the other way around.
As they grabbed their coats, he said, “How did you get your business started?”
She stiffened and turned toward him. “Is this an attempt to gain information to use against me in court?”
“No. I simply wanted to know, but if you don’t feel comfortable talking about it…”
She stood there with indecision in every line of her curvy body. He almost felt remorse for what he
was doing.
“Sorry, that was a knee-jerk reaction to who you are and why I think you’re here.”
He opened the shelter door for her. “Do you mind if I walk with you? This doesn’t strike me as the safest neighborhood.”
“What exactly is safe? I have errands to do. If that doesn’t bother you, sure.”
“So what the heck is a dog salon?”
Brooke laughed. It was a rich, full-bodied sound that invited a person to join in, and brought an unbidden smile to his face.
“It’s a fancy name for a dog groomer. Everything in Manhattan needs a pretentious name. You should know that better than anyone, Mr. Thousand-Dollar Suit.”
“Touché,” he said.
“I started my business after I got out of college. I studied business administration at Brown.”
“Brown?” Of course, he already knew where she’d gone to school and what she’d studied. He was still putting that together with the reality of the woman who walked beside him.
“I know. More pretentiousness. My parents made me attend and chose my major. Once I got of college, I made my own decision about how to use what I’d learned. They, of course, removed all means of support. I ate a lot of ramen noodles back then.”
So she could have sold out and found herself a high-powered job, but chose to follow her heart. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Already she had his sympathy. Her parents sounded like life Nazis. Why hadn’t he had the courage to do that?
“Once I started to gain the upper crust clientele, I changed the name to Pawlish and billed it as a dog salon. It’s grown ever since…well until a couple of weeks ago when Kristen and her poodle Mimi decided to ruin me.”
“She has a lot of influence.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Why?”
“We walked, oh three blocks and you didn’t once mention settling out of court.”
He laughed. “I told you I wouldn’t, even though it would be in your best interest.”
She stopped. “I need to pick up some dry cleaning.”
He went into the shop with her and waited while she talked to the shop owner. Damn, the woman was put together. This whole walk and fishing expedition wasn’t wasted. He could span her tiny waist, and that sweet ass..he shifted his attention from her backside to the open warmth on the man’s face indicating Brooke was a regular. She flirted with him as they discussed her elderly neighbor, but in an innocent way that Drew was sure made the old man’s night. Then, her words registered. Oh, man, she was picking up the dry cleaning because the old woman had just had cataract surgery?
He leaned over and whispered, “Does flirting with the old guy get extra starch in your shirts for free?”
He’d been waiting for that breathless laugh to happen again, and this time it made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. And nearly triggered the same reaction considerably lower. Then he realized he was leaning toward her, closer, then close enough to smell her sweet, but somehow seductive, fragrance of apple-cinnamon and woman.
Once back on the sidewalk, they continued at the same pace. “So, to continue our conversation, Kristen threatened you.”
“Yes, with an ultimatum. One I have no intention of giving into.”
“I have to hand it to you. Standing up to Kristen isn’t for the faint of heart.” He didn’t have to feign his admiration here. He did admire her. This plan of his was somewhat of a double-edged sword.
“I may not like confrontation, and I would much rather please a client than piss her off, but I couldn’t give into her demands. They were unreasonable.”
She stopped two more times. At the first stop she picked up groceries and flowers, bright colorful mums, daisies, and roses.
“My last stop is a place where I get Roscoe’s dog food. Hot Diggity Dogs. They want me to sell my special dog treats in their specialty shop, but I don’t know where I would find the time to make them in bulk. Roscoe loves them, they’re good for him, and that is all that matters to me.”
She once again was obviously a very welcome regular in the shop. The two guys who ran it yelled out her name as she walked in. One disappeared into the back to get what she wanted before she even asked. He deposited the bag of dog food next to Drew, giving him a once-over before returning to the counter.
“Is this tasty morsel with you, Brooke?” the man with the styled blond hair asked.
“He is.” Brooke grinned at Drew, then the store owners. “He is my pack mule tonight.”
“Well, well, he can carry my…package any time he wants.”
The other man covered his mouth and giggled. “Oh, stop! You’re embarrassing the poor thing.”
Brooke walked over, still grinning, eyes twinkling. She took the dry cleaning from him. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. Not the…proposition or carrying a 20 pound bag of dog food. How were you going to manage all this if I hadn’t tagged along?”
“Oh, I would have had them deliver the bag instead and picked up something at the grocery store to tide Roscoe over, but I don’t like feeding him conventional dog food, and since you were here…”
“Just call me your pack mule.” He hefted the bag onto his shoulder and took back the dry cleaning. Her eyes roamed over his arms and chest as he settled the bag at a comfortable angle.
“My apartment isn’t far.”
“I remember.”
“Of course you do,” she said, her face flushed. “That is a very good blend for him. Bulldogs usually don’t live past ten, but I’ve been very careful with Roscoe and his diet and exercise. The dog food is made from chicken, good lean source of protein, natural glucosamine and chondroitin for his joints, omega-3 fatty acids, ALA and DHA for brain and cellular health, and omega-6 fatty acid, zinc and B vitamins.”
“Damn, that dog eats better than I do. I’d say there was something in there for strong teeth as well. He had a pretty easy job of ripping out the seat of my pants.”
Brooke laughed, and he smiled, and zing went his heart.
Once they entered the lobby of her apartment complex, Brooke groaned. “Oh, no. The elevator is out.”
“It’s only four floors up,” he said. “I could carry you and this bag and not break a sweat.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Yes. You look like you don’t weigh more than 99 pounds.”
“A lady doesn’t reveal her weight,” she said sniffing.
“You are a pistol.”
Before she could say another word, he gently placed the dog food bag in her arms, and then proceeded to lift her, the dog food, the dry cleaning, her groceries and the flowers. Settling her against his chest, he headed for the stairs.
“Drew. Stop being ridiculous.”
He took the first flight of stairs at an easy pace. With her nestled against his chest, he could feel the soft curves of her body molding to his. Zoooommmm went the blood in his veins, heading straight for all points south.
“Oh, no. I want you to realize I’m true to my word, and, as a bonus, I got you to finally call me by my first name. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
The second set of stairs he looked into her eyes as he climbed, such an intense and warm brown. Pow, right to his solar plexus, as their gazes connected and deepened.
“Probably not a place we should go,” she murmured.
“How about we just visit,” he said with a husky edge. His nerves went ratatattat with a delicious kind of vibration as he easily climbed the third and then final set of stairs.
At her apartment door, she grabbed the bag and set it down on the floor. He supported her as he released her legs, but the rest of her slid down his torso. He got lost in her eyes as she flowed to the floor. Damn that slightly lush bottom lip of hers that just begged a man to taste it. Bite it. Just a little. For a moment, they stood in the hall until a door opened and an aged female voice called out.
“Is that you, Brooke? Did you remember to pick up my dry cleaning?”
> It took Brooke a moment to answer as her eyes stayed locked with his. “Yes, Mrs. Santos. I have it,” she said, her voice just as flustered as her face, with a breathless quality that made his body tighten. He removed the groceries and flowers from her arms and she moved away from him, but not breaking eye contact until she turned the corner.
He took a deep breath and felt like his chest couldn’t expand enough to get the air he needed. Must have been the climb making it hard to catch his breath.
When she came back, she unlocked the door. The scent of apple and cinnamon lingered on the air, and he hadn’t realized until now just how much he had longed to smell it again. Roscoe greeted her with a bark, and she took a moment to bend down and ruffle the fur of his head. He looked at Drew as if to say, “Oh, you again. Don’t make me have to prove again that I’m top dog by taking another bite out of your backside.”
He chuckled and cautiously reached out his hand. Roscoe looked away, then gave him a quick lick. Looked like he was making a bit of headway with the dog, at least. He closed the door behind him and followed her from the foyer into her kitchen, where she set down her parcels. Roscoe padded after them, his eye on the dog food slung over Drew’s shoulder.
“The container for the dog food is in the corner cabinet. Would you mind terribly pouring it for me? I always spill it because it’s so unwieldy.”
He pulled the bag of dog food off his shoulder, set it on the floor, and opened a cupboard door, but found pots and pans.
“Oh, no, this one,” she said as she opened it for him. They reached for the top to the container at the same time and his face went right into her fragrant hair. Where he had wanted it buried at the dry cleaners. He should immediately back up, put the appropriate amount of space between them. In his head, that’s exactly what he did. In reality, though, he kept on moving, pushing her up and back into the countertop.
His breathing was raspy, his body surging in response to her closeness. She was trapped between him and the counter, and that was just fine, because he didn’t want her going anywhere. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her rapid breathing matching his own. Her hands had landed on his biceps, and her fingers clenched on the muscles and then flowed down his chest, as if finally giving into the fantasy he’d seen in her eyes when she’d watched him heft the bag of food onto his shoulder.
