by Amber Scott
Brooke stalked each table, grabbing things, setting them down. Haphazardly, shaking her head, nodding. Throwing her hands up and dropping them.
He’d almost lost her because of his fear. Then she’d come back. Life had brought her back to him. Like fate.
Fate? If he let himself think like that, he’d be bending on one knee and making a complete ass out of himself. So, instead he hung back and watched, trying to absorb this strange new clarity.
Was she talking to herself?
Elliott chuckled. The sound broke from his chest and shattered the rock of fear inside.
Love. Brooke.
The only thing he had to do, really, was sweep her off her feet and promise her the world. Then deliver it. Not so bad.
Hell, she might even end up loving him back.
If he played his cards right.
He kept his distance and his eyes averted. Brooke finally made a purchase and they left. Drove to the next. She stalked, bought and gave him a wide berth. He let his discovery settle in. Love. In love with her.
What did he do now? What next?
He certainly couldn’t tell her.
The only thing his lovestruck, testosterone filled brain could think of was getting her into bed again. Get her into bed and never let her leave. A tremor tickled his stomach. He craved her. But he fought the idea. Surely, an educated man such as himself could rise above base urge and get creative. Sex was not the way to Brooke’s heart.
Memories of her, nude and writhing in pleasure, flashed in his head. Possessing her. Feeling the vibration of her groan. Pleasure he gave her. That was what he came back to, again and again. He imagined that flannel on his foyer floor. Then on his kitchen floor, her thighs slung over his arms. Him driving into her. Claiming her. Making her unable to ever forget him. Making her feel, really honestly feel, what she did to him, what he felt for her, if only for a few moments.
No. He should ease up instead, give her space, time. The worst thing to do was smother her with need and hope. She’d run.
By the time she pulled her car in front of his house and parked, he was decided. No sex. Their silent ride home screamed at him to back off. He’d listen.
After some small talk, and a quick goodbye, Elliott made it into his house. He’d done it. She’d smiled, focused on his chin. He’d nodded, clapped her on the shoulder. Friend-like. He should feel better but his guts rotted with dread.
What if he never saw her again? What if he never kissed those lips, touched her soft skin, again? But he knew, he’d had to leave.
He laid his head against the door with a thud. The dusty smell of the heater met his nostrils. He missed her scent, missed her, all the more. He almost opened the door to wave her down and stop her. And say what?
Emotion choked up his throat.
He threw her flannel bundle down and set the box on the table. Her box. Maybe she’d overheard him asking about it. Maybe that’s what had changed. The box and all his dumb questions. Had he blown it again?
He’d just been so happy, had been having so much fun. Not to mention the story the box came with.
He lifted his head, lovesick. A knock thudded behind him. With a catch in his chest, he swung the door open, unable to stop a thrill from springing upward. Brooke smiled sheepishly up at him.
She’d come back!
“You forgot your hat,” she said.
“Oh.” Shit. The hat. His joy deflated.
She handed it over and lingered. He took it and widened the door. He fought down jitters, kept his features smooth. Cool as ice.
Inside, he was begging her to make a move. Even a shrug, a flirtatious glance. A long pause. Anything to encourage him. Because damn it, but he had to kiss her one more time.
“Elliott?” she asked, eyes cast down.
“Yeah?”
“You were right?”
He swallowed. “About what?”
“The clothes.” She licked her lips.
Great. The clothes. Still, she hadn’t left. Hadn’t met his eyes, but hadn’t left. “I’ve got all sorts of tricks.”
“The thing is,” she said and shifted her hip out. “I have a really hard time taking you seriously looking like that.”
He looked down. The fanny pack bulged at the faded sweatshirt hem.
“Maybe you could take them off,” she said and looked up.
The bold, sultry glow in her eyes sent a shot of adrenaline ringing in his ears.
Before he could manage a sexy come back, she put a hand to his chest and backed him in. She shut his door behind her. Her keys clanged against the tile flooring. Elliott closed his mouth. Don’t say a word, some part of him yelled. Don’t speak or you’ll screw this up.
She began at the fanny pack. It dropped with a smack. She moved to his sweatshirt. He helped her pull it over his head. She stood back then shook her head.
“Better. Definitely an improvement, but I think I’m going to need more. Or should I say less?”
God, yes. Take it all. He quirked an eyebrow, daring her.
Her eyes narrowed. Her fingers unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the zipper and found his waiting erection. She gripped his hard flesh in her hands. Elliott fought to keep his eyes open, focused on her.
Letting go of him, she led him toward the stairs. He prepared to go up them. She stopped, shook her head and motioned to the wall. He liked where she was heading. He followed.
He backed her against the wall, drew her hands up above her head. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, she licked her lips. Part of him wanted to ravage her. He could, too. He sensed that she wanted him to be rough and cold. Uncomplicated.
He couldn’t be. Not anymore.
Elliott clasped her hands in one of his and trailed a line with his other down her arm. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Elliott bent and kissed her earlobe, letting his lips barely touch her skin.
Brooke pressed her hips forward into his. Her hands strained in his. He refused to give in or rush. He wouldn’t let her ignore the emotion coursing between them. Every caress, every kiss, could be a word to express his feelings for her. He couldn’t tell her, but he would let her feel his love.
She squirmed, he held tighter. She wriggled, he kissed her longer, deeper. She responded, reluctantly at first, then petulantly. At last, her resistance fell away. Gently, he released her arms and lifted her into his.
He carried her to the stairs. She shook her head. “Here,” she said, her head buried against his shoulder. “Please, Elliott, let’s stay down here.”
Where was it she didn’t want to go? His bedroom? Too intimate? Apprehension stabbed through him.
He strode to the living room instead and set her on the sofa while he spread a blanket over the thick carpet. Adding a few throw pillows, he tugged her by the hand to his makeshift bed. She kept her gaze from his face.
What didn’t she want to see? Could looking at him reveal, or expose, some secret emotion? And if so, hers or his? God, he wanted to peel her hands away and just tell her. That he wanted her, in every sense, for all his life.
But she was hiding. He pulled her hands away but only to kiss the tips of her fingers before moving to her wrist and up her arm. Her breathing picked up pace, matching his quickening pulse. Her skin was so soft.
He could make promises. He could beg her to believe, ask for a chance, a real chance to prove all her fears unfounded. But then, he couldn’t be certain what those fears were. Sure, he had ideas. Where did that get him?
Nowhere but here. Here in this moment, in this chance to wait, to give her time and try to prove what he felt in actions instead. He slowly undressed her, covering her body with his.
Maybe it would be enough in the end. Shafts of sunlight streamed over her naked curves, highlighting each contour. He tipped her face to his and kissed her again. Nothing else mattered but her and him, here and now.
Brooke returned his kiss with more ardor than ever before. She breathed hard against his lips, sucking, licking. He let her, choo
sing not to fight whatever it was she needed. She took over, straddling his thighs and erection. With a gasp, she took him into her. Her body was tight, wet bliss. Elliott held his groan in check and watched her.
Her eyes stayed shut. Her head tilted skyward, her hands raked his torso. He stiffened under her touch, then relented, enraptured seeing her abandon herself to the switch and pull of their movement, riding him, touching him. Moaning wildly when he cupped each breast, teasing the rigid nipples with his fingers. He massaged, he pulled each close and sucked, he let her push away and watched her. She rocked her body with his again and again. Feverishly. Then she stopped, clenched and climaxed around him. With a sigh, she dropped to lay on him. He carefully rolled their bodies over.
He made love to her slowly, tenderly, willing every last drop of care forth. A gift to her. His bended knee, his prize, laid at her feet.
Brooke’s eyes remained closed through the end. She did not look at him, but her body spoke. Her back arched in pleasure. Her hands roamed his chest and shoulders. She kissed his neck and held him close.
“Brooke,” he moaned. God, she was perfection. He wanted to tell her here, in this moment, but a thread of sanity tethered his heart in.
Her slick heat clung to his stiff prick as he stroked in and out, bringing her to another climax, fighting back his own until he could no longer resist her. A perfect blissful end of stars and light and sheer pleasure pulsed out of him. He knew she felt it, too. She wrapped herself around him as if holding on for her life. He held her close, drawing her safely back to earth, praying when she landed he would not feel her slip away.
He continued to hold her close. A sigh escaped her. “Elliott,” she whispered. She fell asleep.
Elliott moved carefully to her side, smelling her candy scented hair and swallowed back the emotion that had nearly split him in two only moments ago. Thankfully, clean sanity crept back in. Logic. His pulse slowed and his mind calmed. He directed his attention to how she felt in his arms, memorizing the details. The way her leg lay limp and heavy against his thigh. The bony press of her ankle on his calf. The softness of her hair.
By the time Brooke woke, Elliott was composed and prepared.
She smiled crookedly up at him. “I fell asleep again.”
“You did.” Unable to resist, despite the voice inside him shouting, don’t go and scare her away now, he winked. “I thought the guy was supposed to pass out after sex.”
She looked at the ceiling. “And I’m supposed to pout for more cuddles, right?”
“Exactly.”
Brooke laughed, then groaned, nice and loud and long. Not good. With care, she unpeeled her body from his and stretched. “Well,” she said, sitting up and hugging her knees. “I have to go.”
He sat up. She stood. Panic lit inside of him. When would he see her again? “Any sales tomorrow?”
“Nope. I’m surprised there’s been any this winter, the weather and all.” She dressed without pretense. Her voice was all business. Again. “I have enough merchandise to get me through January. Maybe longer. I don’t know. If there are more….”
Silence. Nice and awkward. He pulled his pants on, put on his glasses and walked with her toward the door.
“At least I didn’t wake up to a note this time,” she said, leaning up to kiss his chin.
“Ouch,” he said and pulled her close. He kissed her nose. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
She sent him an admonishing look past her lashes. “Not likely.” She slipped her feet into her shoes. “It wasn’t a very nice note, after all. Short, but not sweet if you ask me. Not as cold as leaving no note at all, I suppose, but still, not nice.”
Elliott frowned. He knew he’d waited too long to call but how could his note have her so miffed? “Not nice? What was so mean about it?”
She frowned, facing him. “Seriously? How about ‘forget me’? I’ve never been asked to forget a person. It stung.”
“What are you talking about? I never told you to forget me,” he said.
Brooke snorted, gaze scanning the entryway tile. She bent and retrieved her keys. “Uh, yeah, you did. I got the note, remember?”
Elliott crossed his arms. Anger prickled up them. Was she calling him a liar? “I wrote forgive me. Not forget me.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. ‘You fell asleep, forgive me’?” She finger quoted the air and her expression went well beyond disbelief. More like contempt. “I think I would know the difference.”
“Well you’ll excuse me if I say you’re wrong. I think I do know the difference. One, I have chicken scratch handwriting, thus the brevity of the note. Two, why in the hell would I want you to forget me? I spent three days in a mind fuck trying to figure out why I liked you so much. I couldn’t forget you if someone paid me, so I certainly wouldn’t ask you to.”
By the time he finished, her mouth hung open and his arms were akimbo.
Brooke straightened, she snapped her mouth shut. She shook her head and turned away. “I have to go.”
He didn’t miss the tremor in her voice. “No. Don’t go. Not like this.”
She faced him. “Elliott, I can’t do this. Not right now. I’m recently divorced and fighting my way to find my way into a new life and… I just can’t handle this getting complicated.”
“I’m not asking for anything, Brooke. I was just setting the record straight.”
“But you said—.”
“I know what I said. Look, don’t worry about what I said.” Shit. What could he do to calm her down? He tried a smile, his best panty-melting grin. “Just think of it as you don’t have to sleep alone tonight. No big deal.”
She scrunched her chin. “Alright. If you say so.”
“I do.” He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her to the door. “Now, get out of here before I attack you again. You have work to do, remember?”
She scooted off, all that worry lining her face moments before, gone. Elliott sighed inwardly. Disaster averted?
Fifteen minutes later, his doorbell rang. Elliott clapped his thigh in triumph. She’d come back again! He managed not to sprint to the door but couldn’t stifle his joy. She’d come back.
Ready to gather Brooke into his arms and take her up the stairs, Elliott swung the door open. He stopped dead. Millie stood on his doorstep, battle ready. Brooke was nowhere in sight. The pit of his stomach steeped in dread.
“We need to talk,” Millie seethed and didn’t wait to be asked in.
Chapter Twenty-one
Millie didn’t wait for an invitation.
“Sure. Please. Come on in,” Elliott said, his tone menacing.
Mille rolled her eyes. So she wasn’t welcome. Did she care? Not a scintilla. “Look. I’m not here to be rude.” She strode to his living room, spun and faced him. “But I’m not going to have this conversation standing on your doorstep. So, let’s play nice and humor the rude chick for just a few minutes, shall we?”
If she didn’t already want to shred his ego, she might have been willing to give the guy credit. He wasn’t the least bit intimidated or defensive over her arrival. Yet.
“Like I said,” Elliott gestured at the couch. “Come on in. Any friend of Brooke’s is a friend of mine.”
Oh. He was good. Guilt jab to the heart. Nice. “That is exactly what I’m here about.” She sat down and didn’t wait for him to join her. “Brooke.”
Elliott scooped a blanket from the floor and began folding it. He didn’t speak. Didn’t really need to. Here about Brooke. No shit, Sherlock, right? Right.
Millie ignored his bare chest and met his stare. “You’ve probably noticed a bit of animosity toward you on my part.”
He draped a blanket over the chair and crossed his arms but still didn’t sit. Fine. She could do this with him standing.
“You don’t approve,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Damn it to fuck, where was the presidential-esque speech she had all rehearsed before turning the car off? “
If you mean, I don’t approve of you and Brooke, then no. I don’t approve. But, it turns out, that doesn’t matter. Apparently,” she said, thinking of AJ’s painstaking, dreary lecture this morning. “You and she are adults. Able to make adult choices. Poorly thought out as those choices might be, I have no say whatsoever.”
“Then why are you here?” Elliott’s brow crept downward. “To warn me off?”
“No. I think we’re a bit past that. And, according to some, I’m in no warning position. So, I’m here to try to salvage this gigantic mess.” Her mess.
One of his golden brows quirked up above the rim of his glasses. Why was he being so damned collected about all this?
Millie wished she had a drink. This was going to be harder than she imagined. Maybe she should have gone to Brooke first. No. AJ and she had gone over this again and again. This was the only way. She needed leverage. She had less than a week to come to terms with the fact that Jason wasn’t looking like a good prospect, but Elliott might be a viable one.
“What mess is that?” Curiosity tinged his angry tone.
Inconceivable but true nonetheless. Elliott Jovovich should have been long gone, hit it and quit it by now. Three out of these three weren’t going to live happily ever after unless Millie turned things around fast. The stupidest part of it all was, while AJ had all sorts of forecasts, he wouldn’t give her any specific advice. Nope. Just conjecture.
Oh, and she’d apparently caused a stir on the other side.
Millie waved off the question. Too much information and he would only think she was crazy. “It doesn’t really matter.”
One, she hated that a whole section of Heaven seemed to be sitting around taking bets on her matchmaking success. Why should they even know about it, let alone care? She wanted to tear up holy pages just thinking about it.
Two, the large part of the joke appeared to be her total lack of information. Cover her eyes, spin her around and laugh as she tried to pin the love on the donkey. All the while, she was the ass.
Three, all she could think about was AJ. Losing him. Not just losing him, but knowing a bunch of judges and do-gooders watched and waited for it like a pack of hungry teens, popcorn in hand, drooling over the impending carnage. AJ. Her heart panged. She should have kissed him. More than that. She should be tearing off every last stitch of clothing and give Heaven something to stare at.