They went into the house together, and King headed off to his dog bed and settled down with another heavy sigh. Brett told his mom, who was sitting on the couch with Pam, watching TV, “I’m boring your dog.”
“He thinks it’s all about him,” his mom said. “Just don’t throw a ball for him. He’ll never stop.”
Pam got up and grabbed her coat off the hook, then bent down and gave Joan a hug. “We’ll take off. School tomorrow.”
“Thanks for coming, hon,” her mother said.
Pam hugged Brett next. “Happy birthday. And next time, come back for more than a day, would you? Come in the summer, and we’ll go out on the boat.”
“Yeah,” Brett said, and tried not to stiffen. “Not so much.”
“That still bugging you?” she asked. “Brett. That’s a long time.”
Steve grabbed his hand, then pulled him in and slapped his shoulder, which wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, not with the cane. “Good to see you, brother. Good luck with the paradox, too. Remember—October. Be there.”
When his mom turned back from the door, shutting the cold out, she said, “Well, that was a lot of excitement. I’m heading to bed. Willow went off to take a shower. I think she was giving us family time. I do like her, hon. She’s got a real sweetness to her.”
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
She put her arms around his waist, gently, because of the cane, and said, “Next time, tell your momma when you break your leg, would you? But I’m glad you had her with you for it. That eases my mind. Happy birthday, sweetie.” She brushed his hair back from his face and kissed him on the cheek. “It was a good day, the day I had you.”
His leg was aching again. Quite a bit. The cold, probably. If you had a metal rod implanted in your skeleton, it might well make the bone around it ache. He was still thinking that through when he knocked softly on the bedroom door, waited a second, and opened it.
She was asleep, her curls spread out on the pillow and her hand curled against the sheet. She’d left the bedside light on for him, though. He undressed as quietly as he could manage, then slid into bed beside her, resisting the allure of pain pills. If the problem was cold, it would pass when he warmed up.
“Hmm.” It was sleepy, but the arm and leg that wrapped around him were warm. “Brr, you’re freezing. Hurting, too, hey.”
He shouldn’t be chilling her, but she felt so wonderful and warm against him. And she hadn’t worn anything to bed except his necklace. It was a good look, like—his.
Time to face it. His. He kissed her temple, and then he kissed her cheek, stroked the soft curls back, and said, “Hurting a bit, yeah. How can you tell?”
“How you hold yourself.” She turned her head. “You could kiss my neck. I know it’s your birthday, but . . . you could. Feels so good.”
He smiled, feeling so much better already, and did it. She sighed, and then she shuddered, and her hands were running down his back, the backs of his thighs as he shifted his weight over her. He kissed her mouth this time. Soft, sweet, and real. “You know what I realized tonight?”
“No. What?”
“Fantasies are great. But sometimes . . . you just want the woman you love, right there in your bed, waiting for you. You just want to run your hands down her arms . . .” He did it, from her shoulders to her fingertips, then, slowly, threaded his fingers through hers. “And see how slowly you can kiss her. How well you can love her.”
“The answer is . . .” She was losing her breath. “Pretty bloody well. And oh, yeah, I’ll give you that one. Mm. Do that again.” He was working on her neck some again, but he hadn’t let go of her hands. Her fingers tightened around his, and—yeah.
Hearing her sigh, then start making a little more noise, because she couldn’t help it. Exploring her silken skin with his hands, his mouth, holding her warm and safe in a nest of blankets. Working his way slowly down her responsive body, getting her going, then taking her higher, as she murmured and sighed and said his name, tried to keep it quiet, and started losing the battle.
The moment when he threaded his fingers through hers again, held her there, and slowly pushed inside. Exactly the same way he’d thought about doing it that first day, when they’d been standing at a stove together. Her mouth opening under his, his tongue inside her, and all of him filling her up. Taking her little noises into his mouth, and wanting nothing but to stay inside her forever, rocking her slowly, going so deep, just like this. Her long legs coming up to wrap around his waist, then higher, until he was on his palms and she was burying her face in his neck.
Hot and wild and sweet. The fantasy you hadn’t believed in for so long, that you could fall in love again, and it could be real. When you were inside her so deep, all the way to her heart, and she was tightening around you, biting your neck to try to keep quiet, and then gasping the words out against you while you plunged home.
“Brett. I love you. I love you. Please. Brett.”
One hell of a birthday.
They were nearly in Sinful when she got the email. The flight was so short that by the time she’d read it twice and thought through what she wanted to do about it, they were landing. She wished they could have stayed in the air a couple more hours.
She liked change, and she liked challenge. She just wasn’t sure about quite so much of it.
“What?” Brett asked from the next seat. Which was another leather thing, and posher than any chair she’d owned in her life.
“Do you ever not notice, mate?” she asked. “Maybe I want to keep my secrets.”
He smiled. “Considering that you more or less lay my soul bare, I wouldn’t say you have much to complain about. What happened? Azra?”
“No. She’s good. Well—no visa yet, and her mum’s still telling her how she’s breaking her heart, and she’s still thinking it’ll be a campervan in En Zed, but other than that, she’s good.” She looked out the window. “Crikey. Those are mountains. Real mountains. This town is in the mountains, and they’re big.”
This time, he laughed. “That would be why they’re called the Rockies.”
“It’s just that I’ve never seen real mountains before, not like this. That’s a lot of snow. And, yeah, I’ve seen snow. Just not so much of it.”
“And that,” he said, “would be why I bought a ski resort.”
“Oh, that’s right. Which part’s yours? Also, I hope this pilot knows what he’s doing. I’m having visions of that crash in the Andes, where the soccer team ate each other to stay alive.”
She was trying to be casual, but it was a bit freaky. The little jet was dropping straight down into a bowl surrounded by jagged peaks, shining pristine white against the pale blue of a winter sky. Brett took her hand and squeezed it, and as always, it was pure comfort. “Over there.” He pointed. “See those channels between the trees? Those are ski runs. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. I never connected the dots, though. Your parents died in a plane crash. I wish you’d mentioned it.”
“What, we wouldn’t have flown? It’s a slow boat from Oz, mate.”
He smiled. Slow, and so sweet. “Nah. I just would’ve got you drunker.”
She had to laugh, and, yes, he’d made her feel better. The jet was circling now, so low that she could pick out individual trees on the lower slopes, and tiny dots that must be skiers on Brett’s mountain. A flat white area, too, which must be a lake, right? A lake up here would be covered with ice. And snow. Of course it would. Where else would the snow go? Bloody hell, but she felt stupid. Also, she was glad for his hand, but she didn’t need it for the landing. “It’s not the flight,” she said. “I wasn’t there when the plane crashed, which makes it completely different, and I tried not to imagine it. Too scary to think about, probably. It was more that my parents were with me, and then they were gone, and I was alone. I was more scared about people . . . leaving. That’s been more my thing.”
It made you feel so naked to put it out there. Had she done that to him? It wasn’t
much fun.
The wheels touched down, and she kept looking out the window. It was easier. Then he said, “You do realize that’s not going to be me, right? And that you might be the one pulling back to keep it from happening? Can’t be rejected if you reject first.”
She couldn’t answer, just nodded, as the jet rolled to a stop and the engines throttled down.
He waited a minute, then asked, “What is it, then, if it isn’t that?”
“If it isn’t what? Don’t we need to . . . deplane?”
She looked fully at him, finally. This was cowardly, and she wasn’t cowardly. He hadn’t let go of her hand, which was nice. “It’s a private jet,” he said. “We can take five minutes.” At that moment, in fact, the pilot popped into the back, and Brett held up a hand, said, “Give us five,” and the fella nodded.
It must be odd, having this kind of power. If she said that, though, he’d say, “I’m paying for the time. It’s money, that’s all.” But she knew it wasn’t. He asked again, “What is it? It’s not Azra, it’s not flying, it’s not the mountains, and it can’t be seeing Lily again, since she’s about the least intimidating woman in the world, and possibly the kindest.”
“You sure you weren’t in love with her?” she asked.
His gaze sharpened. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “Something Rafe said. About how he wasn’t worried. Since Rafe is never worried, I reckon he was worried.”
Brett smiled again. “I was attracted, yeah. She’s an attractive woman. I wasn’t . . . pulled, though. I didn’t push it. Now that I think back, I can see why. It wouldn’t have worked. Not enough push back. I’d have run her over, if she hadn’t just run away, and I’d have felt like a jerk.”
“You wouldn’t have pushed it like you did with me, you mean? And that’s honesty, mate. Geez. Am I meant to list every fella I’ve had a thing for? Because let me tell you—if that’s the new rule, I’m hating it. You were just supposed to say, ‘No.’”
He laughed. “I’ll make a note. And like I did with you, yeah. There’s attracted, and then there’s something else. Also, I’m being patient, but I’d really like to know what the trouble is. We now know three things it isn’t. It’s not flying, it’s not Azra, and it’s not my nonexistent continuing interest in your cousin’s wife. It presumably isn’t my mom, either, because if my mom scares you, you’re not the woman I think you are. So what is it?”
She was laughing at last. “It’s not actually a mystery. And has anybody pointed out that you’re a single-minded fella?”
“Focus is my gift. What?”
“It’s an email from Amanda, that’s all. She sent the other document at last, the list of bookings and the menus. She didn’t apologize, not quite, but she asked me to come back and help with a meeting for a booking I want to get. A wedding. Nick Dean, the surfer. It’s a big deal,” she added at his blank look. “Aussie celebrity, and I’m betting they’ve sold the photo rights to some women’s mag. That’s why I walked away, because I knew I had to be there to have a hope of getting it, and I wanted it. You can think that’s arrogant,” she added when he didn’t say anything immediately, “but it’s not. It’s the truth. I’m good at young and casual and hip and fun, and translating that into food. I’m brilliant at it, in fact.”
He had a palm up. “I believe you. You were my caterer, remember? I’ve been to a lot of catered events. Yours was very, very good. My favorite was the Popsicles, although the part where you fed me that lemon thing wasn’t bad.”
“Oh.” That took the wind out of her sails. “Well . . . thanks.”
“You’re welcome. So—I’ve got some more documents to look over and some more expenses to match up, do I? Which is fine, although I’m going to go ahead and say it now. Steve told me last night to go for broke, and I’ve been telling myself that for weeks now. If you want to walk away from the whole thing and start over, that’s on the table.”
“It’s . . . on the table,” she repeated slowly.
“What? Yeah.” He looked confused. “How else do I say it? In case I haven’t mentioned it, I love you, and I don’t live in Australia.”
She had a hand in her hair, was pulling it back. “Whoa. Mate. I can’t . . .”
He sighed. “Right. Taking my cards off the table. So. She wants you back for the meeting. She’s almost apologized, and presumably promised not to hide you in the kitchen anymore. When is the meeting?”
“Wednesday. I need to cook a few things for them to taste, though. And it’s Friday now.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “You lose a day flying back, and it’ll take more than twenty-four hours to get there. You’ll want to leave Sunday morning.”
“I need to . . .” Her hand was still in her hair. Wait, she thought. What? She knew it was too soon. Anybody would say it was too soon. Why didn’t it feel too soon? “Whatever other decision I take,” she decided to say, “I need to get this sorted. It doesn’t sound like much to you, I know, but it’s everything I had. Almost every cent. All my . . . dreams. Hopes.”
“Do you know,” he asked, “what my first investment was?”
“No.”
“A run-down old brick factory that I turned into lofts. Huge windows, a great location near the river in Spokane, where I was living then—why does everybody want to live by water?—and a whole lot of funky. The rats’ nests dropped the price quite a bit. Fortunately, I’m not scared of rats. I worked on that thing every night. Every weekend. Did most of the renovation myself, right along with the guys I hired. About half of everything I’ve ever learned about financing, about where people want to live and how they want to do it, about costs and the building trades and how to manage both, and sure as hell about risk, I learned on that building.”
“How old were you?” she asked. “And I’m not fussed by too many animals myself, if they’re not venomous or actively trying to kill you, which they so often are in Queensland.”
“Twenty-four when I bought it. Regional sales manager for the paper company. Hotshot. Smooth talker. I got myself a balloon loan for way more than any bank should have lent me, with one almighty payment that was going to come due, and that balloon hung over my head like you wouldn’t believe. I was excited every day, my heart in my throat, and I was terrified, too. I’d wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, thinking, I need to get the pest guys to drill those exploratory holes right now. And other times, I was waking up and grabbing for a notepad by the bed, writing notes I could barely read in the morning. Stainless steel appliances. That was before stainless got to be a thing. Garden courtyard under trees. Community. I sweated every minute of that project, but you know what’s weird?”
“No,” she said. “What’s weird?”
“I’ve thought, since then, that I kind of miss those days. I know I can do it now. Is it more comfortable? It sure is. Am I going to be personally trapping rats? Probably not. Am I going to lose my shirt? Nope. But it’ll never be as thrilling as when I leased that first unit. Second floor, on the river side. I could close my eyes right now and tell you exactly what that unit looked like, and the tree that was outside the window. It was a maple. Having those trees trimmed took a whole paycheck, but they sure looked gorgeous in the fall. I knew those trees and those windows and that red brick would sell the units, if I did the rest right, and they did. I shut my eyes, and I jumped. I believed.”
“It’s not easy,” she said. “And I’m not going to get rich at it. So why do I still want to do it?”
“Because that’s how we’re wired. Besides, if it were easy, everybody would do it. It’s kind of like surfing, I’m guessing. Or like skiing, something I know more about. You could try skiing sometime. You could even try it today. You’ve got to have the courage to throw yourself off that mountain, but you’ve got to have the skill to get to the bottom, too.”
“Always a first time, I guess.”
“Yep. Or a second time, even. Sometimes, the second time’s even harder, bec
ause you know exactly how scary it can be. Maybe you wiped out bad the first time around. On the other hand, maybe that means you’ve learned something about how to do it right. Failure doesn’t have to just mean failure. Sometimes, it's the door you have to go through to get somewhere better.”
The pilot looked out from the cockpit again, but if Brett noticed, he didn’t show it. His gray eyes were sober, and he was all the way focused on her when he said, “First time, second time, any time. If you’ve got the guts to go for it, and you want it bad enough? You can make it. You can believe.”
She wasn’t going to fly back in the Residence. That was pretty firmly in the “no” column.
“Above my touch,” she told Brett later that morning, when he was ringing his assistant to arrange her transport, and she was trying not to fall into the luxury of being that spoiled. “Not something I need, if I don’t have you to sleep with, and not something I want to get used to.”
They were having coffee before he headed into the office, on a pale-brown suede couch set on an enormous Persian rug in another spectacular house, this one on the edge of the flat expanse of white that would be the lake in summer, with forested hills rising beyond. Or mountains, depending how you defined them. A huge river-rock chimney to one side held a gas stove, with another one on the chimney’s other side, in a room that Brett had set up as his office.
There was another double stove upstairs in the master suite. In that space, the chimney column separated the bedroom area from a pedestal bath that sat in a niche beside more floor-to-ceiling windows. The tub had a gold-framed antique mirror hanging behind it, and aged Persian carpets in muted shades of gold, rose, and green covered the wide-plank, dark wood floor. A modern but comfortable-looking sectional couch in tan leather in the corner gave you someplace to retreat, if you were too fatigued from your long soak to make it to the bed, or if you just wanted to lounge and read a cooking magazine. This house was more rustic and homier than the Portland loft, but the kitchen was nearly as good, with cream-colored cabinets and granite countertops veined with beige, cream, and chocolate. It needed a wall of ovens instead of the range to be perfect, but she loved it anyway.
Sexy as Sin (Sinful, Montana Book 3) Page 37
