by Susan Fox
“Oh.” He knew what it was like and still he hadn’t rejected her. She swallowed hard. The worst part was over. “Anyhow, a doctor at the hospital diagnosed me. I saw a psychiatrist, got started on lithium and it’s been amazing. My condition is under control.”
She picked up her mug of cinnamon-apple tea and curled up in her favorite chair while Jake again made himself comfortable on the couch. “It was an eye-opener. I’d had a lot of reasons for drinking but the main ones were Mo and my own depression. Well, Mo was gone and I realized that at least some of my depression was due to a chemical imbalance in my brain. My stay in the hospital dried me out, and the night they released me, I went to my first A.A. meeting.”
There. It was all out, on the table, the whole truth about Brooke Kincaid. She felt exhausted, drained, but also lighter and freer.
“You haven’t had a drink since the night of the accident?”
She had relaxed too soon. Darn him for asking that particular question. Of course, she could just nod and let it go....
His smoky eyes were steady on her. How did he manage to be so nonjudgmental?
“I faltered a couple of times in the first few months. But I hated the way I felt. So I finally stuck at it.”
“Four years, ten months, and thirteen days.” His smile was far too warm.
Sexual heat, and now genuine warmth. She didn’t know how to deal with this.
She put down her mug, determined to get back to safe ground. “All right, we need to go over the family tree and some more family history. Then I guess you’ll want a run-down on some of the people in town? The RCMP officers, mayor and council, chamber of commerce, and so on?”
“Let’s stick with the family stuff tonight. I know you’re tired. It’s been a stressful couple of days. I’ll get up when you do in the morning and we can talk while you’re making appetizers. Maybe I’ll even help.”
“Do you know how to make mini-quiches?” she asked mischievously.
“Hey, I learned to take the stew out of the can before I nuke it. I’m trainable.”
There’d been times she’d eaten tinned stew for dinner, cold, straight out of the can. When she’d bothered to eat at all. Did Jake really feed himself from cans? Maybe when he was undercover and didn’t have some pretty woman in his life to share his meals.
Yesterday, with his scruffy beard and leather jacket, with his motorbike and his gun, it had been easier to believe he was familiar with danger. Tonight, in his Arnold Pitt getup, it was far more difficult. And that, of course, was the point of the disguise. She mustn’t fall for it herself. She must never forget who this man really was, and how poles apart their lives were. He risked his life on a daily basis; she sought to maintain stability and balance one day at a time.
“As for the respectable citizens of Caribou Crossing,” he said, “I’ll raise the subject tomorrow at your son’s place. It’s a natural topic for Arnold to be interested in.”
“All right then, let’s talk about the family. Do you want a pad of paper and a pen?”
“I’ll remember.”
And, as she recited details she’d all but forgotten herself and responded to his occasional query, she did get the sense that his brain was filing each piece of information methodically. His body must be aching but he gave no sign of it.
For her, talking about her family was stressful. She’d been close to her parents and sister, then had drifted so far away, letting her abusive husband be the anchor that held her down. After Mo left, it was her drinking and her depression, her misery and embarrassment at what a mess she’d made of her life, that kept her out of touch.
As part of her A.A. twelve steps, she’d contacted her parents and sister to confess her alcoholism and bipolar disorder. Since then, she’d sent birthday cards and an occasional e-mail and they did the same, but they had their own lives. They didn’t need her.
As she talked to Jake, it struck her that she wanted to try harder. Perhaps she would even fly down for a visit. Or invite them up, when Jess delivered the new baby. Her parents hadn’t seen their grandson since he was an infant, and now they were missing their great-grandchildren, too. All because of her. And then there was her sister, Erin. They’d shared a room, been so close....
Brooke realized Jake had risen from the couch and was standing in front of her calling her name. “You’re exhausted. Asleep in your chair.”
“Not asleep. Just reflecting. Making some new resolutions.”
“Oh? Want to talk about it?”
She smiled up at him. The man sounded sincere. And she did find herself wanting to tell him. But not tonight. His face was drawn with pain and fatigue. “Some other time. We’ve both had enough for tonight.”
He sank down to squat in front of her, which must have been sheer misery for his wounded body, and gripped her hands where they lay folded in her lap. “Are you sure you’re all right with this? We can still find another way, without involving you.”
Her hands felt warm and safe, enfolded in his. She shook her head. “Count me in. Unless you’re having second thoughts. I don’t have professional training, but—”
“You were perfect with Sergeant Miller. I’m not worried about your competence; I’m worried about you. This is a lot to ask you to take on.”
The stress, he meant, not just her safety. She was a bit worried herself. After all, she was the woman who lived her life by structure and routine. And yet . . .
“You know,” she said with a sense of discovery, “I’m actually excited. In a good way, I think. Not manic, just energized. Like I said, I had a wild side as a girl, a side that craved excitement and adventure. I’m getting in touch with that part of myself again. It’s like living in a mystery novel. It’s almost fun to have a legitimate—even honorable—excuse to lie, to play a role. Besides, I’m not in it alone, am I? I’ve got you.”
“Partners,” he said warmly.
“Partners,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady as she prayed she’d be able to live up to his expectations.
“And now,” he said, “I bet you’d like a nice relaxing bath.”
That would be the second thing on her wish list. First was to tug on his hands, pull him closer, taste that sensual mouth...
No, she was getting carried away by the unaccustomed thrill of letting a little excitement into her life.
“I’d love a bath,” she murmured. “You take the bathroom first, then you can get to sleep.”
“If you think I’ll be able to sleep while you’re splashing around naked in the bath . . .”
As a general rule, Brooke found baths to be very relaxing. But tonight, even though she was exhausted, the knowledge that Jake was just across the hall kept every nerve in her body alert. It would take nothing for him to walk the few steps and open the door.
She knew he was thinking about it. Just as she was.
It would take nothing for her to get out of the bath and walk those same few steps.
She rotated her head on achy shoulders and sloshed warm water—water scented with dried lavender and rose petals from a homemade bath bomb—across her breasts. She glanced down at her naked body. Yes, since she’d been diagnosed she’d exercised and dieted herself into decent shape, but the fact remained she was a forty-three-year-old grandmother.
It was still difficult to believe that Jake found her attractive, but his body’s response was undeniable. Maybe he’d been undercover and hadn’t had sex in months, and he was just horny. But there was a personal kind of sparkle in his eyes. Something that said he really was looking at her, Brooke Kincaid, not just at a body with breasts and hips.
As for her being attracted to him—well, any woman would be. He was a stunning man, whether sporting the gypsyish long hair and beard or the trim haircut she’d given him. Utterly stunning. Sexy. In perfect shape. Perfect, virile shape. Not to mention that he was strong, brave, and smart, yet could also be gentle, understanding, and nonjudgmental.
He was really pretty darn amazing.
What would it hurt to have sex with him?
She squeezed her thighs together against the ache between them.
They both wanted it.
She hadn’t wanted a man forever, which made her body’s unabashed reaction to Jake an utter surprise. Why not give in to it? They could have a fling. A wanton fling with absolutely no consequences.
She squeezed shower gel onto a bath sponge and sat up to soap her neck and shoulders. The sponge had the same rough texture as Sunny’s tongue. Her flesh stirred and prickled at its caress. Sex . . .
She and Mo had had some hot sex in their day, but gradually sex had become a tension-fraught act. Rarely did they join out of affection and pleasure. It was make-up sex after a fight, or sex to distract him from getting angry and hitting her. Could she ever enjoy sex unreservedly?
Did she even still remember how to have sex? She’d had only one lover. How many had Jake had? Dozens? He’d be good, very good.
She lay back against the bath pillow and considered that notion. Maybe not. He was a man who lived for excitement and danger. He might be quick and greedy. But somehow she didn’t think so.
He’d find her boring, inadequate. Middle-aged. She shuddered. It couldn’t happen.
What was she thinking? Even if lust overcame her common sense, she knew for sure it couldn’t happen. She hadn’t bought condoms and she certainly wasn’t going to risk pregnancy!
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There, the question was answered and she could relax. Gradually the tension slipped from her body and, in its absence, exhaustion seeped into her bones. Bed was going to feel so good tonight. If she ever managed to summon the energy to pull herself out of the tub.
Jake sure as hell wasn’t asleep. He lay in the darkness sporting a boner and wondering how long Brooke was going to linger in the bath. If she fell asleep, he’d have to go rescue her.
The phone shrilled and he jerked upright, cursing as pain lanced through his injured body. The phone sat on the bedside table. She’d forgotten to take it away, and the only other handset was down in the kitchen. Who was calling, and what would they do if she didn’t answer?
He heard splashing and thumping from the bathroom; then she darted into the bedroom, a dripping vision wrapped in a fluffy rose-colored towel. His hard-on went on full alert.
Her legs, which he’d always seen in pants, were long and lean. Her arms, too, were well-shaped. Above the towel, her shoulders were strong and the top curve of her breasts was pure femininity. She’d washed her hair; it was damp, piled haphazardly atop her head, a few unruly tendrils clinging to her forehead and neck. Her skin was flushed almost as rosy as the towel, and the air filled with the scent of roses.
“No, you didn’t wake me,” she said breathlessly into the phone. She covered it with her hand and whispered, “It’s all right; it’s my neighbor. He’s a night owl.”
He nodded and leaned back against the pillows.
Brooke’s gaze traced his naked torso, then dropped lower, to where only a sheet draped his lower body. A sheet that was tented by his erection.
She moistened her bottom lip and glanced away.
Into the phone she said, “Yes, Sergeant Miller dropped by here, too. He was looking for some man who robbed Vijay’s store. I hadn’t seen or heard anything strange myself. How about you? Were you able to give him any help?”
As she listened, her free hand kept a death grip on the top of the towel.
He could reach out and with one hand yank that towel away.
Perhaps she read his intention. She took another step away from the bed and turned her back on him.
He admired the curve of her spine, the roundness of her backside under the towel, the firmness of her calves.
“Yes, he asked me about that,” she said. “Though I can’t see what it’s got to do with the thief he’s looking for.” She listened again, then said, “It’s all right.”
Another pause, and then, softly, “Ray, just so you know, I wasn’t drinking.”
After he replied, she said, “Thanks. I really appreciate that. Good night.”
Brooke stood for a moment, still with her back to Jake, then turned around. “Ray apologized for telling the police about my accident. He was flustered by having Sergeant Miller on his doorstep. He also said he didn’t figure I’d been drinking.”
She looked solemn, relieved. Beautiful. Without seeming to be aware of it, she stepped closer to him and put the phone back on the nightstand.
He couldn’t resist any longer. He reached out, grabbed the hem of her towel, and gave a little tug. It wasn’t strong enough to pull the towel from her grip, just enough to urge her toward him.
She didn’t move.
If she resisted they might end up in a tug-of-war. He had a sudden vision of both of them stark naked, the towel stretched between them as each yanked their own end.
“Sergeant Miller asked him if he heard a motorbike,” she said, her voice breathless again. “He didn’t. He’s a little deaf.”
Jake should care, but at the moment all that mattered was Brooke. He tugged again, gently.
She let him pull her toward the bed, then down to sit on the edge. “Jake—”
“You’re beautiful, Brooke. God, you’re so beautiful.” His fingers, still gripping the hem of the towel, rested on her thigh. If he moved his fingers a few inches . . . But he didn’t. He didn’t want to scare her away.
That flowery scent filled his nostrils and he breathed in greedily. Tonight she was a garden. Simple scents like rose and lavender, but underneath hovered that exotic tropical aroma he’d noticed before. “What’s that scent in your shampoo?”
“My shampoo?”
“Some kind of tropical flower. It makes me think of Polynesian women with grass skirts and blossoms tucked behind their ears.” And bare breasts.
“It’s called plumeria,” she murmured. “You’re right, it’s tropical.”
He reached out to take a curl between his finger and thumb.
A pulse jumped at her throat. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. Why fight it? You’re attracted, too. Aren’t you?”
A pause, then she said, “Yes.”
He took his hand from her hair and nodded. “You don’t like to lie.”
She stared down at his other hand, where it rested half on the towel and half on her naked thigh. “No. Once, lies were such a habit, I couldn’t tell them from the truth. Now it means a lot to me to know the difference, and choose honesty.”
He felt a surge of regret. “And I’m making you lie.” He released the towel.
She could leave now, but she didn’t.
“I think we should call this cousin thing off,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to lie for me. I’ll work out some other story.”
She shook her head assertively. “No, we’ve been through this before. I won’t feel guilty about lying this time. Like I said, it’s kind of exciting. Besides, it’s the safest way. It gives you the best cover.”
He reached for her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. “It’s not the safest way for you. It’s safer if you don’t even know me.”
She stared fiercely into his eyes. “No! You’re my cousin, Arnold Pitt.”
“Why, Brooke?”
“Because of Anika and her parents. Because of me; I want to do this. And because . . .” Her glance drifted down to touch their linked hands. “I care what happens to you.”
Her and her honesty. It made him want to be honest, too. “And I care what happens to you. I don’t want to put you in danger and I don’t want to make you lie.”
“You’re not making me do anything. This is my choice. And I’ve made it. So would you please shut up about it?” Her ocean-colored eyes glittered, and the energy flowing between them was so strong he couldn’t resist it.
“Hey, Brooke?”
Warily she tilted her head. “What?”
“If you’ve got a craving for excitement, maybe we could start
out with something that’s exciting but not too dangerous.”
Her cheeks grew pinker. “What did you have in mind?”
“How about a kiss?”
Her face stilled; then her lips curved into an impish grin. “You don’t think that’s dangerous?”
The only danger was that he’d combust spontaneously, he was so on fire for her. “Just a kiss. Or maybe two.”
She glanced down at the tented sheet and gave a little shiver. “That’s not all you want.”
“I don’t have any condoms. So, unless you have something . . .”
She shook her head.
“I’m clean,” he said. “I swear. But we can’t risk pregnancy.”
“We certainly can’t!”
“Then it can’t get too dangerous.” He released her hand and fingered the top of the towel where it wrapped across the front of her body.
Her own hand still held one corner firmly.
He ran his fingers up to hers, cupped her hand, and tugged her closer.
Chapter Ten
Brooke held tight to the towel, though her hand was trembling. So were her knees. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in decades.
One lover, that was all she’d ever had. She’d never been attracted to anyone but Mo. Not until now. Now she was seriously attracted. So attracted her body coiled tight with desire and anticipation.
What was the harm in just, for once, abandoning caution and going for it? Although she’d known Jake only a short time, she was positive he wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically. And he couldn’t hurt her emotionally because she knew this was just sex, and he’d leave when his job was done.
But sex with him wouldn’t be a cold, emotionless act either. She cared for him and he cared for her, and that was something to celebrate.
She had two choices: keep their relationship platonic and suffer the might-have-beens, or make the sexy most of their time together.
He wasn’t into serious relationships, which was perfect. She couldn’t let herself contemplate anything serious because she wasn’t capable of that kind of responsibility. Much less handling the stress of being with a man who on a daily basis faced danger. But Jake was offering something very different—something her lustful body told her she was more than capable of.