Читать книгу Tempted - Janelle Denison - Страница 10

MARC RELEASED a low, deep breath and watched Brooke head toward the kitchen. His gaze was unerringly drawn to the subtle sway of her slim hips, and the way her soft, faded jeans contoured to her curved bottom…which, admittedly, was his favorite part of the female anatomy—long, slender legs taking a close second. But her deeper, less superficial qualities were what tied him up in knots and had his conscience warning him to put her, and the spontaneous kiss they’d shared, out of his mind.

Intensely loyal and infinitely giving, Brooke was exactly the kind of woman he steadfastly avoided. She was so completely opposite from the enjoy-the-moment-while-it-lasts kind of woman he usually dated. Granted, he was very particular about whom he pursued, but his motto was always the same—no strings attached. The women knew up front what to expect, and he always bailed before the relationship turned demanding. One fateful night had proved he wasn’t cut out for commitment and forever promises, and he wasn’t willing to risk a woman’s emotional stability to give any kind of long-term relationship a try.

Nope, if his own brother hadn’t been able to find contentment with the one woman who embodied the perfect wife, then Marc had little hope for himself.

“Well, buddy,” Ryan said, slapping him good-naturedly on the back and cutting into his thoughts. “I know finding your sister-in-law here puts a glitch in our personal plans, but we’re depending on you to pull this off.”

Marc lifted a brow at his friend. “After Jessica’s odd brand of humor, you don’t mind sharing the cabin?”

Ryan’s gaze drifted toward the loft. “No doubt I’ll be dodging a barrage of lawyer jokes, but I figure we’ll be spending more time on the slopes than here. And if I don’t find an enticing ski bunny to hook up with, I figure it’s a place to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve crashed on the floor.”

Marc glanced at Shane, who was currently flirting with Stacey as they knelt in front of the fireplace. It seemed the other man didn’t have any objections to the cramped quarters, either. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He headed into the kitchen and found Brooke standing across the small room, near the oak table with six matching chairs—a convenient number given the current occupants of the cabin. He doubted Brooke would appreciate him using that fact as part of his argument for letting them stay.

Their gazes met, held, melded.

She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, showing him the more stubborn side to her personality. Her thick, shoulder-length hair swayed with the movement, prompting him to remember the feel of his fingers tangling in those rich, luxurious, honey-blond strands as he’d angled Brooke’s head for a deeper kiss. Wispy bangs touched her forehead and set off her expressive eyes, currently an intense shade of blue.

Despite her determined demeanor, her gaze revealed the wariness and caution she was really feeling. He knew those emotions were present because of the boundaries he’d unintentionally overstepped at his parents’ house that night of their anniversary party.

Unfortunately, the three months that had passed since he’d last seen Brooke had done nothing to diminish the deep, sensual craving he’d developed for her. He’d tried to tell himself that moment had been instigated out of flirtatious fun, but he now had to admit that the soft, warm feel of her lips under his had seduced him, had forced him to acknowledge that flawed part of him that had coveted his brother’s wife. Sweet, hot desire had gripped him, and he’d done the unthinkable and stolen a sample of what he knew would never be his—oneness, stability, eternity.

The discovery of what forever tasted like had shaken up every rule and restriction he lived by. He’d thought, he’d hoped, that time and distance would put their relationship back on track, as friends. He’d spent the past three months trying to get Brooke out of his mind, knowing she wasn’t his kind of woman, knowing he was the last kind of man she’d go for, especially after what she’d endured with his brother. Especially when his own past track record was less than sterling.

Their time apart had only intensified their awareness of one another.

“I’m sorry, Marc,” she said with an adamant shake of her head. “But having you and your friends here just isn’t going to work.”

He entered the room at a leisurely pace, closing the distance between them. “All of us have taken time off work until Tuesday, and there are no other lodgings available. I’m hoping we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“Eric needs to hire himself a competent secretary,” she muttered, more serious than joking. “We were here first, and this place isn’t big enough for six. My sister and I are sharing the loft, and Stacey is taking the only other room downstairs.”

“The sofa pulls out into a sleeper,” he countered, stopping a safe distance away from her—for both their sakes.

She smirked, the first hint of humor dancing in her eyes. “And you and your buddies will sleep on it together?”

He visibly winced. “Uh, no. Two of us can take the floor.”

“There’s only one bathroom.”

“That’s not important to the male species,” he said with a grin. “Besides, we’ll be up and gone before anyone wakes up in the morning.”

She released a sigh brimming with uncertainties, which he knew had to do with the subtle shift in their relationship. “Marc—”

He cut her off before she could issue an argument. “Look, Shane, Ryan and I came up here to hit the slopes, and for the most part, that’s where we’ll be. Or at the lodge. We just need a place to sleep at night. We’ll do our own thing, and you can do yours. If you or your friends need your own time, I’m certain we can find something to do to occupy our time. In fact, we were planning on grabbing dinner at the lodge. The place will be yours tonight until nine, at least.”

The determination in her gaze wavered, but then held strong, fueled by convictions only he understood. If it was anyone but him, he knew he wouldn’t be reduced to groveling.

“C’mon, Brooke,” he cajoled in his best persuasive tone. “I’ll talk Eric into giving you the next week that the cabin is free to make up for this fiasco.”

Before she could respond, Stacey entered the kitchen. Shane followed close behind, appearing well on his way to harmony with the raven-haired beauty in front of him.

“Well?” Stacey asked impatiently. “Has the head-mistress given her approval for you to stay?”

Three pairs of eyes stared at Brooke expectantly, and Marc watched her shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine, you can stay.” Her tone was hardly gracious. Neither was her gaze as she leveled a pointed looked at Marc. “But no extra guests allowed. You guys are on your own for any extracurricular activities.”

“Fair enough.” He stifled a grin at her militant attitude. “I promise, you won’t even know we’re here.”

BETWEEN THE HARD, carpeted floor, the chilled living room, and the erotic thoughts of the woman sleeping in the upstairs loft filtering through his mind, Marc couldn’t sleep worth a damn.

Rolling to his back, he stretched his stiff muscles and cursed Ryan for drawing the longest toothpick at the Quail Valley Lodge last night, thus giving his friend the pull-out sofa bed for the night. It had been the fairest way to claim the only mattress left in the cabin, but for him and Shane who were in sleeping bags on the floor, it was hell.

Sighing, he stacked his hands beneath his head and stared up at the high-vaulted ceiling. Gradually, the first shades of dawn crept through the curtainless window, throwing shadows along the wall. He heard a rustling sound from the loft’s bed, a sleepy sigh, and his gut tightened at the thought of Brooke lying in that bed, all warm and soft and sensual.

Just like she’d been when he’d kissed her. An eternity ago, it seemed, yet he could still remember every nuance of her body’s response as she’d melted against him, every silky glide of their tongues, the revealing and very sexy moan that had escaped her when he’d delved even deeper, wanting more of her.

The memory prompted a slow, aching throb through his body.

He’d convinced himself that the embrace had been a fluke, a flirtatious encounter that had accidentally escalated from the kind of platonic kiss they’d shared for three years, into a swift, indulgent seduction of senses. He’d convinced himself he’d only imagined the heat and incredible need that had flared between them. He’d believed it, until he’d seen her yesterday and experienced the urge to kiss her again, to see if what they’d shared had been as explosive as he remembered.

Dangerous, crazy, insane thoughts.

He’d deliberately stayed at the lodge until after midnight, but he’d known he was in deep trouble when he couldn’t summon the slightest bit of interest in the women who’d approached him, and there had been a bevy of them to choose from. While Shane and Ryan had enjoyed dancing and flirting with the female population, Marc had found himself comparing those women to Brooke…and found them all sorely lacking. Physically, any one of them could have sufficed. Mentally, none had stimulated him beyond a token smile.

He wanted to taste Brooke again. Badly. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. Knew he was completely wrong for her. And that she was completely wrong for him.

Somewhere along the way, those issues had ceased to matter.

And that’s when he knew he was in big, deep trouble. The kind that tripped a guy up inside. The kind that defied logic. The kind that overruled common sense and rational judgment.

The kind that made a usually sensible, intelligent man make incredibly stupid decisions.

Ever since a relationship with a woman during his senior year in college had turned disastrous, and made Marc realize he was too much like his own father, he’d never allowed another woman to get too close emotionally—for both their sakes. The guilt that had plagued him after that incident had been excruciating. But beyond the remorse, his actions had cemented in his mind his greatest fear, that he didn’t have what it took to sustain a lasting commitment—that fidelity was a chromosome missing from his family’s gene pool.

For the past eight years he’d devoted his time and energy to his electrical business, and dated women who didn’t make demands he knew he’d never be able to satisfy or fulfill. He’d never allowed his relationships to turn serious, and ended them before something deep and emotional developed.

One kiss, and he felt emotionally connected to Brooke—a revelation he found both scary, and exhilarating.

Not with her, his mind chided.

Listening to the voice of reason in his head, he determined that sooner or later they needed to discuss that kiss, to put things between them back on track, and into proper perspective. They’d always been friends, and maintaining that easy, casual relationship they’d shared during her marriage to his brother was of the utmost importance to him.

With that plan firmly in mind, he unzipped his sleeping bag, got up, and made his way to the bathroom. Closing the door, he flipped on the light, and decided he’d get his shower out of the way before the women woke up and the men lost their chance at any hot water.

Half an hour later, feeling more refreshed and his aching muscles more relaxed, he slipped on a pair of long thermal underwear and shirt, and overlaid that protective warmth with jeans and a flannel shirt. Quietly exiting the bathroom, he grabbed his ski jacket and made his way to the kitchen. He found the keys for the outdoor shed on the peg by the back door.

Since it appeared his friends were sleeping off a night of too much fun, he had plenty of time to take one of the two snowmobiles parked in the shed and enjoy the light snowfall that had coated the ground during the night.

He suddenly craved something sweet. Since Brooke was out of the question, he’d just have to head down to Quail Village to the quaint bakery there and settle for confections of the pastry kind.

WHEN MARC RETURNED an hour later, the other snow-mobile was gone, the lights in the cabin were on, and the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Tugging off his gloves, he stepped into the warm kitchen and closed the door to the mudroom behind him.

Brooke and Jessica turned from the counter to face him, and he smiled. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, setting the pink box of pastries on the oak table.

“Morning,” Brooke replied in her normal, good ol’ sister-in-law tone, then turned her attention back to pouring the steaming brew into the two mugs on the counter.

Ryan walked into the kitchen, and Jessica instantly honed in on the other man. “What could be good about waking up to a lawyer trying to negotiate time in the bathroom?” she asked, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee.

A lazy smile creased Ryan’s lips, and he lifted a brow over a dark brown eye glimmering with amusement. “I did not try and negotiate time in the bathroom.”

“What was I thinking? You’re absolutely right,” Jessica conceded humorously. “Divorce attorneys don’t know how to negotiate, they trounce their opponents, which is exactly what you did to me.” Wandering over to the table, she peeked into the pastry box and selected a bear claw. “And just to set the record straight, Mr. Matthews, your ‘I’ll only be a minute’ turned into twenty.”

Marc met Brooke’s gaze, and they both suppressed a grin at the obvious undercurrents between the sparring couple.

Retrieving a cup from the cupboard, Ryan filled the mug with coffee. “I didn’t take that long,” he countered mildly.

Jessica crossed the room and stopped beside Ryan. “How can you tell when a lawyer is lying?” she asked sweetly, then replied before Ryan could. “His lips are moving.”

With that victorious remark hanging in the air, she left the kitchen.

Marc chuckled and shook his head, feeling a twinge of sympathy for his good friend who was more used to women sweet-talking rather than mocking him.

Ryan joined him with his own deep laughter. “She’s not much of a morning person, is she?”

Brooke grimaced in apology. “No, she’s not.”

Picking a jelly-filled doughnut from the bakery box, he took a big bite, chewing contemplatively. “You know, as crazy as it sounds, I find her very stimulating.” On that note, he headed back into the living room, a grin curving his mouth and a challenging light sparking in his eyes.

As soon as Marc was alone with Brooke, silence, and a slow building awareness, settled between them. He still stood across the room, near the table, and she leaned against the far counter, looking at him over the rim of her mug as she casually sipped her coffee, but the charged energy that arced between them was unmistakable.

The instantaneous, intimate connection still startled him on an emotional level. Physically, he wasn’t so surprised at his reaction. He’d always thought of Brooke as beautiful, and sensual in an understated way—her marriage to his brother hadn’t blinded him to her allure. He was first and foremost a man who liked and appreciated women, and as such it was difficult not to notice the curves that made her intrinsically female—especially now, when the turtle-neck sweater she wore clung to firm breasts, and black leggings molded to the swell of her hips and those long, slender legs that had consumed too much of his thoughts lately.

But it was the warmth in her blue eyes that made his heart beat faster and caused a riot of emotions to clamor within him—wants and needs he’d denied himself for eight long years. Wants and needs he had no business contemplating now, or ever, not when he’d resigned himself to the kind of life-style that didn’t include the kind of commitment a woman like Brooke demanded…and deserved.

But those sensible thoughts did nothing to douse the undeniable desire that had taken up residence in him since that kiss they’d shared. While Brooke currently displayed admirable restraint and nonchalance regarding their situation, Marc experienced a contrary surge of recklessness that battled his willpower to resist her.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Marc laid it over the back of the chair, and turned to direct his gaze at Brooke. “Got enough coffee left for me to have a cup?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, a bit breathless, he suspected, from the rippling heat they’d generated in the short span of time they’d been alone.

He watched her retrieve another mug from the cupboard and pour in the last of the coffee, her hand trembling ever-so-slightly while she tried to regain her composure. Crossing the small space that separated them, he pushed his fingers through his tousled hair and away from his face, the strands still chilled from his morning ride to the village.

She turned back around, startled to find him standing beside her. With a remarkable recovery, she handed him the cup, her gaze holding his.

“You lied,” she said, the accusation low and husky.

The mug stopped halfway to his lips. The very notion that he might have deceived her about something unsettled him. For all of his faults, he valued honesty, demanded it, in himself and others. It was a personal trait he’d insisted upon after that crisis in his life eight years ago.

“I did?” His confusion was evident in his voice.

“Yep.” She nodded slowly, seriously, though there was a twinkle in her blue eyes that softened her complaint. “I thought you said you and your friends would be gone before we got up.”

Relief coursed through him, and he grinned. “My intentions were honorable, I swear. But we got in after midnight, and I had no idea that the guys would be slow-moving in the morning.”

She strolled over to the table and surveyed the baked goods, selecting the chocolate French cruller he’d picked specifically for her. “Wild evening at the lodge?”

“We had a good time.” He took a long swallow of coffee, then shrugged, knowing he could have had a better time, if he’d been in the right frame of mind. If his mind hadn’t been on Brooke. “Dinner was decent, and they’ve got a great band in the bar. What did you girls do last night?”

“Talked and relaxed,” she said vaguely, then took a bite of her doughnut. Her eyes closed for a brief moment. Sheer enjoyment etched her features, and a tiny moan curled up from her throat.

Her tongue darted out to catch the chocolate at the side of her mouth, and he experienced an overwhelming urge to lick the icing off himself and nibble at the smear on her bottom lip.

Marc’s gut clenched tight, his reserve of willpower quickly dwindling. She had no idea just how erotic she made eating a French cruller seem, and her lack of self-consciousness or inhibition made him wonder about her response in bed, beneath him, with him sliding deep inside her—

Whoa. He cut off those intimate, forbidden thoughts, but the image lingered vividly in his mind.

On a satisfied sigh, she blinked her lashes open, saw him staring at her, and a becoming shade of pink colored her cheeks.

He leaned a hip against the counter, his gaze lingering on her damp lips. “It looks good.” He had first-hand knowledge that her lips, and the heated depths of her mouth, tasted equally sweet.

“It’s wonderful,” she admitted. “You remembered that I liked French crullers.”

Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he allowed a rogue grin to grace his lips. “How can a man forget something that brings a woman such pleasure?”

The twist in his words wasn’t lost on her. Her eyes widened at his sexy innuendo, but surprisingly, she made no attempt to counter his brazen comment. Finally, she drew a deep breath and looked away, breaking that irresistible, tantalizing pull.

He was flirting, crossing that invisible line he knew he ought to respect even though she was no longer married to his brother. They were both bound to get tangled up in the sensual web he was spinning if he didn’t stop this madness. He tried like hell to rein himself back, to dismiss the attraction that intrigued and enticed him beyond reason or his better judgment.

He took a sip of his coffee. “You plan on skiing today?” he asked, striving for innocuous conversation.

She smiled, seemingly grateful for the change in subject. “Stacey and I are heading to the slopes in about an hour. Jessica doesn’t ski, so she’ll stay here.” She took another bite of her doughnut, this time careful not to display her enjoyment of the pastry.

“I could give her a few basic lessons.” Pushing off the counter, he slowly crossed the small space separating them. “She’d be skiing in no time.”

Wariness reflected on her face as he approached, and she smoothly slipped around him and went to the sink to wash the sticky icing from her fingers. “Thanks, but I think Jessica prefers to just hang out in the cabin.”

Lifting the lid on the bakery box, he grabbed a glazed buttermilk and bit into it, contemplating Brooke’s sudden skittishness. “I noticed that the other snowmobile was gone. Who’s using it?”

“Shane and Stacey went out for a morning ride.”

“They’ve seemed to hit it off well,” he said, guessing from the various comments Shane had made the previous night that he wouldn’t mind pursuing something with the other woman. “In fact, I think my friend likes your friend.”

“What’s not to like?” Brooke asked, rinsing her coffee cup. “She’s got a great personality, a perfect body, and she’s naturally sensual.”

He tilted his head, and let his gaze take stock of her attributes. “You’ve got a great personality, a perfect body, and you’re very sensual.”

She rolled her eyes at that, clearly disbelieving him.

Obviously, his brother hadn’t appreciated what an enticing wife he’d had. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.” He finished off his doughnut, and sucked the glaze from his fingers, then shrugged. “I happen to think you’re very sexy. Always have.”

A wry grin quirked the corner of her mouth. “Interesting, considering my packaging didn’t hold your brother’s attention for long.”

And judging by the guarded look in her eyes, she believed she couldn’t hold his attention for long, either. Though his short-lived relationships verified her unspoken opinion, he found himself unjustifiably annoyed that she’d lump him into the same category as his brother.

He started toward her, and she automatically skirted to the side again, away from him and back toward the table. He turned to face her, and jammed his hands on his hips, his exasperation mounting. “You’re acting as though you’re afraid I’m going to pounce on you…or kiss you again.”

There, he’d said it, finally brought the forbidden kiss out into the open so they could discuss it, and move on.

She seemed just as relieved to be offered an opportunity to talk about what had so obviously caused tension between them. “About that kiss—”

“Something happened between us, didn’t it?” he asked, stepping toward her from the side, so she couldn’t bolt around him.

“Yes, but I think it’s best if we chalk it up as a mistake.” Her chin lifted as he neared. “A casual kiss that accidentally flared out of control.”

Like wildfire. “No, I don’t think it was a mistake or an accident,” he refuted, trapping her against the solid oak table so that her bottom hit the edge. His body crowded her from the front, but didn’t touch her…yet. “I think we both knew what we were doing, but then you panicked.”

“I came to my senses,” she argued, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him from coming any closer. One more inch and they’d be more intimate than he’d been with a woman in too many months to count. One more inch and she’d discover just how badly he wanted her, despite the dozen reasons why he shouldn’t.

“Marc, this is all so complicated.” She shook her head, confusion clashing with the wanting in her gaze. “If it was anyone but you…”

The honorable intentions he’d vowed earlier, to leave her alone, dissolved in that moment. Suddenly, he had a point to prove.

She gasped as his hands clasped her hips, then lifted her a fraction so her bottom slid onto the flat surface of the table. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

She frowned at him and his bold move, but the arousing shade of her eyes contradicted her prim attitude and countered the silent reprimand in her gaze. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment, or an insult. It’s the truth.”

He grinned lazily and flattened his palms on her slender thighs. She sucked in a swift, shocked breath, and before she could guess his next intent, he pushed her legs apart and moved in between so her knees bracketed his hips, leaving her no possible escape.

Incredible heat shimmered between them. The initial panic touching her expression was quickly eclipsed by a thrilling rush of excitement that flowed hot and molten through Marc’s veins, as well, spiraling straight toward his groin. His erection strained against thermal and denim, full and hot and heavy.

No doubt, she felt his desire and hunger for her. She swallowed convulsively. “You’re my brother-in-law,” she attempted.

“Ex,” he breathed, dipping his head near her ear, squashing her paltry argument. Before she could issue a more obvious objection, that he was a Jamison, he distracted her by sliding his lips against the silken skin of her neck. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since that kiss.”

A tiny moan caught in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the table with her fingers, seemingly trying desperately to resist him. “Me, either,” she admitted, sounding miserable.

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, curling his fingers just beneath the French braid she’d twisted her hair into. He touched his lips to her jaw, dragged them to the corner of her mouth, which was parted and trembling. He lifted his head, just enough to look into her soft blue eyes, brimming with anticipation, despite her protests.

That was the only assurance he needed to take this encounter to the next level. “You’re curious,” he murmured huskily, “I’m tempted, we both want it, so let’s try another kiss and see what’s really there.”

She shuddered, resisting, her body stiff with tension. He waited for her to give him the permission he sought, because this time he wasn’t about to take something she wasn’t willing to give.

This time, he wanted no regrets, no excuses.

Through half-mast lashes, he watched her struggle with her conscience, and prepared to let her and this fleeting moment go—probably the smartest thing for him to do.

He started to step back, but she suddenly reached out and gripped his flannel shirt in her hands, pulling him back—close. Determination fired her blue eyes, and she drew a deep, fortifying breath.

“Just do it,” she ordered.