by Darcy Burke
He still looked a bit dazed, and it reminded her of how she’d felt when he’d called a halt last time. She didn’t feel any sort of vengeance, though. It wasn’t about that.
Then what was it about?
Her mind was crammed with thoughts and sensations—wanting him, feeling alone, fighting the sudden urge to cry because she didn’t need any damned birth control. “I’m sorry about sending mixed messages. This is complicated, and we’ve been trying to uncomplicate it, right? Stopping…this is the right thing to do.”
He nodded finally, then stooped to pick up his shirt. He tugged it on, and it seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if time wanted to give Brooke one more chance to ask him to stay.
She stiffened her spine and walked past him, turning down the entry hall to the doorway. “Thanks for bringing the wine. I really appreciate it.”
He walked toward her, and she opened the door before he could do or say anything that would threaten her resolve. If he could. She was so conflicted right now, so agitated, that she didn’t know if he could persuade her to go back to where they’d been five minutes ago.
“You’re welcome.” He walked over the threshold then turned around to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset.”
He frowned briefly, but the creases on his brow stayed. “I’m not sure I believe you. But it doesn’t matter. It was your turn to be the cool head of reason.”
Relieved that he wasn’t angry, she relaxed her muscles.
“I wonder, though,” he continued. “Who’s going to do that next time? I’m not sure I’ve got it in me.” He gave her a half-smile. “See you later.”
As she watched him go, she wasn’t sure she had it in herself either. Which meant they’d have to stop meeting alone like this. No more visits to each other’s homes. She’d tell him that when she talked to him next.
She closed the door and locked it, then leaned back against it with a deep breath. Her body still thrummed with desire, and her mouth was still imprinted with his kiss.
She didn’t doubt that she’d missed out on what would’ve been a great night. But it had been the right thing to do. She’d just keep telling herself that until she completely believed it.
In an attempt to clear her head, she went to the case of wine he’d brought in and looked through the variety. No chardonnay. Damn. She would run out this week, which meant she’d have to pick up more. She’d arrange for him to put some aside at the winery, and then she’d drop by when she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there.
This plan made her feel better. It gave her hope that they could continue this work thing without falling into each other’s arms.
But would that be so bad? What’s the worst that could happen? They’d have sex and things would become awkward? They were already there.
Hell, put like that, she was tempted to call him and invite him back over. But the shadow of that pesky question, “Are you on birth control?” hovered at the back of her mind. It was stupid. She didn’t have to tell him about her infertility. Like Rhonda had said, it wasn’t as if they were in this for the long-term.
She closed her eyes and groaned.
The other thing Rhonda kept telling her was also true—she so needed to get laid. Their mom had sent over the blind date’s phone number yesterday. His name was Justin Weber, and she could text him right now.
Before she lost her nerve, she picked her phone up off the table and brought up his contact. She typed out a message introducing herself—he knew she had his number—and asked if he wanted to get together for a drink this week.
She tossed her phone back down, not expecting to hear back. She was surprised when it immediately pinged. Picking it back up, she quickly read his response: Sounds great. How about tomorrow night?
Wow, so soon. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that…but why? The sooner she made this leap, the better. She typed in her answer.
Sure, seven? How about Grape Central?
That was a wine bar in downtown McMinnville, where he lived. She didn’t want to meet here. Ribbon Ridge was too small. Was she afraid they’d run into Cam? Again, she was being so stupid.
His response came fast. Perfect. See you then.
Mom had texted a picture of him with her friend—his aunt—so Brooke would be able to find him. She didn’t know if he’d received a picture of her and didn’t ask. She was suddenly exhausted.
She decided to take a long hot bath. And maybe find her waterproof vibrator.
Cam walked into Hazel, one of Newberg’s best restaurants a few nights later, anticipating a fun evening of good food, lively conversation, and excellent wine from some of the area’s top producers. He was also anticipating possibly running into Brooke, and he just wasn’t sure how that would go.
There’d been radio silence since their aborted lovemaking session on Sunday, but he wasn’t surprised. What could they say that hadn’t been said?
How about, screw the work thing and let’s just have sex?
Because, really, could things get any worse than they were? They tiptoed around the elephant in the room and despite their best intentions couldn’t seem to help themselves. If he saw her tonight, he’d do his level best to say hi and move on. Hayden would be here soon, and he’d be an excellent distraction.
Cam made his way to the bar and picked up a glass of pinot from one of his favorite winemakers. When he turned, he nearly bumped into Kyle Archer.
He grinned. “Hey, Cam, good to see you. What’re you drinking?”
“Hey, Kyle.” Cam held up his glass, swirling the dark ruby pinot. “A. F. Nichols.”
“Oh, he’s great.” Kyle nodded toward the bartender. “Same for me, please.”
The bartender nodded back. “You got it.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Cam said. “Shouldn’t you be home massaging your wife’s feet or something since she’s about to give birth?”
Kyle picked up his wine. “Yep. Phone’s in my back pocket with the sound jacked up way too high, but I keep checking it anyway. I’m so excited, but nerve-racked as hell at the same time.”
Cam sipped his wine. He couldn’t identify, of course, but he recalled his half-brother Dylan feeling the same way before his daughter, Emma, was born. “Let me know if you need help busting out of here in a flash. She’s got a bag packed, right?”
Kyle laughed. “In the car. We’re more than ready. Maggie’s so done being pregnant in the middle of summer.”
“Yeah, it’s been really hot this week.” It had been in the nineties every day, which made Cam’s current getup of slacks and a long-sleeve shirt rather stupid. But Cam didn’t sacrifice looking good for comfort. At least not often. And he’d at least rolled up the sleeves to his mid-forearm. “I can’t imagine how Maggie must be feeling.”
“She was going to come with me tonight but decided it just wasn’t worth putting on shoes.” Kyle leaned toward him. “I should probably go home and give her a foot massage.”
Cam chuckled and raised his glass. “To being the sperm donor instead.”
Kyle lifted his wine. “Hear, hear. But don’t let them hear us say that.” He took a drink. “Actually, you don’t have to watch yourself, free-agent man. Think you’ll ever settle down?”
Cam shrugged. “Don’t have any plans to.”
“Right.” Kyle nodded, likely recalling whatever story he’d heard regarding Cam and Jennifer. Since Hayden was Cam’s best friend as well as Kyle’s brother, Cam imagined Kyle had to know something. “You know, no one ever saw me settling down,” Kyle said.
“No one ever saw you coming back to Ribbon Ridge,” Cam said wryly. Kyle had taken off for several years, during which he’d mostly cut ties with everyone here. After one of the Archer septuplets killed himself, Kyle had come home. Then he’d shocked everyone by falling in love with his deceased brother’s therapist. And now they were expecting their first kid. “You’re a testament to the unpredictability of lif
e.”
Kyle laughed. “Isn’t that the truth?” His eye landed on someone at the end of the bar. “That’s my pal who owns this joint. I need to go say hello.” He clapped Cam on the shoulder. “Catch you later.”
“Later.” Cam turned and walked into the main dining room. It wasn’t terribly large—the building was a renovated house—and encompassed a space akin to a living and dining room combination. Most of the tables had been moved out for tonight’s mingling and were likely stashed upstairs in the private dining rooms.
What they had plenty of was wine. Much of the wall space was taken up with cabinets stuffed full of the best the Willamette Valley had to offer. Cam loved to peruse the labels. He always found a hidden treasure when he came here.
He sauntered toward a cabinet in the corner and stopped short when he heard a familiar laugh. When he turned, his gaze wandered to the back of the room and landed on the source of the lovely sound. Brooke.
She stood with another young woman, who was also laughing. He knew he ought to stay put, but his feet didn’t get the memo. As he neared, Brooke saw him, her eyes widening briefly in recognition before she looked down at her wine.
“Good evening,” he said to the other woman. She was younger than Brooke, with straight brown hair and gold-brown eyes. Cam turned his attention to the reason he’d come over. “Hi, Brooke.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “Hi, Cameron. This is my coworker, Elise. Elise, this is Cameron Westcott. He’s one of the owners of West Arch Estate.”
Elise smiled at him. “I know who he is.” She offered her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Uh-oh.” Cam shot a glance at Brooke, wondering what she’d said.
Brooke shook her head. “Not from me. Elise is new. She started at Willamette, what, three weeks ago?” She looked at Elise who nodded.
“Not quite.” Elise edged closer to Cam. “And I was teasing. I haven’t heard all about you. Someone mentioned you in a list of eligible bachelors in the area.”
Cam laughed. “I see.”
“He’s definitely eligible,” Brooke said before taking a sip of wine. “And he’s definitely a bachelor through and through.” She finished what was left in her glass. “I’m empty. Excuse me while I get a refill.” She smiled at him as she passed by. He noticed she was careful not to touch him. He also watched her backside as she walked away and recalled the feel of it in his hands. Damn.
“So what are you drinking?” Elise asked. “I’m new to this area—not the wine necessarily—but I’ve been working at a winery up in Prosser. Do you know where that is?”
“Sure, south central Washington. I’ve been there many times. Where’d you work?” He sipped his wine. “Oh, and this is A.F. Nichols. He’s a small indie producer, but really great. Give him a try if you haven’t.”
“I will, thanks.” She spent the next few minutes talking about her prior job, her dog, and the manicure she’d gotten that afternoon. With each topic, she moved closer until her arm was grazing his.
Meanwhile, Cam kept watching the doorway, waiting for Brooke to return from the bar. When it looked as though she wasn’t coming back, Cam searched for an out. He didn’t want to abandon Elise, so he eyeballed someone else in the room that he knew and drew her over to meet him. “Elise, come meet Henri Morin. He’s the winemaker up at Synchronicity.”
“Hello, it’s my pleasure to meet you,” Henri said in his thick French accent.
Elise shook his hand. “I love your wine!”
Satisfied that he’d made a good handoff, Cam excused himself and went in search of Brooke, despite his better judgment.
He found her in the bar area near the window, chatting with someone he didn’t know. Cam went to the bar and refilled his glass while he wanted for an opening. A few minutes passed before her conversation partner departed, and Cam beelined toward her.
“You abandoned me,” he said.
She arched a brow at him. “Not on purpose. I’m networking. That’s why I come to these events.” Her gaze dipped over him. “You look hot.”
He grinned at her compliment. “Thanks.”
She laughed softly. “No, you look hot in that outfit. Why are you wearing long sleeves? It’s like ninety-six.”
He held out his arm and glanced at the French blue fabric. “I like this shirt.”
“I like it too, but you have to have a million others. I’ve seen what you wear—you have no shortage of stylish clothes.”
He took delight in the fact that she noticed. “Anyway, it’s not ninety-six now. The sun’s gone down.”
“True, but I’d say it’s still upwards of eighty-five.”
Probably. Why were they talking about the weather? Because it was safe, and so far it had prevented any weirdness like they’d had that evening at Ruckus. “You look cool and comfortable,” he said, taking in her black spaghetti-strap dress that was longer in back than in the front. “Actually, you look hot—and not the temperature kind.” She couldn’t be wearing a bra in that dress, but he couldn’t see her nipples, so it had to have some sort of built-in coverage. But all he could think was that there was just one layer between him and paradise.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she sipped her wine and looked out the window for a moment before asking, “What happened to Elise?”
“I left her with someone. She’s fine.”
“She was excited to meet you. In fact, she told me before you came over that she was hoping to meet you tonight. Your reputation precedes you.”
He groaned. “Great. Why me?”
Brooke lifted a tan, sculpted, sexy shoulder. “Because you’re attractive, very single, and like I said, your reputation is kind of unparalleled.”
He wanted to know what she was getting at. Specifically. “In what way?”
“Just that you’re known for giving a girl a good time—with or without sex, if you must know.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a relief. I don’t really want to be known as just a manwhore.” Anymore.
“But you kind of are, aren’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re being rather saucy this evening. You know I’ve calmed down my…behavior for some time now. In fact, I’m living like a damned monk at present.”
“You could change that with Elise, I’m sure. Why don’t you ask her out?”
A chuckle rose in his chest. “I fell right into that one.”
Brooke gave him a half-smile, but he saw the victory lurking in her eyes as she took another drink of wine. “In all seriousness, you should ask her out. Why not?”
Because he didn’t want to go out with Elise. He didn’t want to go out with anyone who wasn’t Brooke. “She’s not my type.” And she really wasn’t, even if he had been looking. Which he wasn’t. “Plus, I’m not sure I’m in the right head space to be dating anyone.”
She looked at him in surprise, her eyelids fluttering. “I went on that blind date last night.” She quickly averted her gaze, focusing on her wineglass, and he wondered if she regretted saying it.
Jealousy cut into him, leaving a hot trail of irritation. “How was it?” He knew his tone sounded clipped, but he couldn’t help it any more than he could help asking. Which was stupid because he really didn’t want to know.
“Fine. Forget I mentioned it. We should keep our personal lives personal.”
“Like we did the other night?” He leaned closer and reveled in her scent. “That was extremely personal to me,” he murmured.
“I need to use the ladies’ room, excuse me.”
It was a chicken-shit move—he could see the hunger and the hesitation in her eyes. He watched her go and ask the bartender where the bathroom was, but she didn’t go straight to the back where it was located. Instead, she turned and went up the stairs.
Don’t follow her. Don’t follow her. Don’t follow her.
He downed the rest of his wine, deposited the glass on the bar, and followed her.
He climbed the stairs a
nd wove to the back, where another bathroom was located. He slowed as he approached, his mind warring with itself on whether he should stay or go back downstairs. He should really go.
As he was about to pivot, the bathroom door opened. She stood on the threshold and her gaze connected with his. “You followed me.”
“Guilty.”
“We’re not supposed to do this. Unless you came up here to talk to me about work.”
“I didn’t.” He didn’t bother trying to mask the longing he felt. “I came here because I’m jealous that you went out with some other guy.”
Her chest hitched, as if she’d lost her breath for a second. “You should go. We know what happens when we’re alone.”
And they were quite alone up here. No one would hear them…
“Yes, I should go.” But his feet propelled him forward.
She didn’t move, and her gaze was unflinching. “Don’t go.”
Then she reached out and grabbed him by the shirtfront and dragged him—not that it took much effort—into the bathroom and closed the door.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as she closed the door, Brooke pushed him up against the wood and locked the knob. She immediately started unbuttoning his shirt. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
He stared at her, his green eyes blistering with heat. “You’re giving me such mixed messages.”
“Just because I said you shouldn’t have doesn’t mean I’m disappointed.” She finished with his buttons and spread his shirt open, pressing her palms against his smooth, warm flesh. His chest felt even better than it looked. “Do I look disappointed to you?”
He clasped her waist. “God, Brooke.” He pulled her into him and kissed her.
She curled her fingers into his chest and met his tongue. Lust—raw, pure, and devastating—raged through her. She pushed her hands up and cupped his neck as she pressed against him.
He broke the kiss and took a gasp of air. “I need to understand this. We can’t keep starting up and…stopping. My body can’t take it.”