by Theresa Weir
Harper and Brooke laughed.
“It’s true. He actually told me he had the hardware and I had the software. ‘Let’s talk binary.’”
“He meant have sex, right?” Brooke asked.
“Right. After hand gestures and sock puppets, I finally got it.”
“Did you give him a hand gesture?” Harper wiggled her eyebrows.
“No,” Poe laughed, “but I wanted to.”
“How was he in bed?”
“He gave good oracle.”
“Oh, God, Poe,” Harper said nudging Poe as she clutched her sides. “You are too much.”
“No, they are too much! I need a real man, a burly man, one who can build me things.” Poe raised her hands in the air and clenched her fists. “I look at some of these guys and ask myself, if the apocalypse happened tomorrow, could they protect me from the zombies?”
“You’re watching too many zombie movies, my friend,” Brooke said. “Besides, all you really need to worry about is bacon.”
Harper laughed. “Don’t get her started on bacon again.” Harper wagged her index finger. “I can’t watch those shows. They creep me out.” She shivered.
“Did he stay for breakfast?”
“Nope. He definitely wasn’t bacon-worthy.”
“Bacon worthy? Oh, God. She has a new measuring stick.” Harper said.
“Not just one. My new barometer now.” Poe opened one palm. “Zombie killer,” then the other palm. “Or zombie food. Which would you choose?” She raised her hands up in down in a balancing motion.
“I can’t lie. I do love the muscles,” Harper confessed. “I think there’s something about a working man. One who gets down into the grease and dirt and does an honest day’s work.”
Brooke nodded while thinking of Drew’s muscles.
“So, the hotsy totsy socialite likes the working man. How exactly would that work out?” Poe said, looking over Brooke’s shoulder as she sketched her ideas on paper. Poe scrunched up her face as she thought. “You’d pack his lunch for him and clean the penthouse while he was hauling and getting dirty all day?”
“Are you saying a socialite couldn’t be happy with a blue collar worker?” Harper asked, challenge in her voice.
Poe shrugged. “I’m saying you’re worlds apart. It would have to be a man who had, like, balls of steel.”
“Ouch,” Brooke said looking up from her sketching.
Harper chuckled. “He would need to be confident. I don’t like wimps or, as you so elegantly put it, zombie food.”
“Yeah, but a poor zombie could starve to death if they had to live on the brains of some of the men in this city,” Poe said with a wry grin.
“My ancestors were hard-working men. They toiled every day to make the money their families needed.”
“Yes, and now you don’t have to work at all. Kinda ironic, if you ask me.”
“I guess it is. I never thought about it that way.”
Poe said, “Wow,” and motioned Harper over to Brooke’s sketchpad. “Look at what she’s doing. She’s designed dresses that exactly fit our personalities. This lattice work over the bodice is so Goth-like. I love it.”
Harper crowded in. “Geez, Brooke. You make me sick at how talented you are. That off-the shoulder dress with its empire waist is so me. Look how she’s used that lattice across the shoulder and the back, sexy and elegant. And, this one is yours, no doubt. Very Jackie O with a modern twist, and so stunning with the lattice over the skirt,” Harper said, tapping the sketchpad with her index finger.
“The contrasting colors are amazing. Love that the lattice on our dresses is the color of your dress and the lattice on your dress is the color of ours. Callie is going to adore these.” Poe nudged Harper. “You have to admit. It’s an admirable trait to work hard every day. Have you ever had a fling with a working-class guy?”
“No, I haven’t as of yet.”
“He’d probably think he won the freaking lottery.”
“That’s the trick. Finding a man not seduced by the money, but one hundred percent in love with me.”
“Good luck with that,” Poe said as Brooke rose to begin cutting the pattern for the dresses.
“I think that’s the trick for any relationship,” Brooke murmured.
“The money thing?”
“No, Poe, the love thing.”
Chapter 11
Drew opened the door after the first knock. He had actually been pacing in front of the door, thinking about going over to Brooke’s. But he wasn’t sure what her plans were, so he should probably just call her.
He had two reports to finish, but he’d left them on his desk. For the first time since he’d started at the firm, he’d left work undone. It felt…good. He was more eager about seeing Brooke again.
When he pulled the door open, she stood in the hall, her dog sitting beside her, the perfect gentleman. Everything in Drew went instantly still and soft at the sight of her. She looked like heaven to him, even in the conservative black coat. Her eyes, so warm and brown, dominated her small, sweet face.
He leaned against the jamb. “I was just thinking about calling you.”
The apprehension on her face melted and she smiled. “I was hoping I wouldn’t disturb you.”
“You don’t disturb me. Well, you do, but not that way. I wanted to find out how it went at the lawyer’s office. Come in and tell me about your day. How did you get away from the paparazzi?”
She held up a bag on her arm. “I had this Maxine outfit, the funny old woman in the cartoons, I made last year for Halloween. A little hunching, a lot of yelling to get out of my way, and I was home free.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
“It was an Oscar performance!” He closed the door behind her and she looked around. “Wow. Very nice.”
Drew absently looked around the room, trying to see it as she did, recalling how he’d felt about it years ago when he’d purchased it. “I bought it for Emma. It was close to an excellent girl’s school.”
He took in the floor to ceiling windows, the warm tones, soft fabrics, and leathers, the tasteful art with a formal living room, and subtle lighting designed for any type of entertaining he had to do. Compared to Brooke’s welcoming apartment, his Park Avenue digs were much too austere, almost self-consciously Upper Manhattan and, actually, the kind of trendy that was sickening.
He took Brooke’s coat and Roscoe’s leash. Roscoe promptly found a place on the Persian carpet to collapse and fall asleep. Drew knew that before he met Brooke he would have been worried about the carpet. Now he didn’t give it a second thought.
He hung up her coat and set the dog’s leash on the small marble table in the foyer.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Yes, did you choose this place, or did a real estate agent choose it for you?”
“She told me it was the perfect place for an up-and-coming young lawyer.”
“Where did you live before you moved here?” She stepped over the snoring dog with an indulgent look and sank onto the leather sofa.
“Jersey burbs in a modest house.”
She glanced at him, then patted the seat next to her. “Makes more sense to live in the city. The commutes are killer, I’m sure.”
Drew settled beside her.
“You look tired. Too much talking last night and not enough sleep.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what it was…the talking.” He nuzzled her neck. She giggled and it buoyed him. She leaned back and guided him to her lap, where he laid his head.
She stroked his hair, burying her hands into it. He couldn’t remember ever being this content. “I’m too impatient to take a train from the burbs. But the pain of the memories of that house haunted me. It was a daily reminder my parents were gone, and not only that, but they didn’t get the justice they deserved.” The anger that had hounded him was gone, but he still felt naked and vulnerable, his heart pumping too hard in his che
st. “I’m thinking about that more every day.”
“Why?”
“Truthfully, because of you. You made me see things in a different light.” He held his breath a moment, trying to stifle the intensity of his childhood feelings.
She slipped her hands to the back of his head and massaged the nape of his neck. “It’s never too late to make a change, Drew. It just takes courage.”
He nodded. “Are you hungry?”
“Sure, but I’d like to see more of your apartment.”
He showed her his office space, but indicated he hardly worked in there. When they got to the den, she smiled.
“Now this is more like it.”
“Emma decorated this space.”
“I love the overstuffed couches and the cute pillows and color. It’s a very inviting room. No offense, Drew, but it’s the only room here that looks lived in.”
“Emma doesn’t live with me anymore. She was always in this room with her friends, laughing and talking about whatever it is teenage girls talk about.”
“Boys.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it since, at one time, you were a teenage girl. So all that is left is the kitchen and my bedroom.”
“What if we go to the kitchen? I need at least a snack,” her stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly. We both know what would likely happen in the bedroom.”
“Ah, you’re right. Kitchen it is.”
When they entered the kitchen, she stopped short. “Oh, my God. This is gorgeous. It must be a pleasure to bake in here.”
“I don’t know. Another room I don’t spend a lot of time in. But feel free to bake in here. I’ll try to choke down whatever you prepare.”
She smiled and nudged him aside like a little girl on Christmas morning. She started opening up cupboards and drawers. She checked the fridge and squealed. “You have apples. I can make a batch of those muffins you love.”
She pulled up the sleeves of her shirt. It was a deep cranberry at the hem that lightened in stages, kind of like a parfait, to the lightest of pinks. He thought of Brooke that way, shades and layers, a beautiful, complex woman. The cranberry made him think of her passion and the lightest pink her generosity.
“How about you peel these for me, while I get the other stuff together.”
He opened the drawer and grabbed a paring knife, setting it to the plump, juicy apple. “How did you learn to cook like that?”
She shrugged. “Taught myself. It’s not really that hard. You just read the recipe and follow the directions.”
“I’ve never tasted muffins like that. Are you sure you don’t have a secret ingredient?”
“Just love.” She grinned at him.
“Love,” he echoed, but she was too busy measuring and combining everything into a bowl to hear the deepness in his voice. He cleared his throat.
He’d had no idea one woman could fill up his apartment this completely. It had only been a place to rest his head, take a shower and get dressed. Nothing more. But it seemed she could make anywhere she was feel like home to him.
“You could open up a restaurant.”
“I just might have to.”
“What?”
“That was a flippant response. Pawlish has been losing customers. And the murder charge has also had a negative effect on business. I’m up to my eyeballs in renovations, and I’m not sure now if my business is going to survive. If I’m convicted of murder, I certainly can’t run a business. I hate to think I’d have to put people out of work.”
“That’s your worry? Putting people out of work?”
“Of course that’s a worry.”
“Do you ever think about yourself, woman?”
“I guess if I have a cold, I rest. What are you getting at?”
He shook his head. “You really are something.”
“I knew that.”
When the muffins were put into the oven, Drew took her hand and led her to the living room. “I want to show you something.” He settled a throw over her shoulders and pushed open the French doors.
“Wait. That’s one of Ian’s paintings. He traveled to Scotland to paint castles.”
Drew looked at the painting over the fireplace. He remembered the artist’s name was Ian. “Yes, I bought it at a gallery downtown about six months ago. I love the blending of the colors, the way the moors look in the fading light.”
“You don’t know because he doesn’t use his last name. He’s Callie’s brother.”
“Small world,” he said, leading her outside onto a balcony. She walked to the railing and peered over. She gasped as she took in the panorama of the city’s skyline.
“The city looks so amazing at night all lit up.”
“You look amazing.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, and when he spoke, his tone gentled. “Every experience with you seems to be new to me.”
He gave up any pretense of trying to control himself around her. His mouth covered hers and she tasted like the heat of a sunny day, not the chill of late autumn.
The past, the present, were so tangled up in his head and in his heart, he didn’t even try to convince himself he knew the difference anymore. He wanted to think he would be able to come out of this unscathed, but deep in his heart he knew better.
She slid her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, whispering, “If those muffins burn, it’s on your head, mister.”
“I’ll take the full blame.”
He kissed the spot where her pulse throbbed, eliciting the tiniest of moans. It was enough to make him hard to the point of pain. And he wanted desperately to hear her do that again.
“Life is challenging enough these days. I’ll take a little bit of the blame since I seem to be the one distracting you.” She gasped when he nipped at her earlobe.
“Mmhmm.”
“I just—” She broke off on a short moan when he slid his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp a little as he tilted her head so he could reach that spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. “That,” she managed.
“That what?” he murmured, wishing like hell she didn’t have that throw around her shoulders, or anything else on, for that matter.
She turned her head and surprised him by dropping her own set of fast, hot kisses, against his neck, ending with a nip of his earlobe that had his body twitching hard and maybe a groan of his own in the back of his throat.
“Madness,” she said, her voice soft and husky. “We need more of this madness in life. I don’t think we should deny ourselves any madness.”
“Good plan.” He turned her mouth to his and took it hard and fast.
She didn’t miss a beat. She ran her fingertips up the back of his neck and dug them into his hair, holding him where she wanted him, which was with his mouth against hers, lips parting, tongues dueling.
The throw slipped from her shoulders and he grabbed the hem of her sweater, then remembered where they were standing. Not that she was stopping him. The very idea she wouldn’t stop him—at all—surged through him until standing still became a challenge. “This is crazy, you know that,” he said, his breaths coming more rapidly as they tore at each other. “You are—” He was unable to finish the thought as she triggered a long groan of satisfaction from him when she tugged his belt loops so he bumped more tightly against her.
“Tired of doing what I’m supposed to do,” she said, her voice rough with need, with want, punctuated by the hot press of her lips along the side of his jaw and down the very same line of his neck as he’d explored with her. So damn sensitive, every place she touched, tasted, nibbled. He may simply explode. Madness, indeed.
She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Inside,” he said, unable to manage more than that single word.
She nodded, but didn’t make a single move toward leaving the balcony. Instead, she turned her mouth back to his. Only this time, as their lips met, they slowed down, gentled the onslaught, which perversely jumped him up
that much higher and harder. She teased, he taunted, they slipped their tongues more sinuously along the other, tasting, touching. Soft moans filled the rapidly cooling night air. His, hers, he wasn’t keeping track. He was drowning, and he didn’t want to be saved. Reality would rear its ugly head soon enough. It always did. He wasn’t going to hurry it along any faster than necessary.
She shivered again, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was in pleasure. He wanted her fiercely at that moment. To throw her down on the balcony, strip her naked, and take her like a howling wolf. So he had no idea where the tenderness came from that sprang up within him. He nuzzled the side of her chin, then tipped it up until she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Come on, it’s getting cold out here.”
“We’re outside?”
He saw the twitch at the corner of her mouth, even as the heat in her eyes screamed “What are you waiting for?!” And he slipped further under her spell for bringing humor into what was already an enticing mix.
“Yeah. But not for long.” He bent down, intending to scoop her up when the front door wrenched open and his sister stood there. With more force than necessary, she slammed the door.
“Drew!”
He glanced at Brooke, who looked as surprised as he did. “Out here,” he called.
She marched across the living room and when he came in from the balcony, she looked mad enough to throttle him.
She stopped short when she saw Brooke.
“Oh, damn. I didn’t know anyone was here. That makes it even worse. You never have anyone here.”
“What makes what worse?”
“You were supposed to be at Colton’s tonight. You were supposed to meet Ben’s parents! I’m so humiliated.”
“I’ll go check on the muffins,” Brooke said as she hurried away.
He grabbed his sister’s arm and dragged her into the study, closing the door. Her stormy eyes snapped as she threw off his arm. “I thought you might have forgotten because your precious job got in the way. Here you are wooing that woman we kept running into. Oh, yes, I recognize her. Under any other circumstances I would be so happy you’d found someone.”
“Emma, will you calm down? I thought dinner was next week.”