Sweet in Love

by Lee, Nadia

  “She’ll worry about you.” Amandine believed in love and commitment, not casual affairs.

  He laughed. “I think you’re confusing my present adult life with high school. The fact is, she’s more likely to be worried about you once she knows we’re dating.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Pete leaned forward again, but this time his dark eyes were intent and completely devoid of levity. “I want you in the most carnal way possible.”

  Wow. Brooke’s breath caught, and her chest and neck grew hot. The interior of the restaurant was fairly dark, but could Pete notice anyway?

  She wanted him in exactly the same way. That was the biggest reason she’d avoided him. He was Amandine’s baby brother, for heaven’s sake! Did she want to make things awkward and complicated, even jeopardize her relationship with Amandine and Gavin?

  On the other hand, maybe she and Pete hadn’t been able to let go because they hadn’t finished what they’d started eight years ago. There was a need for closure, and it was more or less universal. That was why cliffhangers were always resolved, why people gritted their teeth and slogged all the way to the last page of books they weren’t enjoying, why quitters were reviled by society.

  So of course she and Pete felt the need to finish what they’d started, even at the most basic level. But once they had their orgasms, they’d be able to tie a little bow around the incident and move on.

  So, a one-night stand with your best friend’s younger brother?

  Sure. Why not? He wasn’t a minor anymore. It wouldn’t be a statutory orgasm. And the chances of Amandine finding out about a single night were slim.

  The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

  “What’s that look?” he asked, semi-wary.

  She met his gaze and held it. “It’s my ‘I like what you said’ look.”

  Pete’s mouth opened and then closed again. The restaurant was somewhat noisy, but Brooke was pretty sure no sound had come out.

  Their waiter brought out their entrées and left after making sure everything was all right.

  “Like you said,” Brooke continued, “we’re adults, right? Things are different now, and you and I both know what we want. So why play games?” She smiled and put a bite of her sea bream slowly…very slowly…into her mouth.

  Chapter Four

  LATER, IF ANYBODY HAD ASKED Pete how he’d liked La Mer he wouldn’t have been able to say. He, who was always precise, who never forgot a number, couldn’t even recall how much he’d paid for the dinner. He’d handed his credit card to the waiter, and that was that.

  Brooke was stunning in that colorful dress. It molded to her body, bringing out her dark eyes and showing off her well-shaped legs. She sat on the passenger seat like a queen on a throne. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks glowed with the wine they’d shared.

  She’d enjoyed her dinner; every time a bite disappeared into her gorgeous mouth it made him think of kissing her lips and a few other dirty things. His blood roared in his head as his mind conjured up images of—

  Whoa. Get ahold of yourself.

  Yeah, like telling himself that would help. He’d wanted her since forever. In high school, she’d been out of his league. How many college girls looked at a high school boy twice?

  He was different now. He’d made sure she wouldn’t look at him and see her best friend’s little brother, but a man, successful, self-possessed and confident.

  He parked his car on a street a block away from her building and helped her out. She glanced up at him. “Wanna come up for tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  She smiled, a little dimple appearing in her cheek, and started to put a hand into the crook of the arm he offered.

  “You little bitch! You think you can hide?”

  Startled, Pete looked up to see a guy the size of an SUV walking toward them. His short military haircut emphasized a small forehead. An over-sized nose that looked like a parrot’s beak drooped over a blunt chin. Sweat stained a dingy white wife-beater. The pockets of his threadbare jeans were ripped.

  Brooke tensed. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?”

  “I followed you after the workshop.” He moved aggressively toward her, clearly intending to invade her personal space.

  Pete stepped in between them and faced the man squarely.

  “Out of the way, asshole,” the other guy said. This close, he reeked of old sweat, coffee and alcohol. “This doesn’t involve you.”

  “It’s about to. I’m her date.”

  The other guy’s eyes flickered. “You are?”

  “Yep.” Pete towered over him. “Is there a problem here?”

  The other man stood indecisively for a moment, then said, “You can’t say shit about a man’s words and think it’s okay.”

  Brooke put her hands on her hips. “Then don’t submit your writing for critique. You want me to lie to you that I love it?”

  “Of course not!” He ran his hands over his scalp. “But you could’ve been nicer or somethin’, know what I’m sayin’?” He took half a step toward Brooke.

  Pete blocked him. “Look, pal, that’s enough. This is stalking and harassment.”

  “You a lawyer?”

  Pete merely stared him down, which was no easy feat since the other man was fairly tall.

  “Fuck. I hate bitches. And lawyers.” He then pointed at Brooke. “Just cuz I’m a bouncer, don’t mean I can’t write sensitive soul-baring shit. If the world is deprived of another Shakespeare, it’s on you!” He stalked off.

  Pete cut a glance at Brooke. “Well, that was different. Who the hell…?”

  “I don’t even remember his name. He’s from a creative writing workshop I’m taking on Thursday nights.”

  “You write?”

  “Not very well.” She gave a short laugh. “You still wanna come up?”

  “Oh, definitely.” If the guy came back, Pete was calling the cops…after he beat the crap out of him.

  She took him through a humble lobby that didn’t have a single plant or other adornment. One of the ceiling light bulbs was out, and the place really needed a fresh coat of paint. Dark scuff-marks marred the bottom half of the walls so completely they almost looked like part of the original design.

  And the apartment complex definitely needed better security. Amandine had once lived there, and Pete knew the management didn’t put much priority on anything beyond providing the bare minimum. A lone red light on the security camera blinked steadily. Pete would have bet a hundred bucks that it wasn’t really hooked up to anything.

  They reached the ninth floor and walked through a hall that was as underlit and dingy as the lobby. Brooke unlocked her door…and let him in to an entirely different world.

  He blinked at the profusion of colors. Bright rugs completely covered the floor, and interesting posters and prints hung on the walls, each lit with a small spotlight mounted on ceiling tracks. Somehow, none of it clashed. The whole effect was to make the humble apartment vibrant and welcoming…and seem to be worth a lot more than the rent advertised outside on the vacancy sign.

  “You have to take off your shoes,” she said, unwrapping the sandal straps from around her calves.

  “I do?”

  “House rule. My grandma on my Mom’s side made us do it when we were growing up, and it’s kind of a tradition now.”

  Pete slipped off his wingtips and followed her inside, the rugs thick and springy under his toes. Brooke was already in the kitchen.

  He rested his arms on a small, two-person counter that separated the kitchen and the dining room. “I would never have pegged you as the writerly type. You don’t have a single book in here.” There were, however, tons of magazines with colorful photos.

  “Well.” She shrugged and ground some coffee beans. When the grinder stopped, she said, “I got a degree in English, and I thought maybe it was something I could try. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll end up w
riting the next Harry Potter or Fifty Shades.”

  Pete hadn’t read the latter book, but knew it by reputation. Things were starting to look interesting. “Is that what you want to do? Become a writer?”

  “It’s something to do with my free time. And it doesn’t cost a lot to become one,” Brooke said. “It’s not like I have any talent for music or art.”

  But she didn’t have the dreamy tone that people got when they spoke of their aspirations. And her eyes were definitely not sparkling. She’d looked at her dinner with more enthusiasm. “And it’s safe enough, I guess. Except for the occasional weirdo stalker.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We have to read and critique each other’s work in the workshop. I thought what he wrote was pretentious, self-indulgent crap. Seriously, does he really think anyone wants to read thirty whining pages about how nobody understands him and how the world is rigged and how women are bitches who don’t appreciate him as the Beacon of Honesty and Other Masculine Virtues?” she said, using an index finger to make the capital letters in the air. “Does he really think that’s what literature’s about? No. That’s what you pay therapists for.” She poured water into her coffee machine and hit the switch.

  “You said all that to his face?”

  “Of course not. I was very diplomatic.”

  Pete smiled to himself, imagining what her version of “diplomatic” might have been. “What did you write for the workshop?”

  “About a woman who won the lottery but didn’t know what to do with the money.”

  “A woman who doesn’t know how to spend lottery money? How about pay off her debts? Maybe go traveling or something?”

  “But that’s the thing. She doesn’t know what she wants to do. So she’s stuck, paralyzed because she can’t even tell herself she doesn’t have enough money to do what she wants to do, so there’s no point in figuring it out.”

  “That’s a sad little story.” If Pete had played the lottery—he didn’t, of course, with those odds—and won the big jackpot…he could think of several things he’d do with the money after having a long discussion with his lawyer and accountant.

  “A lot of people in my class liked it,” she said, her tone a little defensive. She poured him a cup. “Here. I ran out of cream.”

  “Black’s fine.” They both took a sip and he saw her wince over the rim of his mug. “What would you do if you won the lottery?”

  “I don’t know,” she said after a pause. “Maybe save the money.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pay for a couple of nice trips to Italy and Korea for Dad. He’s never been, and I know he wants to go.”

  “Why not?” He was certain the small business Brooke’s family owned was doing okay.

  “He has a bad back. It’s difficult for him to sit in a cramped seat for a long time. So maybe a luxury cruise would be easier than flying. Sit on a deck chair all the way over, drinking margaritas.”

  “That’s a nice image. But what about you? Nothing for yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She put her coffee down. “I guess I’d pay off my college loans, credit cards…and the car. Maybe buy a house. But that’s about it.”

  Pete’s bullshit detector beeped. She knew, but she didn’t want to tell him.

  Well, they hadn’t kept in touch for eight years, and she probably still thought of him as her best friend’s little brother. He planned to change that.

  * * *

  Brooke gave up on the coffee. Who was she kidding? She could never drink it black. If there was an apocalypse that wiped out cream, she’d have to go without coffee.

  Pete watched her, his eyes clear and too intelligent. She’d expected him to accept her impromptu list, but he seemed to see through her. An odd experience since most men she’d dated hadn’t been interested in probing. At least, not the psychological kind.

  “Got any white wine?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but you sure? It’s nowhere near as good as the one we had at La Mer.” That was putting it kindly.

  “So long as the proof is right.”

  She handed him a chilled bottle of chardonnay from the fridge plus a glass for him. He poured some and pushed it to her. “Here.”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “I saw you with the coffee. Try this.”

  “Okay.” She accepted it and took a long swallow. The crisp vintage erased the bitter aftertaste of black coffee in her mouth. “Huh. That works pretty well.”

  Pete just smiled. During the next half an hour, he kept pouring more wine. When he finished his coffee, she brought out another glass and started giving him some too.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” he asked.

  “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

  “Believe it or not, I actually don’t have to do that to get laid. I was trying to get you to tell me all your dark secrets.”

  She chortled and finished another glass. Poor Pete. He had no idea she could drink like a sailor.

  By the time they’d killed their second bottle, Pete was done in. He seemed a lot like his sister in that regard. Amandine couldn’t drink more than two glasses of wine before passing out.

  Brooke pulled him to the couch. His head lolled; his eyes closed. He moaned softly. “Gently, Brooke.”

  “I am gentle, you drunken boy.” She sat and put his head in her lap. “A man’s gotta know his limitations. Why did you drink so much?”

  “Can’t lose to a girl.”

  She snorted. “I’m older than you. And more experienced in things, like out-drinking idiot guys.”

  “’Kay. No need t’ be nassy.”

  She caressed his head. His dark hair slid between her fingers like strands of silk.

  “I don’ do the lottery, but if I do and, and if I win, I’m unna hire you,” he murmured.

  “To do what?”

  “Touch my hair.”

  The content look on his face squeezed her heart. She chuckled to bury the tenderness welling inside her. “I’m very expensive.”

  “’Sokay.”

  His breathing slowed. Maybe he was falling asleep. Should she get him a cab? He probably couldn’t even give directions to the cab driver, and she had no idea where he lived. Amandine would know, but calling her wasn’t an option. Sorry, got your baby brother drunk.

  Besides, she liked having him here like this. He seemed so sweet, though his rugged handsomeness hadn’t decreased one bit.

  “If I won the lottery,” she whispered. “I’d open an interior decorating agency. Well, after several years working as an interior decorator first. That’s what I want to do.” Her fingers continued to massage his temples gently. She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It was a dream she’d never told anyone, not even Amandine.

  “Buy a ticket?” he asked, his voice soft and slurred.

  She looked down at him. “It’s just a dream, Pete. It’s not going to happen.” She didn’t have the right training or money to open one. But if for some reason she ever did buy a winning ticket, maybe she could use the money to fund her dream. Maybe.

  If she had the guts to do it.

  She pushed the thought away. There were better things to do…like seducing her best friend’s younger brother.

  But was it fair to do that when he wouldn’t remember a thing? He was a man; he’d react like a man. But it seemed vaguely wrong, like she was taking advantage.

  She sighed. It seemed what they’d started eight years was going to remain unfinished a little longer.

  Chapter Five

  PETE OPENED HIS EYES and blinked. The early morning sun filtering through the thin curtains illuminated a cheery colorful living room. He was on an unfamiliar couch, and Brooke’s warm thigh was still underneath his head. She breathed softly above him. He relaxed as peace and rightness seeped to his bones.

  His head was completely clear, his mind alert. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on her couch, but being with her had felt so pe
rfect he’d just slipped off.

  Interior decorator, huh?

  He could help with that, though he wouldn’t give her the money to fund the business. She’d slap him and refuse to see him ever again.

  But there were other things he could do.

  It was an enormous effort to get up, leave the comfort of Brooke’s lap, but he did it. He rooted around and found some paper and a pen, then wrote her a short note.

  Sorry I have to go—gotta get to work. I’ll call you tonight.

  P

  As he placed the piece of paper on the coffee table, Brooke curled up sideways, her hair covering her forehead and temples. She looked so adorable and sexy.

  Instead of the note, maybe he should just seduce her now. But he wasn’t sure how she’d react to that. Best not to risk it. He’d waited eight years. A few more days wouldn’t kill him.

  He gazed at her for a few moments there on the couch. Actually, it might.

  He closed his eyes and sighed, then slipped out of the apartment. He needed to go to his office to shower, change and check up on a few things before making a phone call to Amandine.

  * * *

  “I can’t call until ten?” Pete said.

  “She gets grouchy when she doesn’t get enough sleep,” Gavin warned.

  “Yeah, but…ten?” Apparently Amandine had become a sloth since she’d gotten pregnant.

  “Hey.” Gavin raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “At this point, she does what she wants. I’m not going to argue.”

  Of course not. Given how Gavin and Amandine had come so close to divorcing, he probably wasn’t going to make a big deal about what time Amandine got up.

  Pete wouldn’t either, normally. But he needed to talk to her when Brooke wasn’t around to overhear the conversation. He waited until five after ten—counting each of the three hundred seconds—then dialed Amandine’s number.

  “Hello?” came Amandine’s soft voice over the phone.

  “Morning! Were you still sleeping?”

  “No. I got up about half an hour ago.”

  Grr. Gavin had been mistaken. “I don’t know how you can sleep so late.”