Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (13 page)

And she, it seemed, didn’t. She’d been at dinner with Brooks texting with her selfish prick of a boyfriend. It was impossible for Brooks to know if the conversation about her mother or texts from Pat had put that puss on her face, but either way, her coolness at the end of dinner had hurt a little.

Damn it.

It had been so long—so fucking long—since Brooks had allowed himself to feel anything for a woman, he felt vulnerable and stupid and much younger than his thirty-five years to be infatuated with a woman who’d never given him the slightest reason to hope.

In some ways, he
was
younger than his age. Yes, he’d had to grow up quickly to be the head of his family and a pseudo-father to Jessica and his brothers. He hadn’t had an opportunity to date a lot in college because he was concerned with going home every weekend to spend time with his grieving siblings, and after the Olympics—once he’d been old enough and had the time to pursue a meaningful relationship—his fears for his mortality had become so significant, he wouldn’t allow it.

And yet, he wanted love and stability. He
ached
for it.

No, not for
it
, for
her
.

For Skye.

He couldn’t have her, but he wanted her. It was as simple and stupid as that.

Sitting by the empty pool for an hour, he traded texts with Preston for a bit, filling in his brother on the sundry details of the first day, then emailed Jessica to check on her wedding plans. Cameron posted something on Facebook about his renovation, which was probably bait for Margaret’s dubious benefit, and Chris, who was more and more interested in Philadelphia city politics, posted a photo of himself at a Republican fundraiser with a cute brunette on his arm. Brooks even received an e-mail from his technologically-challenged mother, Olivia, who lived in London. It was a nice surprise to hear from her, since she abhorred computers and always called instead of emailing. She wrote that she was coming into town next month, intending to stay for the remainder of the summer and help Jess prepare for her wedding. He loved his mother very much and since she hadn’t been to Philly since Christmas, Brooks was especially looking forward to seeing her.

He wondered about Skye and her mother. Skye had shut down so quickly when he asked about her—her entire demeanor had changed from cheerful and open to tight-lipped and moody.  It was bound to be painful for her, being abandoned by her mother at such an early age.
Like losing your father suddenly to illness
, he thought sadly.
We’ve both experienced the visceral loss of a parent.
He wished she would have talked about it more.

Somewhat consoled by the virtual interaction with his close-knit family and feeling some compassion for Skye, Brooks finally headed back to the
Zephyr
…to torture himself by sharing a bedroom with the only woman on earth that he wanted, and absolutely, positively couldn’t have.

***

Skye had lied when she told Brooks that she had some work to do on the boat. She didn’t. He’d tied down the sails and hosed down the deck while
she
was showering, and she’d reconfirmed tomorrow’s course and checked the weather while
he
was showering. All that remained was to wash her face, change into her pajamas, and read a little bit on her Kindle before bed. She was looking forward to sleeping on board the
Zephyr
—for the gentle rocking of the boat and sound of lapping waves against the sides. In fact, if not for her ninth hour falling out with Brooks at dinner, she’d be in heaven anticipating a night on the water.

But she wasn’t in heaven. Her heart was hurting. And she felt guilty as hell.

Brooks had been enjoying their conversation, their banter, their dinner…and so had she. But after they’d discussed her mother, when Brooks had gotten up to leave, she’d out-rightly lied to him about Pat.

It made her feel terrible because it wasn’t kind and it wasn’t honest, and Brooks deserved her kindness and honesty. Not to mention, whatever genuine feelings she had for
any
man right this minute belonged to Brooks and regardless of the incompatible nature of their lives, she hated that he thought otherwise.

Changing into pink terry cloth short-shorts and a scoop neck white T-shirt, she opened the door to the head, running water over her toothbrush and frowning at herself in the small vanity mirror.

Skye wasn’t the most experienced woman in the world, but she could tell that Brooks liked her. She saw it in his eyes and in the way he spoke to her, the way he watched her, and smiled at her, and teased her. Everything had changed since that night at the benefit, and she’d bet her life that he liked her just as much as she liked him. And here they were, trapped together on this boat for the next seven days…with a storm of sexual tension swirling between them.

“What if the
Zephyr
was our own little alternative universe?” she queried her foamy reflection. “And we could just do whatever we wanted…whatever felt right…just while we were on the
Zephyr
? And then, when we got home, we could say goodbye to
Zephyrland
and go back to real-life? What about that?”

Spitting out a gob of toothpaste, she ran the water sparingly, filling a cup and swilling the water around her mouth before looking back at herself.

It was a terrible idea and part of her knew it, but the larger part of her—the part that had been infatuated with Brooks her whole life and finally had a real chance with him—didn’t want to let these precious days slip through her fingers without making the sort of memories that would last her a lifetime.
Zephyrland
, unrealistic though it was, certainly had its merits.

She heard footsteps on the deck above her and placed her toothbrush hastily back into the cup on the sink and slipped back into the bedroom, jumping into bed, scooting under the covers and turning off the light over her bed so that the cabin was dim from the soft light over his pillow only.

He entered the tiny room quietly, leaning over his bed and unzipping his duffel bag without saying a word.

“Brooks?” she said softly, leaning up on her elbows.

“Mmm?” he murmured with his back to her.

“Umm…can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, he turned to face her, his jaw hard in the soft shadows of the room. He tilted his chin up and put his hands on his hips, a sweatshirt dangling from his fingers. “What’s up?”

She sat up in bed, the covers falling from her breasts and pooling in her lap. His eyes followed her movements intently, and her tummy fluttered.

“I wasn’t honest with you before. About the texting. At dinner.”

“You
weren’t
texting Pat?”

“No. I-I was. But, not the way you think.”

He huffed softly, the sound of an unfunny laugh. “You don’t know what I think, Skye.”

He was upset with her, which somehow made it easier for her to continue, because she was upset with herself too—for wanting him in the first place, for being a coward about her feelings, for making him suffer just because it was safer than taking a chance.

She took a deep breath and released it, holding his eyes with hers. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Pat and I broke up today.”

He looked confused at first, but all of the hardness slipped from his face and his lips parted as her words sunk in. “Wait. What?”

She nodded, licking her lips nervously and pursing them together. “It’s true. We broke up. I mean, well, I broke up with him. And he’s not that happy about it, even though he doesn’t have a right—”

“You broke up,” repeated Brooks softly, his lips tilting up just slightly, his eyes tender and understanding as they gazed at her from a few feet away.

She nodded again. “Yeah. I just…um, I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“Why?” he whispered, unmoving, still staring at her.

“Why did we break up?” she asked, her breath hitching from the low, focused sound of his voice.

“No.” He shook his head back and forth slowly, his eyes searing and intense. “Why did you want
me
to know the truth?”

There were several ways she could answer.

The safe way? “Because we’re friends, and I want to be honest with you.” But it occurred to her that she’d be obscuring another truth—her feelings for him—even as she was espousing her honesty.

She could shrug and say, “I don’t know. I just felt like telling you” but that felt like a cop-out.

And yet the honest answer, “I finally realized Pat was a jackass because I kept comparing him to you and I want to explore what’s going on between us, even if it’s only in the safe confines of this little cruise because we both know we could never work out in real life” felt way too forward.

He was still staring at her, his face soft, his hands on his hips, his eyes skewering hers as he waited patiently.

“Because it matters,” she finally whispered.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, the hint of a grin curving his lips, “it does.”

The air between them was so charged, she almost felt dizzy. Was he going to say anything else? Was he going to cross the room and kiss her? Was he going to—

“Get some sleep, skip,” he said gently.

“Sleep?” she croaked.

He nodded at her, his perfect lips spreading into a full-blown, ovary-busting smile. Crossing the small cabin in two steps, he leaned down and those warm, beautiful lips pressed softly against her forehead in a tender, lingering goodnight kiss.

“’Night, Skye,” he said softly, his breath dusting across her skin. After a moment, he leaned back but his eyes still caught hers in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Brooks,” she said, snuggling back under the covers.

He stood staring down at her for one hungry moment before turning and leaving the room. A few seconds later, she heard the Meghan Trainor song, “What If I?” fill the quiet of the
Zephyr,
filtering softly into her cabin from the salon.

He downloaded it after dinner
, she thought, her heart clenching with tenderness, her stomach buzzing with strong current of affection for him. She couldn’t stop the smile from widening across her face as Meghan asked achingly,
What if I-I-I-I….I want to kiss you to-morrow?

Skye took a deep breath, crossed her fingers and closed her weary eyes.

Popping the cap off a bottle of beer, Brooks sat down at the table in the salon and listened to Meghan Trainor croon the words to his new favorite song.

Had it had crossed Brooks’ mind to do more than kiss her forehead? Hell, yes. It had occurred to Brooks to tell her to move over and make out with her until dawn.

But even if she had issued an invitation to join her in bed, which she hadn’t, he wasn’t that much of a jerk. She’d just broken up with her boyfriend a few hours before. As much as he longed to reach for her, he was going to need a little more permission than just the information that she and Pat had broken up. Not to mention, he’d promised not to touch her. In fact, his exact words had been,
I won’t lay a hand on you ever again.
He hadn’t made a caveat about her single or dating status. He’d promised
never
, and until Skye indicated that his promise was no longer needed, he was determined to honor it…no matter how much it hurt.

And damn, it sure did hurt.

If her goal was to ensure that he got a decent night’s sleep by assigning him a larger bed, sharing a cabin with her had done exactly the opposite. While she’d fallen asleep fairly quickly to the sweet lullaby of
What If I?
, two hours later, Brooks’ body was painfully aware that she was so close—warm, soft, and pliant under the soft duvet, her head not even ten feet from his, and her deep breaths and soft little sleeping noises more distracting than the obnoxious music three or four boats down that didn’t quit until midnight.

Finally, lying on his side and staring at the loveliness of her sleeping face, Brooks had eventually dozed off around two in the morning and six had come too quickly. However, he had to admit that the trio of smells—coffee, eggs, and sautéed vegetables—to which he woke up made it slightly easier. Well, the smells, and the sweet, blue-eyed face that peeked around the door to see if he was awake.

“Morning!” she chirped with a smile. “You’re up!”

“Mmm,” he groaned, blinking at her groggily. “Do I smell coffee?”

“Uh-huh. And an egg white omelet with sautéed peppers and onions,” she said cheerfully.

His Skye was apparently, a morning person. Hmmm.

Whoa. Wait. What?
His
Skye? His?

He sat up quickly and frowned, shaking his head and glancing up at her. She looked beautiful in a white polo shirt and shorts. Damn.

“That sounds good,” he said, his face softening as his eyes skimmed her body.

“It’s your favorite,” she said. “Veggies and egg whites, right?”

He couldn’t hold back the smile that started small but widened as she stood there looking wide awake and pretty and young with two blonde braids falling over her shoulders. She’d made his favorite breakfast and it caused his treacherous heart to thud with emotion. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone, who wasn’t his family, had done something so thoughtful for him.

“It is,” he said in a raspy voice. “That was nice.”

She blushed, her eyes dropping to his bare chest where they lingered for a long moment. When she raised them again, they were dark and wide, and she wet her lips. “We have to be in Virginia Beach by ten, but I’ll, um, I’ll give you a minute to get up, okay?”

Get up?
Parts of him were already up. And if she kept flicking her dark blue eyes to his chest, he was going to need more than a minute, unless it was a minute in a freezing cold shower.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbled.

She turned back to the door, and Brooks had a perfect view of her pert little ass in denim cut-offs.
Okay, then. A cold shower it is.

She turned around suddenly, catching him ogling her backside, and her eyes widened again as she shook her head and giggled softly in surprise.

“We’re, um, we’re casting off in, um, thirty minutes,” she finished quickly, nodding nervously and whipping around to rush back through the door to the safety of the galley.

“Skye!” he called after her.

Her face peeked back into the room, cheeks still flushed.

“You can’t blame me for looking,” he said in a teasing voice.

She all but nailed him with an unexpectedly sassy grin. “I don’t.”

Brooks slid back down under the covers and groaned.

***

Brooks and Skye stood side by side on the deck of the
Zephyr
posing for Guy Hunter, who looked at them from the dock below as he snapped pictures.

“So Brooks,” he said with his usual innuendo, “is Skye a good…crew?”

Brooks’ lip curled up for just a moment before he looked down at Skye’s blonde head beside his shoulder. “She is. But I only know that because I’ve sailed with her before. On this cruise, she’s my… that is, she’s in charge. She’s skipper.”

“Oh-ho! In charge, huh? That how you like ‘em, Brooks?” asked Guy, winking at Skye.

“Do I like them careful with my boat? Capable and smart? Sure, Guy. What’s not to like?”

“How about you, Skye? Brooks showing you any tricks of the trade?”

Skye looked up at Brooks, her eyes flaring with discomfort before cutting them to Guy. “I’m honored to sail with someone as talented as Brooks.”

Guy lowered his camera and put his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath then letting it out with a long-suffering groan. He shook his head, staring at the wood planking under his feet before looking back up again. “Can I be honest with you two?”

Brooks scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“Very funny,” said Guy, looking genuinely annoyed. “I’m really trying here, but…”

“Trying
what
exactly?” asked Brooks derisively.

“Trying to get a decent story,” said Guy. “But you two are stonewalling me every fucking step of the way.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Brooks, gesturing to Skye with his chin.

“Sorry,” said Guy to Skye in a surly voice.

“Stonewalling you?” asked Skye. “What does that mean?”

“No one cares if you’re great sailors. No one wants to hear about your great sailing times or what you think of this boat. This is
Celeb!
, kids. Our readers want a love story. An average girl from a second-rate marina falls head-over-heels for an elusive ex-Olympian millionaire, and guess what? He falls for her,
too!
And then they sail off into the sunset and have a dozen little blond sailor babies. That’s the story. That’s the
only
story I’m selling whether it actually happens that way or not.”

Skye flinched beside him when Guy called her family business “second rate,” and Brooks took a step closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Sorenson Marina’s
first
rate,” said Brooks tersely. “It’s the best on the Chesapeake, and I’ll help Jack and Skye sue you for libel if you print otherwise, Guy.”

So it didn’t matter what the truth was, huh? They just wanted to sell magazines about an ex-Olympian falling in love. Well hell, doing a favor for his sister was one thing, but he didn’t agree to whoring out his personal li—

He froze.

His breath caught.

And suddenly every thought in his head fled, because Skye’s fingers slid down his arm slowly, clasped his palm to hers, and laced their fingers together. Eye wide, he gazed down at her, and she tilted her head up to look at him, her sweet lips offering a small smile as she mouthed the words,
Thank you
.

“Let’s just finish up, huh?” she said, looking back over at Guy, who was snapping furiously while they held hands.

“Sure, sure,” said Guy. “How about a kiss and then I’ll get out of your hair?”

Skye looked back up at Brooks, rolling her eyes before shrugging good-naturedly. She tilted her head back and he leaned down, aiming for her cheek, but at the last minute Guy called her name and she shifted her head just slightly…so that Brooks’ lips dropped flush on hers.

Her fingers which were already wound through his, tightened, and he increased the pressure of his lips on hers, taking a step closer to her.

“That’s the way, lovebirds!” exclaimed Guy, and Skye jerked back from Brooks, her fingers wiggling furiously to untangle from Brooks’.

Brooks looked down at her face, his eyebrows furrowing together as he took in her heaving breasts and flushed cheeks. Jesus. She was angry, but aroused, and she’d never looked so sexy. It almost made it worthwhile that they’d just inadvertently given Guy exactly what he wanted.

Brooks flashed his eyes at Guy. “Show’s over.”

“Oh, I can take a hint! You two want to be alone, huh?” Guy let his camera drop to his chest and grinned at Skye. “I can’t wait for Hatteras.”

He was halfway back down the dock before Brooks turned to Skye. “I’m sorry, Skye. I didn’t mean to—”

Her eyes were still on Guy’s retreating form, but she cut them to Brooks. “It’s not your fault. I… he said my name and I turned my head.”

“I’m sure he did it on purpose.”

“He’s just he smarmiest lowlife,” she said, pulling up the buoys as if the faster they could cast off, the faster they could leave Guy’s air space. “And this was just a big set-up. That kiss is probably all over the internet right now!”

Brooks reached out and put his hand on her arm, stopping her. “Skye.”

“What?” she snapped, then huffed out an exhaled breath, her face softening a little. “What?”

“I’m sorry I got you into this, skip. I didn’t know it was rigged.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t force me to do anything, Brooks. I agreed to come along.”

“I’m still sorry…and I’m…I promised I wouldn’t touch you and—”

“Brooks…” she started, searching his eyes.

“It just seemed like the easiest way to get rid of Guy.”

“Brooks…”

“But next time I’ll tell him to go to hell. I promised not to touch you and—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

Her cheeks flared red. “I didn’t mind.”

His heart, his stupid heart that was going to get him into a world of trouble, fluttered as he took a step closer to her. “You didn’t?”

She shook her head, grinning at him. “No…and I’m voiding your promise for as long as we’re in
Zephyrland
.”

“
Zephyrland
?” He smiled down at her, dropping his hands to her hips and pulling her up against his chest.

Her hands slid up his shirt, feathering over his abs, gliding over his pecs, winding around his neck. “Mm-hm.
Zephyrland
. And you know what they say about
Zephyrland
?” she asked him with a slow, sexy smile.

He shook his head, dizzy from the way she was looking at him, but never, ever wanting to look away. “I have no idea.”

“What happens in
Zephyrland
stays in
Zephyrland
.”

If there was a more awesome combination of words in the entire world, Brooks didn’t know what they were. Because his primary fear of getting involved with someone like Skye was that he’d end up hurting her…but if he understood her right, she was basically saying that she welcomed his attentions for as long as they sailed the
Zephyr
together.

It’ll have to be enough
, he told himself, ignoring his strong and sudden desire to stay on the
Zephyr
forever.

He looked down at her lovely, upturned face, his eyes flicking to the dimple in her cheek before capturing her eyes. “Are you sure? You want to…
be together
this week?”

“Mm-hm,” she murmured. “In fact, right this minute? I want you to kiss me. And then we’re going to cast off and sail hard for twelve to sixteen hours. And when we’re done, I’m sort of hoping you’ll kiss me again.”

“Aye, aye, skip,” he said, dropping his lips to hers.

The previous two times he’d kissed her—once in the moonlight and once five minutes ago at Guy’s goading—he hadn’t been able to turn himself over to the sensation of kissing her. Not entirely. The first time, he was kissing a woman who wasn’t available. The second time—as short and sweet as it was—had been taken without permission.

This time, she was his…temporarily, yes, but
his
.

This time, he savored her.

The fingers around his neck tightened against his skin, her palms pushing his head toward her, locking her lips with his. They were soft and warm, sun-kissed and ripe, and he nipped them, sucked them, finally parting them with his tongue and groaning softly as he invaded the hot slick of her mouth. She arched against him, her breasts pushing into his chest as her tongue tangled with his, soft whimpering noises from deep in her throat reminding him of her sleeping noises, and reassuring him that in twelve to sixteen hours, they’d be back in their bedroom together again.