Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (22 page)

“And Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays will just suck for a little while,” he said, pouting. “But I can’t move just yet. My sister’s planning her wedding, and I have commitments in Philly, and—oh, shoot, I have to call a client out in San Diego.”

“San Diego?”

“Yeah. I was offered a consulting job. A yacht club out there wanted me to spend a couple of months with them, get them in shape for a regatta this fall.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to be brave as she imagined Brooks waving goodbye to her as Pat had.
Don’t be selfish. Don’t rock the boat.
“Well, you should take it if you—”

“Take it?” He sounded surprised…and disappointed. “Huh. You want me to take it?”

She shrugged, uncertain of what to say. Her heart screamed,
No! Please don’t go halfway across the country without me.
But her heart cautioned her to temper her expectations.

“I could, but…I mean, I’d prefer to stick around this summer and spend some more time with you. Maybe even get a few races in together.”

And that’s all it took.

Her heart. Literally. Burst.

She turned in his arms, tilting her face up to his and winding her arms around his neck. “Take the wheel.”

He did.

“Thank you,” she said passionately, her voice breathy and her eyes still burning a little as she stared up at him.

“For what?” he asked.

“For asking me to bid on you. For letting me skipper. For falling in love with me. For wanting to stick around.” She pulled his face down to hers, arching her back and sighing as he stepped forward to trap her more tightly against him.

“Skip, you’ve got it all backwards,” he said gently, his eyes caressing her face with such profound tenderness, her breath caught. “I won
you
. I got to crew for
you
. I am the luckiest man on earth because you love me back, and my life just got a million times better because you
want
me to stick around.
I’m
the lucky one, Skye.”

“Call it a draw?” she suggested, tilting her head up to his.

“Done,” he said, kissing her senseless.

***

They motored into the Charleston Pointe Harbor and Marina around six o’clock in the evening, and despite Skye’s declaration that the interviews were over, Brooks was surprised that Guy wasn’t already waiting for them, lingering at their slip to take his final pound of flesh.

Brooks threw the buoys over the sides and cleated the bow line, then drew his phone out of his back pocket, searching for messages. Sure enough, there was an email from Guy dated today at five o’clock:

I guess you made your decision.

No need for more pictures.

I’ve got my story.

Enjoy Charleston.

His eyebrows furrowing together, Brooks quickly opened his sent mail file, looking for the email he’d sent to his accountant last night. Not finding it in the file, his heart sped up and his mouth went dry as he noticed an unsent message in the outbox folder.
Oh my God
. It hadn’t sent. The message hadn’t sent. The check hadn’t been cut. The money hadn’t been sent.

He’d been so distracted with Jessica’s call and making love to Skye, he hadn’t confirmed the transaction. Frankly, he hadn’t even thought about it again.

He flashed worried eyes at Skye, who turned off the ignition and withdrew the key, holding it out to Brooks.

“So,” she said, “how about a little dinner on our last—Oh, wait a sec.” She pulled her phone from her hip pocket and Brooks had the sudden, insane urge to rip it from her fingers and throw it in the water. “It’s my father!” Offering him a broad smile, she held up a finger asking him for a minute and pressed the phone to her ear. “Pop! Hey! We just made it into Charles—What?”

Her face—so bright and cheerful a moment before—fell. She cut her eyes to Brooks, then turned her back to him, walking to the bench at the stern of the
Zephyr
where he had talked to Jessica last night.

“No, he didn’t,” she gasped. “No. I… Oh, Pop, I’m so sorry.”

Brooks rushed to her, sitting beside her. But she didn’t look up at him. In fact, she slid away from him—just a little bit, but enough to sting.

“What else does it say?” she asked in a small, broken voice.

Her neck was bent and she was shaking her head back and forth. “Oh God. Oh, Pop. I-I don’t know how they found out about her. No, of course not. I’d never mention her. Pat is the only one I ever told. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ever…Wait.” Her voice changed, suddenly cracking like a whip, shock infusing it with disbelief. “What did you say?”

Now she looked up at Brooks, blinking, concern etched into her worried face. “
Brooks?
You’re
sure
it says that?” She paused, listening to her father. “I don’t believe it. Because it’s not possible. No, Pop. I
know
him. It’s a lie. You have to understand. This reporter was the worst, smarmiest, most disgusting… he’d make up anything to—”

Suddenly her eyes widened with dismay, and what Brooks saw there decimated him.

“Wh-What?”
she gasped, her eyes searching Brooks’ face, looking at him like she didn’t know him, or maybe like she
did
know him, she just didn’t know he was capable of breaking her heart. “You…
You
saw him?” She was almost panting, she was breathing so fast, so hard. “No, Pop. You could be wrong,” she insisted. “Couldn’t they just have been…?” She swallowed, clenching her eyes shut and pulling her hand away with a jerk when he reached for it. She stood up, giving him her back and walking over to the deck rail. “Girlfriends! I just thought he had a lot of…girlfriends.”

Brooks dropped his head, trying to suck in a clean gulp of air, but he was unable. It wasn’t difficult to piece together the conversation he was listening to, even though it was one-sided.

Guy had found out about her mother being an escort from Pat, who’d also shared his suspicions about Brooks’ use of escorts. He’d used the information to embarrass her and get even for her breaking up with him and shattering his fragile ego. God, what a fucking bastard.

And Skye’s first instinct had been to defend him, which made Brooks feel like the worst scumbag who ever lived.

He recalled Jack’s face when he warned Brooks that Skye was a “good girl, a nice girl.” At the time, Brooks had known what Jack was saying. Jack had noticed the taxis and the blondes. And he was on the other side of the phone right now reassuring Skye that everything Guy wrote was true.

His head still hanging, Brooks didn’t realize she’d hung up the phone and crossed the deck to stand before him until she said softly, in a dazed, heartbroken monotone, “It seems that Brooks Winslow’s technique of charming escorts has worked on fresh-faced Skye Sorenson…which shouldn’t be a surprise, as Sorenson’s mother, who can be found under the name, Bunny Lynn, is an escort herself.”

Brooks took a deep breath and looked up at her, her devastated, pleading eyes breaking his heart in half.

“Skye…” he started.

“My mother,” she said, licking her lips and shaking her head as she looked over his shoulder at the setting sun behind him. “Guy wrote about my mother.”

“Skye,” he said again.

“No,” she said softly, slowly. “You don’t talk yet.” Her blue eyes, usually so warm and open, were cold and hurt. “I told you all about her this morning. You didn’t think to mention to me that you, yourself, use escorts with some regularity? So often, in fact, that my father—and Pat, apparently, since he was Guy’s source—knew all about it?”

“It’s in my past.”

“
Your past?
I
saw
you with one of those women a few weeks ago!” she cried, swiping her angry tears away with the back of her hand.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still in my past. It was in my past the very first night I kissed you, and it will always be in my past, because it will never, ever again be a part of my present or future. You’re my present, Skye. You’re my future.” Brooks stood up, reaching for her shoulders, unable to bear the pain on her face, but she pulled away from him, putting her hands on her hips and staring back at him.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes profoundly sad. “You’re not my present or my future. You’re one of the men I was talking about this morning. You’re the disgusting, perverted, anonymous man who takes what he wants and leaves.”

He flinched, swallowing the lump in his throat and finding his voice. “That’s not true. I’m not those things. And I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t
do
commitment. You do temporary, remember? No wonder you loved the idea of
Zephyrland
!” she sobbed. “No wonder you found my mother’s profession so easy to forgive!”

“Skip…” he said, letting his hands hang uselessly by his sides. “Let me explain. Please.”

“I
never
wanted to be like my mother,” she raged, her hands in small fists by hers. “And now, splashed all over the internet, it says that I am. It says I’m
exactly
like her. You frequent escorts. My mother’s an escort. There’s a picture of us kissing. Bam! I guess that makes me—”

“The woman I love,” he cried, feeling desperate, feeling scared that he was really and truly losing her. “The amazing, wonderful, beautiful woman I love.” He reached for her face, relieved when she didn’t pull away. He cupped her cheek, holding her eyes, frantic to get through to her. “You’re
nothing
like your mother. You’re nothing like—”

“Like those girls who visited you at the marina?” She stepped back, shrinking from his touch, looking at him broken-heartedly while tears still fell down her cheeks in streams. “Because I look like them, Brooks. Don’t I? Blonde hair. Blue eyes.”

He searched her face and nodded. “Are you asking if you’re my type? Yes, you are, Skye. You know that.”

“Well, you’re not
my
type,” she said, raising her chin as her voice shook, making the words breathy and uncertain. “Not anymore. You’re
not
the man of my dreams. You’re the man of my nightmares…and I need you to leave me alone.”

She gave him one last devastated look, then turned around and ran below.

Brooks stood quietly on the
Zephyr
’s deck, trying to get his head around what had just happened and darting, with precision, to one terrible question: Had he just lost her? Had he really just lost her after everything they’d been through?

It sort of looks that way
, he thought, his stomach clenching with pain and his heart throbbing as he looked at the hatch that led downstairs. Should he run after her? Should he try to talk to her? Try to explain? Try to reassure her?

No. Not right now.

He’d grown up with a mother and a sister. When a woman was as upset as Skye, she needed a little time and space, and the least he could do was give it to her. Checking his back pocket for his wallet and phone, he slipped under the deck railing onto the dock and walked slowly toward the marina, feeling heavy and worried and…incredibly pissed off.

His first call? To Preston, who was an in-house lawyer for the Philadelphia Flyers.

“Brooks! How’s the cruise go—”

“Go to
Celeb!.
com.”

“Okay…what am I looking for there?” asked Pres, his fingers clicking on the keys of his ever-present laptop.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment as the website loaded and Preston took a look at it. Then, “We’ll, sue the bastards, Brooks. This is libelous bullshit.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not,” answered Brooks quietly, his jaw tight.

“It’s…not? Skye Sorenson’s mother is an escort?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll just sue them for the shit they said about you! You don’t use…Wait a second. You don’t use escorts, Brooks, do you?” Brooks was silent, heat seeping into his face as he imagined Preston’s eyes flatten with understanding and disappointment. “Oh. Well…can it be proven?”

“It’d be hearsay at best. I have a non-disclosure agreement with the agency. Not to mention, I’m not even close to their most high-profile client. They deal in discretion. I’m confident there aren’t any pictures or a paper trail.”

“Okay,” said Preston, keeping his voice both professional and carefully neutral. “We could certainly sue, then…but do you want my honest advice?”

“No. Lie to me.”

“I know you’re pissed, but don’t be a dick.”

“Yes, Preston. I want your honest opinion.”

“Well, no offense, big brother, but you’re an ex-Olympian, not a movie star or a super model. I honestly believe that this will blow over in a day or two when one of the Kardashians decides to save the whales. My honest advice is to ignore it completely. That said, however, I might skip town for a few weeks if I were you and give it a
chance
to blow over. You know, just so that there aren’t any photos of you looking pissed or reporters bugging you for a soundbite.”

“I want to sue someone!”

“I wouldn’t,” said Preston with finality, level-headed about legal and PR matters, as always. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” snapped Brooks.

“Why the hell were you using escorts?”

“I didn’t want romantic entanglements. I didn’t want to get involved with anyone.”

“So you paid for it?”

“It wasn’t always like that.”

“You
didn’t
always have sex?”

“Not always. Not if we didn’t click. Listen, I wanted to date, I wanted to meet women, but I didn’t want for the women I spent time with to ever get the wrong idea. It seemed like the perfect solution: date escorts, never get attached, never raise expectations, never get hurt, never hurt anyone else.”

“I get it. You
know
I get it. Romance is messy. Big time. But, here’s what I don’t get, bro…I’m looking at these pictures on the
Celeb!
website, and it looks like you
are
involved with someone.”

Brooks had walked to the end of his dock, the end of the main dock, and into the resort area. There was a tiki-style bar with a thatched roof set up poolside, and Brooks pulled out one of the stools and sat down, looking up at the bartender. “Scotch. Double. Rocks.”

“Now you’re drinking? Great.”

“Shut up, Pres.”

“So? Skye?”

“Yeah.” Brooks sighed. “That happened.”

“What happened?”

He took a big gulp of Scotch, wincing as it burned his throat. “I fucking fell in love with her.”

“Whhhhoa.
What?
In love?” He could practically hear Preston recoil through the phone. Preston had been burned by love… badly. So badly, he had the scars to prove it and swore he’d never go near it again. It wasn’t a surprise when he demanded, “Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Brooks said tersely, taking another sip. “I love her. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did, and now that it did…she’s it for me, Pres.”

“You mean like…
it
it?”

“Yeah. The whole nine yards. Ring, wedding, kids. All of it. Except now it’s really fucking messy. Her mother, my indiscretions. She didn’t sign up for this.”

“Does
she
love
you
?”

“She said she did last night.”

“You think she’s the kind of girl who can turn off her feelings when the water gets rough?”

Brooks thought about this for a moment. “No. I don’t, but she never wanted to be like her mom. And I cheapened her. Being with me did that to her. I don’t know if she can forgive that.”

“Can I submit to you that
you
didn’t cheapen her…
Celeb!
magazine did,” said Preston gently. “Anyway, Brooks, there’s one surefire way to change the perception of a woman’s reputation in the press, and that’s to give her the right title.”

“Title?”

“Wife,” said Preston softly, an acidic bite in his usually-level voice.

Wife.
Brooks’ heart clenched with longing.
Right.

“Like she’d marry me now,” said Brooks, throwing back the rest of the Scotch, then tapping the rim of the glass to request another.
Like she’d marry me.
The words circled in his head.
Marry me.

A slideshow of Skye Sorenson played in his mind…little Skye waving to him from the dock of Sorenson Marina…teenage Skye always hanging out at the marina while he was training during college…Skye, the best boat mechanic he’d ever met, telling him stories while she worked on the Passport’s electrical board…Skye walking down the aisle of the Ritz Carlton hotel in a knock-out dress and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen…Skye’s lips, her eyes, the way her words resonated in him…her hands on the ship wheel, her hands on his body…I love you, I love you, I love you…

Marry me.

“She’ll say no,” Brooks whispered.

“Yeah, you’re right. Why would she want to marry an asshole like you?”

Brooks scoffed. “What a good idea to call my little brother for some guidance.”

Preston sighed heavily. “You want guidance? You know how hard it is for me to say this, but…put a ring on Skye’s finger or at least offer it to her. Then take that job in San Diego and take her with you. Come back for Jessie’s wedding. And while you’re at it, stop making your life so goddamned complicated.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It
is
easy.” Preston paused and Brooks thought about the secret Preston had somehow kept to himself for the last few years. Brooks
knew
this was difficult advice for Preston to offer, which made it all the more meaningful. When his brother spoke again, his voice was soft and a little sad. “Will you marry me…four words. Two seconds. The worst she can say is no.”

Brooks winced. The worst was pretty bad.

“I gotta go, Brooks. I can’t—” Preston cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was all business. “We’re signing a new player today and I’ve got last-minute contract negotiations up the wazoo. Hope it all goes well, huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Pres.”

“Anytime.”

Brooks placed his phone on the bar and sipped his second Scotch more leisurely.

The worst she can say is no.
He bit his bottom lip, feeling young and stupid and way out of his depth. It was a terrible risk to ask her to marry him.

Did he love her? Yes. He loved her more than anything.

Did he want to spend the rest of his life with her? Hell, yes.

By proposing, he’d be offering her the protection of his name, publicly declaring that she was nothing like her mother—that he loved and respected her and that whatever they were doing together wasn’t temporary, but permanent—and that he
wasn’t
just taking what he wanted and leaving, as she’d tearfully accused him.
She
was what he wanted…and if she’d let him, he’d stay forever.

Could he bear her rejection? He thought about this for a moment, sipping his drink, watching the sun set over the water. Yes, he could bear it because he wouldn’t accept it. She’d fallen in love with him. There might be disappointment and anger in the equation now, but there was definitely love, too. He wouldn’t give her up. Even if she said “no” today, he’d keep asking. He’d ask her every day for the rest of his life if he had to—he’d prove to her that he was the man she wanted, that he’d never repeat the mistakes of his past, that he wasn’t going anywhere, that when he told her he loved her…he meant forever.

Brooks knew something about persistence, about training, about reaching near-insurmountable goals. He knew about deciding what he wanted and working his ass off to get it. Skye Sorenson was what he wanted. And he’d do just about anything to have her.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out his wallet and sliding a fifty to the bartender. “Call me a cab? I need to get into Charleston.”

***

Since she’d hurried downstairs and locked the bedroom door behind her, Skye hadn’t really stopped crying for more than a few minutes, and by this point, her eyes were raw and burning. At some point, she’d taken off her clothes and pulled on her pajamas, collected her things and packed her bag. Lying in the bed she’d shared with Brooks several times, she looked at the pre-booked airline tickets sitting on top of her duffel bag. She’d stopped crying long enough to arrange for a cab to be at the marina at seven o’clock in the morning, and she’d leave the safety of her room at six-fifty so she could avoid an awkward farewell with Brooks.

“Brooks,” she murmured, her voice breaking, and a fresh stream of tears slid down her cheeks.

For years, she and her father had dreaded anyone finding out about Shelley’s profession. It was a family embarrassment about which they rarely spoke, but this? Having it splashed all over the internet? This was way beyond Skye’s worst nightmares. Not only did the whole world know her mother was a whore, the article had painted her with the same scarlet brush. Like mother, like daughter. It was so frustrating, so unjust and painful that she turned on her side, staring at the cabin wall in the dim evening light, her head cradled on her bent elbow.

I swear to you, your mother’s life choices don’t change that for me. Not at all. Not even the tiniest bit. We’ll deal with it then, but it still wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re all I want. I love you.

His words from this morning resonated in her head, tears plopping on her arm as she recalled how safe and loved they’d made her feel. He’d been ready to shoulder it with her if the news ever came out. But finding out that the women with whom she’d seen him at the marina were also escorts? It had knocked the wind out of her sails. It had disappointed her so terribly, she could barely look at him.

Thinking about him with those women in their short cocktail dresses with fancy hair and high heels made her stomach churn. It hurt to think about it. It ached. It was sordid and dirty. It was everything she hated about her cheap, cheating mother.

Her mother, who had abandoned her and chosen a life of servicing anonymous men over being a loving mother to Skye. Her mother, who had gone to Los Angeles and left her behind.

Why would Brooks want to be with a woman like that? Was that what he wanted?

She sniffled softly, thinking about Brooks and what she knew of him, who he was.

He’d had to deal with the shocking loss of his father as a teenager. He’d become the male head of his family and risen to the challenge, helping to raise his younger siblings. And as forty loomed closer, he was anxious that he, too, would meet his father’s fate.

After this week, I can only offer you friendship. I can’t offer you anything else.

And so they’d embarked on something temporary that had turned into something real.

I want us to be together…I’m weak and selfish, but God help me, I can’t let you go.

He had fought against wanting her. He had tried not to raise her expectations. He had tried to keep her at arm’s length. Why? Because he didn’t think he had anything substantial to offer her.