The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series)

by Diane Roth

  "Give me five minutes?" she asked, still half hiding in the loose pillows of her sofa.

  "You have three, and the Hog's rollin'. Hustle, girl. We're burnin' daylight."

  She rolled to her feet and ran to her bathroom and did the flight of the bumble bee, stripping off clothes and standing in her closet wondering what to wear instead. A bra. A bra was good. She'd start there. She slipped that on and stood there considering her options. Jeans for sure. But what shirt?

  "Two minutes," he shouted from the other end of the house.

  "Hang! On!" she yelled back. Good grief. Give a girl a minute here.

  She finally grabbed something and slipped it over her head, did a swish of bronzer on her nose and cheeks, then quickly brushed on some mascara and a little lip gloss. It would have to do. She grabbed a band for her hair and pushed her feet into her favorite flip flops and was ready to go right as she heard him yell, "Your time is up, Caroline. Let's get this show on the road."

  She rounded the corner of the den and found him lazing with his boots on her coffee table, his hands folded across his lean middle, and his eyes closed, aviators riding the bandana atop his head.

  "What are you waitin' on now, Gregory?" she asked from the front door.

  He sat up, surprised to find himself behind, and followed her out the door with a chuckle.

  They rode and rode, up and down the winding backwoods roads around Lake Travis, and it was, indeed the perfect day for a sunset ride. The sky looked like a painting, with layers of pink and orange and purple clouds cutting through the burnt orange globe setting on the western horizon.

  He stopped along a ridge and they enjoyed the view for a minute or two. "See? That's how you know God's a Longhorn fan. Check out the color of that sunset," he said. Cara thought he might have something there, wowed by the beauty of it spreading out over the Texas Hill Country.

  They stopped at a tiny roadside trailer to buy barbeque from a grizzled, white headed man who wielded a butcher knife with murderous expertise and made some of the best smoked beef brisket Cara had ever tasted, and they washed it all down with cold beer at a scarred picnic table under a mesquite tree.

  It felt kinda like a date, except that they'd hardly talked while riding, the helmet he'd insisted she wear making communication difficult. Very little had been exchanged beyond him pointing at some distant vista and her nodding.

  But her senses were doing more than their fair share of communicating with Cara. Loud and clear. They noted the way his jeans hugged his muscled thighs. He couldn't wear anyone else's jeans and have them look like that. It came from the very fibers of the lucky fabric memorizing the shape of his butt and thighs and taking on those characteristics after so many wearings. These jeans had history. And that shirt with the sleeves missing, flapping in the breeze, the frayed-edge threads blowing back in the wind to tickle her neck as she leaned in close, and the scent of him engulfing her in the wind tunnel effect from his collar. It was about to drive her insane. How did he always smell so good? No matter what, he always smelled like some sexy men's cologne model. Not that she'd ever actually gotten close enough to smell a cologne model. She did have a rather good imagination, after all. He smelled just as good, she was certain.

  They'd finished dinner, and it began to get dark. "You ready?" he asked, handing her the helmet.

  Ready for what? she wanted to ask him, but figured that might sound a little pushy. But after holding on to his waist all afternoon and feeling the pull of his muscles as they leaned into one turn after another, her mind was going places it shouldn't. Even his arms were sexy, she decided. Tanned and defined with sinew and muscles all cut up in his forearms and deltoids. Lord, she was in a bad way. And that wasn't good.

  "I'm ready," she said, and knew there were hardly ever truer words spoken.

  In a while, they pulled into her driveway and he killed the bike and allowed her to get off before him. She was actually a little saddle sore, she noted, and very hot from the combination of Texas road heat and the warmth coming off the big bike.

  "Want a beer before you hit the road? I've restocked the outside fridge."

  "Sounds great," he said, and followed her through the gate and around to the backyard.

  She dug them out a couple of cold ones and walked over to the pool. "I don't know about you, but I'm hot as Hades. I'm going to dip my feet in the pool."

  "Oh, hell yeah. Great idea." He unlaced his boots and removed them, then his socks, and he rolled up his jeans a few times before sitting down beside her on the edge of the pool. She was already waving her feet around in the glorious coolness of the water, but he sank his in as well, and she watched as a look of pure bliss crossed his face. Sexy again. Oh, God, she needed to stop. Everything about him made her think about sex. What the hell had happened to her?

  But he wasn't cutting her any slack at all. He leaned back and stretched out those muscled thighs, dipping his feet in and out of the water. And all the while he made groaning noises that made her think about sex again.

  "Okay, you have to stop with the moaning and groaning. My neighbors are going to wonder what's going on over here in the dark." Seriously.

  He chuckled and dropped his feet back into the water, then took a draw off his beer. "My feet get hot in those boots. This feels so good after that long ride. Sorry if I'm tainting your reputation with the neighbors."

  She felt a shade guilty for blaming it on the neighbors. "Oh, I doubt they're really paying any attention. Besides, we planted those trees and shrubs for plenty of privacy out here. You can't see the pool from any of the neighboring houses."

  He leveled her with a solid look, straight up interested. "Good to know."

  "It is?"

  "It is," he answered and shucked his shirt.

  She wondered if he could tell the effect it had on her to see him bare-chested. She wondered, but couldn't have spoken if she'd had to. Her breath was pent up in her chest, and she feared if she let loose, it would come out in a rebel war cry or something equally appalling.

  Dear Lord, he was gorgeous. Trim and ripped, and he had the perfect pattern of hair on his chest. She was rather particular about that, she was willing to admit. And not many men measured up. But this one did, Lord help her. This one did very well, indeed, with a medium thick sprinkling of black hair across his pecs and a nicely thinned stream of it marching right down into the slack waist band of those magic memory jeans she had fallen quite in lust with this afternoon.

  He leaned to one side to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, then to the other side to retrieve his cell phone. He pitched them both to the grass growing out a ways from the pool's edge, and then he simply disappeared over the edge and under the water.

  He resurfaced while she watched from the side of the pool. "Oh, man, this feels great."

  "Cooling you off?" she asked, and wondered if she shouldn't do a bit of cooling off herself. She was entirely too aware of him.

  "Yeah, it is. Why don't you come on in?" He swam to the far side and back.

  She didn't answer, too strung out and disturbed by her desire for him. How was she supposed to deal with this sudden change in this very important relationship in her life and in the lives of her children? It was overwhelming as she sat there and thought about it.

  "Hey, where'd you go, Sunshine?" he asked, swimming nearer.

  "I'm here."

  He reached for her feet dangling in the water and pulled each one up out of the water for inspection. "Just checking to see if you still have bling on your toes," he said.

  "Yeah, they're still blingified."

  "And you're way too quiet," he said, pulling on her ankles and nearly unseating her.

  "Stop, before you pull me in," she fussed, trying to get purchase on the tiled pool edge with her hands, but she couldn't help laughing.

  "And what would be wrong with that?"

  "I have my cell phone in my pocket," she said. "Stop, Gregory."

  "Better pitch it aside, Caroline," he war
ned. "I feel you have a good chance of getting very wet, very soon."

  "No, sir," she said, using her momma voice and attempting to free her ankles from his grasp.

  "Shall I give you a countdown?" He grinned like a lecher and pulled her butt a little farther off the tile. "Three ... two ... "

  She scrambled to pull the cell phone from her pocket and pitch it clear of the pool surround.

  "One!" he shouted, and pulled her completely off the ledge. Under the water she went as it was a little over her head at this point, but she had to admit that it did feel great. She admitted it to herself, anyway. She wasn't about to admit it to him.

  "You are a bully," she said, coming up and swiping the wet hair back from her face.

  "Probably so," he said, laughing at her still. "But I had to lighten you up. You'd gone all weird on me."

  She wiped water from her eyes and frowned deeply. "This is weird, Greg," she said, tired of not being real with him. They had always been real with one another. Especially since Jason died.

  "What's weird, Cara?"

  "This, Greg." She turned to face him. "It's not normal for us to be swimming out here alone after dark." She knew it didn't come close to communicating exactly how bizarre things really were in her mind, but if she revealed that, their relationship would never be the same. She moved to more shallow water, needing a little distance from his half-naked body.

  He followed. "What's the big deal? We're swimming. It was hot and we went swimming." He splayed his arms wide, and she had to close her eyes to keep from ogling his chest and those muscled arms.

  "The whole thing is weird. I'm a mess about it, Greg. And I have been since that kiss we shared ten days ago." She actually covered her face, feeling overwhelmed and right on the verge of spilling her guts about how badly she wanted him.

  "What? That little ... nothing?" he finally managed to say. He was trying so hard to make things feel normal, but Cara feared she wasn't ever going to feel normal again.

  He pulled her hands away from her face and bent down to look into her eyes. "It was nothing, Cara. We go on, just like before. Look, we've ridden today and had dinner together. Perfectly normal."

  She said nothing, but knew that he could plainly see he wasn't convincing her.

  He moved his hands to her wrists, circling each one loosely, but tugging on her to keep her attention focused. "Cara, trust me, darlin'. It was nothing."

  "How can you say that? It felt like something to me, and I'm confused as hell," she said, her voice sounding weak and troubled to her own ears.

  "Oh, Sunshine ... don't be confused." He let go of one wrist and pushed a lose hank of wet hair behind her left ear tenderly. Like a lover would. It plain ... messed ... her ... up. And it was all she could do not to turn her face into his palm lingering there and kiss it.

  "It felt like something to me," she said in a very quiet voice. "How can I not be confused?"

  He came closer, his voice deepening, drawing her entire focus on him. Just him.

  "Because, Caroline ... had I really intended to have kissed you, it would have been more like this."

  Then he did kiss her. And the difference was like night and day. This one. Lord, this one rocked her soul. His mouth covered hers in a perfect pairing of lips, his tongue sliding across her partially open lips until she opened to him. And he tasted her, dipping his tongue to swirl luxuriously against hers, his lips gliding on hers, so warm, so soft, but so in control. Mastering her mouth. And she kissed him back for all she was worth.

  His hands came up to frame her face, and he angled her head to seal their mouths more completely, his tongue continuing to plunder her in a way that made her think of other parts of them sliding and gliding and, oh, God ... it was so good to finally be in his arms and pressed up against him like she'd thought about and wanted to be for the last few days. She wanted to explore him, absorb him, and she felt a rush of trembling, powerful desire move through her and threaten to take control of her will.

  But what the hell were they doing? Where could this possibly go?

  She pushed on his chest and broke the kiss, though it damn near killed her to do so.

  "Wait, Greg," she said breathlessly.

  "Oh, Cara ... really?" he asked, agonized. "Because I've been wanting to do this for a long time. Are you sure you want me to stop?" he asked, his deep rumbling voice a warm caress on her ear. He gathered the hair away from her neck and began kissing his way down to her collarbone.

  Suddenly, stopping sounded like a hollow idea, far overrated. He bit her gently and suckled on the sensitive skin below her ear, and Cara's hands reached out to find the belt loops on those beautiful jeans, and she pulled him to her until they meshed at chest and hip, and their legs got all tangled up in the other's. He moaned, and she couldn't have cared less if the entire neighborhood showed up and sold tickets for the show.

  "Should I stop?" he asked, his mouth hovering over hers, a gentleman even in seduction.

  She shook her head infinitesimally, then raised her chin to close the distance between them, and they kissed again, deeper, richer, more portentous than before. It was so very good to be in his arms, to hold and be held and treated as a treasure. She'd needed it for so long now. It reached somewhere deep within her and touched her woman's heart, the one that had been so betrayed and broken by events in the past. Piercing and sweet, it hurt as it opened the wound. She felt a sob climbing up her throat and broke away again just in time to release it.

  He bent to look in her face, lifting it so he might find the truth. "Are you crying?" He pulled her head to his chest and cradled her there fiercely. "Oh, God, Cara ... don't cry." He rocked her gently against his body. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," was all she could manage at the moment.

  She could hear his heart thundering in his chest as he held her there so tenderly, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing comfort from him, her rock, her friend, advisor, handyman, confidant. Did she dare take the chance of losing all that to become his lover? It frightened her until she could hardly breathe. And yet, as she stood there molded to his body, her face on his chest, his strong arms engulfing her, she wanted him like she'd never wanted before.

  "I'm sorry I've confused you," he said softly. "Hell, I've confused myself." His hands came back to frame her face, and he raised her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Cara. Forgive me." He kissed her forehead sweetly, lingering for a moment longer, then he pulled away, and got out of the pool.

  She stood there, fully clothed, waist deep in water, heart deep in misery, and listened to him crank the bike and drive away. And she had no idea what to make of any of it.

  It was a prescription for sleeplessness, this soreness of heart mixed with a thrumming dose of desire. And it kept her up pretty much the whole of the night. She prowled the house, wandering from room to room in search of who knew what until restlessness consumed her. She had to do something with the tension and strife in her mind and body.

  As the first pink edges of dawn crept up on the eastern horizon, Cara unlocked the door to the studio, killed the alarm, locked the door behind herself and flipped on the sound system. In seconds the walls were trembling with hard rock anthems at unhealthy decibels, and Cara put her body through a dance workout the likes of which she hadn't experienced in years. Improvised and impromptu, she danced until sweat poured from every inch of her skin and she began to feel released from the demons that had held her captive for days. And still she danced. Muscles burned and joints ached with the exertion, but it felt a purgative of sorts for the stress, and confusion, and unmet need that had kept her up all night.

  When the playlist finished, there was nothing but ringing silence filling the studio, and Cara slumped to the floor in exhaustion. Breathing was all she had energy left for, and she pressed her burning face against the cool wood of the studio floor for relief.

  "We havin' some kinda Flashdance revival all up in here?" Etta asked from the doorway, nearly scaring
Cara half out of her skin. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have thrown something at her friend for the fright. As it was, she could only lay there and breathe, utterly spent. She raised one hand in a small gesture of acknowledgment, then let it fall back to the floor listlessly.

  "All righty, then. I can see you might need a moment. I'm in the office when you get ready to talk, sister," Etta said, and turned to leave.

  "Etta ... wait."

  She stopped, and Cara rolled over so she could see her without expending the energy to lift her head. And wasn't she something to behold? Brand new braid extensions falling halfway down her back, matching neon green mani and pedi, a floral print halter sundress, disreputable looking straw cowboy hat, and the largest fountain drink cup ever made completed Etta's ensemble.

  "What are you doing here at this time of day?" Cara asked, her breath still coming hard.

  Etta parked a hand on her ample hip. "Oh, no, baby. That's my line. I'm just mindin' my own vacation business, stoppin' at the drive through for a cold drink on my way outta town this morning when I see your car in this here parkin' lot. Don't be talkin' to me about what I'm doin' here this mornin'. What I wanna know is what you're doin' up in here shakin' the rafters and your behind with that caterwallin' music at this unholy hour of day, missy."