Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series (11 page)

Drake walked a little closer and leaned down. “Why are you suddenly shorter?” He leaned back and looked down at her feet. “Oh…flats. Good choice for stability. Wish I had some on. Are you finished being logical yet?”

Brooke rolled her eyes at his weaving demand and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Shit…I don’t know…I guess I am.”

She put both hands in her hair and yanked to keep from yelling. Drake reached out and snagged one before it dropped back down. He used it to steady himself and pull her closer to him. He groaned as he wrapped her into his arms.

“There is not enough cognac distilled in the world to make me forget how bad I still want you.”

“Drake…”

Exasperated more than she could ever remember being, Brooke said his name, but stupidly let him tug her against him. He smelled like the liquor he drank and like the man who had pleasured her earlier. Her arms came around him and desire returned. She sighed against the front of him as he leaned into her. This was not the careful wanting she’d allowed herself. This was mixed with frustration and topped off with a dizzy longing to have that erection he was sporting inside her again.

“Let’s go lay down before you fall down,” she whispered, hoping to get him horizontal before he passed out in her arms.

“I don’t want to sleep with a woman who doesn’t like me,” he complained.

Brooke might have actually believed him if he hadn’t had a death grip on the wrist he was currently using to drag her through a totally dark house. She couldn’t have broken his hold without sending them both tumbling to the floor.

“I like you…mostly,” Brooke assured him, as he pulled her into a room off the kitchen.

“Not good enough,” Drake declared.

His other answer was to lift her and toss her squealing, protesting ass into the middle of a king-sized bed. Before she could right herself, Drake dove in and wrestled her until he was lying on top of her and conveniently between her legs.

“You are drunk. Don’t even think about it,” Brooke hissed, pushing on the shoulders she’d once admired.

To her shock, Drake snickered over her threat and pushed his face into her shoulder. The hard smack she gave him on the back of his head was totally spontaneous because it snuck past her decision to be immovable.

After doing it, Brooke froze, alarmed at having genuinely hit him.

“Ouch…okay, maybe I deserved that for teasing too much,” Drake admitted, grinding his erection into her to get even.

Brooke swallowed and squirmed against him, stopping when she realized her movements only made it worse. And then…then she let it all go and got comfortable.

Two seconds later, she was laughing at herself and him. Being outraged over what Drake said and did apparently had a strange effect on her.

“Don’t make me hurt that outstanding thing throbbing against my crotch. That would be a total shame, but I will do it if you try anything funny in your current condition. I don’t have sex with drunks,” she warned.

Snickering, Drake raised his head and stared into her irritated gaze. “
Thing?
Really? Are you that much of a prude? Ouch…are you into pain or something?”

His yelping laughter didn’t make her stinging hand feel any better. She had smacked his butt, and he was wearing jeans.

“Drake, get your lead ass off me and go to sleep. Your problem will calm down when you do,” Brooke stated.

“Have you ever heard of Tantric Sex?” Drake asked, lowering his voice as he kissed her throat. His mouth traveled until he found the perfect place. She smelled heavenly.

Brooke started to push Drake off…but paused to look at him when he stopped tormenting her. Only he wasn’t looking back. Drake was snoring quietly against her chin.

“Oh for pity’s sake,” she declared, rolling him off her. It was a bit amazing how heavy he actually was. Those clothes of his sure didn’t give his true size away. But it was definitely more muscle than anything else.

After rolling, he landed flat on his back, mouth open.

Shaking her head, Brooke started to climb from the bed, only to feel an iron grip on her wrist again.

“Don’t leave…please.”

Brooke let loose a sigh. “Roll to your side then.”

“Will you spoon me?”

Despite her agitation, Brooke laughed loudly, the sound of her amusement echoing around the room.

“You cannot hold your liquor. Never drink again, Dr. Barrymore.”

When his grip didn’t lessen, she crawled up beside him. “Roll over. I’ll spoon you…you sorry-ass drunken poetic bastard.”

“See? Now if you could just learn to say
sex
and
dick
—or hell at least
penis
—we could have a genuine conversation.”

“Shut up or I’m leaving,” Brooke ordered, but she smiled against the back of his head when he pulled her arm around him. Somehow Drake also managed to keep hold of her while freeing the bed covers enough to pull over both of them.

“Thank you for staying, Beautiful Brooke. I’m tired of sleeping without you here except in my dreams.”

His confession wiped her smile away. As Drake’s breathing evened, his grip on her lessened, but she found herself gripping tighter instead of pulling away.

Chapter 9

Brooke slumped over the kitchen bar. Mornings were never her best time. She smiled gratefully at the male who put a steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the first lovely sip that would bring full consciousness back to her brain. “You’re a true hero, Brandon. Shane needs to make you a character in
The Winged Protector
series.”

“Only one problem, they all have tattoos or piercings. I have no tats…or piercings. Since I’m majoring in business, I probably will never get any either.”

“Why not?” Brooke asked, her gaze twinkling at his mature reasoning. “Business suits and dress shirts cover up most everything. Look at what your father wears to work.”

Brandon laughed. “Those are his professor clothes. He has different ones he wears to art shows…well, at least he used to. Although he did dress very conservatively for the art gallery opening. He has a lot of artist clothes lurking in his closets.”

Brooke giggled and set her coffee cup on the counter. “Fascinating…like what, for instance? My mother wears short skirts and peasant blouses to art shows. She likes to look Bohemian and poor.”

Brandon grinned and glanced at the bedroom door to make sure it was still closed tightly before answering.

“Dad owns a ton of Nehru-collared shirts and textured silk vests to wear over them. He wears them outside jeans or slacks, instead of tucked in. Sometimes he also wears sandals. He says people expect artists to look like that.” Brooke’s giggle made it worth ratting out his father.

“So…did you and Dad make up?” he asked, glad to have finally found an opening to do so.

Brooke sighed and sipped her coffee to buy her some pondering time. Nothing like a straight question to bring reality crashing into your morning after.

Had she and Drake made up? If so, from what?

From her poor pillow talk? From his drunken passes?

From him begging her to stay and wrapping her arm around him?

It wasn’t like they’d had a real fight. Oh, maybe she was still a bit pissed at being tossed on the bed and attacked by a drunken heathen last night. Did that count as a transgression worthy of making up?

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I just know Dad was upset over your…date,” Brandon said cautiously.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my relationship with your father—if we have such a thing as a relationship. It’s that I don’t know. We weren’t mad over anything at the same time. He’s very…confusing.”

Brandon nodded as he flipped pancakes. “I know what you mean. Dad is very…” he drifted off, looking for the right word.

“Passionate?” Brooke offered, sipping her coffee.

Brandon laughed. “I was going to say
intense
, but I guess that’s a more poetic word.”

Brooke laughed again, truly charmed. “Are you intense like your father?” The question earned her a loud laugh in reply.

“No. I’m easygoing. I’m the artist’s
Alex P. Keaton
kid…very conservative…very calm…and incredibly average. I watch the news and follow stock reports. Dad took me to vote with him when I was seventeen and let me make all the choices. He’s responsible, but I’m…”

“Thoughtful and caring,” Brooke finished, smiling as she interrupted the boy-man cooking her breakfast. “Your father is very proud of you, Brandon. He likes you just as you are…and he tells the world all the time.”

Brandon shrugged and dished up the food. “I hope so because I can’t tell lately. He’s glared at me every time he’s looked at my black and blue face the last couple of weeks.”

“Glaring is part of being a parent, I think,” Brooke offered.

“Can I just put something out there? If you two plan on having babies together, I’d be okay with you giving me some siblings,” Brandon declared.

Brooke gagged and spit the sip of coffee in her mouth on the counter.

“Thanks,” she said, when Brandon handed her a towel. “I’m not sure we like each other enough to have another date yet. But thanks for sharing how you feel about…all the rest of that.”

“I figure if an older man wants to marry a woman your age, babies would be part of the deal he would have to accept. Me—I’m planning to wait until I’m way older to get that serious. Dad has been a great father. I think he’d love being one again before he gets too old.”

“Okay…now I just have to ask. How old would too old be?” Brooke asked, dipping her head to hide her smile.

“I don’t know. Fifty? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

He dished up a plate of pancakes and put a couple strips of bacon on the side before setting them in front of Brooke. “Shane and Reesa make these. I’m trying to copy.”

Brooke looked at the smiley face of chocolate chips adorning the top one. “I’m sure they’re great. These were obviously made with love,” she declared. Having been to her fair share of Larson pancake breakfasts, she knew exactly how to praise the cook.

“Absolutely. Love is the secret ingredient,” Brandon agreed, coming around to sit beside her at the counter.

Brooke ate in silence, looking occasionally to her side.

“Please. Just tell me what you’re thinking,” Brandon said after a while. “You and Shane are spooky with your uber serious eyes that do their own talking.”

Brooke grinned at the backhanded compliment and winced at being compared to Shane. “Okay. I’ll tell you then, but it’s kind of inappropriate. You’re barely over eighteen.”

She snickered when Brandon made a gimmee sign with his fingers because his mouth was full.

“Okay. I was thinking you had a hella start on developing morning-after etiquette. Your father should take lessons. He’s in there still snoring off his cognac while his teenage son is the one cooking me breakfast.”

She was delighted by the pleased male laughter she had effectively coaxed out of him with her flirting. This was comfortable ground for her. She knew how to appeal to the sensibilities of younger male egos.

“I know. Dad is lame with women. I guess that’s what he gets for not dating all these years. He’s out of practice.”

“Hmm…I’m not so sure I’m buying that story anymore. What about the booty-call woman in Louisville?”

Brandon looked so shocked, she almost choked on her pancakes trying not to laugh at his surprise. Why was her mouth spewing her thoughts unchecked? She put a hand on his arm while she swallowed what was in her mouth before speaking.

“I’m so sorry. I was teasing, but that went over the top. It was a rumor I heard from two of his students, and one I should never have repeated—especially to Drake’s son. I’d like to blame my blurting out on a sugar rush this morning, but the truth is my mouth sometimes gets away from me. It’s not one of my more sterling traits.”

Brandon chuckled. “It’s okay. I know you’re part Larson now, so that’s not helping either. Besides…I can understand you being jealous. Dad gets his share of attention from the babes. He just doesn’t act on it. Or at least he didn’t until you came along. When he started talking about you all the time, I knew he was more than just a little interested.”

Brooke sighed and went back to her pancakes. “Now I feel petty for being so curious about other women. I will admit to feeling a tad bit jealous, which is a new emotion for me, let me tell you. He’s never said one word about her.”

“Probably because she was only a friend…and she got married a year ago. That’s really all I can share. If I tell you anything else, it would be a violation of the man code. My card would be pulled.”

“
Man code
?” Brooke repeated, grinning at his term.

Brandon shrugged. “It’s my way of saying I’m not going to rat out my Dad…even after he got dog-ass drunk on his lady.”

Brooke blinked at both the boy’s defense and criticism. Both were in the same tone. The son was as complex as his father.

“Drake has no idea how amazing you are. All right, I rescind my all curiosity questions. Pretend I never mentioned the other women in your father’s life. Since I’m the one he dog-ass drunkenly begged to stay with him last night, perhaps I’ll just hold that highlight uppermost in my mind for now.”

She smiled and held out her empty cup. “If I keep all future curiosity about your father to myself, can I have a coffee refill?”

Brooke was surprised when Brandon hugged her on his way to fetch it. She rubbed her chest at the warmth growing there and wondered what she was going to do about how much she liked both Barrymore men, despite their faults.

***

When he finally joined the living again, Drake sat at his kitchen bar with his head in his hands. Light hurt his eyes this morning—which was nearly afternoon on the clock—so he covered them with his fingers. It also helped him to pretend his situation wasn’t as bad as he feared.

“So tell me again what happened. You said Brooke stayed for a little while after she woke up and you fed her breakfast?”

“
Yes
,” Brandon said slowly and distinctly, laughing at his father’s question about Brooke, which was being voiced for the third time. “Since we never had this situation in the house before, and you were still out cold, I was winging it this morning. Was I not supposed to feed the woman who spent the night with you?”