He caught the scent of her hair again. Cranberry. Good enough to eat. But he was getting ahead of himself. While she had practically crawled in his lap, he fingered the edge of her nightie. She hadn’t worn this for him, because unless she was psychic she couldn’t have predicted this particular outcome. “Were you expecting someone?”
Brooke raised her head and shone the light in his face, making him blink. “No!”
He moved her arm, and the flashlight, down. “Take it easy, Bungee. I wondered because of um, what you’re wearing.”
Brooke sighed and made a little sound in the back of her throat, as if she’d only now remembered what she was wearing. “I hope you don’t think I’d kiss you the way I did this afternoon and then be— expecting someone else.”
He might be pushing his luck, but still he asked. “Why, then?”
“You know, Hotshot, a girl buys nice lingerie and every once in a while she might decide to put it on even without a guy around. Just to feel pretty. Besides, it stays on longer that way.”
“Good point.” He’d wanted to take it off since he saw her lying on the ground in front of her door. Amusement mixed with full blown lust, another first.
Brooke had laid her head down on his chest again, which wasn’t making any of this easy. “And, if I have to, I can always take care of myself.”
He hoped she hadn’t heard the sharp hiss of his breath, but just picturing Brooke— taking care of herself— was not an image conducive to a steady heart rate. He swallowed.
“I love the way I’ve left you speechless.”
“Face it, that’s not hard for you to do.” He forced himself to think about puppies and kittens. One thing he wouldn’t do is press his advantage on a weak and vulnerable Brooke. She’d stopped trembling in his arms, at least. He glanced at his cell phone.
Brooke raised her head. “Who are you calling?”
“PG&E. I want to see how much longer before these lights are back on.” Please people, make it soon. My physical and mental health might depend on it.
She laid her head back on his chest. One arm was clinging to his waist, the other still holding the damned flashlight. “You can go if you’d like. I don’t mean to keep you here.”
It had never occurred to him that she might think he had better things to do, or any place he’d rather be. He kissed the top of her head, as he listened to the recording of the outage update. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thanks, Hotshot.”
He hung up. Sounded like it might be a while. “How long have you been this afraid of the dark?”
She spoke as softly as he’d ever heard Brooke Miller speak. “I was a typical kid, afraid of the dark. Always had a night light. But it got bad in college the year our part of the city had a brown-out. I had a roommate that was never in our dorm. Of course the power went out when she was off with her boyfriend somewhere. I’ve never seen it so dark before, or since then. I stayed in my room alone and waited. I’d only been there for a few weeks so it’s not like I had any friends to call. And the other people on my co-ed floor were having way too much fun out in the halls. I didn’t feel like hooking up with someone whose face I couldn’t even see, and that’s what it sounded like they were doing out there. I locked the door and hid under the blanket. I’ve been terrified ever since.”
Just the thought of Brooke alone in that room, far away from home, and he found that he held her tighter. Even pulled her into his lap a little bit. “I should have been there. I would have been if—”
“No, you would have been in the jock’s dorm. They had the best one, across the campus from mine.”
“Doesn’t matter. I would have found a way.” And he’d find a way this time if it killed him. It just very well might, but he wouldn’t leave Brooke again.
“Right,” she said, her breath falling on his ear. “But I don’t think I would have made the Dean’s List had you taken that scholarship.”
“Yeah?”
“You would have been one huge distraction.”
“I don’t know about that, but I would have given it a hell of an effort.”
“I’d like to see you give it an effort now.” Brooke straddled him, and the flashlight dropped to her side.
Like a clock striking the hour, the lights suddenly went on again in the room. Brooke startled in his lap. Light radiated as though someone had turned the sun dial to high. He blinked to adjust his eyes. Every light in the room was on, but Billy couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in front of him. Brooke blinked a few times, but didn’t move from his lap. She gazed at him, her eyes soft and pliable with heat. Staring at his mouth.
He took the invitation, and this would be a whole lot better with the lights on.
11
Mind numbing fear combined with body slamming lust turned out to be the biggest thrill Brooke had ever experienced.
Forget skydiving and bungee jumping. All she needed was Billy and the dark. No use in pretending she didn’t want him. Didn’t need him inside her like she needed her next breath. Billy lit her up from the inside out, right down to her bone marrow. She might have fantasized this moment dozens of times in the past, but it hadn’t come close to the searing reality.
Then the lights slammed back on, and it seemed like the sun itself shined in her cottage. Spraying light all over what she was about to do. Because this couldn’t happen, boss or not.
Not her and Billy.
Friends were one thing, but how could she yearn for someone who represented everything she hated?
But damn it, she had ten years ago and still did now. The lustful feelings had never gone away. And every time he had smiled at her, every time he signed her petition to save the whales, or whatever her cause du jour at the time just because she’d asked him to, he’d stolen another piece of her heart.
Now she had her heart back in one piece. He couldn’t just waltz back into her life and start taking pieces of it again.
She scrambled off his lap before they’d both do something they would regret. This made twice now she’d nearly attacked the man. Or was that three times? Good, she’d already lost count.
He turned off the flashlight and stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face. Achingly vulnerable, heartbreakingly sexy. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I came on to you.”
“Uh, Brooke? I’m not exactly fighting you off.”
“Of course not. You’re a gentleman and you don’t want to make me feel cheap.” She glanced down at her nightie. Great. Giving him a free show. “Look at me!”
She ran to her bedroom for her robe and the ratty one was closer. So what. A deterrent would be handy right now.
Billy joined her, arms braced in the doorway of the bedroom. “Good idea. Your little couch is too small for me.”
She tied the robe tight around her waist. “No! I didn’t come in here for the bed.”
“You think that stupid robe is going to stop me? It’s made out of cotton.”
How was she supposed to get out of her bedroom when he blocked the frame with his big hot body? She drew in a deep breath. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Why not? As it so happened, she had a list somewhere. But for right now, she’d have to fly by the seat of her pants. For starters he now knew about her phobia.
She’d never been this naked in front of a man, without even taking all her clothes off.
He didn’t wait for an answer as he stepped toward her and reached for her, his strong arms pulling her close. “You don’t have an answer, do you?”
She put her hands up against his hard chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. “I— I do have an answer—”
“Not one good enough for me.” One sexy finger tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“You and I are from two different worlds.”
“Doesn’t feel like that.”
He kissed her then, rough and a little bit wild and she closed her eyes
pretending for a second she would let him into her heart again. Let him in so he could walk away without a word.
She pulled away after a few minutes. Those kisses of his were going to be the death of her. Her lips were nearly as bruised as her heart. “No. Stop.”
He let her go, stepping away. “This isn’t over.”
“It has to be.”
He walked through the doorway, turning once to give her a pointed look. “The only thing that has to be is you and me in a bed together. Or mine, if you’d prefer. To be honest, we don’t even need a bed.”
His words wrapped around her southern region and went straight to soles of her feet. She couldn’t move.
Once he was gone she took a solid breath of air, now free of the absolute maleness of Billy Turlock. She couldn’t understand how he managed to pull her in the way he did. Good looks were one thing, but he kissed with such authority and passion, being both rough and tender at the same time. He made her skin too tight.
The digital clock in the kitchen flashed the number twelve. She’d need to reset all the clocks because of the power outage. And buy new batteries and extra flashlights. She grabbed a piece of paper and started to make a list.
Yeah, she needed to get a handle on this phobia of the dark. A grown woman shouldn’t still be unable to face such a ridiculous fear which had no real explanation. She was a daredevil, not afraid of anything.
Except Billy had reminded her there was one thing she feared more than the dark. Right now that fear had morphed into a six foot tall long haired baseball player.
Sleep. She needed to rest now, and forgot about the man who’d left a trail of heat in his wake.
Brooke folded up the blanket he’d pulled over her and threw it on the loveseat. They’d both been here not long ago in near total darkness and yet she’d felt safer than if every light in the house had been left on.
And wasn’t that the scariest thing of all?
* * *
The next morning at Henry’s Market, Brooke crossed batteries off her list. Two twelve packs of double As should last through a few power outages. She’d have to get the flashlights at the hardware store, since Henry’s didn’t carry those.
All morning long she’d fought to keep her thoughts of Billy in line. She would not daydream about him. She would not remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to feel the heated waves of intense desire nearly electrifying the room. She would stop thinking about the kissing.
Well, one challenge at a time.
Next on her list: milk, Munster cheese and fruit. She pushed her squeaky wheeled cart to the dairy section.
Ophelia Lyndstrom from the fabric store Sew and Tell nearly bumped into her shopping cart right next to the milk aisle. “Brooke! Is everything really all right? You seem perfectly normal.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Probably just another rumor thread in town. Well, she’d squash it like a fly. She kept moving towards the milk aisle, Ophelia following.
“Keith told me you flipped out at Serrano’s and had to be restrained.”
Brooke stopped her cart and turned. “Restrained?”
“Yes, apparently some irate patron called George a horrible name and you hauled off and slugged him. I believe in company loyalty, but isn’t that taking it a bit too far?”
For the love of Pete, the rumor was so far removed from the truth she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I didn’t hit anybody.”
“Then why did Keith say that?” Ophelia really did appear confused.
“I’m sure he heard wrong. You know how rumors get around.”
“You’re right. Probably just an exaggeration, as usual. What did happen?”
“George and I had a parting of the ways. I don’t work for him anymore.” Brooke leaned in and reached for the fat milk this time. Screw the 2%. Sometimes you just needed fat. “Maybe I was a little loud when I handed over my resignation, but we’re good. Everything’s fine.”
“I heard you’re at the old Mirassu winery now.”
Why bother talking when everyone already knew everything? “Yes, under new ownership. You’ll be hearing more soon.”
“You know I’ll support whatever you do, honey. What about the photo? Was that you? Some say it’s you but I’m not sure. It kind of looked like you, but I couldn’t see your face.” Ophelia blushed.
“What photo?” But even as she asked, Brooke feared she had the answer to the question.
“Billy Turlock kissing some woman in the Chardonnay row. I would have picked the Cabernet row myself, but there’s no accounting for taste. White wine is good with fish, and that’s about it. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but where did you see this photo?”
“On Stephan’s blog. Someone should really stop him. He has no shame, but what can you do? It’s The Internet. God help us all.” Ophelia threw a non-fat carton of milk in her cart.
Brooke whipped out her phone right in the milk aisle and found the blog.
Ophelia looked over Brooke’s shoulder. “That’s the one.”
Front and center on Stephan’s blog lay a photo of her and Billy emblazoned with the caption: Love in the Afternoon?
Retired ball player Billy Turlock wastes no time when it comes to the ladies. In this photo of him and a local woman it is clear if not love, there’s at least lust in the air. I’m offering $50 to whoever comes up with the name of the woman Billy has in his lap. I do have my suspicions, but I need evidence…
The picture wasn’t a good one, thank goodness. They’d captured Billy’s back mostly, but it was clearly his long brown hair, and her fingers curling through it. Fortunately Billy’s big body had mostly covered her, although her legs were seen to be coming around his back. Wearing her long black Ms. Dominatrix boots. The boots she’d had to order from a catalog, because of course there was no store in town that carried them.
“Come to think of it, those look like your boots,” Ophelia said. “Aren’t they?”
“Like I’m the only one who owns a pair of those boots?”
“I think you might be. Take a look at him, would you? If I were only twenty years younger. What I wouldn’t do. Ah, well.”
Sweet the way he’d prepared that picnic, even if he’d made it an underhanded date. Because he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.
“Yes, he is pretty good looking. Just not my type.”
“Honey, this man is every woman’s type.” Ophelia breathed. “So you do work for him now, don’t you?”
She’d just admitted as much. “Yeah.”
“And you own a pair of those boots?” Ophelia’s eyes narrowed.
Brooke didn’t like this line of questioning. She put away the phone in her bag and headed to the fresh fruit section.
“Where are you going?” Ophelia called out.
“To finish my shopping. See you later.”
Paul Smith stopped in the middle of bagging some apples to recite statistics for the Oakland Sliders, and swear himself a lifelong true-blue fan. Why he thought that mattered to her she had no idea. Brooke finished her shopping in record time, ignoring winks from some other customers.
She’d nearly made it to the checkout line before Fallon Andrews almost slammed into her cart.
“Ooops! Sorry about that.”
But she didn’t look the slightest bit sorry, smiling with that ex-cheerleader mean girl look she’d perfected at Starlight Hill High. “Out of my way. I’m in a hurry.”
“We need to talk,” Fallon said, “And I think you know why.”
Brooke could hazard a guess. Fallon, being Billy’s last girlfriend before graduation, had probably never given up on Billy. “I’ve got no idea. Why don’t you spit it out?”
Fallon leaned in and spoke softly. “There are only two women in town with those boots, and I’m the other one.”
Brooke froze. “Now how do you know I have a pair?”
“Please. Give me some credit.” She tossed her wavy red hair. “Like those boots don’t have your name writ
ten all over them. They’re your style.”
And not Fallon’s, which would be short skirts and pom-poms. “Sorry, that’s not good enough.”
“I’m friends with the UPS guy. And when he delivered my boots he complimented me on my taste. Said only one other woman in town had— what did he call it— bitchin’ good taste. And that was you.”
“So what? Maybe that’s me in the photo. Maybe I let someone else borrow my boots. Did you ever think of that?”
“It crossed my mind for a second. But then I thought, gee, doesn’t Brooke now work at Mirassu’s since she had her hissy fit at Serrano’s? Oh sure, I heard about it.”
“Well, I have a lot to do today, so if you’ll get out of my way—” Brooke shoved against Fallon’s cart.
But Fallon put up a decent resistance, which must have meant that she hadn’t been only marrying three different men in the past ten years but apparently also spending some time at the gym. “And then I also remembered that no matter what you said, you had a thing for Billy even back in high school.”
“I did not!”
“Save it. I think he broke up with me because of you.”
“And I think it might be time for you to get back on those meds.”
“Funny. Look, here’s what I propose. You and I both know it’s not me making out in the vineyard with him—”
“We weren’t—”
“Shush. Do you want someone to overhear you confess? I think you should turn me in. Tell everyone I’m the mystery woman. Pass go, and collect your $50.”
Brooke didn’t see this coming. “Why would you want that?”
“Are you kidding me? Billy and I were supposed to be the golden couple, get married and leave town together. Instead he broke up with me.”
“So even if it’s not true, you want a return to your high school glory days?” Brooke didn’t like the sound of it. Fallon wanting to capitalize on Billy’s fame made her stomach feel tight and queasy. Gigi was right about some women. They were coming out from the town’s soft under belly.
Brooke hated living in a world where Gigi was right.
“For some reason, it doesn’t sound like you want anyone else to know it’s you in that photo. I could help you out.” She lifted a shoulder.
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