She was in Vegas.
With Owen.
It didn’t seem real.
Looking over at him, she watched him sign for the room and accept their key cards. This was it. This was happening! He turned to her and smiled, and they walked in relative silence to the bank of elevators. Her mind was going a mile a minute, but she kept her thoughts to herself, unwilling to come off sounding like a babbling idiot.
They had talked the entire time on the plane about how unusual this impulsive behavior was for both of them and how Las Vegas wasn’t someplace either would have chosen to go on a vacation, but then they rationalized how they weren’t going for all of the bells and whistles of the Vegas Strip. It was merely a place to stay on short notice, and most of the time they’d be out at the Grand Canyon. Owen had reached out to his contacts at the Las Vegas Astronomical Society and let them know he was coming in early to tour the area at Red Rock.
And that call had made Brooke’s heart beat a little faster because it meant he wasn’t going to cancel the trip and there was still hope for them to work together. Although she had a feeling that even if she didn’t go on the trip in a professional capacity, she might be able to convince him to let her come along as a friend…or a girlfriend. Just thinking of them on that level had her blushing. They had slept together—basically—but that didn’t mean he was looking to have a serious relationship with her.
Did it?
Either way, he had reached out to the organization and inquired about the best way to go to the canyon that didn’t require sitting on a bus for hours with a hundred other people. His contacts were very accommodating and told him he and Brooke would be able to take a helicopter to tour the area over Red Rock where Owen would be camping with his group. The helicopter would then take the two of them out to the canyon, where they would land and have a couple of hours to explore and take pictures. Brooke didn’t have her paints and canvases with her, but if she had a few hours to explore and take pictures, it would be incredibly helpful for when she got home.
Owen opened the hotel room door, and Brooke walked in, feeling a twinge of nerves. Even though they had spent last night in Owen’s room, the fact that this was their room—together—suddenly seemed huge.
And intimidating.
There was no place to hide. All of her…quirks…were going to be on display, and some of them she had hoped to keep to herself. At least for a while. There was no way she wanted to scare him off quite so soon—not when they were connecting. Swallowing hard, she walked farther into the room and put her bag down. She took a full minute to realize Owen was still standing by the door. She turned and looked at him. “Is everything okay? Do you not like the room?”
Shaking his head, he took a tentative step toward her. “The room is fine. After a while they all start to look the same.”
“Then what’s the matter?” She had a feeling she knew exactly what was going on in his mind—the exact same stuff she was just thinking of. Not everyone was meant to be impulsive, and maybe they should have booked separate rooms or at least a suite.
“I… It seems—”
“It’s weird, right?” she finished for him and smiled when he seemed to completely relax.
“Exactly.” He smiled back at her and finally walked into the room. “I know we talked about it, but now that we’re here, I feel like I’m pressuring you or—”
“Owen,” she quickly interrupted, “I said I was fine with us sharing a room. I know it doesn’t have to…lead to anything. We slept in the same bed last night and survived, right?”
He nodded.
“And if we did it once, we can do it again. Right?”
He nodded again.
Damn. She was almost hoping he’d put up more of a fight—but for which argument, she couldn’t say. There was no doubt that if he asked, she’d strip down and make love with him right then. But if he said he was uncomfortable and wanted to get another room, she’d be on board with that as well. So where did that leave her?
Confused. Utterly and completely confused.
“I wish you’d say something,” she said with a nervous laugh.
Stepping in close, Owen cupped her face in his hands—she liked it when he did that. His gaze was intent as he looked at her. “You never have to worry about anything with me, Brooke,” he said, his words quiet but fierce. “I will never ask anything of you that you aren’t willing to give, and if anything about my being here with you makes you uncomfortable, I’ll leave. Your peace of mind, your happiness, are all that matters. We’re here right now for you. I want to see you paint in nature. I want to watch while you create, and I want to see the joy you get in creating art.” He paused, his gaze scanning her face. “That’s all I want from this weekend.”
How was it possible that this man was still single? How could any woman who had ever met him or spoken to him not see how incredible he was? How selfless and kind? How incredibly handsome and sexy?
Her mouth went dry at the intensity of his gaze, and she licked her lips and watched as those dark eyes zeroed in on that action, and…good Lord she wanted to jump him right then and there. Leaning in a little closer, she was just about to reach up and kiss him when he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and stepped back.
“Why don’t we grab some dinner and maybe do a little sightseeing?” he suggested, but Brooke heard the tremor in his voice. “Thanks to the time difference, it’s still a bit early, and it’s much warmer here than it was back in Chicago, so we can walk around for a while until we find something we want to see. What do you say?”
“I say give me five minutes to freshen up, and let’s go!”
* * *
It was after eleven when they were walking back into the room. They had enjoyed dinner at the hotel and then taken a long walk down the Strip to people watch and check out what all the fuss was about.
Neither was overly impressed. After discussing gambling on their walk, they agreed that it held little to no appeal—not to mention that the smoke in the casinos was a major turnoff—and it was too late for a show. Brooke had been more fascinated by the artistry within the hotels, and Owen had gladly followed her around and listened to her talk about all of it. Hell, he could listen to her talk all night long.
He locked the door and watched as Brooke slipped off her shoes and began taking all of her many bangles from her wrist. Once she was done with them, she took off her hoop earrings. As if forgetting he was there, she stretched and then walked over to the wall of windows and looked out at the scenery for a minute before drawing the drapes.
They were alone, cocooned in this hotel room, and not for the first time, Owen had to wonder what he was supposed to do. Things like this didn’t happen to him. She was the type of girl who used to make fun of him in school—the popular girl, the cheerleader, the beauty queen—and he learned fairly early on to just stay off of their radars. And yet…here she was.
In his room.
Sharing his bed.
It still hadn’t fully sunk in that this was happening. She wasn’t mocking him. This wasn’t a joke, and no one had put her up to it. Brooke was here because she wanted to be here.
In his room.
Sharing his bed.
Yeah, that last one was still the hardest to wrap his brain around.
She turned away from the window, faced him, and smiled shyly. “Are you tired?” she asked, walking toward him.
“A little. It’s been a long day, and we didn’t get much sleep last night either.”
Nodding, she stepped around him and went to grab her suitcase and put it on the luggage rack. “I know. I would have thought I’d be fast asleep by now, but…” She paused and looked at him, her toiletry bag in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but…I need the TV on to help me sleep.”
Relief swamped him. He wasn’t sure what she’d been about to say, but for a minute she ha
d looked so serious it had made him nervous. “I’m fine with that. Really.”
“Okay,” she said with a happy sigh. “Thanks.” Then she went into the bathroom to change.
Owen wasn’t sure what to do as it hit him how he hadn’t given much thought to this aspect of the night. Pajamas. He had grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt to sleep in—even though he preferred to sleep in his boxers—but now he had to wonder what Brooke slept in.
He almost prayed it was sweatpants and a T-shirt too. Anything less than that was going to seriously test his self-control. Shaking off the mental images of Brooke in silk and lace, he went to work on sorting through his own suitcase and getting out what he needed. When he had everything ready and Brooke wasn’t yet out of the bathroom, he kicked off his shoes and walked over to turn down the bed.
She still wasn’t out.
Looking around the room, he found the remote, turned on the TV, and began scanning the channels for something to watch. He found the opening monologue for Saturday Night Live and figured he’d leave it on for now; if Brooke had another preference, she could change the channel. He put the remote on the bed and looked toward the bathroom.
She still wasn’t out.
Now he was back to being nervous. Was she okay? Was she avoiding him? Slowly he walked over to the door and raised his hand to knock when the door opened.
And then he forgot how to breathe.
She wasn’t wearing silk and lace, but she wasn’t wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt either. Thin, wispy straps covered slender shoulders and then came down to meet a modest neckline that gave him just a glimpse of what lie beneath. The light-blue cotton matched her eyes, and when he quickly scanned down, he saw the nightie hit her mid-thigh and showed long, tan legs.
Yeah, he was going to need oxygen. Soon.
“Sorry. All those years of beauty regimens on the pageant scene, and I can’t seem to break the habit.” She let out a nervous giggle, seemingly unaware that her appearance was close to giving him a heart attack. “But my pores look great, so I guess it’s all worth it, right?”
Unable to help himself, Owen reached up and ran a finger along her cheek and marveled at its softness. Even without makeup on, she was stunning. He swallowed hard and forced himself to take a step back. “I’ll um…I’ll take my turn in there now,” he stammered. “I turned on the television, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want to watch. Feel free to change the channel.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They switched places as Owen grabbed his clothes and went into the bathroom to change, making a mental note that tomorrow he wouldn’t have to wait—he could change while she was in here doing her—what did she call it?—beauty regimen. Interesting. Either way, he was a lot faster, and five minutes later he stepped out into the room and noted that there was only one small lamp lit and Brooke was already under the blankets and flipping through the channels.
“Can’t find anything you want to watch?” he asked, casually sliding under the blankets beside her.
She shook her head. “Different channels, different programming… I’ll find something eventually. But if you want to go to sleep and the noise is too much, just let me know and I can read. I have my Kindle with me too. It helps me fall asleep when I can’t find something good to watch.”
“It’s not going to be a problem. I grew up sharing a room with two brothers. Trust me, noise doesn’t bother me.”
Brooke put the remote on the nightstand and moved closer to Owen—there was no discussion, no awkwardness—she simply snuggled up beside him as he wrapped an arm around her. With her head resting on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, he felt complete.
“What are we watching?” he asked softly, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
A loud yawn was her first response before she said, “50 First Dates. I love this movie.”
Looking at the TV, Owen vaguely remembered the movie—not that he’d seen it, but he remembered when it was out many years ago. He looked over at the light that was still lit on her side of the bed. “Do you want to turn out the light?”
She shook her head. “I’ll do it later. After the movie.”
He didn’t give it another thought. He drew her closer and settled in to watch the movie.
* * *
Brooke woke up the next morning feeling slightly disoriented. She was wrapped in Owen’s arms, their legs tangled together, and overall, it seemed like a great way to wake up. His body was such a warm and comforting presence around her that it took a minute for everything else to register.
The television was off, and so was the light. And suddenly…she couldn’t breathe. The room was dark, and she had to start telling herself to relax, that everything was fine and there was no reason to panic.
Except she was.
Completely.
Struggling slightly against Owen, she quickly moved out of his arms and rolled over to turn on the light. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost seven—their alarm was set for eight. She let out a shaky breath as she willed herself to calm down. Owen was still sound asleep, and she was thankful he wasn’t awake to see her panic attack. God, when were they going to end? Five years and she couldn’t overcome the irrational fear of the dark. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer—a plea—for it to end. To be able to move on. Just like she had countless times before.
It seemed odd how she didn’t remember turning off the light or the television, nor did she remember Owen leaving the bed. When was the last time she had slept so soundly?
The previous night.
In Owen’s arms.
With her heartbeat back to normal, she slid back down, curled up against him, and smiled when he hummed his approval in his sleep. Lifting her head, she studied him. His dark hair was mussed, he had stubble on his strong jaw, and his features were relaxed—more relaxed than she’d ever seen them—and he was just so handsome that she couldn’t immediately look away. He fascinated her—everything about him. His mind, his wit, his humor. But it was his sensitivity that captured her heart. She understood his struggles—better than he would ever know—and yet even as he struggled with his own issues, he always sympathized with hers. And Brooke imagined he was the same with others—taking their feelings and fears into consideration before thinking of his own.
He was an amazing man.
Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed and moved her leg against his, letting them tangle together once again. He pulled her in closer, and she went willingly, loving the feel of him from head to toe. It almost seemed a shame how they had to be up early, that the alarm would be going off in less than an hour. But still…it seemed like a nice amount of time to just lie in his arms and relax.
Closing her eyes, she moved a little so her head was on his chest and she could listen to his heartbeat. Slow and steady and exactly what she needed to erase her panic of moments ago. Unable to help herself, she kissed him there—on his muscled chest. The man certainly was full of surprises. He might dress like a nerdy professor—khakis and button-down shirts in drab colors—but she was coming to find he had the body of a GQ model.
It was almost enough to make her purr.
And she never purred. At least…she’d never wanted to. Until now.
Even though they had joked about it yesterday, being here like this still seemed a bit surreal. For far too long Brooke did what her family expected of her. She didn’t take risks and didn’t like to cause any worry. It was hard to be responsible all the damn time.
Not to mention it was boring as hell.
And up until she had gone to Chicago to stay with her uncle, she hadn’t been tempted to toss all of the rules and expectations aside. And if anyone would have told her she would be doing just that and doing it with a man like Owen, she would have laughed.
But there was nothing funny about this. Her feelings for him were strong
and serious and very real.
So much so that it scared her.
A light kiss on the top of her head told her Owen was waking up. One large hand slowly skimmed up her back and fisted in her hair, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him. And when she did, all the breath left her. His expression—always so serious—was even more so right then. The intensity of those dark eyes had her tingling from head to toe.
“Hi,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.
He didn’t answer—just continued to look at her until she wanted to squirm. With his hand fisted in her hair and the heated gaze, there wasn’t a doubt in Brooke’s mind he was fighting what he wanted to do.
What she wanted to do.
So why were they fighting it?
Without breaking eye contact, Brooke slid her leg over his and then moved up so she was straddling him. His other arm banded around her waist and pulled her close until their lips were mere inches apart. His words from yesterday came back to her.
You never have to worry about anything with me, Brooke. I will never ask anything of you that you aren’t willing to give.
She was the one to move the last few inches, her lips brushing his. Her tongue traced his bottom lip, and then she whispered his name again. For a second his grip on her hair tightened.
“You’re sure?” he murmured, his voice a near growl against her lips.
She nodded.
And then they were done talking. Brooke wasn’t sure who moved first, who initiated the kiss. They were of one mind as the kiss went from zero to sixty in less than a second. It was all hot and wet and deep and said everything she couldn’t find the words for.
Owen’s hand roamed down and cupped her bottom and squeezed, the move keeping her completely anchored to him—and oh my, did he feel good. Better than good. Amazing.
And hard. Everywhere.
Sex was something Brooke enjoyed. It was good. But this? This little bit of foreplay? It was hotter than anything she’d ever experienced. She wanted to touch him everywhere and feel his hands on her. Everywhere.
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