by Candis Terry
“I guess I’m lucky then since I know nothing about pets.”
“Looks like you’re learning pretty fast to me.”
“Brooke? We need to talk.”
“Dammit.” Her face turned sullen. “It’s my singing, isn’t it.”
“What?”
“My singing in the shower. I know it’s horrible but I can’t help it. It must have been torture for you to sit out here and listen. I completely disregarded your space. I’m sorry.”
He could give a shit about her wretched singing.
“While I don’t think Carrie Underwood has anything to worry about, it’s not your singing we need to discuss.”
A frown pulled the smooth space between her eyes together. “So we’re completely back in business mode?”
“One hundred percent.” Much to his dismay.
“I suppose now you’re going to apologize for kissing me.”
“It never should have happened. I’m your—”
“Boss. Yeah. I know.” Her shoulders stiffened. “How can I forget when you keep reminding me?”
And now she was pissed. At him. Because he’d been a total horndog dumbshit who couldn’t seem to control himself around her.
“Brooke—”
“No worries, boss. I’ll make sure to stay in work mode from now on.”
Before he could respond she went back into the bathroom and shut the door. Hard. A second later the blow-dryer turned on and, if Dec was right, there was a whole lot of cursing going on beneath the constant whir of the appliance.
Moochie looked up at him with something akin to You really blew that, asshat.
He couldn’t agree more.
They traded places, and while Brooke considered their sleeping arrangement dilemma, Dec took his turn in the shower.
Dammit.
She punched a bed pillow.
He’d liked that kiss.
It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out how turned on he’d been. His body had done a whole lot of talking. And if she hadn’t been his stupid lowly employee, he wouldn’t have stopped at one kiss. But now here they were, living la vida loca because Dec felt guilty.
Maybe she should too.
She didn’t.
She’d known from the start that it would take a monumental shove to move him off the ledge. So maybe she hadn’t planned the wave that had taken her down, but she didn’t regret that Mother Nature had intervened. She just wished Dec’s common sense hadn’t shown up at the wrong time.
Or ever.
He was angry with himself now for letting go, and Brooke knew he’d be angry for a while. She’d seen him stew on things until she’d wanted to yell stop. But that was his way of working things out. He needed to overthink, overplan, overrule. With a little luck and maybe a few more nudges in her direction he’d finally get a clue that falling in love wasn’t something the head had any control over. He had a big heart, and that was the organ she hoped would eventually reign over anything else that popped up in its way.
If he didn’t fall in love with her today there was always tomorrow.
Some things were worth waiting for.
He was worth waiting for.
Even if the girls in the lingerie department would be happy with a little attention in the meantime.
Several minutes later he came out of the bathroom, dark hair damp, and wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt. She could almost read his mind—fully clothed would make it easier to resist temptation.
But both of them had been fully clothed in the ocean and it hadn’t mattered.
Covertly he scanned her, and the boy shorts and tank top she wore, up and down. A deep breath later he pointed toward the bed where she’d hung extra sheets she’d gotten from housekeeping from corner post to corner post and asked, “What’s . . . that?”
“I saw something like this in an old Clark Gable movie. Figured if it worked for him and Claudette Colbert it could work for us. You know, to keep things all business.”
“Clever idea but not necessary.” He planted his big hands on his lean hips, accentuating the whole perfect physique thing he had going on. “I planned to sleep on the sofa.”
“Well, now you don’t have to. This contraption worked great in the movie.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“You haven’t?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a wonderful Frank Capra film about a runaway heiress who falls in with a newspaper reporter looking for a story. He promises to take her back to the man she’d just married, but they end up having to share a room. So they put a blanket up between them and he calls it the Wall of Jericho. Naturally, they fall in love and the wall comes tumbling down.”
“Figures.”
“You don’t believe in happily ever after?”
His broad shoulders came up in a shrug. “I don’t believe it happens for everyone.”
Neither did she, but she hoped she’d been on Santa’s nice list long enough to qualify.
“Maybe not.” She pulled back the covers on her side of the bed. “I believe we all create our own happiness. But some just prefer to stand by and let it get away.”
“Hmmm.”
She hoped that meant he was thinking about it, but when she looked he was studying the bed and scratching the five o’clock shadow on his chin.
“So how are we supposed to do this? The bed isn’t exactly split in half.”
“It’s in half. It’s just diagonal, like half of a sandwich. One of us can sleep upside down. That way you get more covered room for your body but less for your legs.”
The thoughtful look he gave her flipped her stomach like a stack of pancakes. Either he thought she was out of her mind or . . . he thought she was out of her mind.
“I should probably warn you,” she said.
One dark brow lifted. “About?”
“Moochie sleeps with me. On top of the covers. And usually by my feet. But if I make her sleep somewhere else she’ll whine all night.”
His look of consternation preceded a nod. “I’ve never slept with a dog before.”
“I know.” She sighed dramatically. “I’ve seen the women you date.”
“Ha. Funny.”
“And one more thing,” she said. “Kyle tells me I snore. I don’t believe him, but then I’m always asleep so how would I know.”
“I can give you a report in the morning.”
“Not really sure I need that information.” She scrunched her nose. “I have enough hang-ups already.”
“Anything else I need to be aware of?” He folded his arms across his chest and the T-shirt fabric barely contained his bulging biceps. “Like you’re secretly a serial killer when you sleepwalk?”
“No.”
“Then I guess we’d better get some sleep,” he said. “Long drive ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Like she would get any sleep lying on a bed next to him?
“Can we leave the fireplace on?” she asked. “I love watching the flames dance. They’re mesmerizing.”
Might as well have something to do during the night besides fantasize her life away.
“No problem.” He went around to his side of the bed and she heard him slide between the sheets.
She could imagine him lying there with his dark hair against the white pillow and the covers only pulled up to his waist so she could see the way the cotton smoothed over his broad shoulders and wide chest. Yeah, she’d take that fantasy with her to dreamland.
She turned on her side, tucked her hand beneath her cheek, and watched the flames lick the inside of the firebox.
“Sleep tight,” he murmured.
Doubtful.
Brooke sighed.
Very, very doubtful.
Chapter 5
When morning snuck through the cracks in the shutters, Dec opened his eyes and for a moment forgot where he was. His right arm was asleep and tingling. He’d been warmer than hell all night because of
the T-shirt and shorts he’d worn to bed. Normally he slept naked. But with Brooke . . .
Brooke.
He turned his head and realized that during the night the Wall of Jericho had tumbled down.
He was lying dead center of the bed with her head on his shoulder, snuggled up alongside of him, one arm stretched over his chest and one long leg thrown over his hip. A healthy morning erection tented his shorts.
Ah hell.
He gazed up to the ceiling in a hopeless attempt to regain control. But when she let out a sexy little sigh his body ignored all those previous warnings. Desire ignited with a vengeance.
Her hair smelled like a tropical dessert. Her skin was soft and smooth. And everything male inside him wanted to roll her over and make every cell in her body hum with pleasure. He wanted to taste her skin and plunge deep inside her until they were both exhausted and satisfied. He didn’t know how the hell the wall had come down, how they’d both navigated to the same spot, or how they’d became so interestingly entangled, but until she opened her eyes and realized their blunder—or noticed his raging hard-on—he’d take a selfish moment to enjoy.
After a long hungry look, he gently pushed her long fairy curls away from her face. Her lashes were thick and dark. Her skin smooth and clear. Her dimples were hidden but he knew exactly where to find each one.
God, she was beautiful. And funny. And sweet.
If she wasn’t his employee . . .
Curled up alongside Brooke’s delicious derrière, Moochie sneezed and jarred her master awake. First Brooke stretched, then her eyes popped open and she sprung upright. Neither Dec nor his erection failed to notice the hard peaks of her nipples poking the front of the tank top.
“Oh my God.” She ran long fingers through her tumble of messy curls. “Looks like the wall didn’t work.”
“Definitely not.”
“I’m so sorry. I probably pulled it down. I sleep with a body pillow—a giant teddy bear Kyle bought for me a few Christmases ago in case I ever needed a bear hug. He said it was so I didn’t go out and find some loser boyfriend again.”
“Again?”
She nodded, then sighed. “I almost always learn my lesson the first time.”
Almost always?
His curiosity skyrocketed.
Rolling to his side, he propped his head up with a hand. “What was this loser’s name and what did he do to make him a loser?”
And why did he need to know and what did it matter?
“Zachary. A professional surfer. And he wanted to marry me.”
“He’s a loser because he wanted to marry you?” And why the hell did Dec feel the need to hunt down surfer boy just to punch him in his sunscreened nose?
“No. He was a loser because he spent every dime he made on surfboards, wax, and microbrew. And he wanted to marry me so we could hang loose and chill together forever in the bachelor apartment attached to his parents’ house.”
“Sounds like the guy had lofty goals.”
“He was fun for about three dates.”
“So he wasn’t a longtime boyfriend?”
“No, thank God.” She swept her wild curls back with one hand and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Longtime boyfriends are hard to find in Southern California. Unless you’re into gym rats, wannabe actors, models, or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Or guys who put their careers first.”
Ouch.
She bent her knees then wrapped her arms around her legs, inadvertently hiding the best view he’d had since . . . last night when she’d been wet and cold. “So no longtime girlfriends for you?”
“Not since high school.”
“Seriously?” When he nodded she asked, “What was her name? And how long was long?”
“Cindy and six months. Sadly I was tossed aside for a guitarist with hair down to his waist, who wore black eyeliner and black nail polish and played in a heavy metal band.”
“Awwww.” Her dimples flashed. “And you had no musicality?”
“Nope. No black nail polish either.”
“That is such a sad story.”
The tilt of her head and dramatic pout made him laugh. “It was over fifteen years ago. Until you mentioned it I hadn’t thought of her since we went our separate ways.”
“So you weren’t utterly brokenhearted and staring longingly at her picture day and night?”
“Doubtful. You know how it is in high school. Everyone is fickle.”
“I guess I went to a different kind of school. Either that or I was too oblivious to notice. Still, everyone needs someone to love or we grow old and bitter.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “That’s why I found Moochie. She may not be able to take me to the movies or out to dinner, but she’s a great snuggler. And she’ll keep me from becoming a crazy cat lady.”
He wanted to tell her she did pretty okay in the snuggle department too. But that would be admitting too much and at the moment he was going to have to let her go first in the bathroom so he could pull himself together. Or at least convince his lower half that it wasn’t going to see any action anytime soon.
“So no great loves for you in high school?” he asked.
“Of course there was.” She sighed. “His name was Mr. Cruz and he was my American history teacher. He had dreamy dark eyes and his tie always matched his shirt perfectly. Of course, the idolization was only on my part.”
“Good thing or I’d have to go rearrange his way of thinking.”
“Ah. So you are a Prince Charming.”
“Maybe I just like to fight.”
“Maybe you’re too modest to admit you’d rescue a damsel in distress without giving it a second thought.”
Conversation over.
He knew her mind had gone to last night when he’d pulled her from the ocean. But his went right to that kiss and how much he’d wanted to strip her down and make love to her right there on that beach.
And that could never, would never, happen.
“Time to get dressed and get back on the road.”
By the time they pulled into the driveway to Sunshine Creek Vineyard it was late, dark, and not a creature was stirring. With the exception of food and bathroom stops, they’d driven straight through.
No more fun.
No more flirting.
Definitely no more kissing.
The closer they got to Sunshine Valley, the more closed off Dec became. Right now as they entered the gates that led to his family’s winery, Brooke thought he looked beyond exhausted and ready to get out of the car on a permanent basis. Mostly he looked like he wanted to get away from her.
It wasn’t easy to see much as the car drove down the long winding road into the vineyard and stopped in front of a little brick house.
“This is my grandparents’ place,” Dec said, putting the car in park and turning off the ignition. “It’s the original homestead on the property. This is where my brothers and I used to stay during the summers. It’s not much to look at but it’s private enough that we’ll be able to get some work done.”
“So . . . we’re both staying here?” She tried to keep the hope out of her tone. Having Dec all to herself was a dream come true.
Even if he might not see it that way.
He gave her a sharp nod. “There are a couple of bedrooms and a back patio out by the creek. It has WiFi and a landline. So we should be all set.” He got out and carried their luggage to the house.
With Moochie in her arms she followed as he unlocked the door, turned on a light, then stepped aside to let her enter.
“As long as there’s somewhere to get coffee in the morning, I’ll be happy,” she said.
“The kitchen is fully stocked.” He tossed his keys on a table. “I texted Ryan ahead of time to make sure we were covered.”
Of course he did. Heaven forbid Mr. All Work and No Play missed a relevant point.
The place was cozy. A brick fireplace served as the
focal point of the living room and the leather sofa and chair looked soft and inviting. While she might not have driven a single mile on the trip, exhaustion pulled at the back of her neck even as anticipation fluttered in her stomach. For however long Dec decided to stay, she’d basically be locked up with him inside this adorable little place. Given the close quarters, who knew what could happen?
Ridiculously optimistic that she could reignite the fire in the man who’d kissed her with such passion after he’d saved her bacon, she strolled through the house until she came upon the bedrooms. “Which one is mine?”
“Take your pick. The front bedroom is bigger but the back bedroom’s right on the creek.”
“I’ll take the one in the back. I love the sound of moving water.”
“From what I remember this place is pretty peaceful.” He stood with his hands on his hips, looking around at his grandparents’ former home. “I can’t think of anything that would interfere with your work.”
Work.
Brooke wanted to kick him.
She didn’t want to think about work right now. She didn’t want him to think about work right now. Right now she wanted him to forget he was her damn boss and carry her off into one of those bedrooms and make love to her until she couldn’t walk straight.
“Like I said, I’m great at multitasking. Noise doesn’t bother me.” And she hoped to God he didn’t plan to keep her locked away from everyone like she had leprosy or something.
“Maybe, but I’ll try to make sure no one around here disturbs you.” He carried her luggage into the little blue bedroom with a cozy wedding ring quilt on the bed. “You hungry?”
“I could go for a glass of wine or a beer to unwind if it’s available.”
“I’m sure Ryan stocked the place with the best of the lot.”
With Moochie on their heels, she followed him into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of Essence, and held it up.
“This is a tasty Moscato. Unless you prefer something less sweet.”
“Sounds great.” Anything that might numb, slow down, or send her overactive imagination into oblivion sounded perfect. She tilted her head toward the back door. “Any chance of sharing that out on the back patio?”