by Amber Scott
He closed the door. He walked toward her. She retreated, backing into her living room. Past the wedding picture on the entryway table—should’ve hidden that—past the armchair. His grin curved impishly. His gaze drank her in, then came to rest on her mouth.
Brooke paused. Now what? She didn’t know what to say, what to do. What had she been so prepared to explain to him?
“Nice place,” Elliott said, no longer smiling.
She thought to say thanks, but the words froze. He closed the space between them. She felt his body heat first. The way you feel the spray of a wave before the water laps over your toes. Smelled his cologne. She wanted to inhale it, close her eyes. Remember it. But it was hard to breathe.
Eyes intent on hers, he laced both hands into her hair. Brooke fell spellbound, strung between hope and want and fear. His mouth lowered to hers.
He kissed her. Slow. Demanding.
Pleasure hiccupped through her. Her hands trembled. So did her heartbeat. Sensations from before swam back. Her lips melded to his. Seeking. Tasting.
No kisses. Couldn’t think with kisses.
He nibbled her lip. Her hips tipped to his.
Maybe one more kiss.
Her hands found his chest. They rested against the heat permeating through the starched cotton. They roamed, explored. He groaned her name. “Brooke.” A thrill passed over her.
One little mistake. In all her life, she’d never dared take what she wanted. What if she did now? To feel, to touch, be touched. Yearning engulfed her. More kisses. More touch. She clutched his shirt. It untucked. Her hands lowered, dipped under the edge and—oh, dear God—his skin. Hot and smooth.
His navel. His waist. Pectorals so firm and contoured. She moaned. He kissed her more. All the while holding her hair, cupping her face. Running a thumb over her lip, her cheek. Every stroke sent a shiver downward.
A hard, sweet ache bloomed inside of her.
His mouth moved to her neck. Shivers and heat. Her hands grew bolder. The top button of his khakis was a puzzle for her blind fingers. She solved it, then found his zipper. A rush of noise in the crashing of hard breaths and rustling clothes.
All those large consequences shrank in the shadow of her desire, growing, aching for more. His mouth was delicious. His body moreso.
Elliott picked her up, the look in his eyes undid any remaining rational thought processes. He found her room, her bed, lay her upon it.
Button by agonizing button, he undressed.
Her heart slammed. Or was it desire? She itched to race for the end, to feel the thunder and storm of what his kisses promised. Wet and hot and consuming her.
His shirt fell away. Broad shoulders graced his firm chest and dip of lean belly. He lowered his pants, kicked them off. His boxers followed, and his erection sprang free.
She couldn’t help but stare. Hard and long. Thick. He wanted her.
Elliott joined her on the bed, held himself above her. Brooke looked up at him, gloriously naked. Shameless. Her gaze adored in the cut of his shoulders, the dip of his chest. Flexed muscle. Shining skin.
He paused. Unspoken words hung between them. Should she stop him? Brooke felt a catch in her throat. The question reflected in his smoldering gaze. Did she want this? She nodded.
Yes.
Yes, she wanted this. Wanted him.
Elliott bent, kissed her nose and began undressing her. One pant leg, the other. He pulled her sweater over her head, her hair spread out behind her. Silence breathed around them. The bedding whispered against each shift. The blood rushing through her veins roared in her ears.
He dropped each article, slow, tantalizing. He ran his hands up ankles to thighs. Brooke shut her eyes, fearful of the way he looked at her. How could she watch when feeling him so overwhelmed her?
“Brooke,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Her name came again, in turns while his every touch teased her skin. Yes, she silently begged. Yes. He licked the backs of her knees, her wrists, her inner thighs. Closer and closer, he drew his weight and flesh to hers. Heat. Softness.
“I don’t want to rush you,” Elliott said, low at her ear before suckling the lobe. “I want this to be perfect.”
Oh, Elliott. Yes. His voice worked as much magic as his hands. She craved hearing it as she craved him to move higher, tighter. She longed to feel him inside of her, hard, fast. Deep. But for every pull of her hands on his hips or shoulders, he resisted. He slowed.
He waited.
His mouth danced warmth down her neck, over each breast, scorching each nipple. Lower. Downward. Rounded her belly button, tickled her hip. His tongue circled and lined. His breath heated and cooled.
Brooke wriggled in anticipation. Her neck arched. Yes. She raked her hands through his hair as he nudged her knees apart. This was craziness. Her body moistened and throbbed, ready for him. Her mind swam through sensation. Fears fought the current, slipping through in spurts and warning her to stop.
Stop him. Stop before it was too late.
But how could she go back now? The moment she’d followed him today, kissed him behind a locked door, consequences were born. Daring to complete this fantasy only sharpened what had already taken shape.
She deserved to know how this fantasy ended. How could it be fair that she’d lived so long without this? Without him? The knowledge every touch brought made a day without it feel cruel.
No. She would not stop him. Couldn’t. Already, she neared hot bliss. One lick lower, another press with his teasing fingers pushing her toward sweet pulsing climax. Her need ran beyond the physical, beyond ecstasy. More than her naked body cocooned in steely arms, held close, secure. She couldn’t remember the last safe comfort of another being holding onto her.
Elliott kissed her lowermost belly. “Brooke,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t. If she did, she might cry. She shook her head, arched her hips up to his mouth.
He inched back. “Please. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Emotion welled up her chest. Not sadness. A strange kind of gratitude she could not let him see. She took a steadying breath.
He inched back. She panicked. Would he stop? The risk of him stopping now, invested as her body and mind had become, she had to. She opened her eyes.
“Hi,” he said with a grin.
She smiled. “Hi.”
His lids were lowered. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She laughed and suddenly, she was. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head. “If I don’t take a break, it’ll be over before I can really get you started.”
“I see.” No she didn’t.
He rose up and nestled his torso between her thighs, set his chin on her belly. She hadn’t known how tense her limbs had been until they relaxed. His weight felt good. Whole somehow. A completion. Her desperation to have him eased away, allowing her desire room to spread.
Elliott planted small kisses over her ribs. Brooke watched through half closed eyes. The ache gathered tighter between her thighs. As he kissed, his muscles pressed against her mound, punctuating each touch. Christ, but she could climax right there, her body pushed and held to his waist. The heat, the hardness. One small circle then another and she could….
Brooke closed her eyes. Her mouth watered.
She upturned her pelvis. A groan caught in her throat. Oh, but he felt so good. So right. Elliott lifted. But before she could protest the painful vacancy, he returned, this time with his mouth exactly where she needed it, at her core.
“God, you’re so wet.” His finger slid into her heat. Pleasure sprayed through her. His mouth suckled and licked inch after inch of her. “You taste so good.”
Her pussy throbbed while her ears burned. She curved her hips. She dug at his head. So close. She moaned, willing his finger deeper, his tongue faster. Both complied. His tongue flicked her hot spot, his finger drove a rhythm. He slipped another in. Her swollen walls welcomed the intrusion, wanting more. More.
All of him. Driving swift strokes….
Brooke gasped.
Yes. Just that. Right there. “Oh, God, yes.” Again. Oh, Elliott!
Don’t stop. “Elliott,” she panted.
Please, oh please, don’t stop.
He didn’t. He licked and stroked and pressed his fingers deeper and deeper until with a burst of waves, she came. Her climax drummed up her core and outward. It beat in wet pulsing waves. Another and another. Harder. Longer. She cried out his name, and she rode each incredible pulse. Pleasure sang through her muscles until letting go. Her limbs collapsed onto the bed.
Brooke’s eyes fluttered open as Elliott moved to lie at her side, a gloating grin shining her way. He rested a hand on her hip.
“Well,” she said and tried to steady her breathing. Her heart slammed. “I must say. I’m impressed.”
She blinked her eyes when he laughed, notes in the aftermath, an assurance. Her panting began to calm down, but her mind still buzzed with awe. She nodded, and closed her eyes. “Very impressive,” she whispered, and fell dead asleep.
Chapter Eleven
“Brooke?” Elliott whispered. “Brooke? Are you asleep?”
A soft snarfle noise answered him. Yep, the woman was asleep. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Nevermind that he was rock hard and dying to feel what his hand and mouth had just explored. Her legs splayed out on the covers like a foal’s. Beams of twilight filtering through the window outlined their muscle tone, the edges of her knees.
His arm had gone numb. But he didn’t dare move it yet.
He wanted to let her sleep. He lay watching her, taking in her curves and lines. While his arm deadened, his mind sharpened. The night’s events accumulated there. From the moment she’d walked out of Shope’s office without giving him her name, he’d been hot for her. His previous fascination from afar hadn’t been a big deal. Even when he’d acted on it. Jumped and fallen on his face, as it were.
Watching her disappear down the hall that day, his crush had imploded on him. Warm and fuzzy became hot and lusty. That shouldn’t matter much, though. Not like he wasn’t used to wanting a woman. He’d wanted plenty, gotten what he’d wanted plenty, in bed, in life. Brooke was different. Now more than ever and not because he’d yet to finish what they’d started.
Elliott’s pulse thumped his skull. Lying in the dark, listening to her soft snore, he couldn’t figure out what it was she did to him. He should be waking her up and seducing the daylights out of her. Finishing. Instead he lay watching her chest rise and fall, wondering, what if…? What was it about her that had him wanting to stick around and see what might happen?
He tried to flex some life into his trapped hand then scrubbed his face with his free one. Should he stay? Should he wake her?
She’d rejected him at most every turn. What, now he was falling for her? Wanted to spend the night? Wake up and make her breakfast? She was uniquely beautiful. Stunning in this light, all soft and vulnerable, hair askew, features relaxed. But beauty was common enough. His heart didn’t chase mere looks. Hell, he didn’t chase period.
So, why bother? Why her? He hadn’t even had sex with her yet. So why did he feel so satisfied lying there next to her, plotting ways to see her again?
The scent of her sex contrasted with the clean linen under his head.
His groin tension receded. Finally. He wasn’t getting any more of her tonight. Not unless she rolled over, remembered who was next to her—didn’t freak out—and got hot for more. Unlikely. He should go. He didn’t want one of those awkward, guess I should leave now but I promise I’ll call you, kind of moments between them. Maybe he’d slip away and let her sleep.
Or was it he didn’t want her to reject him again? How could he hide how much he liked her? No woman he’d ever encountered rattled him like Brooke had.
The thought sent a sheen of panic down his belly. He needed to get out of there.
Cautiously, Elliott eased his arm from under her shoulder. She didn’t stir. He covered her as best as possible without disturbing her legs. Finding paper and a pen in her nightstand, he scribbled a quick note. One forehead kiss later, an uncomfortable weight in his chest, he snuck out the door.
He needed some perspective. The only way he could see getting any was by creating some distance.
“Don’t miss this item,” the bleached blonde on TV said. “We have three sizes left in the gold and only two in the silver….” Millie glanced up from the file folder, set it down and eyed the television. She turned her attention back to her laptop. Genuine Peridot or no, the ring’s design reeked knock-off. “No one will believe you got this ring at this price,” a caller drawled.
“I will,” Millie said but didn’t hear much more of the Home Shopping Network’s show. Google had snared all her senses. Eureka. Elliott Jovovich in cyber-flesh.
Millie clicked the second link and adjusted her back against the sofa. Now, she was getting somewhere.
AJ’s door opened behind her. “Millicent?”
She waved him over. “I think I found something I can use on College Boy. Something beyond his sorry excuse for a file.” The IRS had more on people than she and AJ got.
He joined her on the sofa, uncomfortably near, but she was too excited to scoot away. “Here, look at this.” She angled the PC at him.
AJ’s gaze scanned downward. He shrugged. “What’s this?”
“It’s dirt.” Millie’s triumph sagged. “His father’s in prison. For armed robbery.”
AJ shrugged. “Okay. And?”
“And his matchmaking file doesn’t show anything about a felon for a father. If it’s missing that, what else could our files be missing?”
“I don’t know, Millie.” He paused. Was he searching for a gentle way to let her down? “This doesn’t seem particularly relevant.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s relevant. Ever heard the apple falling from the tree thing? We’re talking about Brooke here. Prim and tidy, Brooke. Okay, so you don’t know her. I do. She isn’t a felon-in-the-family kind of girl.”
“Does she have feelings for him?”
“Possibly. Brooke has kept him pretty much a secret so far.” She watched his reaction. “I can’t imagine her not having some kind of feelings for him if she’s ready to jump his bones.”
“You’re going to tell her about this, then?”
“Absolutely. I have to.”
AJ looked away, his eyebrows doing one of those upward shots she’d grown to capital H hate.
“You don’t think I should tell her?”
“I don’t see how you can tell her. What could you say? If she’s keeping their affair private, how would you bring this up, let alone explain how you found out about it?”
Millie pressed her lips together. “I can show her this.” She jabbed her hand at the screen.
“Oh, I see. She’ll not only believe it’s true, thus his father, but also a reputable source, they’re all over the Internet after all, and then not wonder why you’re Googling her boyfriend in the first place?”
“I’m concerned.” Shit. “A concerned friend. And he’s not her boyfriend.”
“Or a nosy friend. A very small jump to a jealous friend and then to no friend at all, if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you.”
“Actually, you—.”
Millie stood. “Alright. Okay. You’re right. I did ask you. I just got excited. I’ve been looking at these friggin’ files for three days straight and I finally found some real, tangible dirt on this guy. More than a hunch. Something I can point to and say, ‘Hey, look at this.’”
“But you can’t use it. And who’s to say it will end up being dirt at all?”
She could scream. “You are no help. At all. Do you know that?”
Her chest burned. Why couldn’t he be a little supportive? He’d been at this gig a lot longer than her. Why couldn’t he even entertain some possibilities here?
AJ got to his feet, too. He hesitate
d. “Well, it appears you may not have to put up with me much longer.”
If he was going to throw the fact that the angels threatened to reassign him in her face, so help her, she would do more than scream. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I went to find more information for you, another file.” His hands steepled to his mouth. “Word is they’ve given me a deadline. My source is reliable.”
Her belly went weak and, again, she needed to sit. “How long?”
“Thirty days.” He had the decency to look sorry.
Didn’t help. Millie’s mouth dried up. “Thirty days? What if I can’t get Jason and Brooke back together by then? Worse, if Jason doesn’t work out, if Brooke keeps up with Elliott, how can I ever hope to match Brooke in thirty days?” She set down the laptop and began pacing. “Brooke will end up heartbroken.” And so would Millie. That’s what.
Millie hadn’t even nailed down a decent candidate for the first—what—six months? Double shit. She put her hands to her face, pressing her fingers to her eyes. No tears. Not now. Not in front of him. “I can’t believe this.” No match, no AJ.
AJ moved to her side, his warm and spicy scent cradling her senses. She wanted to lean into him and bury her face, to never come up for air.
“Hey,” he said, his hands pulling hers away. “It’s not so bad.”
Millie shook her head and swallowed a sob. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Shh. Don’t. It’s not as bad as you’re letting yourself think.” He brought her hands to his lips. “I’m still here.”
“For a month. A month? Honestly, what could I possibly have done as Kiki to deserve all this? Gross indifference may as well be murder.”
He bent his head, opened his arms. A shiver ran from her fingers to her belly, which heated. Damn it, she wanted him. She wanted to step into those arms and hide away. She didn’t dare give in, though.
“I know you think I’m wrong to do this,” Millie said. “But, AJ, if I don’t get this right, I will be stuck here, failing over and again for the rest of this miserable life. It’s more than just losing you. It’s losing who I used to be, too.” The idea nauseated her. She stepped away, too tempted to fall into his embrace. “I need to know I’ll make it back someday, AJ. Do you understand?”