Flirting With Disaster (13 page)

“
Brooke,” he said, his
teeth gritted.

Because she had been selfish, she rose and
slid down his torso. She closed her mouth over the head of his
dick, tasting herself and him. She moaned.

Dane cursed and then his hands were in her
hair, fisted, but he let her set the pace. He was so hard, wet and
right there. She flicked her tongue over the slit as she sucked him
harder.

His hips jerked upward, just slightly.
Faster, she bobbed her head, licking him. She could feel him pulse
in her hand. The broken rhythm of his strokes was followed with a
shout. When the salty tang of his pre-come filled her mouth, she
rose and stroked him into a heady release. He shuddered as he came
on his stomach. The hold on her hair loosened, and she felt his
muscles relax.

A heat started to flare in her cheeks as he
used his shirt to wipe off his stomach. But then he looked at her
and dropped the shirt. He moved his hands, cupping the sides of her
face and brushed a thumb over her cheek. He looked sated and
cocky.

“
Mouth,” he murmured. “Give
it to me.”

Her heart was racing, but she slid back up.
Their skin was slicked with sweat and that made it interesting as
their bodies touched. He trailed his fingers over her waist,
wrapped one arm around her, rolling them over again so he'd be on
top.

“
My turn,” he said,
spreading her legs wider with his own.

He wasn't hard, but the glint in his eye
made her believe he'd find a way to make it his turn somehow. She
gave him her mouth without an utter of protest and felt owned as
the rest of the world slipped away when she kissed him.

*****

The pungent scent of garlic roused Dane from
his sleep. He slanted his eyes open, confused at his surroundings
until all the memories flooded back.

He grinned.

His leg muscles ached because he'd done his
best to work Brooke out in every way possible. After going through
the two condoms he had in his wallet, she'd taken him home.

A year's worth of bickering had built up
enough frustration they hadn't made it all the way up her stairs.
They'd tumbled on a step and figured right there was fine. The only
reason they'd made it to the bed was because they were too
exhausted to do anything else.

He took his time to glance around the room.
She'd decorated it with silver, purple and lavender. It was
so...girly. It didn't entirely surprise him. What did was the
expense she'd put into the room. He knew what money looked like and
the Queen Anne desk screamed it. Along with the high thread count
of the lavender sheets, and the purple down comforter.

The drift of sleep fell
away, and he could hear her now. There was clanging of pots and she
was humming. She sounded domestic and that surprised him. He pushed
back the covers, searched for his boxers, and remembered they were
downstairs, probably at the door. Then his gaze fell on a chair in
the corner. His clothes were neatly folded, and his shoes rested
beneath the seat. They'd had sex, went to sleep, and then he'd
woken up in the
Twilight
Zone
.

He put on his boxers, checked the time on
his cell phone—eight at night—and then made his way to the
kitchen.

Brooke wore a tank top and very tight shorts
that cupped her ass perfectly. Her hair was damp but corralled into
a loose ponytail. She stood in front of the stove, a frown on her
face as she stirred something in the pot that gave off the scent of
garlic.

He couldn't describe the emotion rushing
through him at the sight of her. It made him feel happy, nervous,
and horny, again. He wanted to close the distance between them and
just touch her, smell the fresh scent of soap and shampoo she had
used.

That wasn't good, because he wasn't
optimistic at all. He knew what happened between them was sex—not a
shift of their beliefs, their doubts or fears about one another.
Still, he wanted nothing more than to stand behind her, help her
cook and revel in the way her ass fit perfectly along the ridge of
his dick.

“
Brooke.”

She grinned at him. “Look who finally woke
up.”

Whatever part of himself he had braced
relaxed. He returned her smile. “You finally let me sleep.”

She glanced away, but he caught the sudden
reddening of her cheeks. She was using one hand to lean against the
counter next to the stove. He frowned, looking past her ass to
everywhere else. She had little red bite marks along her neck,
small and probably only noticeable because he'd put them there. He
caught the subtle way she put all her weight on her left foot. Her
right ankle was swollen.

“
What happened to your
foot?” he asked.

“
You.”

His brows lifted. “I wasn't that rough.”

She stirred. “I think it was our fall on the
stairs. Wrenched something. Didn't really process how much that
shit hurt until I woke up.”

“
First aid kit?”

She waved him off. “It's not that
serious.”

He ignored the brush-off, and dug around in
the freezer until he found an ice pack.

“
Have a seat.” He saw the
argument brewing in her gaze. He grabbed the stool near the island
and pulled it to her. “Consider this foreplay.”

“
You woke up bossy,” she
said, but sat.

He grabbed a clean kitchen towel from around
the stove handle and took her leg in his hand. His body immediately
responded to the contact. He ignored the need and inspected her
ankle. A bit red. Not too swollen, but enough to concern him. He
braced her foot gently against his chest and placed the ice over
it.

To keep that argument just in her gaze, he
grinned at her. “What are you cooking for me?”

She scoffed, but looked flustered. “Not for
you. For me. I plan to be nice and share. I’m starving and a
sandwich isn’t going to cut it.”

“
What is it?”

“
The fettuccine is done,
simmering for now, but I ran out of garlic spread for the
bread.”

He raised his brows. “And you're making it
from scratch?”

“
I'm hungry, but
picky.”

He slid the pack to the other side of her
ankle. “But from scratch?”

Her breathing had changed and because he had
gotten to know her body pretty damn well, he knew she was
aroused.

“
You're going to make a
thing out of this, aren't you?”

There was no getting each other out of their
systems. She'd felt just as good with a condom. He still couldn't
believe that happened. His mind had been clouded with the feel of
her, the taste of her, and then he’d been inside her, her squeezing
his dick, wet and perfect. The only thing that had mattered was
staying inside her—fucking finally—because if he’d had to wait
another moment, much less another week...

Touching her now, an innocent embrace, had
his dick hard. He’d been happy with just that contact, doing his
best to avoid that silent argument. Maybe when he wasn't a deep
breath away from smelling her scent he could be disgusted with
himself.

“
Yes,” he said, “I am going
to make this a thing. When I saw you'd folded my clothes, I had a
moment when I thought I was in the
Twilight Zone
.”

She laughed and the sound
warmed him.
Shit
.

Brooke shook her head. “I told you. My
mother groomed me to be a wife. Now give me back my foot, you
jackass. And since you decided to talk shit, get the bread out of
the refrigerator, cut it in half so I can put the spread on.”

The moment felt so domestic and right, when
he put down the ice pack and let her go, he pulled her to him in a
kiss. She melted into him. Brooke didn't have to say what they were
becoming made her just as dreamy. That give said it all. They'd
have to talk about what they were becoming to each other, but that
could wait.

CHAPTER NINE

The moment her brother left for lunch,
Brooke hopped out of her office and checked over the work he'd done
that morning. She made an appreciative grunt, because even as a
hobbyist, he was as good as her. She picked up where he had left
off, because the cracked pulley needed to be removed.

Ten minutes in, she had to drag a stool over
to rest her foot. She grumbled the whole time. Her brother had sent
her to the office to do paperwork. She figured he was looking out
for his little sister, who’d probably seemed injured and clumsy.
Not like she could tell him she hurt herself during sex with Dane.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Pierce might have
stopped coddling her.

Dane had done the same kind of pampering the
day before, but it hadn't bothered her, then. Her heart and stomach
had fluttered at the concern etched on his face. After they had
finished eating, he’d hunted down the first aid kit and wrapped her
ankle with an expertise that surprised her.

For a good part of the night, they’d lounged
in her bed, reading. Dane should have looked ridiculous and out of
place surrounded by all that purple. Nope. He looked haughty, but
rumpled, and nothing could make her forget how his features
sharpened when he found a good, deep rhythm inside her. So it was
natural to see him there, comfortable in her bed and in room, with
her.

He'd placed pillows over
his lap, propped her foot up and had only moved his hand from her
ankle to turn the pages of his book. Those hours with him felt like
a preview of what they could be. She should have been completely
content, but she had to fight the urge to draw boundaries.
Don't expect me to cook for you all the time. If
I say I'm fine, respect my wishes and don't act like you know
better than me or better for me.
It needed
to be said for him and for herself. Goodness, she'd sighed and drew
in the scent of his cologne before folding his fucking
clothes.

Saying she was troubled would have been an
understatement. She'd felt like a lovesick sap, a part of her so
pleased at just lying in her bed with his hand on her ankle. If he
hadn’t been waiting for his clothes to come out of the wash, she
would have kicked him out. But he had showered, laid in her bed
smelling of her soap. His touch had been a gentle, sweet reminder
of the heat between them.

Before the knot of worry and doubt in her
stomach could turn into something she couldn't ignore, his hand had
started to roam. Then his mouth.

There in the garage, heat flushed her face,
because even during the sex, he still managed to keep her foot
elevated.

She sighed, pushing the worries aside, and
released the screw holding the pulley in place. Dane wouldn't shove
her into the role of trophy girlfriend, much less wife. He liked
her hands that were a bit rough and nicked. She wasn't turning
herself into a perfect little woman for him, and she would still
rip off his balls if he asked her to be one.

Her palms were sweaty, and the pulley
slipped from her fingers and dropped on her foot. If she hadn't
squeezed into the steel-toed boots, she'd have curled into the
fetal position and cried. She did curse, letting loose a nice blue
streak.

Naomi appeared from around the car and
Brooke yelped.

Her friend's brows were high, her steps
cautious. “Am I interrupting?”

“
Make some noise when you
creep up on people.”

“
Has dealing with Dane put
you in a mood?”

Brooke glared because her friend had a
mile-wide grin. Couldn't keep anything secret in Tanner Creek.
“Stop acting like you don't know.”

“
Know what? We aren't
friends anymore. So, of course it wouldn't cross your mind to call
me and tell me you hit that.”

Her face felt on fire. “Hit that?”

Naomi bit her lip, waggled
her brows and clapped her hands. “Bow-chica-wow-wow. Hit
that
.”

“
I'm going to hit you with
a wrench.”

Naomi made a face at the extra stool,
shrugged out of her suit jacket, placed it over the seat and sat
down. “That good? You're blushing, disproving the myth black women
can't.”

Brooke’s foot started to throb. “We had sex.
There. Now you know.”

“
I knew that. Gertrude
couldn't wait to tell me you guys came out of his bookshop looking
ravished. She actually used that word. Dane's shirt was buttoned
incorrectly, and it wasn't the same one he'd worn that morning.
Your dress looked wrinkled. And your hair…”

She glared. “Shut up.”

Her friend laughed. “So, on a scale of one
to ten…”

Brooke couldn't help but play along.
“Depends on which time.”

Naomi gasped. “I hate you.”

“
No one told you to try to
be Virgin Mary.” She ignored Naomi's pinched mouth and added, “Take
a gander at the bachelor list. Really look at it. Then put together
a flirting plan when it's that man's day for the photo
shoot.”

“
Speaking of that,” Naomi
rolled with the change of subject with ease, “I have a date set
with the photographer. The bachelor calendar is going to be simpler
to put together and likely faster. Dane had the good idea to have
something from every man's profession.”

Brooke now knew what Dane looked like
shirtless with a book in his hand. Yeah. She was going to lose the
bet, because a calendar with half-naked men would sell like
hotcakes. “What did Peyton say when you told her Tate would be
shirtless wearing a tool belt?”

“
Nothing, but she swooned a
little. How are the cars coming? I know your brother is
here.”