by J. A. Dennam
Ethan rounded the building with his lawn chair in one hand and his jacket draped neatly over an arm, though he still wore slacks and a dress shirt. He must have forgotten a change of clothing—or rather forgotten how hot it got in southern Florida, because his shirt was already mottled with sweat.
“God, he’s such a tourist,” Brooke muttered under her breath while Roger greeted Amy and Miranda behind her. “I mean, look at him.”
“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” Amy said, wrapping an arm around Brooke’s shoulders. Her platinum chin-length hair was pulled back by a pair of retro square sunglasses. “And I still say he’s quite delicious.”
When Ethan hooked his jacket over the back of the chair and finally sat down, he noticed them staring. Brooke knew then that he had figured out her plan because his brows lowered. “Hey,” he barked. “No one said you could have help.”
She smiled. “No one said I couldn’t.”
Roger headed toward the grass and Miranda joined them, her purple bikini top and cutoffs bursting with her curves. “Why, I do believe your tourist is the only one not happy to see us.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Brooke replied with a barely contained smile. “His focus will shift soon enough. Speaking of which, how can I ever repay you guys?”
Amy made a dismissive “tssk” and ran a hand over her hair. “Are you kidding me? We look like Charlie’s fucking angels. How could we say no?”
Even though Brooke thought of herself as the less attractive angel, she felt like a million bucks. If not for them, she’d have been seen as a complete laughingstock over this whole car-washing bet.
“I still can’t get over it,” Miranda murmured low, watching as Roger folded his arms and leaned against the brick wall. “Roger Kerrigan, an amazing lover. Who knew?”
Brooke, remembering the feel of him against her bare skin, freely stared at him through the dark lenses of her sunglasses. “I didn’t know the darkroom had that kind of power. To make people completely let go like that….”
“Oh, it wasn’t the darkroom,” Amy said through a grin. “I happen to know he got quite familiar with Cheryl Smarker in there, but I never heard any compliments from her—ow!”
After the jab that finally shut Amy up, Miranda took a breath and sent Brooke a look of apology. “What she’s trying to say is that it must have been you who released the beast in him. It’s a compliment.”
“Hey,” Ethan yelled from his lawn chair. “This isn’t the library, ladies. Let’s have less whispering and more washing. It’s hot out here.”
“So says the cocky turd in the suit,” Brooke shot back. “With all that harping about a change of clothes, one would think you’d have come prepared.”
A wave of “oohs” came from the crowd on the grass. “I didn’t expect a big production,” he volleyed back, clearly more amused with their verbal sparring than she was. “Perhaps I should have brought popcorn too?”
“I vote you lose the suit and join us,” Amy added with a wink. “I’ll show you just how warm it can get in these parts.”
Now it was Brooke’s turn to shut Amy up. She pulled her away from the front lines and murmured, “Aren’t you laying it on a little thick?”
Amy shrugged. “What do you care? You got yours last Friday, it’s my turn.”
With Ethan? Just whose side was Amy on anyway?
The sun was beating down on the parking lot with brutal intensity. The spectators lounged in the shade, passing cold sodas that Brooke suspected were actually beers in disguise.
Tossing her hair upside down, she yanked the hair band from her wrist and wrapped it several times around her locks to form a loose knot. Then she handed a tube of sunscreen to Miranda. “Shoulders please.”
Miranda squirted a healthy dose into her palm. “I thought this was going to be Roger’s job.”
Brooke sighed, dabbing a little on her nose and cheeks. “Too risky, Mr. Stevens has a strict rule against office romances.”
“So did your father,” Miranda murmured as she rubbed her hands together and applied the lotion to Brooke’s sun-sensitive skin. “But that didn’t stop us from riding the flagpole on occasion.”
“Only because we had the resources to do it,” Amy threw in. “I’m going to miss that darkroom.”
Brooke stifled a laugh that quickly dissipated when she noticed all the men staring at them with lecherous grins. When she realized why, she shot out from beneath Miranda’s hands.
The woman chuckled and wiped the remaining lotion on her shorts. “I thought the point of us being here was to cause a distraction.”
“Yes, to distract them from me.” Everyone except Roger, of course, not that Brooke needed to worry. Every time she looked in his direction, she found him scoping her out.
Amy was busy scoping out Ethan’s car. “God, what a sexy little beast,” she purred, running her hand across the trunk as she sashayed around it.
Brooke barely gave it a glance, refusing to be impressed. “Hate the color.”
“Love the color.”
“It looks like a baby school bus.”
“With a matching roll bar even,” Amy said as she peered through the windows. “I bet she goes fast.”
“Yes, I’m sure Ethan likes his cars as fast as his women.”
Amy followed that comment with a droll look and picked up a wet sponge. “This is why you drive a boring sedan. No sense of adventure.”
As they washed, conversed, laughed, and had fun, Brooke noticed she wasn’t the only one with a man in her sights. Amy proved quite efficient at multitasking, which involved a lot of bending over the hood and making eyes at Ethan. The fact that he enjoyed every moment of it made Brooke want to throw up.
He jerked his chin in the blonde’s direction. “You two always do her dirty work for her?”
Amy stopped scrubbing and lowered her lashes. “Oh, we volunteered for this one, sweetie.”
“In that case, can I request a wax and a buff?”
As more laughter trickled through the audience, Brooke’s scowl deepened. Why did Amy’s wanton behavior piss her off so much? Why should she care that her friend was willing to sleep with the enemy?
While scrubbing the headlights, Miranda lowered her sunglasses. “Hey, is that Shannon?”
Following her gaze, Brooke spotted Shannon Webber—still in her work clothes—standing by Roger. Despite the fact that she sported a pair of armpit stains, the woman watched with a wicked smile and raised her cell phone.
Amy straightened. “That Elizabeth Shue wannabe just took our picture.”
But Roger was watching Brooke, and that was all that mattered. “Ignore her,” she said. “Lord knows I’ve been trying to.”
“Wait a minute…,” Miranda’s efforts slowed as she perused the scene. “Something’s up.”
“What do you—?”
Before Brooke could get the words out, her entire backside was doused with luke-warm, dirty water. She sputtered in shock as some dude from accounting backed away with an empty bucket.
Her assailant put his hands in the air and laughed. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. This was a paying gig.”
Brooke looked down at her new clothes. They were filthy and wet, her hair sticking to her face in gross hanks. Shannon fell into a fit of laughter, as did most of the folks on the grass. “Even on a clear day, you manage to end up soaking wet,” the woman yelled.
The only person not laughing was Roger, who suddenly appeared to be battling a case of indigestion. Ethan also managed to keep a straight face, even though he was the one who probably orchestrated her dousing. He’d seen her wet more than once and had always mocked her with an annoying smirk. He’d done it with a salute. And now he’d done it with a bunch of witnesses.
Amy came up and whispered, “Screw them, Brooke. You don’t need this shit.”
Her friend was right. With a clenched jaw, Brooke picked up the hose and threatened Ethan with it. If he was worried, he hid it well.
“Am
nesty row, remember?” he reminded her with a dare in his eyes. “You agreed not to get anyone wet or you owe me another wash.”
Brooke lowered the hose as she weighed her pros and cons. Making a decision, she handed the hose to Miranda. “Make it hurt.”
Ethan jumped in his seat. “Don’t even think about it!”
Miranda grinned like an armed gangster ready for bloodshed. With a loud whoop, she squeezed the trigger and opened up on the crowd. Men scattered. Ethan fell backward in his haste to escape the spray.
Brooke casually pointed. “Don’t forget the Elizabeth Shue wannabe.”
Miranda adjusted her aim. Shannon screamed as water hit her back, soaking her before she was able to outrun it.
“It’s about time you had a bath!” Brooke shouted, unable to contain her glee. “Oh, go ahead and get Roger too. Maybe we’ll get a glimpse of his hot body.”
“Ooh, I love a man in a wet shirt.” While Miranda chased Roger around with the high-pressure stream, Ethan and a handful of others recovered enough to start charging. The girls panicked and took cover behind the sports car with the hose at the ready, but the doused men were beyond caring at that point.
Screams and shouts ensued as an all-out water brawl commenced in the parking lot. Sponges flew, women squealed, and everyone was laughing, but it was no longer at Brooke’s expense. Shannon had retreated into the building. Roger was nowhere to be found. She spotted what’s-his-name from accounting and let her thirst for revenge lead the way. When he got a face full of wet sponge, he let out a dramatic battle cry and took chase. Brooke, who was nearly crippled with laughter at that point, couldn’t run to save her life. He caught her, twirled her around while shouting quotes from World of Warcraft, and then put her back down to move on to the next queen of the forsaken.
Before she could fully recover, she spotted Ethan amid the chaos. His hair was slicked back and his light blue shirt was now dark and clinging to every hard muscle of his body.
And he was coming for her.
Brooke’s throat suddenly went dry. If Letreece could see him now, her ovaries would explode. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Brooke pointed and backed away. “My finger wasn’t on the trigger.”
The man was clearly pissed, but he was also something else…some-thing hot and confusing. As he closed the distance between them, it was with a lethal grace that told her to drop the sponge and run for the hills.
When she tried it, he caught her arm, whirled her around, and pulled her hard against him. “Just like I thought,” he growled. “When shit gets real, you cut and run.”
Stunned by the close proximity, she flattened her hands against his chest. There was no mistaking the sinewy muscle beneath them. “You don’t scare me,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You’re all wet and I couldn’t be happier.”
Chaos continued around them, but for some reason, it faded as time seemed to stand still. In his arms, her chest constricted with a strange feeling of familiarity. Her pulse quickened. His jaw tensed. Then his grip tightened around her arms before he shoved her away.
Suddenly, the shouts returned, and Brooke was left in the middle of all the chaos, watching his hasty retreat with a sick feeling in her stomach.
11
AS ETHAN STORMED THROUGH THE BUILDING’S front entrance, Roger’s voice reached him from the lobby. “Man, you just went from turd to chump the moment you put out that hit on her.”
Shit. Kerrigan was the last person he wanted to run into, but the man followed him down the hallway.
“How much was that suit, anyway?” Roger persisted. “Two hundred, three hundred bucks?”
“Try nine hundred and fifty,” Ethan snarled. “And I didn’t put out that hit.”
“Then who did?”
His bet was on Shannon, but all he said was “Ask the hit man.”
Roger walked away and Ethan was able to brood in private. He had to get to a bathroom before anyone else noticed the erection he’d been fighting since first spotting Brooke in that halter top. Despite his efforts, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She was wet, sexy as hell, and laughing with her friends. He’d never seen her so carefree before, and he was suddenly fighting back the memories of her bare curves beneath his hands. In the darkroom, he hadn’t known the woman he’d fucked was Brooke. But he knew now.
Was he disgusted or annoyed by her open fascination with Roger? Those goddamned Capri pants were obviously worn for that man’s benefit, no doubt so that he’d take one look at her pert little ass and turn into a lovesick fool.
Now in the safety of the men’s room, Ethan gave his face a good splash of cold water. When he stared at his reflection in the mirror he saw a man tortured by the truth. He’d been the one to bring that little witch out of her shell. He’d been the one to put that blush on her cheeks, the light in her eyes, the glow of happiness on her face.
And here he was, miserable and angry, lusting after a woman he didn’t trust…and completely out of his element.
WHEN BROOKE RETURNED FROM LUNCH THE next day, a small vase of roses was at her desk. The card read: 12:45— From you know who.
She bit her lip and looked around. Her schedule was full that afternoon, starting with a one o’clock meeting. Could she possibly meet Roger, freshen up, and still make her meeting on time? Did she want to turn him down when he only seemed interested in playing at work? She had to admit, she’d been more than disappointed when he’d bowed out of going home with her the night before. She’d known him long enough to see that the sadness in his eyes was genuine…that he really wanted to, but couldn’t for some reason.
Over a lonely dinner of microwave pizza, she’d wondered why. Was he afraid that he’d find her lacking when the lights were on? Or that she’d find him lacking? Brooke knew that he hid a lot of sex appeal beneath the dress shirt and tie, and he made love with enough confidence for the both of them. So that couldn’t be it.
Stumped, she’d gone to bed with a familiar worry from her past with Brandon—that she just wasn’t good enough to satisfy him.
The roses, however, seemed to prove that theory wrong. He must have thought about her earlier proposal and decided to make up for turning her down.
After a quick peek over the partition confirmed that Ethan was nowhere in sight, Brooke picked up the phone and dialed Roger’s extension. When he answered she cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “Can we make it 12:30?”
There was a short pause. “Uh…can we make what 12:30?”
“The appointment we had at 12:45,” she said with a shake of her head. He was adorable. “I have clients at one o’clock.”
“Ooooookay, I’ll try?”
She hung up and smelled her roses again. Whether he could make it earlier or not, she’d be there at 12:30 waiting.
Finally! Over the last four days, her sexual frustration had built into an insatiable desire. Now that she knew how good it could be, her body yearned to be touched again, but only by the one man who’d made it sing before.
ETHAN RETURNED FROM LUNCH TO BE INSTANTLY waylaid by Letreece.
“Have you seen Brooke?”
He glanced behind him at the couple occupying the cushioned chairs by the windows. “No, is she late for a meeting?”
Letreece, chewed her lip, phone in hand. “Not really, her clients came early. I know that she’s back from lunch.”
“Maybe she’s in the creative department,” he suggested.
As she entered another extension, he stayed nearby for a verdict before moving on to his desk. It would be easy to relocate the clients to the conference room and let them wait there.
“No one has seen her.” Letreece hung up and lifted her sultry gaze.
Ethan chuckled, accurately reading her silent request. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thank you!” she whispered.
As he led Brooke’s clients to the conference room, he treated them as though they were his own: turned on the charm, offered some refreshments. H
e assured them that Brooke and the graphic artist in charge of their project would be there shortly. If not, he would be happy to help them in any way he could. The man seemed impressed but the woman seemed way too focused on Ethan’s crotch, despite the fact that they wore matching wedding bands.
As soon as the conference room door clicked shut, a splash of color caught his eye. After a closer look he realized it was a small vase of roses. They were tucked deep in the corner of Brooke’s desk as if she’d wanted them out of sight.
Mixed emotions swarmed through him as he approached her private domain. Who the hell sent her red roses? He searched for a card, but found none. There was no sign of it on the desk, so he opened a drawer.
Bingo.
Ethan tilted his head to get a better angle without having to fish the card out.
12:45—From you know who.
The message hinted at a private meeting that might explain her absence. The cryptic nature of it suggested secrecy. Having spent the last four days fighting demons he couldn’t control, Ethan drew an instant conclusion that tightened his gut.
She’s in the darkroom.
A bunch of scenarios jumped through his brain at once. The flowers had to be from Roger. If those two hooked up, the truth would be out before he could own it.
Was he ready to own it?
Hell no. Shit! Yes, he had to. He should have known better than to hope that the entire thing would just die down. And if Ethan was about to be busted, why the fuck shouldn’t he just go get her? Drag her out of that room half-dressed and blast her for the goddamned fool she was? Then he’d shove her into Shannon’s office, tell her the truth, and leave them alone to have it out.
The thought of doing just that fed an old mean streak he’d strived to get rid of. Yes, it was about time that Brooke Monroe shared in his secret hell. Let her feel the betrayal and humiliation of being duped, the torture of knowing that her body yearned for a man she hated more than anyone.
The set of keys he was still holding began to dig into his palm. Ethan threw them on his desk in passing, determined to see this whole thing end now.