by Rose Wulf
She turned her gaze to Brooke, who was watching silently, and said, “I’m sorry, Brooke, but we need to ask you not to talk about this with anyone outside of this room, too. Can we trust you to do that?” Her question was direct, but Brooke nodded without hesitation.
“Absolutely,” she said, never breaking Lillian’s eye contact.
An odd tickle of pride danced through Blake’s stomach.
“Angela,” Christopher added after Lillian fell silent again. When his daughter was looking at him, he asked, “I don’t suppose you noticed anyone around before the lightning hit? Or did you hear something strange?”
Slowly, Angela shook her head. “There wasn’t anyone around, at least that I saw. And I don’t think there was anyone behind me. My music wasn’t that loud.”
Looking back toward his mother, Blake asked, “What other sorts of things can these lightning-families do?”
“According to the stories Nicholas found,” Lillian began, “in their prime they could control all types of weather. Creating a snow storm, like the one that put Nicholas in that wheelchair … would have been child’s play.”
“Well,” Dean said, leaning back against the couch, “I’m distinctly uncomfortable now.”
Christopher sighed, ignoring his sons as Logan reached over and smacked Dean upside the head, and released Lillian’s hands as he stood. “All right, that’s enough of this for now. We’re incredibly glad you’re all safe, and we’re proud of you boys for saving your sister. And in light of all this drama, I think we should have an outrageously large dinner. Family only. And Brooke, of course.”
****
The diner was strangely busy, and both Georgia and Brooke were being forced to stick to their assigned sections. Therefore, when Emma had come in with a slightly older man Brooke didn’t know, it was Brooke—and not Georgia—who had gone to greet them. The man, probably in his late twenties, kept his eyes on his menu as he ordered his drink. His tone was clipped, verging on rude, so Brooke opted not to push conversation. Emma’s tone was similarly short, though she managed an apologetic smile.
In the back, as Brooke poured the two glasses of iced tea, she ran into Georgia and asked, “Hey, do you know the man sitting with Emma?”
Georgia paused, her hand hovering with a fresh straw over a glass of soda, and said, “There’s a guy with Emma? I didn’t know she was with anyone…”
“It didn’t really look like a date,” Brooke elaborated, sticking her own straws into the glasses. “And if it was, you should really suggest she look elsewhere. He didn’t look like much of a catch.”
“I’ll try to remember to ask her about it later,” Georgia decided as she slipped the soda onto her tray. “Let me know if anything interesting happens!” And then the currently-blonde woman sashayed out the door.
Brooke followed suit a minute later, still pondering that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was just something odd about that man; for that matter, about the whole atmosphere around them. Not that it’s any of my business, she reminded herself as she approached their booth.
She was coming up from behind the man’s position, and she noted curiously that he hadn’t bothered to remove his trench coat. Emma, who was facing her, had her eyes closed and was pinching the bridge of her nose, head slightly bowed, as if in frustration.
“What were you thinking?” the man demanded with a rough, aggravated growl in his voice. His words were spoken in an appropriately low tone, but Brooke was near enough that she caught them.
Emma opened her mouth before she opened her eyes, saying, “I saw an oppor—” She cut herself off when she registered the sight of Brooke even as Brooke came to a stop at their table.
This time Emma’s companion cut an irritated, evaluating glance in Brooke’s direction, but he remained silent. His eyes moved away from her as soon as she’d set his tea in front of him, and he offered no words of gratitude.
“Thanks,” Emma supplied as her own tea was placed in front of her. She kept her eyes focused on her drink.
Feeling like she’d intruded, Brooke took a deep breath before she pulled her notebook from her apron and asked if they were ready to order. And as soon as their orders were placed, she scurried away.
The man sitting across from Emma had given Brooke one more look before she’d walked off, and though she wanted to be annoyed or upset by the superiority in his eyes, all she’d felt was discomfort. Her stomach had twisted in an incredibly unpleasant way, and she suddenly wanted to find Paula and tell her she wasn’t feeling well. Home sounded like the place to be. But of course she couldn’t; she needed her paycheck, after all.
Still, she sincerely hoped that she would never see that man again.
****
Brooke didn’t have to work until mid-afternoon on Sunday, and though she’d originally intended to use the time to run necessary errands, she’d agreed to meet up with Blake at the beach instead. She’d hesitated at the idea of the beach initially, as it was open to the public year-round, but conceded when Blake had pointed out that with him there, the beach was probably the safest place to be. It wasn’t like it was her secret—or her life—potentially on the line, anyway.
The parking lot was empty aside from Blake’s Mustang when she swung back into the space her Honda had last occupied the night before. She climbed from the car, not bothering to lock it, and started for the shoreline as she pocketed her keys.
There was more than one reason she was excited to meet up with Blake this morning. Sure, discussing everything crazy that had happened the day before was important. And she was certainly interested. The problem was that she was interested in Blake, too. Very, very much. She already knew he was a good kisser, and as ridiculous as it was, her lips were practically aching to feel his again. And meeting like this, they were going to be all alone on the beach. Just the two of them and the rolling tide. That was a pretty clichéd romantic setting all in itself.
It was all she could do to keep from jogging to the shore when she spotted him, sitting on the edge of the tide with his feet in the water.
As she drew nearer, she slowed, taking in the sight of him with his elbows resting on raised knees and his chin cradled between his linked thumbs and index fingers. It was a thoughtful, reflective position. Sobering. She almost felt bad for some of the thoughts that had been swimming around in her head a moment ago. Almost.
“Hey.” Brooke settled next to him on the sand. She kept her feet curled up and out to the side at her knees so as to keep her shoes from getting wet.
Blake turned his attention to her, his posture relaxing as a smile lifted his lips. “Hey, thanks for meeting me.”
She returned his smile. “So what did you want to talk about? Did something else happen?”
“No. I just thought maybe we should talk one-on-one, you know, after you’d had a chance to sleep on everything.” He paused and studied her, looking for something. Whether or not he found it, Brooke had no idea. “How are you handling all that?”
Releasing a breath, Brooke said, “Me? I’m handling it okay. I mean, for me it’s more surreal and startling to learn about the existence of people with powers like yours. I’m not being targeted, remember? So it’s only scary in the abstract.”
Blake arched a brow at her choice of words. “Abstract, huh? And how’s that?”
Brooke allowed her smile to feel a little flirtatious as she leaned forward and brushed her fingertips along his cheekbone. “I don’t want anything to happen to you is all,” she whispered.
Blake swallowed and the tide rolled in a little higher, just barely brushing her knees. Then he’d threaded his fingers into her hair and crushed his lips to hers, his other arm winding around her waist to hold her in place.
It was all she could do to swallow the moan in her throat as she kissed him back. His hair was soft over her fingers when her hands slipped behind his head, and his tongue was hot in her mouth when her lips parted. She’d nearly forgotten how good he tasted.
She could’ve sworn she purred as his tongue stroked hers, desire burning low and hot in her belly. It was such a contrast to the cold water that continued to tease her knees. Blake’s fingers dipped beneath her lightweight sweater, his soft touch teasing her skin and finally pulling free the moan she’d been fighting. He sucked on her tongue, putting more weight into his touch, until his thumb found the right spot to have her arching into him.
He released her lips as her breasts pressed firmly into his chest, trailing his kiss down the side of her throat. She held onto him, moaning again as he shifted to cradle her body more properly against his.
“Blake,” she breathed as his tongue danced around the hollow at the base of her throat.
He rumbled and lowered his head, tongue and lips sliding to her collar bone and down to the line of her scoop-neck sweater. And oh, how she wanted him to keep going. To tear off her clothes and kiss the rest of her aching body with the same tender hunger he was bestowing to her collar and neck. How she wanted to feel his heady touch in private places. Brooke doubted she’d ever been so immediately hungry for a man.
Blake made a sort of groaning sound and removed his lips from her skin. “God, you’re distracting.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
He grinned. “Not really. I just feel like there’s more that should be said first.”
“And you can’t talk while you’re kissing me.” Her words were resigned, because she knew he was right. She just didn’t want him to be.
“Exactly.”
Looping her arms loosely around his shoulders and making no move to otherwise adjust herself, Brooke said, “So talk. What’s on your mind?”
The question was ridiculous, of course. She knew what was on his mind in more ways than one. She just suspected she hadn’t properly absorbed it all yet. There was still some sort of surreal distance between her sense of reality and the ideas the Hawke family had discussed the day before. People who can throw lightning. Really? But then again, the man she was currently embracing could become water—she’d seen it herself. So was the rest really so far out there?
Blake released a breath and pulled her in enough to rest his head on her shoulders. “Everything, I guess,” he admitted. “I really want my uncle to be crazy, but … that’s not his style. He’s a realist, even if his ‘realism’ sounds impossible.”
“And you’re worried,” Brooke guessed gently, her fingers weaving through his hair and massaging his scalp in an attempt to comfort him.
“Yeah.”
“Blake, that’s natural,” she said. “They’re your family, and you just found out you might have enemies who can generate your kryptonite at will. That’s heavy.” As she said it, she realized she was exactly right. She could only imagine how terrifying that would be for him and his brothers. To go from knowing they had more power than the people around them—knowing they were stronger—to learning they had invisible enemies designed specifically to hurt them. Although that might be over-simplifying…
Blake straightened after a moment, taking his time dragging his gaze up to hers. “I know. And I swear I really did want to make sure you were okay, all things considered.” He paused and brushed his lips lightly over hers again. “But it’s possible I was also hoping for a distraction.”
Swallowing a schoolgirl giggle, Brooke raised exaggeratedly dramatic eyebrows at him. “Weren’t you just complaining about that?”
“I was confused,” Blake insisted, sliding the hand still beneath her sweater a little higher. “I understand now.”
“Understand what?” she challenged, fighting her natural response to his touch.
Blake met her challenge with a confident grin and caught her mouth in another hot, demanding kiss. Brooke immediately melted, letting him take her weight as one of her hands dipped beneath his collar and down his back. She couldn’t wait to get him out of his shirt—couldn’t wait to see the body underneath.
His tongue stroked hers, sliding and curling over and over with a rhythm that made a very different part of her anatomy clench in anticipation. So she adjusted her grip to tug on his shirt, needing to touch more of him. To see and feel and taste his skin. Blake wasted no time heeding her request, pulling back to yank his shirt over his head and toss it to the sand. Brooke followed suit, enjoying the look that heated his blue eyes when his gaze fell to her chest and the lacy bra she’d chosen for the day.
Her hands landed back on his shoulders and slowly slid down to his chest. His chest was smooth and taut. Perfect swimmer’s body. She couldn’t help but wonder if his body was actually a side-effect of his power, but it didn’t matter. After his initial sharp intake of breath at her touch, and a moment where his eyes closed as he let her fingers explore, Blake’s own hands came up and landed on her bare waist.
Brooke was distracted by his touch, and her exploration stalled. His hands were wandering up as hers were wandering down, and something inside her pulsed eagerly. She wanted to skip the foreplay and get right to the main event as badly as she wanted to linger in this slow, deliciously torturous moment for a while longer. With such confusing, conflicting desires, all she could do was moan low when his knuckles brushed the underside of her covered breast.
One of Blake’s hands anchored back over her hip, his lips landed on her throat, and his other hand dipped beneath the cup of her bra to palm her breast. Her next moan was longer, possibly louder, and her arms curled around his torso so that she could hold onto his back.
And that was when Brooke’s cell phone rang.
Her first instinct was to ignore the offensive device—she wasn’t expecting any calls, after all—but Blake had immediately ceased his caresses and lifted his head. There was no reason not to at least check the Caller ID.
Releasing a frustrated breath, Brooke eased back enough to extract the phone from her jeans pocket and look at the screen. And then she cringed. It was Paula. Flicking a semi-frightened, conflicted glance up to Blake, she answered the phone.
“Hey, Paula.”
Blake immediately grimaced.
Chapter Eight
When Brooke answered the phone, Blake knew their stolen moment was done. Especially when the caller turned out to be her boss—and the Queen of Gossip—Paula. If Paula had any clue what she’d interrupted, the whole town was bound to hear about it, which made Blake incredibly glad they were alone.
“Ah, Paula,” Brooke hedged, guilt taking root in her expression. “I don’t know if I can… Well, I was just, uh, doing laundry. I can’t leave my stuff in the laundromat all day.” She was silent as Paula spoke again, but Blake could only make out the other woman’s voice. After another moment she sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, and Blake reached for his shirt as she said, “No, no, I understand. Okay, I can be there in about half an hour.” She accepted what Blake assumed was an apology and disconnected.
“Going in early?” He shook the sand out of her sweater as best he could. Sand wasn’t exactly his element.
Pouting adorably, Brooke returned her phone to her pocket. “Yes. Two people called off last-minute. Damn them.”
Blake laughed as she took her sweater and tugged it on unceremoniously. “Don’t worry,” he teased as he stood and extended a hand to her. “I’m not gonna leave town while you’re working.”
At this, Brooke finally laughed, accepted his outstretched hand, and replied, “You’d better not. I hear your brother is friends with the local police.”
“I can’t tell if that was meant as a reminder or a threat,” Blake said as they began the climb up to the parking lot.
“Maybe it was both?” Brooke returned lightly.
When they made it to their cars—parked one space apart—Blake turned to her and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “Don’t work too hard,” he murmured as he dipped his head for another, sweeter kiss. He held himself in check this time and pulled back, adding, “And I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Brooke graced him with a smile and played with the
collar of his shirt. “Yes, you will,” she promised.
****
“You were right,” Georgia declared before Brooke had even finished securing her apron around her waist. She was standing several feet to the side, leaning against the row of old lockers that the employees used to store their things during their shifts.
Brooke looked over, feeling entirely confused, and cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Right about what?”
“That guy who was with Emma last night.” Georgia gave the faintest shake of her head, as if she couldn’t believe that Brooke didn’t know. “I saw her this morning at the grocery store, so I asked her about it, and she was really … weird.”
With her hand poised to pick up her notepad and pen, Brooke paused and asked, “Weird how?”
Georgia lifted her hands, fingers splayed, and moved them back in forth in front of her chest, palms down. “Shifty-weird. Not that I like describing any of my friends as ‘shifty’, but I don’t know how else to say it. She kept looking around while we were talking, like she was afraid someone was spying on her, and she didn’t really say much, either.”
The image in Brooke’s head had her suddenly wondering if maybe Emma didn’t need supervision—and it certainly clashed with the image she’d had of Emma prior to this conversation—so she hesitantly asked, “Did she … look sick, or anything?”
“Sick?” Georgia repeated, her head tilting ever so slightly. “No, of course not. Just … paranoid, I guess. Oh, but she did clear up one thing. Although it took me forever to drag it out of her, I swear!” She shrugged and added, “Whatever.”
“What did she clear up, exactly?”
“That weird guy she was with is definitely not her boyfriend,” Georgia replied as she fell into step beside Brooke.
“That’s good.” She paused, waiting for Georgia to continue, but when it became obvious she had nothing more to say, Brooke asked, “Did she get any more specific?”