“I don’t go around kissing people. I kissed you.”
Again, she smiled. “You certainly did. But my sisters have a way of finding me at the worst times, so this might not be the best place.”
“You weren’t saying that a second ago.”
“I was kind of busy.”
“Then I’ll kiss you again and you’ll be too busy to come up with reasons to stop.”
Her bubble of laughter filled his chest.
“Brooke, we’ve got a—Oh, hey, Trevor.” Reagan stopped inside the door, a sly grin on her lips. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”
Chapter 12
“See what I mean?” Brooke said.
Reagan didn’t look sorry in the least. “I’d come back, but—Ah!”
A small, wrinkled blur of fur ran past her, little toenails tapping across the floor as Beans headed straight toward Trevor.
“Well, hey there, little guy.” Trevor bent and scooped up the wriggling, grunting bundle, and got a smattering of chin kisses in return. “Where’d you come from?”
Laurel ran out the door after her pug protégé. “Sorry. That’s Beans. He’s a little wound up.” She glanced at Brooke, her eyes frantic. “He didn’t scratch up the ballroom floor. I promise.”
“I know; it’s fine.” Brooke moved closer to pet him. Beans looked completely satisfied with being in Trevor’s arms.
She empathized.
“Is he yours?” Trevor asked.
“Goodness, no. This is Laurel’s new baby.”
“I got him from the Pug Rescue last month. He’s still excited to check out the chateau every day, like it’s the first time he’s seen it.”
Trevor rolled Beans over, cradling him as though he were a baby. “It is an exciting place, isn’t it, buddy?”
“This is adorable and all, but we came to get you because…” Reagan paused and quirked her lips to the side. “We’ve got a teensy bit of a problem-slash-emergency.”
All of Brooke’s alarms went off at once. “What is it?”
“I think it’s a leak.”
Brooke had pushed past her sisters, on a direct course toward the emergency, though she had no idea where it was, before she even realized she’d moved. “Why didn’t you say something? Where’s the leak?”
“I did say something. Just now. It’s the lobby’s bathroom sink.” Reagan followed, with Laurel and Trevor bringing up the rear, Beans still cradled in his arms.
“It’s not leaking right now. I turned the water off.”
“You did?” Complete shock colored her tone, but she couldn’t help it.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Guys, stop bickering,” Laurel called out. “We’ve got company.”
They all reached the downstairs bathroom, the bathroom that the prom guests would use, to find sopping paper towels lined across the floor of the powder room and sink area.
“How did this mess happen?”
Laurel moved to stand between Brooke and Reagan. “A guest noticed it was leaking, but when I came in here, it was already a big puddle. I grabbed all I could find to soak up water and ran to find Reagan. She shut off the water.”
“Where was the water coming from?”
Reagan opened the vanity and pointed underneath. “From this pipe. Like a mini geyser.”
A growl of frustration bubbled into Brooke’s throat.
“The place is old. There is no telling how old the plumbing is,” Laurel tried, using a sweet voice. “These things happen.”
“Mom and Dad had all of this renovated though.” Brooke ran her hand over the piping, hoping she might find a giant hole or some obvious problem.
“Here.” Trevor handed Beans to Laurel. “If it’s a seal or a gasket, you’ll have to turn the water back on to find the problem. You’ve all got on good shoes and Brooke is wearing all white. You’ll get filthy. Let me take a look.”
“So will you,” Brooke argued. “We can call a plumber.”
“I know more than a little about plumbing. And I’m right here. At least let me see if it’s something simple. We have to fix the plumbing in our cabins all the time.”
He shared a stare-off with her for a few seconds.
“Okay. But don’t ruin your clothes either.”
With a smile, he nodded. “What are the chances I could get a few towels?”
“On it.” Reagan ran to get more.
“All right. I’m going to have to turn the water on to find the problem. Stand back a bit.”
“A lot. Stand back a lot.” Laurel pulled Brooke along with her and they backed up all the way to the doorway with Beans.
Trevor turned on the water and then the cold tap, but nothing. When he turned on the hot, though, water sprayed like a garden hose from the connection on the flexible supply line.
He shut off the water.
“Looks like the gasket up here. They dry out and crack sometimes, especially older ones. You guys wouldn’t happen to have replacement parts lying around, would you?”
Brooke moved closer to see what he was talking about. “We have supplies in the basement, but we can handle it. I can’t ask you to fix our plumbing.”
Reagan returned with the towels and handed them to Trevor. “I’ve got a wine tasting in ten minutes. There’s no way I’m doing plumbing work right now. For the love of God, let the man help.”
Her gaze clung to Trevor’s once more.
She and her sisters knew next to nothing about plumbing. The logical response would be to ask him for help. Yet, she hesitated.
Asking for something she needed was ridiculously difficult, even with Trevor.
She’d already kissed the man, let him hold her as she came to life like dancing flame in his arms. Relying on him any further was like stripping down naked and standing in the middle of town square.
Laurel shifted her wriggling pug to her hip. “Fixing this now is better than having an out of order sign up until we get around to it.”
Trevor gave Brooke a knowing look before he forged ahead without waiting. “Come on, show me where the stuff is in the basement.”
He wasn’t going to make her ask. Somehow, without her saying anything, he recognized that telling him how desperately she needed his help with this emergency meant baring too much.
And to him, that was okay. He was going to help her anyway.
With a cursory glance toward her sisters, Brooke followed.
“I’ll get the sink fixed up in no time and we can get back to the prom business of before.”
She moved ahead, to show him the way to the basement.
The prom business of before included them making out in the garden, and kissing Trevor had been exactly as wonderful as she knew it would be.
Soothing, warm, and strong. Equal parts skill and unleashed enthusiasm. He made her feel like a teenager again. Or like the teenager she’d never been. Secret kisses in garden nooks, hoping they wouldn’t get caught, wanting desperately for him to kiss her again.
Pulling away from the memory, and avoiding a tumble down the stairs in her utter distraction, she glanced back. “Thank you for doing this.”
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, he winked playfully. “No worries. Have you noticed we keep ending up in basements? I’m kind of into it. I like basements. They’re private.”
She shook her head with a smile. He would be into something random like hanging around basements. “I’m not sure exactly where the plumbing supplies are, but they’re down here somewhere.” Her words got swept away with the touch of Trevor’s hands on her waist as he stepped in close.
“I lied,” he said. “Before, about fixing the sink and then getting back to what we were doing earlier. The sink can wait two or three more minutes, right?”
“I…um…”
“Or we can get straight to the plumbing and put a long pause on the kissing.”
His eyes sparkled, bright blue, even in the dim basement shadows. Lips still full and pink. Lips that teased and tempted, tickling her senses until a longing she’d forgotten surged inside her.
Hands steady and sure, but demanding nothing.
“I don’t want to pause the kissing yet,” she said.
“Good. Me neither.” Trevor slid his arm around her, his hand in the small of her back, bringing her closer. He pressed his lips to hers more fully. His lips were soft, his kiss gentle, and their bodies barely touched.
She longed for more.
All it took was mere inches. Brooke moved, stepping into him, her body touching his. Closer than when they were dancing, closer than they’d ever been at that wedding.
Trevor’s touch warmed her more than the midday sun. His kiss soothed, but burned bright inside her.
Kissing him was everything she knew it would be, and more.
With a rough sigh, she curled her fingers into his shirt, dragging him down farther.
Trevor’s noise of approval spread heat throughout her body. His gentle touch turned firm and he curved her body into his.
Reagan was going to wear a self-gratuitous smirk for days. Laurel would be hearing wedding bells, no matter how ridiculous the idea or how many times Brooke told her sisters she would never get married again.
“You, wearing all that white.” He nipped at the skin where her neck met her shoulder, a raspy purr in his voice as he spoke. “All I can think is how I want to get you so dirty.”
Heat flared through her body, her balance thrown off. She pulled away to catch her breath.
“What?” He steadied her, his expression one of such false innocence.
“You. Saying things like that.”
“I was just being honest.”
His honesty was overwhelming; his unbridled attraction and appetite more than she’d ever experienced.
“I know. I’m not complaining. I just…I need to catch my breath.”
“Take your time.” He grinned.
“It’s been awhile, since I was kissed like that.” The confession was out before she could self-edit.
“You should be kissed like that every day.”
Warm and flushed, she leaned in, tucking her face into his neck.
His palm was a warm, steady pressure in the center of her back as he rubbed circles up her spine. He kept rubbing until her shoulders slumped, her weight against him.
If he kept rubbing her back, she’d stand in that musty basement forever.
“My sisters will come looking for us if we don’t go back up soon.”
“Wouldn’t want the Sargent search party after us.”
She laughed and, with a great deal of willpower, eased away. “We need to start looking for plumbing.”
“You mean, that whole reason we came down here to start with?”
“Yes. As much as the duty pains me.” A standing toolbox took up the space at the end of a countertop. “If you need tools, check inside there.”
Trevor dug around in the toolbox before moving on to search the set of shelves along the far wall.
“You know another reason I like basements?” he called out.
Brooke barely lifted her head from her search under the cabinets. “This should be interesting. Why?”
“Because there’s all this cool stuff in them.”
The noise of shuffling plastic drew her upright.
Trevor had picked up a box, worn and covered in a thin layer of dust, but the drawing of the female face on the front could still be made out. “Cool stuff like this.”
“Oh my word, put that down.” Brooke rushed toward him.
“Is this …” He held the box out of reach and turned it fully toward her. “Is this a Barbie box?”
“Yes. So?”
“I’m not judging. I’m admiring.” Trevor set the box down and bumped around some more, moving items around on the shelf. “You don’t happen to have the Barbie van, do you? My sister had one. I used to borrow it all the time for my missions.”
“Missions?”
“My GI Joes had away missions and no transportation. The Barbie van was awesome. Sophie would get so mad when I took it. Eventually she gave up and let me have the thing.”
“If you’d like to borrow ours, you can. But you can’t keep it.”
“Ha! I knew you’d have a—Holy crap, you have Power Rangers!”
“Would you like some alone time with the toys? Our mission is supposed to be fixing my sink.”
Trevor turned toward her, a blue Power Ranger in one hand, a yellow in the other. “Admit it, you’re a pack rat.”
Brooke plucked the Rangers from his hands and set them back on the shelf. “I am not a pack rat.”
“You plan on reselling these?”
“No.”
“Got some kids around here I don’t know about?”
“No.”
“Then you’re a pack rat.”
“My sisters and I had those toys for years. We shared. I couldn’t see throwing them out. And what if some kid stayed here and wanted something to play with?”
“So having these toys down here, in great, clean condition, I might add, is purely a practical business decision.”
“Yes.”
The truth was, she couldn’t bear to part with the items down here. Some toys and things meant nothing, but she could still remember playing with the Power Rangers and cramming them all in the Barbie van. Laurel had played with them until the legs popped off and a few Barbies got bad haircuts. She’d created a whole romance between Ken and the pink Ranger. Malibu Barbie had been heartbroken.
Brooke went back to her search, ignoring Trevor, who’d picked the toys up again.
“Tell the truth. Which one is your favorite?” he asked.
“Which what?”
“Ranger?”
“The pink one,” she answered without looking up. There was no debate. The pink Ranger had been her introduction to female empowerment. Before her, Brooke hadn’t fully grasped that a girl could be hero. More than that, she could be her own hero.
Too bad she’d forgotten the lesson years later.
“I liked the green one.” Trevor dug around, grabbing the pink and green Rangers and joined her.
“The free-spirited bad boy? Of course you did.”
“So did every other five-year-old boy. If they deny it, they’re lying.”
“Give me that.” She took the pink one off his hands, adjusting her legs so she could stand upright on an empty bit of shelving. “I loved them all though.”
An unspeakable number of hours had gone into her Power Ranger’s play time. She’d make Reagan watch the show with her, on Saturday mornings, and then reenact the show with her own figures while making up entire complex story lines of her own.
This had gone on for years. Enough years that she reached an age she felt it necessary to hide her playing from her younger sister.
Everything was so simple then. Joyous.
She’d do anything to have one more day of that kind of fun and innocence.
Trevor joined her, standing the green Ranger up as well. “You’re secretly a sentimental softie, aren’t you?”
She let go of her Ranger so fast she almost took off part of her elbow.
“There’s no shame.” He laughed. “I may or may not still have some of my favorite Hot Wheels and Beanie Babies in my possession, but that is neither here nor there.”
Her laughter popped out loud enough she clamped her hands over her mouth.
An impish grin took over his face. “Hey, don’t hate. I thought that floppy-eared dog was going to be worth millions someday. I might still retire on the spoi
ls of my stuffed-animal collection. You never know.”
Pain pricked her cheek and it was a couple of seconds before she realized it was a facial cramp from smiling hard. “Fine. I admit it. I might be a little sentimental sometimes.”
But Trevor was the first person to ever notice that part of her.
In the back pocket of her jeans, her phone vibrated. Expecting Reagan and a call about the tasting, she grabbed it, ready to answer.
Then she saw the name on the screen.
Immediately, her cheeks went hot, even as the temperature around her seemed to drop twenty degrees.
“Brooke?” Trevor’s concerned voice came from miles away.
Her ex-husband’s phone number stared back at her.
She hadn’t heard from Nick in over six months. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year.
Yesterday, her attorney had filled her in on his claims. Nick alleged he was owed half of her holdings in Jolie. His claim was complete BS but she’d have to deal with his demands regardless.
Finally, her phone quit buzzing, the quiet stillness screaming in her head.
That he had the brass ones to contact her directly shouldn’t have surprised her. He’d never lacked bravado or narcissism. But they were divorced now. Everything was official and final. He couldn’t just call her up or contact her personally. That’s what attorneys were for.
Who did he think he was? She had nothing to say to him.
“Brooke.” Trevor touched her arm. “Is it your sisters? Are they looking for us?” Trevor asked.
Brooke flinched, remembering where she was, and that she wasn’t alone.
Trevor, with his blue eyes, his wit and fun-loving disposition.
She should lie. Say the call was Reagan, pretend they needed to hurry and get back upstairs, and then run Trevor off. Get him out of there. Get him away because he made her consider things she’d written off years ago as impossible.
But she couldn’t.
Denying her attraction to him was pointless now, and keeping this from him was deceitful in a way she’d never been before. If she was going to keep kissing Trevor—and she intended to do exactly that—she didn’t want to lie to him.
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