by Theresa Weir
Kristen had lost her life and Brooke felt the pang in her heart because of that. Sure, she wasn’t the most pleasant person, but they had come to an agreement. She had to be careful. She was in so much trouble right now, and if she didn’t find a way to prove her innocence, she was going to prison for murder.
Her stomach tumbled over and over. She pushed up from the floor, suddenly feeling urgently in need of that hot shower. He was in the hall, murmuring to Roscoe as he got him into his sweater. It was so sweet. She hadn’t realized he had it in him.
Pausing for a moment, she let that roll around in her head, partly because it pushed the return of fear and panic to the edges of her mind for a few more precious seconds, and partly because she couldn’t help but wonder what, in fact, did come next for them. The events currently unfolding could end up robbing her of the opportunity to find out, but that didn’t stop her from thinking about what she’d want, if it were up to her.
By the time she got to the shower, her emotions were swamping her and, even though she reached for the calm, the core of steel inside herself, the tears gathered and flowed down her cheeks.
* * *
There were reporters still outside her building, and they would probably be camping here around the clock so they didn’t miss her. The smell of this story for them was like the whiff of a really good meal when ravenous. He wasn’t a big fan of the media.
He garnered some attention when he exited the building, but when they realized he wasn’t Brooke, they soon lost interest. He took Roscoe down the block slowly, letting the dog enjoy his surroundings.
Finally Roscoe found a good spot and did his business. It was cold outside, his breath frosting the air, but walking with the dog opened his mind and blew out the cobwebs.
She clouded his thinking, and he hadn’t had time to do much of that since Roger had burst into his office. He’d run on impulse, and the first instinct he’d had was to protect Brooke. It could mean his job, his position at the firm, the loss of his partnership, but he hadn’t thought about any of that.
He’d only thought of her.
He’d be walking a fine line here. He couldn’t abandon her, no matter the consequences, but there was also risk.
Right now, the first order of business was getting her cleared of this murder charge. Drew entered her apartment and took the sweater off Roscoe, who immediately went into the kitchen and stood near the counter. She had said he could have the dog treat, so Drew reached into the canister to snag one. He smiled when he pulled out…a Frisbee. He noticed she had a kite, red ball, and even a chew toy in there.
“Sit,” he said. Roscoe immediately plopped down on his rump. Drew smiled at Roscoe’s brown eyes tracking his every move. He was a well-behaved old boy. Well, all except that ripping out the seat of his pants thing, but he couldn’t hold that against him. He was protecting Brooke, and Drew approved. He squatted down and held out his hand. “Shake?”
The dog eyed the treat and then Drew’s hand. He woofed and lifted his paw. Drew felt like he’d hit a home run.
He gave the dog his treat.
Eager to tell Brooke about their one-on-one bonding, he headed down the hall. As he entered the bedroom, he could see through the open bathroom door. Brooke was standing in the middle of the room, her hair wet, a towel wrapped around her. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
There was total utter silence in the room, except for the broken, hopeless weeping. Those cries clawed at his heart, shredding it like nothing ever had in his life.
In the past, even so much as a week ago, he would have probably retreated, slipped out of the room and left her to her breakdown.
But she’d changed him in that short span of time, and he couldn’t turn away from her if his life depended on it.
He went to her bureau and searched through each drawer until he found what he was looking for. His hand fell on a lacy garment on top, and although there was no doubt in his mind he would love to see Brooke in it, this wasn’t about him. He dug deeper and found an old, well-worn, long t-shirt. He was sure she’d be comfortable in this. He entered the bathroom and dropped the nightwear on the back of the commode. He slipped his arms around her and lifted her against his chest.
“Drew,” she said, her voice clogged with tears. “I’m all wet.”
“I’m not the Wicked Witch of the West,” he said softly against the damp shell of her ear. “I’m the Phantom, and a little water won’t hurt me.”
He settled down on the commode and reached for the hair dryer. She tried to scramble off but he held her still. Turning on the dryer, he ran his hands through the long strands of her hair. She wiped at her tears, the sobs subsided. Finally her hair was dry. He stood, setting her on her feet. With a flick of his wrist, he removed the towel and with slow, tender strokes, he dried the remaining moisture from her body, marveling at her beauty.
When she was dry, he slipped the cotton garment over her head and it cascaded down her body, accentuating her femininity. Without speaking he left the room while she brushed her teeth. He pulled down the comforter. When she came out, she snapped off the light, plunging the room into shadows, the only illumination coming from the hall.
She came to the bed and he motioned her over. Climbing in, she relaxed against the pillows. “You’re leaving?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He wanted to stay. He was tempted, too damn tempted, but she was vulnerable, and he didn’t want something to happen he would regret. But she hadn’t really asked him. Brooke was tough, normally calm in a crisis, and did way too much for other people. She needed him now, but she wasn’t going to ask. Even though she’d opened up to him, she still had a barrier up. He couldn’t blame her. People often let down the ones they cared about the most. He knew about that too well. Didn’t mean he didn’t want like hell for her to ask him. But it had to be her decision.
“You need your rest.” He pulled up the blankets and the comforter and leaned closer to tuck her in.
“I’m scared, Drew. So scared.”
He looked into her eyes. Her barriers were gone as if they had never existed. Fear radiated from her eyes. Raw fear, not the stark terror that struck her earlier, when she vulnerable. This fear had power, this fear had a story, this was intimate fear, the kind that robbed a person of the ability to reason. Whatever defenses he had built so he could walk out of her bedroom and out of her apartment collapsed with the sound of panic in her teary voice and the sight of that fear in her eyes.
This wasn’t all about being charged with murder. There was a layer there that went to the core of her.
She slipped her arms around his neck. “I need you. Please stay with me…tonight.”
It hadn’t been easy for her to ask.
But it was infinitely easy for him to capitulate.
“All you had to do was ask.” He stripped out of his suit and left it on the floor.
“You should hang that up, it’ll wrinkle.”
“It’s not important.”
“Drew,” she said, making his name a vow.
He sank down into her bed. With a soft sound in her throat she cuddled her back up against him, and his arms went around her, pulling her to his chest.
The night hugged them like a cocoon, still and silent; the smell of her clean scent after her shower lingered in the air like fine perfume. His apartment never smelled as good as Brooke’s.
Even though the foreboding of tomorrow lay heavily on them, the unknown, and where the investigation might lead them, was something easily pushed away for now. For now, he just wanted to focus on this moment, this space in time, this woman. And he wanted Brooke to embrace the moment with him.
The moment was sweet, different from any other time they’d been together, gentler, more thoughtful, and yet natural. Not just in the uncontrolled need he always had for her, but just in the simple fact that it was Brooke. They had just met, literally a few weeks ago. He had just seen her name on paper, in black and white, but she was too many colors to name. He knew he
r in a way that went deeper to some other place that defied coherent thinking or reason. He was utterly himself in a way he’d never been with anyone else, even his sister.
Her hand grasped his and pulled it to her chest. She kissed the back of his fingers. He kissed the nape of her neck. He heard the jingle of Roscoe’s collar as he entered the room. He twisted to see the dog eyeing the bed. Without saying anything, he scooped him up. Roscoe made a soft grunting noise as he settled at the end of the bed at Brooke’s feet.
Yes, she was known to him, in that soul-deep way where a heart recognized its mate. It should have terrified him, right down to his core. And, he supposed if he let it, it would. Brooke fit in his arms like she belonged there. But, unlike her, he was a realist, and life didn’t always pan out. He knew that better than anyone, both from personal experience and from intimate observation.
When her breathing went soft and even, he let himself drift in the warmth of her body, the soft snoring of the dog; and the utterly perfect moment lulled him to sleep.
He didn’t know how many hours or minutes later he woke when the dog jumped off the bed and then nudged his hand.
Ah, damn the dog had to go out.
He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. He made sure to put on the dog’s sweater and clip on the leash. Foremost in his mind was this needed to be short and sweet. It had dropped by degrees outside.
As he approached the lobby, he saw no reporters who had stuck around. “Okay, buddy, do your stuff and let’s get back where it’s warm.”
Roscoe agreed and he found a good spot and did his business. Drew half jogged with him back to Brooke’s apartment building. He let himself back in with her key and took the sweater off the dog. He eyed the kitchen, but Drew shook his head. “No treat for you, mister. I didn’t get permission, and your mistress will kick my ass all over Manhattan if I make a mistake like that. We’ll both be in the doghouse. Do you want that?”
Roscoe just whined.
A soft chuckle came from the bedroom doorway. “You walked the dog in the middle of the night? You are my hero.”
“I’m just a sucker for that squished up mug. I had no idea bulldogs had so much personality.”
“Roscoe is special.”
“He is. We’re pals.”
The jingle of his collar chimed as he went into the living room and settled at the base of the couch.
“I think he’s sulking,” Drew said.
Brooke laughed, her white teeth flashing. “That’s too bad. He already had his treat tonight.”
He came closer to her. Silhouetted against the moonlight peeking through her blinds, the thin cotton she wore accentuated every curve of her tight little body. Her nipples, hard against the soft fabric.
Brooke was so in tune with him the laughter in her eyes dimmed to a sparkle. When he closed in on her, she reached up and pushed the suit jacket off his shoulders. Her hands were warm against the buttons of his shirt as she moved down his torso. He snagged a condom from his pocket. She was unhurried, enjoying the moment, taking it slow and easy.
She tugged his shirt off. He pulled her close as she slid his trousers and underwear off his body, liking how her bare, smooth legs felt pressed up against his own, suddenly in no hurry to make his way to the bed.
He kissed her temple working his way down her face, over her cheekbone to the hollow of her throat. She sighed, tipped her head back, and moaned softly as he indulged in a slow exploration that trailed around her breasts, with brief stops to pay attention to the hard nubs of her nipples, before slipping lower.
On his knees, he wrapped his arms around her waist, settling her against the side of his face as he savored her womanly scent. She buried her hands in his hair, rubbing his scalp. When he flowed up her body, he grasped the hem of the t-shirt and pulled it over her head.
She smoothed her hands over his chest, pebbling his flat nipples into aching points. Her hand caressed his shaft, rubbing the head with the flat of her hand.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said softly, making him wish he had something to hold on to as she made his knees weaken with her own lingering trail of kisses.
With her mouth against his collarbone, he wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up and carried her to the bed, then followed her down into softness.
She surprised him by pushing him to his back and straddling his hips. Taking the condom out of his hand, she rolled it onto him. He was soon groaning and arching off the bed as she took him into the delightfully warm and soft interior of her body. Her hands pushed at his chest, kept her balanced as she rode him.
“Damn,” he muttered, followed by a long slow growl as she slowed her movement and traveled the length of him with firm sweeps of her hips and pelvis. “Damn, Brooke, that’s—” But there were no words.
Her hair fell forward as he brought her mouth to his. She collapsed her leg and rolled onto her back. He followed her like the scent of water after having traversed the desert for too long.
“You are so damn perfect for me.”
She nodded, her eyes closing on his next thrust; and he watched the pleasure on her face, his heart filling with her delicate beauty, the sound of her quick breaths, and the occasional soft moan.
“Drew,” she said on a gasp, “so deep, so lovely.”
But it was the sound of his name on her lips, the awed timbre of her voice that moved him. The way she said his name caught at his heart.
He shifted into a sitting position, pulling her onto his lap, paused there and kissed her, groaning when she straddled his hips, felt himself sinking deeply into her as she lifted up and wrapped her legs around him.
Sitting upright, they rocked back and forth as he held her gaze in between long, slow kisses, moving inside of her, consciously matching her steady rhythm until he pushed her back and braced one hand beside her head, using the other to arch her back while he took her hot nipple into his mouth to suck hard, swirling the tip with his tongue at the same time his fingers sought that hot, slick bud of nerves.
The dual assault made her grasp and tighten around him convulsively. He whispered her name against her flesh, and she drew his head up.
Their gazes met as her eyes softened at that hoarsely uttered whisper. She cupped his face, her fingers going into his hair as she crested quickly, almost violently, and he kept his fingers there, slick and clever, kept her quivering and shuddering, until he was shaking with the effort to stave off his imminent climax. She cried out again and he watched her fly again. She closed her eyes, a guttural moan slipping out of her as she pulsed around him.
He closed his eyes as he went over, but her lovely face burned behind his eyes.
Chapter 10
Brooke felt him shaking as he slid from her body. He rolled to the side and brought her against him. Drawing the covers up over them, he held her tightly against him as their breathing settled.
Drew made no move to leave or let her go. She relaxed. Even with what they had shared, deep-seated fears always remained like roots from a felled tree.
She wanted the fantasy to last; then reality wouldn’t be so scary. Their heartbeats eased to a somewhat steadier rhythm. It was the only thing steady about her at the moment.
It felt right being in his arms. She’d had her share of sex, but she had known none who would have handled her the way he did tonight. She was usually the one who did the soothing, the nurturing. So, for him to be so sweet, so understanding was amazing. It also made her a bit anxious.
“I should be handling this better.”
“Are you talking about yesterday?” Drew asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry I put you through that. I should be stronger. I usually am.”
“There isn’t anyone on this planet who wouldn’t understand what you’re going through.”
“Except Roger Wright-Davis.”
“Okay, one exception,” he said with a wince.
“The truth is I don’t know how to handle it. My whole world is turning upside down and I can’t ma
ke any sense of it anymore. And on top of everything else, I’m feeling things I have no business feeling about a man I just met. I’m confused as hell, scared as hell, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
He gently cupped her face with his hands. “You trust me. And trust this.” He leaned in and kissed her, only this kiss wasn’t an assault on her senses…it was a promise. When he settled back, their gazes locked. “I know it’s crazy—insane, even. But so what? I’m right where I want to be. You?”
“Except for the murder charge hanging over my head, yes.”
He pulled her into his arms, tucked her against his chest.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing, either.” He pulled back to meet her eyes. “I like being here…with you. I didn’t realize how lonely I was, how empty my work was.” He closed his eyes. “I feel like I’ve lost so much time with my sister.”
“Now you’re aware of that and you can change it.”
“It’s not that simple. My job takes up a lot of my time, and I have commitments that cost considerable resources.”
“Have you thought about alternatives?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are other jobs, Drew. It’s just a matter of wanting to change. To take the risk.”
“Again, not so easy when you’re enmeshed as deeply as I am. An apartment on Park Avenue, a Mercedes in the parking garage, Princeton tuition bills, and a wedding.”
“I know. I said it was a risk. Would your parents be proud of what you’ve achieved?”
“Proud?” He looked away. “I’m not sure they would.”
“I shouldn’t talk. Nothing in my life is simple. Not now.”
He traced the contours of her face with his thumbs. “It will be. “We’ll get there.” He slid his hand down her arm and wove his fingers through hers and held on.
For whatever reason, that undid her like nothing else had.
“I’m not going anywhere.” he continued, “so stop trying to scare me off.”
Her heart squeezed at those words. How someone could promise that, especially this man, who had lost the two most influential people in his life? There were no guarantees. People changed, moved on, and she was often the one left behind.
