Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) (11 page)

He was opening his mouth to speak when she surprised him by switching off the voice recorder on her cell phone and tossing it aside. He’d hoped to distract her when he set off on his quest to map the topography of her body. He should have known better.

“You were approached as a possible consultant on their response plan.”

He didn’t have to ask who “they” were. The minute the rig blew, the industry that pumped millions of dollars into the region by pumping millions of gallons of crude out of it became every Gulf Coast resident’s adversary.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this.”

“It’s a legitimate question.” She shrugged. “I know they offered a boatload of money. Sources tell me they were willing to pay more than double what you were making with the Earth Channel.”

In truth, the petroleum consortium offered three times his annual salary, but that didn’t make the thought of spinning the mess they created any more palatable. “Do you really think I turned them down because of the money?”

It galled him that people would think he’d consider working for the other side. Not because he was born and raised on the Gulf Shore, but because his entire life was wrapped up in the study of the very thing the disaster threatened to destroy.

Brooke cast a sidelong glance. Her eyes softened and her lips curved. “No.”

He fell for the come-hither look. Hook, line, and sinker. Her tangled hair gleamed in the slash of sunlight the porthole allowed. The rough upholstery left faint crosshatches on her belly, breasts, and thighs. A fine sheen of perspiration washed her skin in dewy peaches and pinks.

He sank to the edge of the bed, heavy with the need to make her understand. “Never in a million years.”

“But?”

Drawing a deep breath, he studied her closely as he weighed his words. “But the good guys were after the same thing.”

Three years after the disaster, the us-versus-them contention between big oil and those who lived and died on the gulf tides was as deeply ingrained in coast culture as snowbirds and shrimp. His lip curled. “They wanted a spokesmodel. To use my
celebrity
,” he snarled the word.

“So you did public service ads and tourism spots.”

“Which I did because this is my home.”

Clenching his jaw, he tore his gaze from hers. The genuine bewilderment clouding her bright eyes made his stomach twist. For some reason, he’d hoped she’d understand without having to spell it out for her. Of all people, Brooke should have understood.

“What am I missing?”

The quiet concern in her voice broke down the wall of stubbornness he’d erected around his wounded pride. He dropped his chin and shook his head, desperately wanting to share the weight but unwilling to simply unload it.

“You wanted to do more,” she concluded at last.

Brian closed his eyes, letting the undiluted relief surge through him unchecked. She sat up abruptly and the notebook fell to the deck unheeded. Warm fingers closed around his wrist. Her breast pressed against his arm. She brushed a tender kiss to his shoulder before resting her cheek against the spot.

“Of course you did.”

“I offered my services in a few different capacities, but all the research and testing teams seemed to have all the help they needed.”

She huffed her disbelief. “How? Why?”

“Somehow my so-called celebrity managed to eclipse my expertise.” He turned his head and offered a wan smile. “Then the whole thing with the friggin’ volcano blew sky-high and my credibility went in the crapper.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to let the rage of those endless weeks boil over into his time here with her. The whole world knew his brand-spanking-new
Voyager
producer spliced some spectacular footage of an undersea volcanic eruption from 2006 into an episode he’d shot concerning the aftermath of the 2011 tsunami. Within minutes of the airing, people he’d thought of as friends and colleagues started e-mailing him lengthy dissertations on the differences between earthquakes and eruptions. Late night talk show hosts added jokes about epically slow-moving tsunamis to their monologues. The
National Globe
informed the world he’d been dumped by both Miley Cyrus and Kim Kardashian and featured a quote from Brittany Spears saying she was disappointed he wasn’t as “super-smart” as she thought he was.

Turning to Brooke, he forced the words out from between taut lips. “Some people think my Ph.D. lost all meaning the moment I signed a contract and strapped on an action camera.”

Indignation flared in her eyes. Seeing the spark helped cool his anger. As if he could let her take up the fight for him. As if he would.

Wearing a tight smile, he raised one eyebrow. “I guess it’s kind of funny, considering my credentials were what landed me the job with the network to start.”

Brooke snickered softly and he jerked back. Bright amusement lit her eyes, but he’d meant funny in an ironic, totally unlaughable way.

“What?” he asked.

“Your credentials may be impeccable, but they sure as hell aren’t what scored you a job strutting around on TV in a wetsuit.”

Offended, he glared at her. “I don’t strut.”

“Swagger, then.” She ran her fingertips across his chest then tweaked his nipple. “A few other bits of you are equally im-
pec
-able.”

The playful flick of her finger sent a crazy zing of pleasure-laced pain zipping through him. Her nonchalance was both soothing and annoying. Soothing because saying these things, sharing the hurt he’d kept hidden for three years with someone who might be able to relate, felt damn good. Annoying because he was spilling his guts out, but he had a sneaking suspicion his grievances were going to be met with a pat and a murmur along the lines of ‘oh, poor baby.’ Maybe an ass slap. If he was lucky.

He opened his mouth to issue a retort, but she silenced him with one finger against his lips.

“Brian, they picked you because you had the looks
and
the smarts. But if I can tell you one thing from experience, people favor one over the other.” She lowered her hand. This time a sad smile accompanied the shrug. “They usually pick the wrong one, but not much you can do about human nature.”

He tugged on a lock of silky blond hair. “You should know.”

“And you know genetics are as predictable as the lottery.”

Pressing his forehead to hers, he sighed. “You came up a winner right off the bat.”

“And you are like one of those Megaball jackpots that keeps building and building over time.”

He chuckled and shook his head, bemused by her analogy. “Only suckers buy in on those.”

Brooke grinned as she rolled back, catching his hand in hers and using the power of a beautiful naked woman and the laws of momentum to pull him down with her. “Who can resist the possibility?”

“I prefer probabilities.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, her nails leaving trails of tingles in their wake. “And still you gave it all up. Walked away from the career you’d built because someone screwed up and you became the butt of a few lame jokes. You always did have too much pride for your own good.”

He refused to take the bait she dangled. Instead, he simply nodded. “Finished out my contract and broke my agent’s heart.”

“Your agent.” She laughed and shook her head.

The movement made the tips of her breasts rub against his chest. The sensation had him racking his brain for one of those lame jokes. Anything to make it happen again. Shifting his weight from his hands to his elbows, he settled himself on top of her. His dick pressed into the soft curve of her stomach. Silky thighs rubbed against his. His groan turned into a growl when she wrapped her endless legs around him.

“I can’t believe you have an agent.” She grinned up at him. “She seems nice, though.”

“I can’t believe I’ve got you naked and pinned to my bed. And my agent is a shark. Trust me, I should know.”

A feline smile curved her full lips. “What are you going to do with me now…Dr. Dalton?”

“I’m going to show you how dedicated I am to my”—he tucked his chin to his chest and glanced meaningfully at their bodies pressed close and tight— “research.”

“I hear it’s not how big your credentials are, but what you do with them.”

“Lucky for you, I’m an overachiever.”

* * * *

The smug smile Brooke wore told Brian she knew he was watching. The hectic color in her cheeks said she liked it. He’d learned to live with the day-to-day shock and awe inspired by the ocean’s ruthless power and might, but of all of the breathtaking sights he’d seen, Brooke Hastings bare naked in his tiny galley had to be the most striking.

Turning to face him, she licked the knife clean as a whistle before tossing it into the tiny sink. He smirked at the paper coffee filter she’d re-purposed into a plate, but it was damn hard to play it cool when she sucked a glob of grape jelly from her thumb.

“Like what you see?”

“Very much.” He took the triangle of sandwich she offered. “I told you I’d take you out for a bowl of gumbo or something.”

“I like it here.”

“Do you not want to be seen with me?” The question popped out of his mouth before he could snare it. He cringed when she paused, her half of the sloppy sandwich poised at her mouth.

Her forehead puckered in confusion. “Are you kidding?”

Her incredulous tone was gratifying, but it didn’t dissolve his need to know. He’d already stepped in it. He might as well get the answers he craved. “Mostly, but not really.”

“I didn’t want to go out because we’d have to wear clothes.”

Looking at her, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever questioned her wisdom. He caught a flash of white teeth just before they sank into mushy white bread. A stream of purple jelly slithered down the side of her hand. One lucky drop fell to her pink-tipped breast and he cursed himself for being a fool. A crazy, pathetic, needy fool who dared to question the benevolent gods who brought her back into his life.

“You know, you’re not exactly the class nerd anymore, Bri.” Scooping the lucky drip of jelly from her breast onto her fingertip, she offered it to him. “And I’m not the queen of anything these days.”

“You have a Pulitzer Prize nomination.”

“Right. It’s an honor to be nominated and all. Blah, blah, blah.” She took another healthy bite of her PB&J. “But that’s okay,” she muttered as she chewed. “I’ll get it one day.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She fixed him with a pointed glare. “And I can do it with or without your help.” Nudging his elbow, she nodded to the half sandwich in his hand. “You’d better eat. You might need your strength.”

His eyebrows jumped, but he took a tentative bite. Forcing the bread down his dry throat, he watched as she polished her half off in three voracious bites. “What do you mean with or without my help?”

Cheeks bulging, she held up one finger to halt the inquisition as she chewed. He watched the muscles in her jaw and throat work, both aroused and mildly disgusted by her patently un-southern belle antics. His dick stirred with interest when she paused to take a long pull from a bottle of water.

“It means,” she said with a slight gasp, “I have data, sources and experts on call, and a handful of local hot buttons to push.” Brooke offered him a drink from her bottle as she sat on the edge of the bed. And because her mouth had touched it moments before, he took it. “I’ll keep pushing, and eventually I’ll get it out. The idea of using you was a means to an end, but I really don’t need to drag you into this. You’re right. The publicity wouldn’t do you any favors. I’ll find someone else.”

He blinked and his hand clenched. The crackle of plastic bounced off the walls. A small geyser shot from the bottle. It both thrilled and mortified him that she thought she needed to protect him.

“Oh!” The lilting ripple of her startled laughter drew his attention to the bottle crushed in his hand. Her sweet smile softened the glint of mischief in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for this…us.” She waved a hand between them. “I meant the research and stuff. As for the interview…I’ll do it because I need to finish what I start. I wish I could feel better about it.”

Her tone caught him off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s been weird between Nels and me since the nomination.” She heaved a soft sigh. “Nels was my mentor when I started at
The
Courier
. I was silly enough to think he’d be happy about my success, but we both know people aren’t always altruistic, don’t we?”

“No, they aren’t.”

“I cooked a pizza using solar power. You have to admit, it was pretty darn cool.” She cocked her head. “I remember you telling me it would be cool the day we turned in our project ideas, but I guess you were being nice because you were sure you’d win.”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t….” He stammered to a stop when she hit him with a razor-sharp stare. She was right. He was sure he’d win. He didn’t think her project had a snowball’s chance in hell of beating his. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Brooke smiled. “Sorry I kicked your ass, Brian.” Holding out her empty coffee filter, she nodded to his neglected sandwich. “You gonna eat that?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No one likes a know-it-all.”

“Losers don’t like a winner.” She grinned as she plucked the sandwich from his hand and took a huge bite. “My mama taught me the rules,” she said through stuffed cheeks. “In first grade, I beat Laney in the Miss Ice Cream Social pageant and she kicked dirt on my white patent leather shoes.”

“So you’ve been friends ever since?”

“Mama also taught me to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.”

He must have looked shocked because she blessed him with a smile so angelically radiant he had to fight the urge to genuflect.

“Apparently, Emmaline Hastings is the Sun Tzu of Mobile Bay area.” She toasted him with the remnants of the sandwich. “Who knew?”

“And me?”

“What about you?”

“Am I friend or foe?”

Lowering the sandwich, she searched his eyes. “You….” She passed the PB&J back to him then dropped her gaze as she dusted her fingertips on her bare thigh. “For years I wondered why you kissed me. And why so public, so…angry.”

“Wasn’t anger. It was frustration.”