Sweet in Love

by Lee, Nadia

  “It’s no trouble.” He put a hand to the small of her back. He was warm and as he fell in beside her he smelled like soap and freshly cut trees.

  He towered over her. But then she was short. That, plus the fact that he had always seemed more mature than his age, was probably why she’d gone insane all those years ago and let him kiss her…and then kissed him back. It’d seemed like such a natural way to kill time in an empty high school gym, while waiting for Amandine to finish talking with her guidance counselor. Thank god for the minor quake that had hit the city. By the time it had jolted sanity back into her, they were panting, their hands busy exploring each other’s bodies. Her sex had been dripping wet, his thick and hard.

  She’d fled back to UCLA immediately without a word to Pete or Amandine. Pete had called a few hours later to ask how she was doing.

  “It never happened. Don’t call me again.” she’d said. Now that she thought back on it, her voice had probably been colder than necessary.

  And he hadn’t. Until today.

  Did he really want to see where things would go between them? All because they were both still single after eight years?

  If Pete had waited another month before making his move, maybe she would’ve been busy dating the cardiologist whose mother owned a laundromat.

  They had a pleasant stroll through the neighborhood, ending up at the entrance to her apartment complex. “Thanks for dinner,” she said.

  “My pleasure.” He had a smile on his face, and shifted until he was crowding her a bit. Yet she didn’t feel trapped. Her heart hammered like a sparrow’s. What would he do next? Kiss her?

  Would his kiss be as amazing as the ones in her memory?

  He dipped his head, his long eyelashes shielding his eyes from her scrutiny. His mouth grazed hers in an inquiry, and after a moment she tilted her head, fitting her lips to his.

  His kiss was familiar, but with a maturity and sureness that made her spine tingle. His tongue gently traced the seam of her mouth, and she opened wider, and used her tongue to steal a quick taste.

  She moaned softly when the flavors of man and tea registered. She couldn’t believe how much she wanted him, wanted to devour him with the greed she’d displayed eight years ago. Her panties grew damp as she pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked it. She pressed closer, fitting her body against his, and groaned when she felt his thick, hard erection pushing against her.

  Suddenly, he pulled away. She gripped his jacket lapels, trying to draw him back, but a soft throat-clearing behind him caught her attention.

  “Excuse me. I need to get in.”

  Oh crap. It was Mrs. Nesbitt, her neighbor. Brooke pulled her lips in and stepped away from the door.

  The old lady winked as she shuffled past. “You’ve got a handsome one there, dear. Why not invite him in? It’s nicer in your apartment, hmm?”

  Brooke’s face burned as the woman slipped behind the door. Holy shit, what the hell had she been thinking? She was so lost in the kiss that she might have gone all the way right where they were. Like she had been in the empty gym.

  “I should go up,” she said.

  “Brooke—”

  “I know what you want, and I think a kiss is enough for one evening’s work, don’t you?” Her lips still tingled, sensitive and swollen.

  He took a breath. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you have to work? Does Gavin actually let you leave before, like, midnight?” Gavin had been the most notorious workaholic. He’d recently cut back, but that meant everyone else at his firm worked longer hours.

  “Don’t worry. I can leave when I clear my to-do’s.”

  “Well…okay. Where are you taking me?”

  “On a life-long journey of excitement and romance, if you’ll let me. Oh, you mean tomorrow? La Mer.” And he smiled and walked away, his gait loose-hipped and relaxed.

  She wished she could be that casual. But she was too wound up to do anything but lean against the door and pull herself together before slowly making her way to the ninth floor, where her apartment was.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Brooke sat next to Amandine in the master bedroom suite of the gigantic mansion her best friend called home.

  Brooke took off her sandals and tucked her feet under her butt. Amandine was on the bed, surrounded by interior decorating magazines, browsing flooring quotes on her slim tablet. She was showing now, and given how she’d fainted once during the first trimester, she basically stayed home except for some moderate exercise and dining out once or twice a week. That meant Brooke had even fewer things to do, since Amandine’s social calendar, which she managed, was far less full. Being married to a man as successful as Gavin Lloyd meant being kept busy—well, normally—with fundraisers for charities and foundations.

  Why couldn’t Amandine just have a healthy and uneventful pregnancy? It would’ve relieved Brooke’s mind, and having her normal duties would have kept her too busy to think about Pete and what had happened the night before.

  She’d sternly ordered herself not to think about it, but to no avail. Her perverse mind kept flashing images of them doing it in her apartment, like Mrs. Nesbitt had suggested. She and Pete on her bed, bodies flush against each other; she bent over the back of her couch, Pete’s hands on her hips, thrusting into her from be—

  “Hel-looo?” A hand waved in her vision. “Are you even listening?”

  “Huh?”

  Amandine frowned. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not like you to space out like that. And you look a little flushed.”

  “Sorry. Just, um, some insomnia last night.”

  “You?”

  “It happens.” Impossible to get a good night’s sleep when my mind keeps playing porn featuring me and your brother.

  “You want to take the afternoon off? Maybe catch a nap?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Well, I’m going to have one. You know I need my rest these days.”

  True. Amandine had been sleeping a lot since her pregnancy.

  “C’mon, we can nap together. It’ll help you feel better too.”

  Not a bad idea. Besides, she had no idea how late Pete planned to keep her up on their date at La Mer. Or how late she wanted him to keep her up. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am.” Amandine smiled and stretched again. “God, I’m really starting to show.”

  “You look great.”

  It didn’t matter Amandine looked like she’d swallowed half a watermelon. She glowed, not just from pregnancy but with the assurance of a woman who knew she was loved unconditionally. She had everything she wanted: a loving husband and a successful brother and a great set of in-laws who adored her. What Brooke had was something a lot simpler—a job she generally enjoyed and friends and family who loved her—but just as satisfying. It’d mess everything up if she gave into Pete’s offer and dated him. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to date casually, the way she preferred. Guys didn’t wait eight years for a casual date.

  And when things ended—like they always, inevitably did—there’d be an ugly, awkward mess to deal with.

  Chapter Three

  PETE’S OFFICE WAS just like any other at the firm: ten by ten with a couple of windows. But that was where the similarity stopped. Everyone else had decorated theirs with the discretionary budget they’d received upon joining the firm. Shelves and bookcases holding cheaply framed photos of friends and family were de rigueur. Wallpaper and a plant or two in the case of the female staff. A few people had bought art prints in an attempt to lessen the toll of endless hours spent at their desks.

  But Pete’s walls were bare, his desk clear, not a single shelf had been installed. So long as he had a clean computer screen, good lighting and a comfortable chair, he was happy. None of the other stuff would have helped him to be more productive.

  A steamin
g cup of latte in his hand, Pete sat in his ergonomically correct Aeron chair, his office door open. He didn’t believe in keeping himself closed off at work. That was the surest way to miss opportunities.

  A little alert flashed on his monitor, and he chuckled when he saw the message.

  Gavin stopped outside and stuck his head in. “What’s so funny?”

  “Just made half a million bucks.”

  “Not bad.” He leaned against the door sill. His three-piece suit, unlike Pete’s, was hand-tailored in Europe—probably Italy. Pete had never seen Gavin in anything more casual at work, and everyone dressed to emulate him. “Which trade?”

  “That currency short I told you about.”

  “Nice.”

  “Thanks.” Pete beamed. “A good day’s work before my date this evening.”

  “Ah, that’s right. At La Mer.”

  “Yup. I owe you one.” Without Gavin’s help, Pete would’ve never been able to get a dinner reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in L.A. on such short notice.

  “No problem. So who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Brooke.”

  Gavin blinked. “Brooke. As in, Amandine’s best friend Brooke?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Huh. I never knew she was your type.”

  Pete’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What do you know about my type?”

  “Tall? Blonde? Tits out to here?”

  Yeah. Leggy Nordic types. Pete had dated them so he wouldn’t think of Brooke every time he looked across a dinner table. He checked a few things and shut down his laptop. “I’ve waited eight years to make my move.”

  Gavin looked suitably impressed. “Sounds pretty serious. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  Brooke tossed another dress down on her bed. Good god, why was it so hard to pick out a decent outfit for a date? None of her clothes looked good enough for what she needed.

  Not that she wanted to impress Pete. That was soooo not it; she just wanted to look good at La Mer. Everyone who mattered ate there. She might not have any Chanel or Dior in her closet, but she still wanted to make at least a bit of a splash.

  She finally settled on a sleeveless magenta silk dress that reached about an inch below mid-thigh. A slim gold belt looped around her waist, emphasizing its smallness. Golden high-heeled sandals in the Greco-Roman style elongated her legs. She winced as the straps pinched a little, but took a breath and ignored the pain. Short girls needed every inch they could get. She dumped her driver’s license, credit cards and some small bills into a matching clutch. Two huge golden hoops dangled from her ears, and she put on a golden chain—her mother’s old jewelry. When her mother had passed away, Sandy and Brooke split everything fifty-fifty, and their father kept the wedding band. He’d aged a decade and never looked at another woman. Margaret Andersen-Kim de Lorenzo had been the only one for him.

  At six thirty sharp, the intercom buzzed. It was Pete.

  Very punctual, she noted with approval and a bit of curiosity. Just what had he done to get away from work this early? Give Gavin a kidney?

  He stood outside his Mercedes, the door to the passenger side open. A charcoal Armani suit was wrapped around his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, trim waist and long legs. If he hadn’t been smart enough to get the kind of job he had, he could’ve been a model, capitalizing on youthful good looks while he could. L.A. was full of handsome men, but Pete had something extra that went beyond a pretty face.

  Now, now, don’t go looking too deeply into this. Keep it light.

  His gaze skimmed her from top to bottom then rose back to her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Shall we?”

  She nodded and climbed inside the car, and he started them off to La Mer. Something soft and soothing was playing on the radio. “What is that?”

  “Gershwin’s concerto in F.”

  “I didn’t know you liked it.”

  “I don’t like it the way most people like music.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I listen to it only when I drive and don’t want to answer any calls.”

  Brooke frowned. “Don’t you have to answer them?”

  “Not tonight. I have someone more important to talk to.”

  Her face warmed in the dark car. She wasn’t at all flattered—of course not—even as her heart fluttered. His resolve wouldn’t last long. People in his line of work simply did not ignore calls or alerts and pings. Gavin, for example, checked his various mobile devices to the point that it seemed like a nervous tic. It’d gotten better after he’d cut back, but as an associate still climbing the corporate ladder Pete didn’t have that luxury. On the contrary, he’d actually have more on his plate now that the Big Boss was taking it easy.

  As the Mercedes pulled into the driveway in front of La Mer, a uniformed valet stepped up to open the door for Brooke and take the keys from Pete. The restaurant glowed a deep blue like the Pacific. Plants in the miniature garden leading to the entrance resembled coral, orange and yellow lights turning them colorful.

  The maître d’ took them to one of the best tables in the restaurant, situated along the famous aquarium wall. Fish of various vivid colors swam in the floor-to-ceiling water, staring goggle-eyed as they glided by.

  The diners were speaking in low voices while keeping an eye on who came in the door. Most were dressed to be seen—expensive silk, designer brands, pricey jewelry and diamond watches that sparkled even in the dim lighting. Pete and Brooke took their seats and immediately a tuxedoed waiter appeared, handing them menus. He recited the specials for the day, including some French and Spanish wines that had been imported for that month. Brooke went ahead and told the waiter what she wanted. Pete did the same, not even glancing at his menu, then choose a Chablis to go with their meal.

  After the waiter left, Brooke said, “That didn’t take long. You come here often?”

  “Nope. I just know what I want. Always have.”

  Her insides quivered at the quiet intensity of his gaze. She felt like it was her, not the fish, being prepped to be consumed.

  Yes, yes, take me, eat me, her eager mind whispered as she swallowed, throat dry and nipples erect. With an effort she dragged her focus back to the food she’d ordered: seared sea bream with a light basil sauce and a hint of garlic. There was nothing better than fresh sea bream.

  She sipped her water. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For dinner.” She gestured at their surroundings. “I’ve been wanting to get a table here for months, but I could never get it, and didn’t have the patience to wait.”

  He smiled. “You must not have wanted it that badly then.”

  “Maybe not. But after tonight I might start to, especially if the food is as good as the decor.”

  “Just let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You gotta get on the list like everyone else.”

  Pete grinned. “Not if you know Gavin. You know he’s very close to Mark Pryce, the guy who owns this place, right?”

  “Yeah, but still. I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

  “Let me be the presumptuous one then. I don’t mind.”

  The waiter returned with their wine. He made a big production of uncorking it, and once Pete approved it, poured for both of them and left.

  Pete and Brooke clinked their glasses. “To us,” he said.

  Was there an “us” for them? Sex was definitely becoming more of a possibility, especially if she drank enough of the Chablis.

  Okay, that was a lie. She didn’t need alcohol to sleep with Pete. He was too gorgeous for her own good, and she’d been wondering what it would be like if she just forgot about her relationship with Amandine and went for it.

  The wine was slightly sweet and fruity, with an undertone of oak, and would go well with the sea bream she’d ordered. So this was what rich people drank. It was nothing like th
e cheap supermarket vintages she usually kept in her apartment. She sighed with appreciation as the alcohol loosened the tension in her gut. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk about what you said at Wong Lotus.”

  “By all means.”

  “If we were to date, can we keep it…you know, quiet?”

  “Quiet? You mean secret?”

  “Well…yes. It’ll be awkward if, you know, things don’t work out.” If I break it off. Or you decide to get out.

  “I’m still friendly with most of my exes.”

  “Not me. I don’t do well with exes.” They usually end up being annoying, and I have to get rid of them by becoming a bitch nobody could live with.

  He shrugged. “I’m not any of your exes. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we have a lot of mutual friends and history.”

  “That’s precisely what I’m worried about.”

  “Brooke, this isn’t high school. We’re too old to sneak around.”

  She flushed. He was making her sound like the immature one.

  “Besides,” he continued, “even if I agreed with you—which I don’t—it wouldn’t be possible. I already told Gavin.”

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged again. “It came up.”

  “I work for his wife.”

  “So? It’s a free country. You can date whoever you want.” He paused and leaned forward in a confidential manner. “Unless, of course…”

  “What?”

  “…there’s a clause in your employment contract that says you can’t date your boss’s brother.”

  Brooke gave an exasperated sigh. “For your information, I don’t have an employment contract at all. Amandine and I trust each other, see? Which is what makes this worse.”

  “You think Amandine really cares if you’re dating me?”

  “She might.” Amandine knew Brooke didn’t date long-term. She also knew Brooke wasn’t the type who dreamed about settling down, buying a big house with a white picket fence and having kids. And she’d totally want those things for her baby brother.

  “Brooke. She’s my sister, not my mother.”