by Theresa Weir
The image of her face, her eyes, the way her lips had instinctively parted when he’d kissed that soft spot on her wrist, played through his mind again. There had been both pain and yearning in her eyes.
His sister didn’t wait for the preliminaries. She left her chair and walked straight to Callie and asked her to join them. Emma seemed oblivious to the undertones swirling around the two women. Callie glanced at him then said something to Brooke who nodded after a moment. She gave a genuine smile to his sister, which said volumes about her character.
The baker beckoned, smiling, and all three women lined up to follow him into the tasting room where the cake was laid out. Drew brought up the rear. Impulsively, he snatched Brooke’s wrist and dragged her into a storage room containing a metal counter holding various cake-related items. He closed the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting a moment alone with you.”
“Why?”
“Because, there is something more between us. I don’t like what happened. How I acted.”
“That surprises me. I thought we agreed to be frenemies?”
He didn’t know what he wanted. It was elusive and maddening. He should have been able to walk away from this, from her. He was that kind of man, tempered by the fire of too-early responsibility. Thrust into the world without support. Climbing the ladder was the only way to get up, up to the top to reach the security he craved. He’d bought into it all and was now wondering, aching with the realization that maybe he’d sold out. She was a mirror, deep, heartbreakingly clear, and he didn’t like the image reflected back. “I don’t want to be frenemies.”
She tilted her head with an insolence that just didn’t fit on her. “Why don’t we play a game of squash to decide if we’re friends or enemies?” She tried to push past him, but he wouldn’t let her pass.
“Brooke…”
She gave up in exasperation, tapping her index finger on his chest. “I think you’re following me. I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
“Maybe it’s fate.”
She snorted. “With you, everything is calculated. How you know where I’ll be is puzzling.”
When she frowned, he soothed the place between her forehead with his thumb. “Stop worrying about that. It’s not important.”
“What is important?” She glared up at him. “Oh, right, the lawsuit. Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore. I guess you can happily pack up your old office and get that corner one you’ve always wanted.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I got Kristen to drop the lawsuit.”
This time his heart didn’t skip; it stopped altogether, then thundered on with such ferocity he felt it might explode from the sudden intensity of it. “What the hell…how?”
“Harper, Callie, and dog treats.”
“Is that some kind of code? English, woman.”
As she related her coup, he sank more deeply into her sweet integrity and compassion. No matter how he floundered or waved his arms, she held him steadfast.
He was a goner.
“See? Problem solved,” she said, but the triumph wasn’t there in her eyes.
“The problem isn’t solved.”
“I just told you it’s a done deal.”
“I’m not talking about Kristen.” The husky sound to his voice made her eyes widen, her pupils dilate. As he watched her assimilate his meaning, she shivered. He discovered that he didn’t care about the rest of it at all.
He wanted Brooke Palmer more than he wanted his next breath. He wanted her in more than his bed.
But every journey started with a single step. And he was through denying that the step he was most interested in taking at the moment was not as terrifying as it had been only a day ago.
“Let me take you out.”
“What? No,” she said flatly, and tried to extricate herself from the tight space he’d cornered her into. “I think we’ve deliberated this point to its only conclusion. There’s no reason for us to ever see each other again.”
Chapter 8
Brooke stared at Drew, his body much too close, the heat radiating off him in waves. It hurt to say those words, but offering to take her out after he learned he was off the hook wasn’t enough for her. It was easy now, and she didn’t want it to be easy for him. She wanted it to be hard.
Okay, part of him was hard, and it was hard to ignore it. Despite her little speech earlier, her desire for Drew Hudson hadn’t eased one whit.
But sex in a public place really wasn’t her style. His sister and Callie were only one room over. She could hear the murmur of their voices. The small room they hid in had a door and didn’t look like it was used very often. She could only pray that no one walked in on them.
He was a smart man with intelligence in spades. She had no doubt he would have done his job and crushed her in court. Wasn’t it enough that he had a body that wouldn’t quit? He had to have a tantalizing mind as well? She shuddered. And her gaze was drawn to the primal look in his eyes. The kind of look a man had when he had every intention of fighting.
Winning.
She forced herself to look away. “Weddings,” she managed. “We really should get back—”
“I want to have my cake, and eat it, too. Don’t you?”
It was simple. All she had to do was keep her hands at her sides, or anywhere but on Drew. He wouldn’t push her if she refused.
She looked up at him. “Sometimes the calories aren’t worth it.”
He laughed, the deep sound rumbling through his chest, a chest she remembered running her hands over all too well.
“You’re driving me so crazy, I can’t think straight.”
“Join the club,” she muttered, knowing he heard her when his smile grew.
“Sometimes the calories are worth it.” He lifted her onto the metal counter so unexpectedly, her hands went to his shoulders to steady herself. “Maybe more talking isn’t the answer.”
She glanced down at his hands still on her waist. They almost spanned the full circumference. She accepted the shudder that rolled down her spine at the image of those strong fingers caressing her flesh, then collided with his gaze once again. “What was the question, again?” she asked.
He shrugged, bunching up those firm shoulder muscles, and his lips curved. “I don’t know. Does it matter anymore?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what this is.”
“And there’s no curiosity on your part to find out?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, and we went through all this only moments ago.”
“Well, since the cat has nine lives, surely one can be sacrificed. It’s up to the cat.”
What she needed was for him to shut up and drag her into his arms so she wouldn’t have to make up her own damn mind about all this. Take the decision out of her hands and drown her in so much sensation and pleasure she didn’t have to think. Not about this.
“Decide?” she repeated. “What if I don’t really want this?” she whispered, brushing her mouth against his as he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. It was a last ditch effort, a plea for him to do what she could not and bring them both back from the brink of insanity.
“Don’t you?”
The warmth of his breath drew her gaze to his mouth. She wanted to feel his lips on her so badly she ached. “How do I know you won’t abandon me again if the going gets tough?”
“I won’t. This…whatever it is…blindsided me. I was an ass,” he said quietly and, if she wasn’t mistaken, with real regret. “I don’t think I deserve you.”
“You think you do now?”
“No, but I want you. Do you believe in second chances? In forgiveness?”
He’d thrown down the gauntlet, and it changed everything. How it made her want to react. All her life she’d wanted someone, anyone, to be there for her, completely, unconditionally. But giving herself over to him terrified her. She had Roscoe, and
he loved her unconditionally, but each day that passed brought her closer to inevitably losing him. She had her friends, but now things were changing with them. Callie was busy, and she realized it was only a matter of time before she lost the others to their own lives.
Her heart squeezed now, engaged despite her wishing it not to be, as he tenderly drew his fingers along the side of her neck, moving his mouth to the delicate line of her jaw, then following the trail of his fingertips.
But she had no idea what thoughts were really going through his mind. She didn’t see how he could have an ulterior motive with Kristen out of the way. And so much more of her was at risk of being seduced than just her body.
She swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. She stared at him, into eyes that held hers so solidly, so certainly.
“Not a complete ass,” she said.
His mouth twitched. “I can’t promise I won’t be an ass again. I’m still figuring this out. But I’ll try not to, for you.”
She stared into his eyes, feeling the impact of every word, the absolute truth in them. Body shaking, lips trembling, she held that passionate gaze, held on to it tightly, and smiled. “We’ll have to see, won’t we? Right now, make it up to me.”
He took her mouth this time like a man starved. There was nothing tender about it, not that it mattered at this point. She couldn’t think this to death. If this was a mistake, she would deal with it like she dealt with all the other disappointments in her life.
Her hands sank into all that blond hair, the strands slithering like silk against her fingers. He was already tearing at his pants as he nudged her legs wider apart. His hands slipped down to her bottom and jerked her hips toward him, unable to breathe around the insistent need pulsating through her. She was already on the verge before he found the tops of her lacy thigh-highs and groaned against her mouth.
She barely registered the sound of the foil and his movements as his fingers found the edge of her panties and pushed them aside.
He drove inside her and she cried out softly, burying her face in his neck, welcomed him, held him, moved in tandem with his hard, uncontrollable thrusts.
The climax was like a rushing wave of pleasure that swamped her as she clutched at his nape, the drugging sensations escalating at the feel of his mouth, open and hot on her neck.
He came then with a long, jerking groan. It was as if he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t pour enough of himself into her. It went beyond physical pleasure and well into some sort of primal mating. Earthy, essential, basic.
When his breathing had quieted, he raised his head, tipped up her chin and kissed her, gently but firmly. She closed her eyes against the rush of emotion while they clutched each other, her chest so full of feelings she could barely breathe around them.
After righting themselves, he left her and went to the men’s room. When she entered the cake tasting room, Callie and Emma were discussing a particularly delicious slice of chocolate cake cut into cubes.
“There you are,” Callie said, taking in her flushed face.
“Where’s Drew?”
“I’m not sure. He got a phone call.”
Emma’s lips thinned, when she fell for Brooke’s fabrication, but Callie didn’t. She eyed Brooke and said, “Did you get a phone call, too?”
Callie hadn’t said booty call, but that was what she was implying. Brooke avoided her friend’s eyes and chirped, “This cake looks scrumptious. Let me have a taste.”
Drew entered the room then, and the impact of him never seemed to lessen.
“Oh, good. You’re finished with your phone call. I swear, Drew. Can’t you take an hour away from your job?”
He looked puzzled until Brooke nudged him with an elbow to the side.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said, giving Brooke an I’ll-get-you-for-that-later look.
She couldn’t wait.
* * *
Brooke entered Pawlish and waved to her receptionist, Julia. As soon as Julia saw her, she came around the desk.
“Brooke, wait,” she called out, but Brooke was too happy to stop. She twisted the doorknob to her office and opened it.
She stopped dead. Two men in suits were going through the contents of her desk. “What the hell…”
“Are you Brooke Palmer?”
“Yes, I am.”
One of the men approached her. “I’m Detective Jack Kauffman.”
“Detective?” she said trying to make sense of why the police were here in her office. “What kind of detective?”
“Homicide,” he replied, reaching towards his back. When his hand swung free of his jacket everything seemed to slow down. He stepped toward her, handcuffs in his hands. The sun from her window glinted on the metal and he reached for her arm. The shock of the cold steel clamping around her wrists sent panic into her system like an injection.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Kristen Wright-Davis.”
Her mind refused to process the words, like the man had spoken some kind of foreign language or nonsense.
“W-w-w-what are you saying?”
“You’re under arrest. Let’s go,” he said, giving her the Miranda spiel.
Was this really happening? They couldn’t mean her. They couldn’t possibly mean she was a killer. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t decide on any course of action, because too many things were racing through her brain all at once. Kristen was dead?
“But I just saw her and she was fine.” Kristen had been alive only hours ago, and now she was dead? Brooke wasn’t a big fan of hers, but she would never wish her dead.
“Exactly. Fine until you pushed her down the stairs and broke her neck.”
“Pushed her? What are you talking about? I didn’t push her!” This couldn’t be happening. How could they think she did it? Frozen in shock, she only came alive again when Julia told her she’d call her friends. Her receptionist knew that calling her parents would be a waste of time. Her mind raced frantically while one detective hauled her from her office and out into the street to his car. The other detective, she presumed, was to stay and look for evidence.
The cuffs were tight, and he barely got his hand on her head before it slammed into the side of the car as he shoved her into the back seat. For a moment she saw stars and the side of her head began to throb, a massive headache waiting in the wings to pounce while her thoughts raced. How could they think she had done this? Kristen had been alive and well before she’d left.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the Suffolk County Jail.”
“Long Island?”
“It’s our jurisdiction, ma’am, and where Mrs. Wright-Davis was murdered.”
“Murdered. I didn’t kill her.”
“First things first. For now you’re going to be booked.”
It wasn’t long before he stopped the car outside a municipal building. Her stomach dropped when he took her through a door and they stopped at a desk.
She had to suffer through the indignity of being searched and forced to change into an orange jumpsuit. Through it all she held on to her emotions and bottled them up. It wouldn’t help to panic now. She didn’t kill Kristen.
A guard took her fingerprints and her mug shot. Oh, God! Her mug shot. Then they put her into a small interrogation room.
After a few moments, the two detectives from her office came into the room. The other man told her his name was Ray Flynn.
“I’m not saying a word until I have my lawyer present.”
They looked at each other.
“You should get ahead of this Ms. Palmer. We’re thinking you had an argument. It got out of hand and you pushed her. You probably didn’t mean to do it. Accidental, I’m sure. It’ll go easier on you. The DA is more willing to cut you a deal now before all the legal mumbo jumbo.”
“I didn’t kill Kristen by accident or design.”
“The maid, Marta Gomez said you were there this morning arguing with Kristen. She said it was about
a lawsuit.”
“There was a lawsuit because her poodle Mimi had gotten a bad cut at Pawlish. But she was—”
“So you admit you argued with her?”
“It got worked out. She was dropping the lawsuit.”
“Do you have any evidence of that? Because right now that’s your motive.”
“I told my friend Poe right afterwards, but other than that, no,” Brooke said. “I don’t have any proof. It was a verbal agreement.”
Just then the door opened and Harper Sinclair stood there with a tall, handsome man. “Don’t say another word, Brooke.”
The two detectives sighed, picked up their folder and exited the room.
Brooke burst into tears as Harper hugged her. “Roscoe?”
“Poe’s going to take care of him for you until you get released.
Brooke nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know how they could think I killed her. We had worked everything out. All she wanted was an invitation to Callie’s wedding and your tea parties,” she said through sobs.
“Okay, everything will be fine. This is Adam Sanderson. He’s going to defend you.”
He sat down. “Ms. Palmer, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. Tell me what happened.”
Brooke explained everything to him.
“So she was alive when you left?”
“Yes.”
“According to the police report, she was found at the bottom of the stairs, her neck broken. They place you there at the time of the death.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
He nodded. “All right. The next step is you’ll have to be locked up until your arraignment, which fortunately is this afternoon. Once we enter your plea, the judge will set bail.”
* * *
When Drew got back to his desk, he was still smiling. His door flew back and cracked against the wall. Roger stood in the doorway.
“Where have you been?”
“What’s wrong?”
Roger was pale, his eyes red. “What’s wrong? She killed my wife!”
“What? Who killed…”
“Brooke Palmer.”
