by Melody Grace
Brooke looked at him, and she must have seen the desire in his eyes, because her cheeks flushed. “Alone,” she repeated, looking breathless. “OK.”
He pushed open the back door and slammed it shut behind them, propelling her into a blissfully deserted alleyway. Even if there had been another hundred people back there, it wouldn’t have stopped him.
He needed her. Now.
Riley pushed Brooke back against the wall and claimed the mouth that had been teasing him all night. Her lips were soft, parting to let him deeper, and just like that Riley lost control. He kissed her hard and fast, demanding everything she had—and more—and God, Brooke was right there with him, her hands up around his neck, pulling him closer, and her body melting against him, all heat and curves and dangerously sensual surrender.
He tore away from her mouth, already needing more. The curve of her neck, the delicate hollow of her collarbone—he trailed a blazing row of kisses, feeling her gasp and leap to his touch. His hands slid possessively over her waist, roving to feel every inch of her, even through her sundress. He palmed her breast in his hand and felt her shudder, her breath coming faster as he teased through the fabric, peaking her nipple in a stiff nub that he rolled between his thumb and fingertip, teasing harder until Brooke was writhing against him.
Dear God, this woman was intoxicating.
Riley felt like a man possessed. Every thought, every instinct, it was all drowning in her. Capturing her lips again for another fevered kiss, he grabbed her wrists, pinning her in place against the wall as he bent his head and turned his attention to her other breast, licking over the gorgeous swell and pushing the fabric lower to kiss and suck at the stiff peak of her nipple until Brooke’s gasps became a moan.
“Riley . . .”
The sound of her voice was dizzying, a breath of need, and it took everything Riley had not to shove her skirt up and take her right there, driving deep inside the way his body was demanding. But this wasn’t about him. It was her, only her, and dammit if he didn’t need her coming apart for him, crying out his name, and cresting on a pleasure so sweet she couldn’t walk away from him if she tried.
He needed to show her he was the only one who could make her feel this way.
He kissed her again, deliberate this time. His blood ran hot, heart pounding in his ears, but he forced himself to slow, easing her lips open and stroking his tongue deep into her mouth. Brooke shuddered in his arms, still pinned in place, and Riley kept her there, up against the hard brick, as he took one hand and slowly, teasingly, trailed it over her breast and down, down past her hips to rest there at the apex of her thighs.
Brooke tensed. Even through her dress, Riley could feel her, hot and trembling to his touch. He pressed lightly, stroking through the cotton, and Brooke’s whole body seemed to sway closer.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “You need me.”
He pressed again, deeper, and Brooke sucked in a breath.
“We can’t . . .” she whispered faintly. “Not here. People . . .”
Riley stroked again and her words died on her lips, replaced with a melting, “Ohhh.”
It was all the invitation he needed. He hitched her skirt higher, hidden between their bodies, and stroked up her bare thigh, finding her wet and trembling and God, everything he wanted in the world.
Brooke’s head fell back, her eyes shut in ecstasy as Riley teased and caressed her, sliding one finger deep as his palm kept up the pressure right where he knew she loved it most, a soft rhythm that had them both panting, low in the dark of the empty alleyway.
This was where he’d kissed her for the first time, Riley realized through the haze of red-hot desire. Right here in the darkness, with the noise of the street beyond. Back then, he’d been the one in control, surprised by the passion of her kisses and the electric heat that surged between complete strangers. But now?
Now, God, he was the one at her mercy, recklessly coaxing every moan from her lips, strung out on a mix of pride and pleasure and pure, desperate need.
Did she know what she was doing to him?
Did she understand the inferno pushing him on?
Brooke whimpered softly, straining to his touch. She was close, so close, and God, he didn’t think he could hold it together much longer. His body roared to take her, and every muscle wound taut as he slid another finger deeper and pulsed, again, over and over until he felt her stiffen and clench around him, and then he kissed her hard to swallow her cry, feeling her body rise and shake as her climax swept over them both.
She gasped for air, slowly coming back down to earth. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she said at last.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she tried to wriggle free, but Riley kept her there a moment longer, loving the liquid pleasure in her eyes.
He smoothed her skirt down and gently tugged her bodice back into place.
Let her try to forget about him now.
BROOKE WOKE in darkness in a strange room. It took her a moment to realize they were back at Riley’s apartment over the bar. The pale light of dawn was just creeping over the horizon, but his bed was still bathed in shadows, Riley sprawled across the covers by her side.
She watched him for a moment, her skin still electric from his touch. The things he did . . . She could hardly believe it—or the person she was when she was with him. Panting his name louder, begging for more, urging him on no matter where they were, or who could see . . .
She flushed. It was wild and reckless, but it felt too good to ever turn him down. Even in the alleyway last night, she’d taken leave of her senses and surrendered to the pleasure, despite the risk, and how out of character it seemed.
Returning to the scene of the crime.
She smiled, running her fingertips lightly over Riley’s naked back. She couldn’t believe it was just a few short weeks since that first night in the bar. She owed Doug her thanks—if her disastrous blind date hadn’t gone in an unexpected direction, she would never have met Riley, or unleashed this new, sensual side of herself.
She could get used to this . . .
Brooke’s phone suddenly buzzed with a new message, and she leaned over to scoop it from her purse before it could wake Riley. She yawned, clicking through to the text.
I miss you.
She froze.
Brooke clutched her phone, and in a heartbeat, her blood ran cold. She didn’t recognize the number, but the sick lurch in her stomach told her it could only be one person.
One person texting her in the middle of the night, with no introduction, like she should know exactly who it was.
One person who could steal her good mood and send her heart crashing to solid ground.
Archer.
The man in bed beside her stretched and let out a yawn. Brooke quickly shoved her phone away and slid back under the covers with him. Riley tugged her closer, still half-asleep, nuzzling a kiss to her forehead before he drifted off again, but Brooke couldn’t relax. She lay there, wired, her whole body pounding with panicked adrenaline, until she couldn’t take it anymore. She slipped out of bed and fumbled in the dim light to find her clothes, dressing quickly, trying to stay quiet. But she knocked against a chair, and the noise made Riley stir.
“Brooke?” Riley murmured, sleepy.
“Shh,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Its OK, I’m just heading home.”
Riley sat up, awake now. “Creeping out in the middle of the night? Should I be worried?” His voice was teasing, but she saw the question in his eyes.
“Sorry,” she said, guilty. “I can’t sleep. I figured I’d go home, get some work done.”
Riley looked concerned. “Is it your insomnia again?”
“Yup,” Brooke lied. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I need to prep for work, anyway. Go back to sleep.”
Riley drew her closer, kissing her shoulder. “Stay. We can not sleep together.”
Brooke slipped out of his embrace. “Really
, it’s fine. I’m used to it now. You relax, and I’ll call you tomorrow. I mean, today.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, feeling like a traitor. What was she doing?
Brooke paused a moment in the doorway, wishing she could just tumble back in bed and blot the past from her mind with Riley’s lips, and hands, and incredible body, but that wouldn’t be fair to him. Not with thoughts of another man heavy in her mind, pulling her back to the past. “Thanks, for a lovely evening,” she blurted, then hurried out.
SHE DROVE home along the dark roads, the message still burning a hole in her phone. Back at the apartment, she put the lights on and music up, filling the space with as much life as she could manage even at four in the morning, but still, there was no escaping it.
Archer was back.
Back in her messages, at least. Her mind. Her memories. It had been five months now since she’d fled Chicago, leaving all his lies behind, and for some reason, she’d figured that would be enough—that putting a thousand miles between her and that heartbreak would somehow wipe it from the face of the earth.
But of course, she was wrong.
Brooke took a long, hot shower, trying to scrub it all away even as she was flooded with memories of the relationship she’d tried so hard to forget. Just like that, the past months of sunshine and happiness fell away, and it felt like she was back in the middle of it again, her wounds still fresh and aching. All those nights together, those lazy weekend days. Trips, and holidays, and special dinners out for no special reason at all . . . God, it would be so much easier if she could just forget the good times—if learning the truth could have somehow erased them from her mind—but that wasn’t how it worked, was it? She was doomed to remember, in all its excruciating hope and excitement, how it felt to be falling in love with the man of her dreams.
A man who, it turned out, had never existed at all.
Brooke shut off the water and stood there a moment, dripping wet. Her heart clenched with shame and regret, and a desperate, angry ache, as if it were yesterday.
What right did he have to miss her, when she was finally moving on?
Brooke flung the shower door open and grabbed a towel, angrily striding out to find her phone again.
I miss you.
The message was still sitting there, causally, like a time bomb ready to detonate at any moment. But she didn’t have room for it in her life, not anymore. Before she could stop herself, Brooke found herself texting back.
Tell that to your wife. Don’t EVER contact me again.
She hit send with an angry stab of her thumb, then blocked the number and deleted the message, too.
It was gone.
She exhaled. She should feel better now, having banished him back to the past where he belonged, but still, she felt that uneasy twist in her stomach.
Archer didn’t quit that easily. When he wanted something . . . someone . . . he didn’t give up.
Brooke shook her head and put her phone away. Whatever he said or did, it wouldn’t make a difference now. You couldn’t take back that kind of lying, and all the four a.m. texts in the world wouldn’t fix the damage after breaking her trust—and her heart—so thoroughly.
She should have known from the start. She should have seen what kind of man he truly was. But she wasn’t a fool anymore, and that old saying circled in her mind like a protective mantra:
When someone shows you who they are, believe them.
That was why things were working with Riley now—she didn’t have any illusions about their relationship, or what kind of future they had in store. And no matter how much she wondered if maybe they could be more than just a delicious rebound fling, she already knew the answer to that question—and she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
When someone shows you who they are, believe them.
She grabbed her laptop and tried to focus on work.
It was going to be a long night.
18
Brooke threw herself into work that week, trying to distract herself from Archer’s text. She didn’t have to try too hard—with the big Hollywood wedding just days away, she had no time to spare for memories. There were last-minute guest requests arriving daily, travel arrangements to book, and the entire production of the wedding day to schedule, so smoothly the happy couple wouldn’t even notice the labor behind the scenes. By the time Labor Day rolled around, she was elbow deep in wedding favors, and barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone dwell on the ruins of her past relationships.
Her phone buzzed.
Brooke froze, feeling the same sick lurch she’d suffered ever since getting that message from Archer. She should have changed her number by now, instead of having to brace herself whenever she heard the alert, wondering if it was him again. She fished her phone out from under a stack of purchase orders, almost afraid to read the name on the message ID.
Riley.
Brooke exhaled, and clicked through.
What time do you want to meet for the party?
Brooke paused. She’d forgotten about the Sweetbriar get-together, but looking at her list of things to do, she’d be lucky if she was out of here by midnight.
“Brooke?” One of her assistant managers appeared in her office doorway, weighed down with a stack of boxes. “Where do you want the moisturizer?”
“The what?” Brooke put her phone away without replying. She was trying to coordinate the car services to collect everyone from Boston International Airport—a hundred VIP guests arriving over two days all expecting their own luxury sedan to whisk them out to the Cape.
“I think it’s moisturizer?” Jenny nudged a box open with her nose. “Or is it face cream? Anyway, a whole crate of the stuff just arrived out front. The delivery guy says it shipped from California.”
“I have no idea.” Brooke felt frazzled. “Just leave it here, and I’ll try to figure it out.”
Moisturizer? She opened a bottle, and took a sniff. Orange-blossom. Maybe it was for the welcome gifts for the guests, but Brooke couldn’t imagine Bitsy planning something like that, not when there was already a tasteful collection of chocolates, vintage wine, and cigars—just for the gentlemen, of course.
Her phone rang, and she answered, still sniffing the tube. “Hello?”
“Brooke, good.” Meredith’s crisp tone was on the other end. “Where are we on the airport transfers?”
“I have every car service in a hundred miles booked.” Brooke returned to her schedule. “They’re all scheduled to each guest’s arrival, and will be waiting for them in Arrivals.”
“And security?”
“Will be increased here at the hotel. I’ve already hired extra staff for the duration, and talked with the local police force. They know to expect extra activity, and will be on call to help with any crowd control or paparazzi—if word gets out.”
“Which it will, of course,” Meredith sighed. “You can’t have two hundred of Hollywood and DC’s biggest stars descending on one town without drawing attention.”
“Two hundred.” Brooke’s heart stopped.
“Yes, didn’t you get the revised guest list?” Meredith sounded surprised. “I sent it to you ages ago.”
Brooke frantically clicked through her inbox. Sure enough, there was a new message from Meredith titled “tiny change,” sent all of . . . seven minutes ago.
“Double the wedding guests? But . . . we don’t have the rooms.” Brooke gulped.
“Oh, that’s fine. They’re staying in private homes nearby. The Cartwrights have a compound down in Hyannis Port. These are just additional names for the ceremony.”
“Uh huh.” Brooke murmured weakly, already mentally doubling the catering, drinks, favors, seating . . . “Wait, did you guys send face cream?”
“It’s a facial masque,” Meredith explained. “The rest of the supplies will be arriving today. Lila has a sponsorship contract, so we’ll need the toiletries in the hotel all traded out, you understand.”
“Sure.” Brooke added it
to her very long list. “Why not?”
“I’ll let you get back to it.”
“One thing,” she remembered, before Meredith could ring off. “I haven’t heard from Lila.”
Meredith paused. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve left her several messages, but she isn’t replying.” Brooke paused, remembering their last conversation. “I really need her to sign off on a couple of things before the ceremony, and the last time we spoke . . . Did she mention what happened with Bitsy?”
“I’ll do all the signing off you need.” Meredith was firm—and didn’t answer the question. “You don’t need to bug her with these details. The less thinking she does right now, the better.”
“I’d really like her feedback on a couple of these changes,” Brooke pushed. “It’s her wedding, after all.”
“She doesn’t care about the details,” Meredith stated crisply. “Trust me, she just wants all this to be over with.”
“OK . . .”
Brooke hung up, still feeling uneasy. It didn’t sound like a recipe for a perfect wedding, but what did she know? To someone like Lila, it was probably just another big event, like all the red-carpet premieres she attended, just with a different colored dress.
She had bigger things to focus on. Like making sure every guest got to enjoy the benefits of an ultra-hydrating retinol mask. It was going to be another long day.
RILEY CHECKED his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Still no response from Brooke. He’d texted hours ago, and it was no big deal, but it smarted to see the message sitting there: delivered but unanswered.
He wondered if he should send another message. No, that would look desperate. Or would it?
Riley sighed. Was this what his former flings had felt like when he didn’t text them back? If so, karma was having a field day with him right now.
And yes, it was a bitch.
He looked around the bar, restless. Like every holiday, they were packed out with happy tourists, pink-eared from the beach. He should be happy to see the business thriving, but for some reason, he remembered Cooper’s questions—and his brother’s annoying teasing during his visit.