She followed suit. “I swear if I dropped it in the street, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Dropped what?” Brek asked, glancing up.
“My earring.” She scrunched her forehead.
“Earring. Yeah.” He glanced back under the bench.
Velma looked to Pops. What the heck was going on here?
He raised a shoulder. “Long day for everyone.”
“Uh-huh…” She stretched to feel along the edge. Something sharp poked her fingertip. “Got it!” She held up the small white bauble. “Thank goodness.”
She caught Brek’s blank stare. He was pale and being super weird.
“Are you feeling okay?” She lifted the back of her hand to his forehead. No fever.
“Long day, that’s all.” He kissed her palm and tangled his fingers with hers.
Pops cleared his throat. “Earring found. Crisis averted. I’ll be going.”
“Are we having brunch on Sunday?” Velma dropped Brek’s hand to slip the pearl into the side pocket of her purse.
“Of course.” Pops helped her climb down to the concrete parking lot. “No one makes pancakes like you.” He winked at Brek.
They were both being so odd.
She glanced back up to where Brek stood at the mouth of the van. “Great. I think Brek can come, too.”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Arms crossed, he had that funny look on his face again. “Can’t miss breakfast.”
“Sure you’re okay?” She cocked her head to the side.
“Leave the boy alone, Velvet.” Pops pushed his hand to her back, propelling her toward her Prius.
She glanced over her shoulder to Brek. “See you at home?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Home. Breakfast. All that.”
Velma finished up at work and hit Nordstrom before she hurried back to the apartment. Her big plans for the evening involved candles, massage oil, and Brek naked.
She tossed the brown take-out bag with dinner on the table, along with a bouquet of hyacinths.
Brek lounged on the couch with his guitar, picking out the notes to one of her favorite country music songs.
She paused when he got to the chorus, her mouth dropping open. The music flowed through the room, and he caught her gaze and sang the rest to her.
Her whole being warmed. “Was that for me?”
“They all are, V.” He set the guitar aside and eyed her plastic dress bag warily. “Another dress for the big dinner?”
“The other one bunched. I don’t want to give the impression I don’t care about my appearance.” She let out a weighted sigh and draped the new outfit carefully over a chair. “And Jase said not to dress too formally, so I found a casual dress that doesn’t bunch.” She fiddled with the plastic film covering her new dress.
“V, seriously, you’re gonna do great. You could wear a paper sack, and they’d still love you. Or you could go without a shirt. That’s how I prefer you.” His eyes were soft. “You didn’t have to buy me flowers,” he said, his voice light.
“I believe they’re a you-were-right-and-I-was-wrong bouquet.’” She shook off all thoughts of tomorrow, plopped next to him on the sofa to peel off her red pumps, and stretched her toes against the rug.
“Wrong about what?”
“The wedding today. You were exceptionally romantic about everything, and I was wrong. You pulled it off.” She twisted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Out of curiosity, when did you become such a romantic?”
“About eighth grade, when I realized chicks pay more attention to guys who do all that crap.” His eyebrows bunched as he moved a pencil over some paper.
“Exactly what kind of romantic ‘crap’ can an eighth-grade boy do?”
“Flowers and chocolates and paying attention to the shit girls say.”
He glanced at her then, and her insides melted. He didn’t need to do any of that when he could get a girl hot with just a look.
She shifted for a better glimpse of the sketch pad beside him. “What’s this?”
“Thinkin’ about a new tattoo.” He held up the drawing, and, holy goodness, it was really good—a charcoal sketch of a compass against an old-style map.
“That’s fantastic.” She ran a fingertip along the edge of the white linen paper. “Where will you put it?”
He tapped his right shoulder. “Thinkin’ here, next to the dragon. Bleed the two images together.”
“What does it mean? The compass?” He had cataloged his other tattoos for her one night after she’d asked. Each of them held special meaning. She hadn’t realized he did the artwork himself. There was so much they still had to learn about each other.
“Nothing, just an idea. We’ll see what happens with it. I drew you one, too.” He flipped the page, revealing a gorgeous pencil drawing of a lily.
“For me to get a tattoo?” He couldn’t be serious.
He studied the sketch. “Yeah, figured…maybe…eventually.”
“It’s really big. Don’t you think? Where would I put it?” She lay alongside him to rest her head against his arm.
“Upper back, I think. That’s what I had in mind while I drew it.” He squinted at the pad. “It’ll fit.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tattoos hurt? A lot?”
“The pain’s temporary.” He closed the book and reached over her to place it on the coffee table with the charcoal pencil.
“You want me to get a tattoo of Jase’s favorite hookup flower?”
He grinned and flexed his arms around her. “Nah, I want you to get a tat of my hookup flower.”
She chuckled and snuggled into him. “Mr. Montgomery, you get an A-plus for avoiding my original question. What does the compass mean?”
“Told you, it doesn’t mean anything.” He tapped the tip of her nose with his fingertip.
He was such a bad liar.
“You mean you’d get ink that doesn’t have special meaning?”
He flinched. “Would you believe me if I told you I have a sudden interest in cartography?”
“No,” she replied, shifting on top of him. “But maybe if I loosen you up, you might talk.”
“Maybe.” He pulled at the collar of her V-neck blouse, glancing down her cleavage. “Depends on what you want to do.”
“Well…” She walked her fingertips along his arm. “I read an article.”
“Fuck.” He knifed up, sitting her across his lap and pinning her against his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re taking away coffee and sex.”
She laughed and shoved at his arms. “No. Actually, it’s the opposite. Take off your shirt and your pants.”
“See? Now, that’s the kind of article I could get on board with.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Velma climbed off him and stood, pointing to his crotch. “Pants off before I get back.”
“Aye, Captain.” The gleam in his eye said he enjoyed her commands.
She hustled to the bedroom to grab the edible massage stuff she’d bought especially for tonight. Succulent Strawberry. Brek said he loved strawberries…guess she would find out if he meant it. He also said he preferred her without a top, so she tossed her cardigan to the chair and unbuttoned her blouse to pull it off. Ugh. Be brave, Velma. Try new things. Letting out a careful breath, she unclasped her bra and tossed it with her blouse. No lingerie tonight. She’d just go without a shirt, like he preferred. Her stomach dipped a bit with a combination of lust and uncertainty.
Point one. The sex therapist who wrote the article suggested women should be brazen. Bold. Try new things that make you uncomfortable.
Well, walking all over the house without a top on definitely qualified as making her uncomfortable. For good measure, she peeled off her panties but left her skirt on. That was from point number four. Let him help with some of the undressing.
She squeezed color into her cheeks, checked the mirror, and arranged her hair so it had a messy, sexy vibe. Then, with all of the confidence she could mus
ter, she gripped the bottle and marched back to the living room.
Brek waited, sprawled naked on the couch. Holy crud, he had an amazing body. Thank goodness he had closed the curtains. The semidarkened room gave her a boost of confidence. Also, the neighbors in the building across the street wouldn’t be getting a show.
Velma paused. She’d forgotten the candles. Darn it.
Well, too late for that.
Brek snapped to attention when she did her best attempt at a saunter. Sheesh, she was such a dope. No way could she pull this off.
His eyes went wide, probably at the sight of her traipsing about with no bra. She channeled all the brazen she could find and straddled his thighs, flicking her hair over her shoulder, totally exposing her breasts.
“What articles are you reading? Because I will buy you a lifetime subscription to that magazine.” He lifted his hands to her nipples, stroking them with the rough pads of his thumbs. She glanced to his erection.
Point five. Put your mouth there. Yes, there.
He’d gone down on her more than once, but she’d never had the courage to do it for him. She had kissed his…uh…penis a few times, but self-conscious fear always snuck in before she took it further.
Her pulse kicked against her throat. She swallowed down her panic as her shins pressed into the leather of the couch. “I’m going to give you a blow job. But you have to swear you won’t laugh if I mess up.”
Brek’s expression went blank. Like, totally blank. Nothing. Nada.
Shoot.
He didn’t want her to do this. Of course he didn’t. He had loads of experience with women who actually knew what to do. They didn’t get tips from articles and muck it up. The room got too hot, and her breath caught in her lungs. Embarrassment sizzled up her spine.
“Never mind. I’m such an idiot.” She rose to run away. Probably to Alaska. She’d heard there was a fantastic ice museum in Kodiak.
“You want to suck me off?” Confusion seeped into the words. “I thought you didn’t like that.”
“No. I just…I don’t…I didn’t want to mess it up. I’m a disaster. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sagged.
“You are most definitely not a disaster.” He took her hand and wrapped it around the base of his shaft. “The article told you what to do? Or you want my pointers?”
His erection twitched under her fingers. Her throat went dry. She should get a drink. Water was definitely needed right now.
“V. The article? Told you what to do?”
“Yes.” She mentally reviewed the main points: watch the teeth, focus on the rim, hand action at the base, and don’t deep throat unless your gag reflex can handle it. She didn’t trust hers enough to give that a go quite yet. She’d keep to the hand stimulation for now.
“By all means, then. I look forward to being your test subject.” He leaned back against a pillow propped on the armrest, his fingers laced behind his head.
Velma glanced down as the erection in her grip throbbed. She clicked open the plastic top of the bottle of clear strawberry-flavored liquid and dribbled a bit in her hand. She rubbed it over the base of his shaft, massaging down to his bits o’ glory as the article suggested. He groaned, and she looked up to his face. He bit his bottom lip and his eyelids drooped. Okay, so maybe she was off to a good start.
Carefully, she dropped her mouth to him and traced her tongue along the edges, focusing on the soft crevice at the front. Succulent Strawberry was really very yummy. He thrust his hips up, his thickness sliding in her hand. She caught the rhythm and slipped her hand along the slick skin, working him with her tongue and fist like the article suggested.
He groaned again.
She smiled inside like a bare-chested goddess. Giving head was actually…fun. She worked her mouth over the tip, and Brek made noises she’d never heard before. Good noises. Sexy ones. Her nipples peaked and her breasts went heavy, need pooling intimately at her core. Brek gripped the armrest above his head, pressing his thigh up between her legs.
Oh, glorious heavens. She was such a wanton. What. Ever. If this was bad, she didn’t have any desire to be a good girl ever again. Not when the way he rubbed her with his thigh spurred her to push him harder with her mouth.
She lost her focus when he tangled his hands in the back of her hair. “Don’t know what your plans are, but I’m close.” His voice was ragged.
Okay. Good. He’d given her warning. She had three choices: Swallow. Ew. No, thank you. Spit. Also kind of gross. Or…get creative.
Still moving her tongue over him, she glanced about and looked at her chest. That would be creative. She reached for the strawberry stuff and squirted a stream between her breasts. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts together so they cradled his erection.
His eyes popped open. “I think I’m living my favorite wet dream right now.”
“I’m doing okay?” Her hand slid upward, rubbing over the places where she’d used her mouth.
He dropped his head back and grunted a reply that sounded like a cuss word followed by “yeah.”
The article was definitely a keeper. He met her rhythm and let out a moan as he finished.
“Fair warning, I had an unhealthy fascination with your tits before, but now my obsession with them is gonna be off the charts.” Brek’s hands went under her armpits, dragging her up his body. She leaned up on her forearms and he grabbed his T-shirt and wiped off her chest. He didn’t seem to mind, but she totally owed him a new shirt.
His arms crushed her, holding her against him. One hand stilled at the base of her neck, squishing her against the ink on his pecs. Broken breaths filled the air, and she felt his heart beat erratically.
“The compass is so I can find my way back to you,” he announced.
Her pulse skipped. What? Holy crap. She had to be misunderstanding him.
“Brek?” She tried to raise her head. He held her tighter.
“Also, I think my dick’s in love with you.” His voice strained with emotion.
“Your”—she made a noise in the back of her throat; she’d just had it in her mouth, but she wasn’t ready to say the word—“is in love with me?”
He paused. Her pulse hammered loud behind her ears. Neither of them spoke.
He rubbed her neck with his fingertips, finally allowing her to lift her head and meet his gaze.
“It happened shortly after I fell in love with you.” He’d gone pale again, and the vein in his throat pounded visibly.
Her world slammed to a stop, spinning her right off into the black unknown. He loved her? A simple thank-you was all she’d expected for her efforts. Not this…
“Brek—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know we agreed we wouldn’t do this. We were supposed to be temporary.”
She swallowed the pressure in her throat, her lungs grasping for oxygen but only finding that the weight of the world had settled in her chest.
“I guess that’s what happens, though. That’s what Pops told me. That you just know.”
He’d talked to her grandfather about this? That must’ve been the religious experience they’d discussed earlier. He searched her face, looking for something. What? She had no idea.
“Brek…” She glanced away, silent because, at that moment, she didn’t know anything. Words didn’t feel right. Not “I love you,” not “thank you,” not “let’s order takeout for dinner.”
She hadn’t signed up to fall in love with someone so far removed from her carefully crafted plans. Someone temporary. Someone like him.
Then again, she wouldn’t do what she’d just done to any of the guys who fit on her list. He sucked in a breath and held her tighter. All the words in the world aside, his embrace pulled her out of the black void and back into their reality.
He flipped her on her back, rested her head on the couch pillow, and raised himself over the top of her, braced on his arms. “I like living here. You like me living here?”
She glanced up to the ridiculous pige
on painting he had added above the mantel. The thing had grown on her.
“Uh…yeah.” She couldn’t move, her body rigid. Where was he going with all of this?
“You think you can handle being with a guy who rides a motorcycle?”
“Your bike and I have become good friends.” She smiled in an attempt to release the tension inside.
“Maybe you and I should look at that disability insurance bullshit… And I’ve gotta get a haircut.”
“Brek, you don’t need to cut your hair.”
He shrugged. “Don’t mind.”
She raised her calf and rubbed it over the hair on the back of his leg. The pressure in her chest diffused a little once they were in the safe zone of conversation that had nothing to do with the three-word bomb he’d just dropped.
“And I’ve still got my band and shi—stuff. The boys agreed to play a club in Denver next week, but I’ll get them settled and then I’ll be at your dinner. Being a band manager means I’ve gotta leave sometimes. But my job’s steady.” His expression was stone. “Steady income. Steady work. And I’ll have your compass to show me the way home.”
He was coming back. He’d leave, like they’d planned, but he would return. Warmth spread through her. She ran her hands over the blank space on his shoulder where he said he would put the new tattoo.
“Now I’m gonna go down on you. You good with that?” he asked.
Time began moving again, towing her along for the ride. Her pulse still beat, Brek was still there, the three words hadn’t changed anything.
Just everything.
Chapter Twenty-One
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 8 Days
Velma reached for the platter as Jase’s brother Zak passed yet another cake—this one chocolate with mousse filling and berries. She took a slice for herself, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat any. Nerves were getting the better of her tonight.
Velma glanced around the overflowing dining room table at the Dvornakovs’s house. The family was extremely loud and daunting. Meeting Jase’s family was…she drew a deep breath and let it out…yeah. The interview/dinner was really more of a Russian family free-for-all with everyone talking over each other while the fancy-schmancy imported vodka flowed.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 20