by Lauren Layne
Brooke reached for his wrist, wanting to put his hand back between her legs, shocking herself with her boldness, but he resisted, dragging his fingers along her inner knee instead. “Something you want?”
“Damn you,” she muttered, her head falling back on the pillow. “The whole time, okay? Since the day I first saw you. The first moment.”
His eyes heated, but instead of replacing his hand, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, dropping to his knees as he dragged them down her legs.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said roughly before grabbing her hips and dragging her toward the edge of the bed.
Seth shoved her dress upward, and then his face dropped between her legs before Brooke had the chance to register what he intended, and the soft slick of his tongue felt too good for her to do anything but lie there and enjoy it.
“Oh my God.” Her fingers scratched helplessly against the comforter as he opened his mouth on her, licking her in long, hot strokes. “Seth.”
He groaned in response, licking faster as he slid a hand down, one finger easing inside her. Her hips bucked at the invasion, and he looked up, his eyes holding hers as he slid the finger all the way in, stroking her once, twice, before adding a second finger.
His tongue never stopped its idle stroking as he pumped her with two fingers, and the orgasm built until all rational thought fled and instinct took over, her fingers tangling in Seth’s hair as she held his face to her and went over the edge of bliss with an incoherent cry.
Seth stayed with her through every last shudder, pulling away only when every muscle in her body seemed to give up on her as she lay there bonelessly.
He wiped a hand across his mouth as he gave her a slow, sexy smile, and Brooke let out a husky laugh. “Looking pretty smug there, Tyler.”
He peeled off his undershirt, and as he lowered himself over her, all traces of drowsiness fled.
“How do you work such long hours and still find the time to make your body look like this?” she said, pressing a kiss to his pec as she rolled him to his back and climbed on top of him.
“I get up at four a.m.,” he said, easily adjusting his hips so that she straddled them.
She shook her head. “You and Alexis. Monsters.”
“You sleep late?” he said, rubbing thumbs along the front of her thighs as he held her gaze.
“If I can,” she said, feeling weird that it wasn’t weird that they were talking about this while they were half-naked.
“What about tomorrow?” he asked, the stroke of his thumbs against her legs changing direction so he now stroked toward her center instead of her knees.
“What about tomorrow?” she asked a little hoarsely. Talking was a lot harder when his fingers were so close to there.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Can you sleep late tomorrow?”
“Um.” Brooke struggled to concentrate. “I think so? I don’t have my first meeting until ten, and it’s in Midtown.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Because I plan to keep you up past your bedtime. Now, that dress. Off.”
Brooke obeyed, but did so slowly, making him wait as her fingers drifted down over her sides, flirting with the hem of her dress before she very slowly eased it upward, over her head, and tossed it aside.
“That’s better,” he breathed, putting a palm to her back to steady her as he sat up suddenly.
His lips drifted over the curve of her breasts as his fingers unclasped the back of her bra before sliding it down over her shoulders and sending it in the general direction of the rest of her clothes.
“No fair,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “I’m all the way undressed, and you still have pants on, and . . .”
Seth closed a mouth around her nipple, and she forgot all about what she was going to say, instead wrapping her arms around his neck and grinding her hips down on his, releasing a guttural groan that should have embarrassed her but only made her even hotter for him.
He moved to the other breast as Brooke reached for his pants, grateful now for the light as she quickly managed to free him from the confines of his pants and briefs. She let out a satisfied whimper as she wrapped her palm around him, a sound that was quickly drowned out by his harsh groan.
“You like that?” she asked, pumping her palm against the silken firmness of his erection.
Seth’s eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tense as he nodded. Brooke slid forward slightly, rubbing the tip of him against her opening, and his eyes flew open and locked on hers.
“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.
His fingers wrapped around her hips, lifting her up slightly and holding her still for a heartbeat before shifting them and pulling her down, easing her around him.
“Oh my God,” she whispered at the delicious friction.
Her eyes started to close, but he dug his fingers into her hips. “Look at me.”
She did, their eyes colliding as he sank all the way inside her. “This,” he said. “This is what this is supposed to feel like, Brooke.”
He was right. Brooke had always liked sex—loved sex—but while it always felt good, it had never felt like this before. This was like it was in the movies with both people wrapped up in each other, slow-motion, as some throbbing music wrapped around them.
Only there was no music. There was only the sound of their breathing, the slick slide of his body against hers, the way he whispered her name and the way she whispered his back.
He set both hands against her back, his mouth nudging her to lean back as he nipped at her breasts, alternating between teasing bites and slow, tender sucks.
Brooke’s head fell back, eyes closing as her hips moved faster and faster, lost in the feel of him on her—in her.
“Oh God . . . oh God . . . yes, right there . . .”
She came with a low moan, her hips pressing even more firmly against his as she pitched forward again. Her teeth closed around the firm flesh of his shoulder, and Seth bucked under her, his fingers digging into her back as he exploded with a harsh roar that was a good more animalistic than she would have expected from a buttoned-up businessman.
She relished every moment of it.
Brooke didn’t know how long they stayed there, his arms wrapped around her as she lay draped over his shoulder, panting against his neck as the heat of their bodies cooled to the self-satisfied postcoital bliss.
Later, she wouldn’t remember how he maneuvered them down to the mattress, but she would remember the moment that he lay down beside her, pulling the covers over them, as his hand spread possessively over her belly, nudging her back against his chest.
She would remember that as good as the sex was—and it had been mind-blowingly good—the unexpected cuddling somehow seemed better.
Alexis said it was possible not to let things get complicated.
Belatedly Brooke realized that maybe she should have asked her boss how.
Chapter Twenty
IF THE NIGHT BEFORE Seth had been feeling regret about living in a hotel, he quickly reversed his opinion the next morning. There was something wonderfully convenient about being able to offer a woman a gourmet breakfast in bed without so much as turning on a stove.
Although, if any woman was worth slaving away in the kitchen for, it might just be the woman currently curled up in his bed.
After calling room service and asking them to send up five different breakfast options, Seth poured two cups of coffee, frowning when he realized he didn’t know how Brooke took hers.
Which felt sort of strange, considering they’d spent a good deal of the last ten hours naked together.
It was an uncomfortable reminder that this wasn’t like him. He’d had one-night stands before, mostly in his early twenties, but those had all been the sort of drunken hookups that ended with one of them leaving in the early-morning hours with a headache and regrets, not spending cozy mornings in bed.
And as for the women that had awoken in his bed, he knew them. He took them t
o dinner and did the flowers-and-expensive-wine routine before seeing them naked.
There’d been none of that with Brooke, and yet he did know her, he realized as he poured some milk into his coffee. It was strange, since she’d been a part of his life for only a few weeks and much of that had been spent with them at each other’s throats, that she didn’t feel like a stranger.
She didn’t feel like a one-night stand, either, if he was being honest. What a fucking mess.
Seth gave a slight smile as he heard a rustling sound from the bedroom and, picking up the coffees, headed back to where Brooke was waking up. He leaned against the doorjamb as the lump that was Brooke’s body was starting to stir—she was a burrower when she slept. When he’d awoken, she’d been curled into a tight little ball, only her long blond hair visible above the covers.
Now a slim arm appeared as she stretched, then another, and then finally her head as she rolled upward to a sitting position, unfortunately having the presence of mind to tuck the sheet beneath her armpits, covering up those gorgeous bare breasts.
She blinked sleepily as she tried to get her bearings.
“Morning,” he said quietly as her gaze came to rest on him.
Brooke’s hand immediately flew to her head, only to let it drop again with a sigh. “It’s hopeless, huh?”
“Let’s just say you look thoroughly bedded,” he said, pushing away from the doorjamb.
“Translation. My hair’s a mess?”
He smiled, wisely avoiding the question, and held up one of the mugs in his hand. “I didn’t know how you like your coffee. This is black, but I’ve got sugar and some milk in the fridge.”
“A spoonful of sugar would be great. No milk.”
“I think I can handle that.”
Seth headed back into the kitchen to add sugar to her mug. When he returned, he noticed that Brooke had done some sort of feminine witchcraft on her hair, turning the previous cloud of tangles into a tidy braid hooked over one shoulder.
“Is it bad to say I liked your hair better before?” he asked, handing her the mug before sitting on the side of the bed and shifting to face her.
She snorted into her coffee. “Why, because it reminded you of all your manly prowess last night?”
He smiled. “So you admit it was prowess.”
Her eyes flicked to his. “Let’s just say, last night was good. Very good.”
Seth thought of himself as an evolved man, but he apparently wasn’t that far beyond caveman, because the urge to puff out his chest at that moment was almost too strong to ignore.
Instead he took a sip of his coffee and held her gaze. “Yes. It was.”
Brooke bit her lip as she cupped the large mug in two hands. “So, I feel like maybe we should have talked about . . . the after. And also, I didn’t mean to sleep over. It was just—I thought—”
His hand found her knee. “Hey.”
She took a deep breath.
“There was no way in hell I was letting you out of bed last night, much less out of my apartment,” he said quietly.
Brooke took a deep breath and looked like she was about to protest, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Her eyes widened slightly in panic. “Someone’s here?”
He reached out and flicked the edge of her braid before standing. “Room service. Stay.”
A few moments later, he’d generously tipped the delivery woman after refusing to allow her to set up the table. Instead he wheeled the crowded cart into the bedroom himself.
Brooke blinked. “Um, how many people are you planning on feeding?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat for breakfast,” he said as he began to pull the silver tops off the various plates. “I got everything from a cheese omelet to pancakes to eggs Benedict.”
Brooke bit her lip and eyed the room-service cart. “I’m normally a bowl-of-cereal kind of girl.”
“It’s just breakfast, Brooke.”
She was already climbing out of bed. “Exactly. Breakfast. We said it was about one night. Last night. We agreed. Morning shenanigans didn’t play into it.”
“How do a couple of fucking pancakes and omelets equal shenanigans?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she said as she looked around for her clothes. “This can’t be anything. I work for you. Sort of.”
“Brooke. Stop,” he said, reaching for her. “Just because I’m offering you something to eat doesn’t mean I’m going to start ring shopping.”
She jerked away from his outstretched hand. “It starts with breakfast, but then what?”
He only stared at her.
“I don’t want this,” she said, gesturing at the breakfast cart. “Last night was great, but I don’t want anything more.”
Seth felt like he’d been poleaxed in the abdomen.
I don’t want anything more.
Brooke couldn’t have known, of course, that her softly uttered statement was an exact echo of what Nadia had said to him that night as she’d stared down at his pathetic self on bended knee.
I’ve liked spending time with you, Seth. But I don’t want anything more.
Him. She hadn’t wanted him.
And Brooke didn’t want him, either. And objectively, rationally, he knew that was okay. But some long-silenced part of him was roaring in pain of a not-quite-forgotten memory.
“Got it,” he snapped after the silence had stretched too long. “So next time, I just leave a fifty on the dresser, right?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” she said as she began pulling on her clothes.
“Yeah, I’m the asshole here,” he said. “You’re the one losing your shit over a few eggs.”
She brushed past him. “I can’t do this.”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her back around. “Nobody’s asking you to do anything. You’re the one who came over here last night, remember? For someone who’s so rah, rah happily ever afters, seems to me there’s only one kind of happy ending you’re after.”
Her lips parted at his crassness, and she looked like she wanted to slap him. He almost wished she would.
“You know what I just realized?” she said, her voice low and vibrating with anger. “You’re a lot like your hotels. Polished, attractive, efficient, and cold. Cold and soulless.”
He said nothing. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Nothing that wasn’t true.
“Have a good day, Mr. Tyler. I can see myself out.”
Seth didn’t move. Not until he heard his front door close.
And then his arm lashed out, swiping several of the room-service plates off the cart and sending them crashing to the floor.
As he stared blindly down at the mess, he realized that only twice in his life had he really truly lost his temper to the point of lashing out. Once the other night with the fucking takeout in his office, and again just now with the damn room service.
Both could be owed to a certain Brooke Baldwin.
So much for not getting complicated.
Chapter Twenty-One
I HANDLED IT BADLY. Do you think I handled it badly?” Brooke asked as she nibbled on a fingernail and followed Heather around City Winery as her friend placed a gold-wrapped chocolate truffle by each name tag set around the square table. Heather reached out to adjust the silver ribbon of the centerpiece so that it curled just-so around the base of the white pillar candle.
The bride had gone for a metallic theme, which Brooke had secretly wondered might be a bit cold, but she had to admit that the combination of sparkle and monochromatic tones of silver and gold was stunning. Especially given the oncoming February storm, which promised to be just enough to provide some picturesque snowflakes without being heavy enough to cause transportation issues.
“You’re sure I can’t help?” Brooke asked as she followed Heather to the next table, watching her friend repeat the same process with the favors, the fussing with the ribbon. Heather hesitated, and Brooke had been part of the Belles just long enough to have a sense of what was going on
.
“Hey,” she said, touching Heather’s arm. “It looks really good.”
“Does it?” Heather asked, glancing around. “Are you sure the little snowflake lights aren’t cheesy? They were my idea, but I’ve never seen Alexis use them, and maybe they’re tacky.”
Brooke snapped a finger in Heather’s face, waiting for the usually confident blond girl’s eyes to come back to hers. “None of that. Alexis trusts you.”
“But—”
“Nope.” Brooke held up a finger. “You’re her assistant for a reason. She trusts you to make spectacular weddings.”
Heather’s wide green eyes flitted away nervously, still scanning the breathtakingly beautiful scene before her as though looking for flaws. “I know, it’s just rare that I tackle the setup on my own.”
The experienced wedding planner in Brooke knew that the wedding Heather was carefully crafting was sheer perfection. Brooke had met the bride of this particular wedding—a graphic designer for a major advertising agency—only once, but she knew that Heather had nailed her client’s style. The reception hall was elegant and a little bit playful, classic, but with enough personality to keep it from being generic.
But the woman in Brooke had a sense of what Heather was going through. By Brooke’s estimation, Heather was absolutely ready to be promoted to full-fledged wedding planner, and she expected Alexis would agree.
But Heather needed to know it. She needed to work through the pressure of having a wedding entirely on her shoulders, with no boss to deflect to or follow. It had taken Brooke nearly a dozen weddings before she stopped feeling queasy in the hours leading up to the ceremony, and even now she still got butterflies.
Heather needed to see that she could do it, that she could weather the stress.
And Brooke was absolutely confident that Heather could.
Brooke knew that she, Alexis, and Heather all felt equally passionate about weddings, but she suspected there was something more driving Heather. Something beyond Brooke’s ambition or Alexis’s perfectionism.