Collaring Brooke (Club Zodiac Book 3)

by Becca Jameson

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  No pressure. No stress. Just comfort and acceptance.

  Chapter 13

  Three days later…

  “Fuck,” Carter muttered at the piece of tile in his hand. He tossed it aside, leaned back on his ass, and wiped his palm over his face.

  “You okay?” Lincoln asked.

  Carter sighed as he stared at his boss and one of his best friends.

  Lincoln stood several yards away, leaning over a stack of paperwork at the kitchen island. The top was nothing more than a piece of plywood at the moment because the granite hadn’t come in yet, but it was currently serving as a desk.

  “I might be in over my head.”

  “You think?” Lincoln chuckled, turning to face Carter, his hip against the edge of the island. “You’ve been fucking with that piece of tile for half an hour. You’ve cut three pieces so far,” he teased. “I’m going to have to go buy more if you keep measuring it wrong.”

  Carter rolled his eyes.

  “She’s way under your skin, isn’t she?” Lincoln knew the gist of what was going on. It wasn’t a secret. They all knew Carter had run out of the club Saturday night to chase her down and hadn’t returned. Several people had covered for him for the rest of the night.

  In addition, Carter had spoken to Rowen twice and Lincoln once since then. “Yes,” he admitted. “I’m twisted so tight around her finger that I can’t concentrate. Was it four inches I needed or four inches I was supposed to cut off?” He kicked the stupid piece of tile, sending it careening away from him.

  Lincoln was grinning. “I knew you’d fall one day, but I hadn’t expected it to be so hard and so fast that you lost your marbles.”

  “I have all my marbles, asshole. I’m just…adjusting.”

  “Uh-huh. Where is she now?”

  “Looking for a job.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “I think it’s too soon. I think she needs to take some time off and figure things out. Face her demons. Fuck, I need her to talk to me. Let me in.”

  “You can’t force her.”

  Carter flinched. “You think I don’t know that? Hell, I’m betting someone has forced her to do all sorts of things. That’s the problem. I’m walking on egg shells.”

  “Maybe she needs a job so she doesn’t feel like she owes you or something.”

  “I’m sure, but I still don’t like it. Yesterday when I got home, she was on her knees in the bathroom scrubbing the tile with a small brush. It took me half an hour to get her to stop. She feels like she has to earn her keep or something. I don’t like her thinking she’s my domestic slave. It makes my skin crawl.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  He smiled, finally relaxing. “I told her if I caught her cleaning my house again, I would borrow Faith’s whip and use it on her.”

  Lincoln laughed.

  “I’m pretty sure it didn’t give me the desired result. She might have had an orgasm.”

  Lincoln laughed harder.

  Carter was exaggerating. But her eyes had gotten huge, and she’d actually made a joke for the first time since he’d met her. “Promises. Promises.”

  He was so screwed.

  “Does she realize you aren’t sadistic enough to use a whip on her?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to convince her she can channel that energy sexually instead, but she’s not buying it.”

  “Well, you’ve said yourself she was probably abused, so that’s an enormous hurdle. If some man, or even a string of men, abused her physically or emotionally, it’s gonna take time for her to trust again.”

  Carter pushed off the floor. He needed to stretch. “Yeah, I’m not sure it was a boyfriend.” He winced, partly at the thoughts running through his mind and partly at the strain in his back muscles.

  “What makes you say that? Seems like a classic case to me, from what little I know from Faith and you and Rowen.”

  “Maybe, but what if it wasn’t a boyfriend? What if it was her dad or something?”

  Lincoln nodded slowly. “Could be.”

  “She’s so…innocent. I don’t get the feeling she’s even had sex.” Which scared the hell out of him. As soon as the idea had popped into his mind after her weird reactions to him the other day, he had changed his direction mentally, considering other options. An abusive father would explain things.

  The idea that she might be a virgin slowed him way down. He’d put some distance between them immediately and kicked himself for speaking so crudely to her about her nipples and her pussy.

  It took Carter two days to relax enough not to worry she would pack her car and run if he left her alone. But she hadn’t fled, thank God.

  “Go home,” Lincoln said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s late anyway. If you cut any more tiles wrong, we’re going to run out,” he joked again. “I’ve already got you covered at the club tonight. Spend some time with Brooke.”

  “Thanks.” Carter slid back into his own mind as Lincoln stuffed papers in his computer bag and left. Carter followed him.

  When he pulled up at his house, he exhaled in relief. Her car was still there. When would he stop worrying about her being a flight risk?

  The house smelled fantastic when he opened the door from the garage to the kitchen. The room was a mess, but it made him smile. “You’re cooking,” he told her back.

  She spun around from the stove, flustered, her hair tucked behind her ears. “Yeah, okay, maybe. I mean, I’m trying.” She pointed at a magazine on the island. “Found a recipe. Might have been optimistic.”

  He bent down to remove his work boots and left them by the door before he approached. When he leaned over the pot, he moaned. “That smells great. It looks good too. Why are you worried?” It was some kind of soup. He hoped.

  She shrugged, tensing because he’d leaned into her space, but she didn’t move away. Progress. “Don’t you work at Zodiac tonight?”

  “Nope. Aaron or Dayton will fill in. Maybe Tyler. They’re all usually there. I’m all yours.”

  She forced a smile. He didn’t buy it.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower, okay?”

  “Of course. It will take a while for this to cook. I should have started earlier.”

  He leaned over the recipe to make sure he wasn’t crazy. Beef vegetable soup. As he thought. No way to mess it up. She would be fine. “No worries. We can eat later.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Every day he tried to close the gap between them a little more. Baby steps.

  She didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned closer, her breath catching.

  Again, progress.

  Twenty minutes later, he was back. The kitchen had undergone a transformation in his absence. The mess was gone. The counters sparkled. “Wow, did an army of elves come and help you clean, or was I gone longer than I thought?” He brushed her hair from her shoulder where she stood stirring.

  She put the lid on the pot, turned it down to simmer, and faced him. “Ha ha. I’ll have you know I’m an expert at cleaning. I have few skills, but that’s one of them.”

  He took her hand and lured her into the family room, plopping down on the couch and tugging her down next to him. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you have other skills.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m quite serious. And I seem to have a new problem. Did you know you need a social security number to get a job?”

  He nodded. “Of course.” He narrowed his gaze and cocked his head to one side. “Don’t you have it memorized?” Who didn’t know their social security number?

  “No. I don’t even know if I have one.”

  “Everyone has a social security number. How did you get your last job?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t do it myself. I wasn’t even there.”

  Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. “Who got you the job?”

  “My mother.”

  A slight breeze would have kno
cked him off the couch. Progress suddenly had new meaning tonight. “Your mom? Where is she now?”

  Brooke took a deep breath, blinking. “She died about six months ago.”

  Some of the pieces fell into place. “She lived with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, she was helping pay the rent.”

  “Yes.”

  Houston, we have a foundation. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Her gaze fell to his lap and she murmured a quiet thank you.

  He wanted to ask about her father, but decided it wasn’t prudent. One thing at a time. He needed to thank his lucky stars she’d given him this one piece, not push his luck. But maybe he could at least push this same issue. “Was she sick?”

  “No.”

  Okay, that was not informative. It was downright bone-chilling. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. Could we not?”

  “Of course.” I mean, I won’t be able to sleep worrying about it, but sure, let’s table it. Good plan. He needed to get back on track. “Okay, so she must have had your social security card. Have you looked through the boxes?” They had stacked her meager possessions in the corner of the guest room. He wasn’t sure she had opened them, with the exception of the ones that held her few clothes.

  “Yes. I searched everything. She only had one file of papers. It wasn’t in there.”

  He tipped his head back to think and then had an idea. “Your previous employer would have it. Let’s go there in the morning and see if they’ll give it to us.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Good idea.” And then she scrunched her nose. “Although the last person I feel like speaking to is the man who just fired me.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m going with you.”

  She pursed her lips, and just when he thought she might argue, she surprised him. “Thank you.”

  More progress.

  “What was your mother’s name?”

  “Ann.”

  How generic, he thought, a chill racing down his spine.

  It was after midnight before Carter was able to slow his mind down enough to relax. As far as he knew, Brooke had been asleep for a while. He still left his door open every night. She made no comment, but she still closed hers.

  Suddenly a scream filled the darkness, and he bolted upright. It took a moment to untangle himself from the sheets, but he was on his feet and running across the hall before the piercing sound stopped.

  He didn’t hesitate to open her door and rush into the room. She was under the covers, tossing around. She was no longer screaming, but she was mumbling. “No. Please stop. No. It won’t happen again. Please.” She yanked her arms over her head in a protective stance and curled onto her side.

  Fuck. She was having a nightmare, one he hated more than anything. He set a hand on her shoulder, afraid to scare her and make things worse. “Brooke,” he whispered, shaking her slightly.

  She continued to struggle. “I didn’t mean to do it. Please…”

  He swallowed the tight ball in his throat and grabbed her flailing hands, afraid now that she might hurt herself or take a swing at him. “Brooke, baby, wake up.”

  She tugged on her wrists, but he held tight, pressing them into the pillow.

  “Brooke.” That time he nearly shouted.

  She stopped, her eyes flying open, her body stiff. Her expression was wild and confused. “Carter?”

  He released her and sat on the edge of the bed. “You had a nightmare.”

  She groaned and turned her face toward the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

  He set a hand on her shoulder. “Baby, you don’t have to apologize for everything. It’s okay. People have bad dreams.”

  “Did I say anything?” she asked the pillow.

  “You were mumbling.” He hated to lie, but telling her the truth would hurt also.

  Her breathing gradually slowed, and he climbed over her small body and spooned his front against her back. Risky.

  She didn’t pull away. Instead, she settled into his embrace.

  He was on top of the sheet, but it had worked its way down to her waist. That was when he realized what she was wearing. His T-shirt. The one he’d given her Saturday night. The one he was certain she had not worn that first night. He felt sure she had slept in her clothes.

  Relief flooded him. She had her own clothes now. It spoke volumes that she’d chosen to wear his shirt. He set his head on the pillow behind her and breathed in the scent of her soft curls. Clean. Not something fruity or floral. Just clean.

  When he assumed she’d gone back to sleep, she finally spoke. “I’m a disaster.”

  He stroked her arm, running his hand down until he threaded his fingers with hers under her breasts. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to her. “Everyone has a closet, baby. Yours is just kinda jammed. But it’s not your fault.”

  She giggled. “How do you always say the right things?”

  He smiled against her hair. “I have many talents.”

  “I bet you do.” She sucked in a sharp breath as if wishing she could take the slightly suggestive sentence back.

  He pulled her tighter against him. Now was a good time to take some risks. “You’re wearing my shirt.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss to her shoulder.

  “It’s soft. It…smells like you. It comforts me.”

  “I like that. Maybe I should wear one of yours.”

  Another giggle. “Lordy. I know my shirts are too big for me, but your chest is huge. I don’t think you’d even get your head through the neck hole.”

  “Good point. I suppose I could set it over my pillow so I could breathe in your scent when I sleep. It’s only fair.”

  “Doesn’t seem like you need it right now. You’re lying on my pillow.” Damn, she was getting bold.

  He was too choked up to respond. Besides, she had blindsided him.

  “Will you stay?” she asked tentatively.

  “As long as you’d like.” His heart skipped a beat.

  She snuggled closer. “I feel safer and calmer when you’re near me. When you touch me. I never thought I’d say that to anyone.”

  He closed his eyes, nuzzled her neck, and kissed her sensitive skin again. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice cracked.

  He continued to hold her as her body eventually relaxed and she fell back asleep.

  He continued to hold her while he watched her face in the dim light of the room as the worry left and the lines loosened.

  He continued to hold her until the sun came up.

  Chapter 14

  At nine in the morning, Carter set his hand on Brooke’s lower back and guided her into the head office building for CCS. He’d gotten up early and ensured that his guys were on the job site working on the house they were currently renovating. They could survive without him today.

  His first thought as they entered her former place of employment was how pumped he felt that she let him touch her without flinching. His second thought was that the place was bustling. Phones were ringing. The receptionist looked frazzled. And two men in company polos were struggling over a printer behind the front desk.

  He didn’t see any signs of the doom and gloom the owner had painted for Brooke on Friday afternoon.

  “Hey, Brooke,” the receptionist greeted. She tipped her head to the side. “What are you doing here? I thought you quit?”

  Brooke’s brow furrowed. She didn’t answer. Instead, she asked, “Is Mr. Zellerman in?”

  “Yep. He just got here. Let me see if he’s in his office.”

  Carter watched her reach for the phone and decided she was oblivious to whatever happened between Brooke and the owner.

  She mumbled into the receiver and then set it back down. “You can go on back.”

  Brooke didn’t respond. She turned to the right and led Carter down a short hallway to the owner’s office.

  The man he assumed was Mr. Zellerman stood as they entered. “Brooke. Ni
ce to see you. Did you forget something?” He glanced hesitantly at Carter and then back at Brooke.

  Carter rounded Brooke and reached out a hand. “Carter Ellis. We need your help actually.”

  “Oh?” His brows went up.

  “Yes. It would seem Brooke doesn’t remember her social security number, which is making it difficult for her to get a new job. She can’t find the card anywhere, and we’re hoping you have it on file and can jot it down for her.”

  Sounded simple enough. A reasonable request. What excuse would anyone have for not giving someone their own social security number? If the guy balked, Carter would head down another path and push the issue about why Brooke was fired in the first place.

  Something was fishy.

  Mr. Zellerman lowered himself slowly onto his office chair. His face was pale.

  Carter didn’t want this to become a problem. A preemptive strike was in order. “Brooke told me about the cutbacks you’re having to make. I’m sorry to hear about it. The economy is tough these days.” He decided not to point out that he owned one of the places Brooke used to clean.

  Mr. Zellerman ignored Carter’s taunt and leaned forward on his elbows. He was growing paler, and his hands weren’t quite steady.

  Carter lifted a brow, hoping his expression alone proved he was not about to get dicked around. He also hadn’t taken a seat. Nor had Brooke at his side.

  Finally, the man glanced down. “I don’t have it.”

  “Her social?”

  Zellerman swallowed as he lifted his gaze. “Right. I never had it. Ann never gave it to me.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Brooke interrupted. “That’s why you paid me in cash…”

  He nodded.

  “Why would you do that?” This story was getting thicker and more confusing.

  “Her mother asked me to. I, uh, I felt sorry for her.”

  “Do you have her mother’s social?”

  Zellerman shook his head, leaning back again, looking defeated. And guilty. Of what? “Never had hers either.”

  “How long did she work here?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years?” Carter’s voice rose, and Brooke wrapped her fingers around his forearm. He didn’t know if she was trying to hold him back or draw strength from him. “Why the hell did she not use a social security number? It must be a mess in your accounting. Why would you agree to that?”