by Jade Allen
“I was just wondering how long you planned to be here.”
“What?”
“You came to interview Tyler. I assume you're not doing that while he’s fucking you, and frankly, you've been disturbing my family’s sleep with your incessant moaning. When do you plan to get on the first flight back home?”
Hot color flooded her cheeks as embarrassment surged through her. He knew they were sleeping together? Did everyone know? They had been so careful.
She looked at him, her eyes astonished.
“Yes, Brooke, I know he’s fucking you. I mean it was my idea and all, but even I'm surprised it’s taken him so long to divert you.”
Color drained from Brooke’s face. Sleeping with her was Max’s idea? How? Why? And to divert her from what?
Max chuckled cruelly, “I can practically see the wheels turning in your brain. I assure you, watching you prance around has been fun to watch, but it’s getting old.”
“You’re lying,” Brooke said shakily, tears welling in her eyes. “Tyler would never discuss something like that with you.”
“Something like what?”
“He would never seduce me because you told him to.”
Max looked chagrined, “I never meant to say that, Brooke; it just slipped out. Forget you heard it,” he added as he rose to his feet and slowly strolled away, leaving her feeling as though her heart was splintering into a million pieces in her chest.
Brooke rushed into the house, shrugging into her bathrobe to cover her bikini as she raced towards Tyler’s library, her flip-flops slapping against the tiles noisily.
She walked into the room without knocking, her eyes wild and frightened as she spotted him sitting behind the desk. Two men in suits sat before him; their faces turned towards her in curiosity.
“Brooke?” Tyler said, coming smoothly to his feet.
“I need to speak with you,” she announced baldly.
"I’m in a meet—" he began.
“Now!” she cut in. “I need to speak with you now!”
He stared around at the men sitting before his desk, then his measuring gaze returned to her tear-streaked, pale face. With a nod at the men, he dismissed them.
The moment the door shut behind the men, Brooke exploded, “Is it true?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did you decide with your family that you were going to seduce me?”
“Where did you hear a crazy story like that?” he asked.
Brooke couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t deny it.
“I'm not sure what you’re talking about,” he added.
“You decided to seduce me so I wouldn’t ask questions you didn’t want to answer, right?”
“What the hell?”
“Don’t lie to me. Did you decide to seduce me to get me to stop asking questions?”
“Do you honestly think that poorly of me?” he asked quietly, his gaze trained on her face.
“What I think is that there can be only two answers to the question: yes or no. You’re being very cagey, Tyler, which means you did seduce me for kicks. What, so you and Max could laugh?”
“Max? Is he the one who told you that?” he asked, his gaze sharpening.
“Like it matters,” she spat bitterly, before turning on her heels to exit the room.
“Don’t. I love you,” he said grabbing her arm.
Brooke glared balefully at him, wrenched her arm from his grasp and slapped him as hard as she could.
“That’s too damn bad because I hate you!”
She ran out of his library and into her bedroom, slamming the door shut after her. She could hear him calling her name even through the shut door but she ignored him. She flung herself onto the bed and cried for all she was worth.
Minutes later, she dragged herself out of bed and started throwing her belongings into her suitcase; she was done here, she thought. She felt empty and drained; Tyler had taken everything she had and flung it right back in her face.
It was time to go. She had never liked Montana anyway; too many skeletons.
****
Brooke whistled to herself as she brushed her hair into a glossy sheen. She had all the time in the world on her hands these days. She had quit her job soon after returning to New York and was currently searching for a new job. Handing her resignation letter to Collins just as he had been about to whip out one of his famous pink slips had been sheer bliss.
She grinned anew just remembering his flummoxed expression.
As she grabbed her handbag and headed towards the front door, she adjusted the strap of her leather wristwatch. She opened the door without looking up and promptly slammed into a brick wall.
All the air whooshed out of her lungs as a pair of strong, masculine hands shot out to grab her and hold her steady.
Brooke looked up disbelievingly into a pair of hooded grey eyes and watched in disbelief as his lips canted one of those slow sexy smiles he did so well.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk. Then you can toss me out on my ass. Please.”
Longing warred with reluctance inside of her; longing won and she angrily stepped back to allow him into the lobby.
“Yes?” she said aggressively the moment he sank onto a sofa.
“First off, I’m sorry for the way things went down. I never meant to hurt you and I swear on my life I did not seduce you for any reason other than the fact that I could not help myself.”
Silence.
“Brooke, you have no reason to believe anything I say, but if you will believe nothing else, believe this: I went after you on my own accord.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My family has an awful secret yes, but I was never bothered about it. That was always my mother’s headache.”
“I see. And what’s this horrible secret?”
“My dad had an affair right after their marriage and had me. She has always taken it as a personal kick in her teeth and seems convinced that knowing he left the reins of the company to an ‘illegitimate’ son may affect the company’s stocks, especially since the family is associated with strong family values and all.”
It all made sense now. Painful sense.
“I was never bothered by my roots. He loved me and cared for me, but I think she sees me as a symbol of his infidelity and I don’t blame her. I understand, which is why I barely go to Montana.”
It was so simple and yet so complicated.
She dropped her head, examining her hands. Then deciding, she raised tear-brightened eyes to his and said, “I am originally from Montana.”
She saw surprise flit across his features which he quickly suppressed.
“I ran away from home when I was sixteen.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, “The usual; drunk mother, weird step-father and step-brother. They never hurt me but I knew they could one day. I broke my step-brother’s leg one night and ran away that night. I have not looked back since.”
Bile rose in Tyler’s throat, “Did they hurt you?”
“No. I was just afraid they might.”
“Why did you tell me that?” he asked.
“You trusted me,” she said simply.
Their gazes clashed, held and no more words were necessary as she crossed the room to sit on his lap.
“I never discussed seducing you with anyone. Max might have suggested that at a family meeting, but my sights were already set on you. From the first day I looked into your eyes, I was a goner.”
Brooke blushed prettily, ducking her head and making him chuckle in amusement.
“So where do we go from here?”
“I want to get to know you better, Brooke. I am already in love with you, but I would love to see what more it could be.”
Her heart melted as she gazed into his dark, languorous eyes and said, “I love you too, Tyler.”
His grin was pure evil as he hauled her closer and said, “In that case, you’re gonna have to
stop wearing those damned pantyhose.”
“Huh?”
He stroked his thumb across her lips.
“You’re going to go insane replacing them because, I promise you: I will destroy every pair that gets in my way.”
Laughter fled as he replaced his finger with his lips, kissing her with enough tenderness and heat to make her toes curl.
THE END
Shared By Two Cowboys
A curvy seamstress is asked to create one-of-a-kind outfits for a pair of rodeo cowboys who are in town for a brief time. While measuring every inch of their muscular and taught athletic frames, the attraction between them swells and explodes into a night of pure pleasure and abandon.
The Blake Brothers are coming to town--and they always go out with a bang. Eliza has seen the flashy duo perform more than once, and she likes a good trick as much as the next woman, but rodeos have never been more than a way for her to pass the time. Her real passion is intricately designing the most flamboyant hats and formal wear, but after a scintillating encounter in her little boutique, these two gorgeous cowboys have been on her mind a lot more than clothing.
It doesn't take long for Eliza to figure out that Joseph and Zachary Blake hardly ever agree on anything--except for when it comes to the curvy seamstress with the most detailed designs in the West. Before she knows it, they're vying for her attention at the same time, revealing a fiery need she never knew existed within her.
Will Eliza wrangle her desires in time to remember her control, or is she about to discover why three's not always a crowd?
“Tighter, please.”
Eliza tightened the velvet strings of her customer’s bodice, watching her admire herself in the tall, ornate mirror with more than a little satisfaction. Terese turned her head to get another angle of her long neck, running her hands down the red silk as she spoke. “I think that’s quite a nice silhouette, don’t you? And the ruby really does go well with my hair; I didn’t think it would compliment such a dark auburn, but you were right! It really does.”
“Yes,” Eliza said absentmindedly. She was snipping at errant strands at the hem of the dress, and she was grateful for the short ladder she’d found to keep the fabric from brushing the floor. “It suits you nicely.”
Terese sniffed. “I think it does more than suit me, but if you insist on making me feel hideous the day before my big event, then all right...”
Eliza suppressed a smile and shook her head behind Terese’s stiff spine. “You’ll be the belle of the ball, Terese.”
Terese patted her voluminous up-do with one hand, her hazel eyes regarding her reflection in the mirror nervously. “Yes, I suppose. Father got me the big stagecoach, like the one from our Estate in Edinburgh, and he’s having it painted the same shade of red as my dress as we speak. Victor may have broken our engagement, but I’m still turning 23, so there’s no reason to change the scale of the affair. We’re still having it at the mansion on the hill.” She frowned as Eliza finished snipping at the hem. “I feel like I’ll look so barren, though. Maybe I should get those pearls I saw at the shop—or some gold, do you think? With such a dark dress, perhaps gold would be a touch less…ostentatious.”
Eliza stood and turned away from Terese to put away her pins, unable to contain her smile any longer. “I think you’re right. Less is more.”
When she turned around, Terese was smiling and gazing at her with more warmth than before. “Exactly! I do think I’m rubbing off on you.”
Eliza chuckled and shook her head. God forbid. “I’ll go put these away while you get changed in the dressing room. Go on.”
Terese lifted her skirts and skipped off to the dressing room, her pile of auburn hair swaying as she moved. Eliza touched her blonde curls, which were pinned at the back of her head in a much more conservative style; she was less than ten years older than Terese, but she still couldn’t imagine spending that much energy on her hair. She also couldn’t imagine wanting to cinch her waist tight enough to restrict her breathing, however—though she’d tried to make her soft, curvy body appear more slight in the past. Now she was pleased the lines of her rounded frame, as well as the thickness of her hips and the softness of her thighs; Eliza had spent enough time learning to love her body to let a customer start up her old bad habits again.
“And you’ll have the ribbon as well, Eliza? The plain one, not that disgusting frilly one you tried to sell me?” Terese called from the dressing room.
“Yes,” Eliza called back wearily. “I’ll make it tonight and wrap it with your extra laces. Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry!” Terese snapped. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little nervous in the days after having my heart shattered and thrown in the street, to be trampled on dumped on like some common trash!”
Eliza pressed her hands to her scalp, trying to massage away the prickles of tension that were creeping toward her hairline. “I’m sorry, Terese. I understand you’re stressed out. I know you’ve just been through a lot.”
The dressing room door flew open and Terese flounced out in her normal gown, her face as red as a beet. “And what does that mean?”
Eliza took a step back. “What?”
“Exactly what have you heard that I’ve been through, hmm?”
Eliza froze. The truth was that she had heard something—Terese’s fiancée hadn’t broken her heart; he’d called off their marriage after he discovered her affair. Eliza heard a lot of gossip, however, and even though she thought this one was true and longed to throw it back in the spoiled woman’s face, she knew she couldn’t risk losing Terese’s business. She had a mouth bigger than anyone else in town, and she wouldn’t take the humiliation lightly.
“Terese, you’re stressed,” Eliza said slowly, holding her hands up in defense. “You haven’t been sleeping. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I bet you haven’t seen your little dog in a while.”
Terese’s face softened immediately. “I haven’t,” she mumbled. Eliza watched the rage drain from her face and let out a sigh of relief as she turned and started to walk slowly toward the door. Her toy poodle was the one creature capable of snapping her out of her rages.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Terese said, dazed. “And maybe the week after, if I like the ribbon and want more colors.”
“Okay,” Eliza said as the bell above the shop door tinkled. The noise and bustle of the street floated in for a moment—the quartz miners on their way to and from work, young women chattering about lip color and dresses, and the pounding of hooves and feet alike upon the earth. As the door swung closed, the shop sank into silence again, and Eliza took a long, deep breath.
Her shop had only been open for five years, but she already felt like she’d been in one place too long. Eliza saw dozens of different people each week, but they all felt the same—every person was a variation of an archetype that she already knew like the back of her hand. People were like dresses and suits: they were hundreds of shapes and colors and materials to choose from, but in the end, it was still a dress or a suit.
Eliza lived above the shop, and sometimes she people watched from her sitting window as she sipped coffee or had breakfast. She wondered how many people walked by her window more than once each day, and how many would continue to do so until they died. Maybe all of them, she supposed; would she be one of those people?
Eliza shook her head vigorously in the silence of her store. Normally, she had one or two shop girls to help with simple orders and repairs, but they were both at one of the rodeo shows downtown. She’d given them the day off, but they swore to come in during the afternoon to help close up.
“We’ll be back by four!” Daisy said.
“Five, tops!” said Anna.
Eliza smiled at them knowingly. “All right, just be safe.”
She knew they wouldn’t be in until the next day, though; the Blake Brothers were in town, and that meant more than just any old rodeo. Eliza herself had seen them on
ce before, and they were skilled—flashy and a little inappropriate at times, but fast and strong and gentle enough with the animals that she considered going again someday. The girls had requested she go along, but she refused.
“Who will work the shop?”
Daisy and Anna had shared a knowing look of their own, and Eliza didn’t have to ask what it meant. She made clothing for rich and sometimes even famous clients, and she had no shortage of offers and even a proposal on one occasion; she’d been compared to works of art more times than she could count. Nothing could ever convince her to leave her shop, though, not if meant leaving it unattended. Since suitors rarely agreed to go on dates in her place of business, Eliza hadn’t been on one in nearly four years.
She told herself that it was because she couldn’t afford it, but that stopped being true after her second year. Then she claimed that it was because she wanted someone serious about marriage, but a farmer had asked for her hand two years before, and she gently declined. For a while, she said she just liked being alone; it didn’t take her long to realize that this was the least true of all. Eliza liked being alone fine, but she was so crushingly lonely so often that she gave up on using it as an excuse fairly quickly. Now it was a matter of simply forgetting how to be courted—she flinched away from advances so often that it had become a reflex. The men in town knew she was shy, so they simply stopped trying; at least, she thought, she didn’t have to think of excuses anymore.
Luckily, there were lots of orders to prepare before the day was over. Eliza got started on the repairs for the Warren children’s wardrobe. All four boys were off at boarding school the rest of the year, and the eldest girl was a teacher herself; this meant that there was more patching and adding of cloth than anything else. She worked for a solid hour and got a quarter of the way through everything, then stood to walk through her shop to stretch her legs.
Eliza stopped in the mirror by the door to gaze at her reflection, startled by how disheveled her curls were. She smoothed them back into place, examining the collar of her dress for spots or stray fibers. Her hands tugged at the silver buttons down the front, the small disks bright against the dark blue cotton. It was her favorite dress because it was simple, but still made her feel beautiful and alluring—at least, it normally did. Now, she felt unsure of herself, like something was off, but she didn’t know what; Eliza thought she might just be sick at first, but it was more of an abstract feeling than a sensation. She realized that the feeling was making all the hairs on her body stand on end, charging the air around her with an invisible energy that made her skin crackle. Did Terese rattle you that badly?