Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1)

by Maggie Wells

  Like the boy she knew long ago, he boasted about his achievements and blushed about his shortcomings. But this older, wiser version wasn’t afraid to bare his deepest, darkest secrets. At least, not to her. He hated sweet tea. An offense apt to get him disowned, according to Brian. Despite the sparse supplies he kept in his galley, he allegedly liked to cook and sprinkled his conversation with culinary tidbits that made her mouth water. But a quick discussion on the merits of satellite radio revealed his musical tastes never evolved past the tenth grade.

  On and on, they talked until their voices grew ragged and his hands grew restless. Hunger, raw and unchecked, drove them higher, faster, harder. They gripped and groped, teeth grazing sensitive skin, nails staking their claim on tracts of damp, slick flesh. The boat pitched and surged with each powerful thrust.

  Brooke slipped away soon after. Citing her impending deadline, she hit the dock at a shuffling run and hustled to the safety of her car as fast as those too-tall heels would allow. But he’d called before she made it out of the lot. By the time she’d reached her apartment, he’d extracted a promise to meet him as soon as the article was turned in. A promise she was all too happy to keep. She just needed a little time to think.

  The whole time she’d been interviewing him, he’d been quizzing her, too. Her hopes, dreams, ambitions. Favorite foods. A lengthy discussion about her distinctly un-Southern love of socks. She usually hated this part. The getting-to-know-you dates when information is mined and milled. But instead of making her feel uncomfortable or picked over, his quiet, thoughtful questions made her want to know herself better. And one thing she knew for certain, it was time to move on. She wanted to write the stories that spoke to her. She wanted to write for an audience who cared about something more than circulation numbers.

  Friday morning, she uploaded the final draft of the profile and a quasi-faithful transcript to the server. The answers he gave were all intact. It was nobody’s damn business if Brian answered the question about his childhood pet while lying atop her panting. She spent another forty minutes glued to her desk, working up the nerve to print the letter she’d written and tap on Nels’ door. Now was as good a time as any.

  The Perry White wannabe actually plucked the Sharpie he chomped like a cigar from his teeth and waved her away. He said he hadn’t opened her e-mail yet. He lied. She’d requested delivery receipts on the e-mail. Not that Nels would know what those were. The man was a troglodyte. But after her conversation with Brian the night before, she had to admit she was feeling a bit like one, too.

  She hadn’t made the leap from print journalism to digital media despite the numerous offers she’d had. Only Brian could make her admit it wasn’t the perceived prestige of an established newspaper keeping her under Nels’ thumb. It was fear, plain and simple. Though she’d teased Brian about walking away from his career, a part of her admired his bravery. It was probably the same part that could never quite hate him for humiliating her on graduation day. She’d wanted him to turn around, come back, and kiss her again.

  Armed with her new take-no-prisoners attitude, she carefully placed the envelope containing her resignation at the center of Nels’ blotter. The bulldog sneer on his face made it easier to say the words she’d long dreamed of saying. “I quit.”

  She agreed to the customary two weeks’ notice before hotfooting it down to Dauphin Island. The deed was done. She was now officially a short-timer. So far, the freedom felt damn good. Brooke had surprisingly few regrets about her decision. For a woman who’d spent most of her life following a plan, she was learning to master the art of impulse. And she liked it.

  She must have broken at least ten traffic laws in her rush to get to the marina. But now, rocking gently with the lapping wake, she was in no hurry to be anywhere else. At least, not for a little while.

  Propped on one elbow, Brooke watched Brian’s face as he slept the sleep of the satiated. A short time before, he’d held her pinned under him, immobile and completely at his mercy. She liked that, too. A lot. The man was like algae. Hold still too long and he grew on a girl. Bio-chemical reaction was the rational explanation she had for how she might possibly fall for someone so hard so fast. But she wasn’t feeling particularly rational.

  Just over twenty-four hours had passed since she first stepped foot on his boat—a week since she laid eyes on him for the first time in over a decade—and now she’d laid eyes, lips, hands and…everything else all over him. Repeatedly. She hoped to have the chance to claim every inch of territory again once he awakened. But as it was now, she was content to enjoy the view.

  She smiled into the gloaming as the impetus for all this change snuffled and mumbled in his sleep. Brian Dalton, the greatest frenemy she ever had, was now her lover. If that wasn’t a sign of cataclysmic change, Brooke had no idea what was.

  Laney would be shocked, of course. Not only by her relationship with Brian, but by her resignation. Though she liked to whine about her job as much as the next girl, she’d never told her friend she was considering taking a leap. Her father might be a bit taken aback, too, but Brooke suspected he knew she was restless. She was sure to hear some choice words from her mother, but she knew Emmaline’s nagging was borne of her own special brand of motherly concern. Soon she’d be canceling her subscription, bad-mouthing the paper to all her friends, and buying her daughter a giant tube of overpriced wrinkle cream to see her through the transition.

  The air cooled considerably as the sun sank. Marina lighting filtered a faux-amber glow through the tiny windows. The deep, steady rise and fall of Brian’s chest made Brooke’s fingers itch to touch. His handsome face relaxed and immobile, he looked like the boy who borrowed her pencil once upon a time. Mile-long lashes shadowed his cheekbones. The tip of his nose was peeling. But this Brian was all grown up. He was bigger, bolder, but maybe a little bit broken.

  “Bri.” She breathed the single syllable, knowing she should wake him and go, but loath to put the plan fully in motion.

  He drew a deep, steady breath then let it go on a hum. “Sleep.”

  She smiled at the drowsy response. The waning light highlighted the faint streaks of white marks fanning from the corners of his eyes. Those little fissures, like the teeny-tiny cracks she found in his cocky exterior, made him more desirable. She’d gone into the assignment thinking she’d knock off a quick profile of a guy she thought she knew, use his expertise for the series of articles she’d already worked up, and exploit his celebrity as a means of leveraging the power of the press for good and not evil. It seemed like a sound plan at the time.

  Brooke never expected to be as drawn to him as she was. The vulnerability she’d uncovered tugged at her. She knew better than most what a fickle commodity confidence could be. She was a writer, subject to the whims of public opinion and constantly on the verge of rejection. And being a former beauty queen’s only daughter was no picnic, either.

  The soft peacefulness of Brian’s expression tugged at her. She’d be willing to bet she’d had more ego-deflating experience than the delectable Dr. Dalton would ever know. He was still reeling from the attacks on his professionalism. Despite an adolescence spent on the outside looking in, Brian had never doubted himself or his abilities. Until now. And she was just the girl to help him over that particular hurdle. She’d leaped it a few times already. Granted, her moment of mortification played out on a high school stage, while his on a national one. But in the end it all came down to how one felt inside. And right now, she couldn’t imagine feeling any better.

  With their legs entwined and soft breaths stirring her hair, she floated along on a cloud of happy alertness. The gentle splash of water against the hull should have soothed her to sleep, but she couldn’t shut off her mind. No matter how she tried to distract herself, every thought she had seemed to circle back to Brian’s simple statement about their relationship.

  His best friend.

  The urge to kick him in the shin seized her. Of course, her feet were bare and such a kick wou
ld hurt. Though he was no longer the bony boy he’d once been, her toes were sure to come out the losers. Their odd friendship had been cloaked in academic competition, but she never thought he’d resort to dirty tricks in his quest to finally beat her. His refusal to share his chemistry notes still stung. It also explained why their graduation day kiss left a bitter taste in her mouth. They had been friends in a way, and now she knew he’d deliberately hurt her because she’d inadvertently hurt him.

  A sharp pang twisted in her gut. She surrendered to the pull of the shadowy cabin and slid down onto the pillow beside him. Brian turned into her, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. Her breathing matched the easy, rhythmic cadence of his. She ran the arch of her foot over the curve of his calf. No, she wouldn’t kick him. How could she, when Brian’s big hand sought hers in his sleep?

  She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Between the two of them, they had enough ego to float his fancy boat. But more, they shared a crazy connection she couldn’t explain with something as simple as mutual understanding or common background. It ran deep. Like a riptide. Each time he kissed her, she felt an inexplicable and irresistible pull. An undertow threatening to carry her away. Now, when she looked into his fathomless brown eyes, she realized she’d had the key to that precious chemistry test all along. She simply didn’t know it.

  The second the corny thought wafted through her brain, she blew it away with a huff. The dying daylight painted the low ceiling with red-gold waves. A few diehard gulls screeched outside. She had to go now or she never would.

  “Brian?”

  “Hm?”

  “I need to go.”

  Dark lashes fluttered then his eyes popped open wide. “No.”

  Brooke’s smile was as reflexive as his answer but genuine nonetheless. “No? Oh, okay. If you say no….”

  One glimpse at his granite jaw told her the teasing was wasted. His arm tightened and he hauled her closer, using the rest of his body to stake out the territory his arm and leg hadn’t already immobilized. “I want you to stay.”

  Her phone beeped and Brooke sighed. She didn’t need to see the alert to know it was another text from her editor. She didn’t want to talk to Nels. No need to hash out the interview. Brooke wasn’t about to write the sensational piece he envisioned and she no longer needed the safety net The Courier provided. Not with Brian by her side. She was full of him. Consumed. Satiated. Infatuated. And selfish. She had no desire to share him with anyone else ever again. If Nels tried to make one change to her article, she’d fight him tooth and nail. And she felt too damn good to fight right now. Settling back against Brian, she slowed her breathing to match his again.

  A part of her was half-afraid the world would be able to read between the lines. Would they know she’d conducted the interview naked and beard-burned? Would her audience suspect the subject was licking and kissing her, nipping at her nape, and tracing the curve of her back while she asked what tree he aspired to be?

  He draped a heavy arm across her torso and threw a tree trunk leg over hers, snuffling in her ear as he settled in again.

  An oak.

  Brian would choose to be an oak tree. And not any old oak. A live oak, he’d added with his typical need to be as specific as humanly possible. And he was dead-on. Strong, stubborn, and enduring, live oaks were known to withstand the fiercest storms. Like the man beside her, southern live oaks had notoriously deep roots and sturdy branches. If she didn’t know his mother, she might have thought Brian had sprouted from an acorn.

  Stroking the silky hair of his forearm, she smiled. Yesterday, he’d talked with barely any prompting, his story spilling from those sensuous, incomprehensibly soft lips like crude from a busted rig. Today, there’s been very little talking. From the moment she came aboard, he’d proved to be a man of action.

  Turning her head, she squinted until his face came into focus. He looked so sweet and peaceful it hurt her heart. Until he’d drifted off to sleep, she hadn’t realized the outdoorsy handsomeness she’d attributed to sun and sea was actually etched by tension. He wore his fierce determination like a second skin. One he shed only when sleeping. Or climaxing, she thought with a smug smile.

  A boat horn bleated. The circling gulls answered with a fresh round of squawks. Their cozy little love nest rocked and rolled with the pitch of a passing vessel’s wake. The cabin grew darker and darker with each blink.

  “I have a perfectly good bed at home.”

  He cracked an eyelid and she raised both eyebrows.

  In truth, she didn’t want the interlude to end, either. “You do still owe me dinner, though.”

  “I do?”

  “You lured me down here with the promise of food. What do you say? Buy a girl a basket of shrimp?”

  He hesitated long enough to make her wonder if he were actually weighing the cost of a fried shrimp dinner against his TV star savings account.

  “I promise not to order extra hush puppies.”

  Her negotiation tactic broke through. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he gave her a hard, fierce squeeze. When he pulled back, those serious brown eyes danced with mischief. “Let me cook dinner for you.”

  She blinked. “Tonight?”

  “We’ll pick up some supplies, and I can cook while you tell me more about the series you’re working on.” He rolled fully atop her. Soft kisses feathered her cheek and chin and flirted with the corners of her mouth. “Sound good?”

  “Really?” She searched his eyes for any hint of subterfuge. “You’ll help me?”

  Dark lashes lowered as he ducked his head. Hectic color stained his cheeks. His lips lingered at the hinge of her jaw. Rough hands closed over hers, pushing them high over her head, stretching her taut beneath him. He threaded his fingers through hers and held firm, but he didn’t lift his head to look at her. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?” Ragged rushes of warm, moist breath tickled her ear. The hard length of his erection pressed against her belly. “I’ll do anything for you.”

  He shifted and the boat rocked. She couldn’t help but smile when he took advantage of the motion. His chest hair grazed her nipples and their bodies fit together like they were crafted for one another. The pulsing fullness made her sigh. At last he pulled back to stare deep into her eyes. Then she recognized the glimmer shining in those bottomless eyes. Trust and understanding.

  “Anything?”

  He started to move, thrusting slow and sure, driving her up with a brand of methodical determination so breathtakingly Brian she chanted his name over and over. She lay panting, her heart tripping a jackhammer against her breastbone and his face buried in the curve of her neck. And, in a strangely still moment filled with gentle caresses and heaving chests, she felt rather than heard him whisper the promise of, “Anything,” into her damp skin.

  Chapter 10

  The seafood case was cool against Brooke’s back, but Brian’s hard hot body pressed all down the front of her. The sharp edges of his teeth scraped the pulse throbbing below her jaw. She moaned when he swirled his tongue over the afflicted spot. Her eyelids fluttered, too heavy to hold open one moment longer. Her knees wobbled. He pressed his thigh between hers and her muscles turned to jelly.

  “We may have to eat fast.”

  “Or eat later,” she whispered, tilting her head to allow him better access.

  “If we keep this up, we might kill each other.”

  Brooke slipped a hand between their overheated bodies and trailed her fingernails along his fly. “I have to admit I’m impressed with how you’ve kept it up so far.”

  He growled, a low throaty roil of approbation that sizzled through her blood. He pressed forward, thrusting suggestively into her palm. “You do remember we’re out in public, right?”

  “You’re the one trying to melt all the ice in the case.”

  Brian groaned and pulled away. She ducked her head to hide her smile when she saw him glance at the mounds of shaved ice trapped under glass, just to see if they had posed
a threat. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. A thrill raced through her as she watched him master the raw, unapologetic yearning etched into his features.

  Someone cleared their throat loudly. Brooke’s eyes popped open and she whirled to find a chubby man swathed in a stained apron beaming at them. The red stain in his cheeks made it clear he’d been standing there long enough. He winked at Brian then turned the full force of his smile on her. “Can I help y’all?”

  “Shrimp.” Brian blurted the word with a little more force than was absolutely necessary, and Brooke darted a quick glance at him. Hand braced on the glass case, he stared down at the shorter man with what could best be described as a glower. But until he forced a tight smile, it was unclear if he was making a request or calling the man names.

  Biting her cheek to keep from grinning, she gave his arm a conciliatory pat. “You get the shrimp. I’ll go grab a package of pasta.”

  The giddy, girly urge to giggle with glee bubbled inside of her. Brooke hustled away from the seafood display hoping to put some distance between them before it erupted. She spotted the sign marking the aisle she needed and hooked a quick left. A laugh burst free the second the shelving blocked Brian from view. She clamped a greedy hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to let it all out yet. She wanted to keep this loopy, happy giddiness to herself a little longer. Skidding to a stop in front of the packaged pasta, she scanned the selection for the angel hair Brian mentioned.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

  She froze, the tiny hairs on her arms rippling as recognition sank in. “Jack.” The acknowledgment could barely be construed as a greeting, but it would have to do. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyebrows rose and he hefted the shopping basket clutched in his hand. “Picking up a few essentials.”

  He treated her to the kind of insolent once-over another woman might have read as a compliment, but given their history and the fact that she’d rejected him repeatedly since he’d moved back to town, she found it simply creepy.