PATRICK LOWERED HIS cell phone from his ear, staring down at its home screen. He’d been expecting the call he just ended, but now that it’d arrived...
“Shit,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over his head.
Pushing back from his desk, he stood and slid his phone into his front pants pocket. A glance around the open area revealed only empty cubicles. At a little after six o’clock on a Friday evening, he wasn’t surprised. The Reindeer Games started in a half hour, and most of the town would be at The Glen for tonight’s Yulefest activities.
Most of the town didn’t include him and Brooklyn.
He glanced down the length of the room toward the closed office door. Light filtered through the blinds, and he could just glimpse Brooklyn behind her desk. Normally, she worked until six or a little after. But for the past week, she’d extended that time, not leaving until almost seven.
There could be a variety of reasons for that. An uptick in the workload because of the holidays, for one. Preparing for the week after Christmas when Media Mavens would be closed, for another. All legit. But Patrick didn’t believe they were the only reasons. Something told him her late nights had something to do with him.
More specifically him and Kayla.
Firming his lips, he bent over, shut down his computer, grabbed his car keys and, instead of heading for the exit, strode past the empty cubicles toward the closed door.
Enough of this, he growled to himself.
He briefly knocked on the door, and once her, “Come in,” filtered through the wood, he turned the knob and entered Brooklyn’s office.
Brooklyn glanced up from her computer, and surprise didn’t flash through her eyes. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t decipher anything from her gaze or expression. That bothered him. In the years they’d known each other, he’d always been able to read her. But now she’d shut him out.
Unease crept through him, and he had to force himself to stay on this side of the office and not round that desk, cup her chin, tilt her head back and demand she talk to him. Order her to let him in.
He thrust his hands into his pockets, fisting them.
“Hey, Patrick. What’re you still doing here?” she said, voice pleasant, nice.
He detested it.
Snap at me. Argue with me. Show me you feel something...for me.
“I could ask you the same thing. You’ve been pulling longer nights lately,” he said instead.
She leaned back in her chair, setting the pen clutched in her hand on the desktop.
“With City Hall hiring us to promote Yulefest, there’s more to do than usual. But nothing I can’t handle.” She tilted her head. “Everything okay?”
He considered leaving her to it and walking away, saying nothing. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
“Cole just called,” he informed her. “He has the annulment papers ready for us to sign. Once we do, he can file them with the court. And we’ll be done. The marriage will be over.”
His gut tightened to the point of pain just uttering the words.
She slowly nodded and exhaled a low, long breath.
“Okay. For some reason I thought it would take longer,” she murmured, as if talking to herself. Shaking her head, she met his gaze. “That’s good. When are you going over to sign them?”
He shrugged, a flare of anger igniting inside him at her seeming eagerness to end them.
There’s no us. There never has been, he thought, and mentally scrabbled away from the resentment in his own head.
It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t really see him.
It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him.
“Probably tomorrow during lunch,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder. “Did you want to head over together?”
“No, that’s okay.” She picked up her pen again, fiddling with it, and he focused on the tell before lifting his gaze to hers again. She avoided his eyes by shifting her attention to her computer monitor. “I plan on working through lunch, so I’ll call Cole and arrange a time for me to go.”
“Why are you avoiding me?” he bluntly asked. “And don’t lie to me and say you’re not.”
“How can I avoid you when we work together?” she tossed back.
He chuckled. “This is how you want to play it? Okay, I’m in.” Approaching her desk, he quietly laughed again, and to his own ears, it sounded hard, sharp-edged. “For the last week, you haven’t talked to me unless it’s work related, and you make damn sure you’re not alone with me. When I call, you don’t answer and reply by texts. You’ve been working late nearly every night and, though Yulefest is one of your favorite festivals, you haven’t been to one activity since the lighting.” A frown marred her forehead and her lips parted, but he shook his head. Hard. “Don’t bother with an excuse. It would only be bullshit, and we both know it.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said, rising from her office chair.
Pride and a bolt of lust lit him up like a lightning strike. This was the woman he’d come to know and secretly love with a need and passion that, at times, scared him. She didn’t back down from anything or anyone, and that stubbornness, that strength, that fierceness, was hot as hell. It stirred a lust in him that had only grown over time, and damn if he didn’t think it would drive him out of his mind.
“The truth. Be honest,” he snapped, purposefully goading her. Wanting her to unleash her fury on him. Mark him with it. “Tell me why you suddenly find it too hard to talk to me, to be with me.”
Be with me.
The words seemed to echo in the taut silence that fell between them. He should’ve tried to mitigate them, explain that he meant be with him as her friend.
But there was enough lying, enough hiding, between them. And in this moment in her office as they stared at one another across her desk like gunslingers intent on taking one another down, he stood on the edge of a precipice. Yes, it sounded dramatic, but he couldn’t shake it. This moment would determine how they moved forward with one another.
It would change their lives.
“I don’t,” she said, that dark brown gaze shifting away, and both frustration and anticipation surged inside him, shoving against his chest. “You’re either imagining this or making too much out of it. I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“No, sweetheart. We’re not. And if you don’t want to be honest with me, I’ll do it.” He paused, studying her until she looked at him again. Did she even know how those formerly shuttered eyes now revealed her uncertainty? She’d deny it if she did. Would hate it even more. “Ever since the tree lighting you’ve been distant. Ever since you left me alone with Kayla—”
“I didn’t leave you alone with her,” she hotly contested, her eyes narrowing. “You voluntarily left with her, and I don’t recall you putting up a fight to stay with me.”
Once more a silence descended on the office, and he slowly smiled. For the first time in days—hell, in three years, hope swelled inside him. Hope that maybe, just fucking maybe, this...this thing inside him that craved her wasn’t exactly one-sided.
“I asked you to come with us,” he softly reminded her, a part of him afraid she would run even now. Not physically, but emotionally. Shut him out.
Brooklyn barked out a dry laugh. “Right. Because I’ve always enjoyed being the third wheel. It’s one of my favorite pastimes,” she drawled.
“You wouldn’t have been the third wheel,” he said. And when she snorted, flicking a dismissive hand at him, he planted his palms on her ruthlessly organized desk and leaned forward so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. Lowering his voice, he reiterated, “Understand what I’m saying, Brooklyn. You wouldn’t have been the third, unwanted party there.”
She stared at him, her chest rapidly rising and falling. The shadows in her eyes deepened, and he immediately knew the moment she’d drawn away from him. Saw the instant her gaze became shuttered again. And he could’ve roared in defeat, in frustration.
No. Hell no.
For years, he’d backed down. Choosing not to rock the boat. Opting to have a friendship with her rather than no relationship at all if he ever confessed his true feelings for her. Not anymore. For once, he was ready to burn it all to the ground for honesty. To be free from this secret.
To risk it all.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered. “That doesn’t make sense. Kayla’s your—”
He sliced a hand through the space between them.
“Kayla hasn’t been my anything for a long time,” he growled. “You were there. You remember when she broke up with me and ended our relationship. So don’t use that to avoid understanding and accepting what I’m telling you.”
“You just said it,” she said, a glint sparking in her eyes as she jabbed a finger in his direction. “She broke up with you. And yes, I was there. I also remember how hurt you were when it happened. Those feelings don’t just go away. And you weren’t exactly fighting her off at the lighting.”
He huffed out a low chuckle, true surprise sweeping through him.
“You saw what you wanted to see. What was comfortable and safe for you to see.” He straightened, pinning her with an unflinching stare. She tried to glance away from him again, but he wasn’t having it. “Look at me, Brooklyn,” he quietly demanded, and a shot of pure lust hit him when she obeyed. “Do you know why Kayla and I broke up?”
“Because she left Rose Bend and you didn’t want to follow her,” she murmured.
“Yes, that’s what I allowed her to believe because it was kinder. True, she wanted to leave Rose Bend, and I had no intentions of moving. But in the end, I was more guilty for the end of us than she was.”
Brooklyn frowned, her chin jerking back at his cryptic statement. Cryptic to her anyway.
“What are you talking about? What could you possibly have to feel guilty about?”
“If I truly loved Kayla—like she needed and deserved to be loved—nothing would’ve kept me from being by her side. For the woman I truly, desperately loved, I would follow her across the state, across the country. Hell, across the globe. Job, love for my hometown, be damned. Nothing could keep me from being by her side.” He took in her thick curls gathered in a bun on top of her head. The pretty brown eyes wide behind her glasses. The thrust of her firm breasts and the sensual flare of her rounded hips under her purple sweater dress. Desire crackled over his skin, sizzled in his veins, hardening his cock to painful fullness. And his heart... His heart pounded, the beat throbbing in his temples, echoing in his head. Fear, and yes, excitement, hummed inside him, but they were here now. There was no going back. And he didn’t want to even if he could.
“Ask me who I would go to the ends of this earth for. Ask me who I would chase down just to be close to her, just breathe her in. Ask me who that person is, Brooklyn.”
She swallowed, and he caught the shiver that slightly shook her petite frame. Her eyes closed for a long moment before those thick, dark lashes lifted and she looked at him again. Indecision, and maybe hints of trepidation, flickered across her face. His gut hollowed out.
Fuck.
Maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe he was so consumed with what he was feeling, what he wanted from her—had wanted for three years now—that he was infringing on her rights, her comfort. No, that wasn’t what he—
“Who are they?” Brooklyn’s soft question dropped between them like a bomb set on detonation.
And his answer would be the explosion, leaving them forever altered. Either leaving them in pieces, resembling nothing like who they were...or leaving them different but stronger, closer, better.
Again, he flattened his hands on the desk and leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart.
“You. You’re the one I’d say fuck it all and follow. You’re the one I’d burn my world down for. You’re the one, Brooklyn.”
Slowly, she shook her head, and stumbled back a step.
Away from him.
Pain splintered in his stomach, his chest, embedding in his skin, his fucking soul.
He’d taken the risk.
And he’d failed.
He straightened, already preparing to retreat, to withdraw. Of course, he’d known there was a possibility this could happen, had convinced himself he could handle it. And he would. He had to give himself some time, but he would accept her rejection. He loved her enough that he would never punish her for not wanting what he did. Not wanting him.
But damn.
None of that meant he didn’t feel like he’d drunk a glass full of nails and bled from the inside out.
“You don’t want me,” Brooklyn whispered, and he froze, unable to leave, to move forward. Unable to breathe. “I know you,” she continued in that low, almost pained voice. “You don’t want me. You can’t...”
“Can’t what?” he pressed when she trailed off. An urgency took residence in him, and he shifted forward until, once more, he neared the desk. “Can’t want to take that pretty, sexy mouth and work it over like I want to do to your body? Can’t want to drag my name out of that same mouth while I put my hands to those curves that have teased and haunted me for years? Can’t want to lose myself in you, watch those gorgeous brown eyes darken as I sink my cock into you?”
He moved even closer until the edge of her desk pressed into his thighs.
“Can’t want to protect you though you’re strong enough to fight the world? Can’t love you beyond reason?” He laughed, and the humorless sound abraded his throat. “Do you know the one regret I have in all of this? Not that I married you. Because even drunk off my ass I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I could call you mine. No,” he rasped, “my one regret is that I finally got to touch you, kiss you, be deep inside you, and I can’t remember one fucking moment of it. I would give anything for those memories. Anything.”
He laid it all out there—his truth, his heart, his soul. And his harsh breaths punctuated the room like physical blows.
He stood there, emotionally naked, stripped bare, and he didn’t try to cover himself. Slowly, he rounded the desk, giving Brooklyn plenty of time to order him to stop, to move, to retreat again.
But she didn’t.
And when he sank to his knees in front of her, his hands cupping her hips, he still paused, offering her the chance to reject him.
But she didn’t.
With a half growl, half moan, he pressed his mouth to her gently rounded belly, kissing and nipping at the flesh through her dress. She shuddered, and he absorbed it into his body. But when her hands slid over his head, her nails grazing his scalp to hold him close, he sank into her.
And lost the last of his control.
He shot to his feet and on a low, damn near animalistic growl, he captured her lips, not waiting for her to part for him, but thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. Fuck. The taste of her. He licked, stroked, devoured, giving in to and mimicking every dirty fantasy he’d ever dreamed. Burrowing his fingers under her bun, he tugged, and his other hand cupped and squeezed her jaw, commanding without words for her to open wider, give him more. With a moan, she did.
And he gave her mouth a good fucking.
Over and over, he plunged his tongue in and out, back and forth, consuming her. It was everything carnal, wild. And she wasn’t a passenger on this roller coaster of a kiss. No, she gave as good as she got. And he—he shuddered in response.
Not content with the kiss, not after imagining this moment for years, he bunched her sweater dress in his fists, yanking it up her thighs, hips, breasts, and finally, over her head. She stood before him, all that gorgeous brown skin gleaming against the white lace bra. God, she was sex and purity. Sin and innocence. Every sweet dream and nasty fantasy all rolled into one lush, sexy package.
He hooked his fingers in the band of her black leggings and dragged them down and off, pausing only to remove her boots. Then, with her startled yelp in his ears, he lifted her in his arms and deposited her on top of the desk.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, sitting before him, naked except for her bra.
He took her in, savored the sensual sight that could grace a classical painting in an Italian gallery...and be depicted in vivid color on the pages of a magazine’s centerfold. Exposed, vulnerable yet strong, and so lovely he wanted to bow down before her and worship her.
So he did.
He palmed her thighs, pushing them apart and giving him an unobstructed view of the swollen, glistening folds of her sex. The air in the room vibrated with lust and tension, and her scent, that vanilla-and-jasmine scent, seemed to thicken, adding a decadent perfume to the office.
If he expected her to be shy or modest, she torpedoed that notion immediately when she slid back on her desk and opened her legs wider, fully offering herself to him. Goddamn. Did she crave this as much as he did? That didn’t seem possible. But the glistening wetness on her flesh declared otherwise.
“Patrick,” she whispered, propping one hand on the desk for support and skating the other over his head, cradling the back of it. Pushing him closer to the hot, soaked center of her.
Right where he wanted to be.
He parted those pretty lower lips with a swipe of his tongue, and added a long, greedy swirl and suckle to her clit. She cried out, her back bowing in a deep arch. Her hips twisted, writhed, and he splayed the fingers of one hand across her belly and thrust his fingers inside her tight, hot sex with the other. Dipping his head, he licked the entrance even as his fingers plied her stroke after stroke.
“Goddamn, sweetheart. You’re tight. And wet.”
For him. All for him.
He worked another digit inside her, stretching her, and shifted his mouth back to her clit. The taste of her—so tart and fresh on his tongue—had lust threatening to burn him to ashes. His cock throbbed behind his zipper, demanding a sample of what his fingers and mouth enjoyed. Damn, he just needed to fist himself—just one quick tug to ease the ache. But that would require removing his hands from Brooklyn. And that, he wasn’t willing to do just yet.
He kept up a steady pump, twisting his wrist to corkscrew his fingers deeper, higher inside her core. Her soft mewls fell around him as she writhed and ground her flesh, meeting every plunge of his fingers.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered against her, the sound of his fist bumping against her folds punctuating the air. Her slick walls fluttered around his fingers, signaling her impending orgasm. “Let go. Come for me.”
And in the next instant, she stiffened, a low, muted wail escaping her. He continued to thrust into her flesh, making sure she rode the wave of every aftershock. When the last shudder rippled through her body, he rose and recaptured her mouth, giving her the taste of herself. And she didn’t shy away from it. Instead, she moaned and licked at his lips, his chin. Then she claimed him in a wild, raw kiss that snapped the last ragged remnants of his control.
With trembling fingers, he tore his shirt off, and his pants and shoes followed. Her hands skated over his shoulders, his chest and belly. And as he ripped open the condom he grabbed from his wallet before tossing it to the floor, too, she fisted his dick and pumped, stroked.
Fire raced up his spine and sped back down, concentrating in his cock and balls. Holy fuck. He almost fumbled the condom as he pulled it free and tossed the foiled package in the direction of the wastebasket. He wasn’t going to make it. If she continued to jerk him off with her delicate fist and nearly brutal grip, he wouldn’t make it inside her.
Gently knocking her hand to the side, he rolled the protection down his length, and because he believed in multitasking, he leaned forward and bent his head, latching on to her nipple over the white lace.
“Oh God. Patrick.” She panted, grabbing his head with both hands, and cradling him to her.
He swirled his tongue around her nipple and sucked, and then switched breasts, giving it the same treatment. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough until he was buried deep inside her.
He glanced down between their bodies, and fuck. His cock appeared damn near brutish pressed against her silken, soft, beautiful folds. So goddamn beautiful, he briefly closed his eyes to block out the sight. To try and gather his fractured control.
Grinding his teeth, he slid his cock between her slick cleft, coating himself in her moisture. The head bumped her clit, and their twin moans permeated the room. His flesh jumped of its own volition, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Are you with me?” he asked, lodging the head of his dick at her opening.
As much as he just wanted to thrust home and end this torture for both of them, he hesitated. Because after this... There would be no turning back to who and what they’d been to each other. This changed everything. Before he irrevocably altered them, he needed her agreement. Her assurance.
“Sweetheart?” he urged, his voice rough, ragged from the agonized pleasure that had him in a clawed, inescapable grip. “Tell me if you’re here with me.”
She nodded, gripping his upper arms.
“I’m here.” Leaning forward, she brushed a gentle, barely there kiss over his lips. “Fuck me, Patrick.”
He thrust forward.
Sheathed all of his cock in the impossibly tight and perfect clasp of her sex.
A cry wrenched free of her, and she buried her face against his chest, her nails digging into his skin. Her muscles quivered around his cock, working to accept and accommodate him. Somehow, he held still, letting her become used to him. It just might cost him his sanity, but he waited. In the meantime, a desperate and ravenous desire twisted his belly, sizzled in the base of his back, tugged at his balls. He was going up in flames, and he wanted to burn in this fire.
“On you, sweetheart,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Goddamn, you feel so good...”
Her harsh puffs of air battered the bare skin of his chest, but she nodded. And it was all the permission he needed.
He slowly withdrew, and she cried out. Hell, he almost did, too, as his dick dragged over the slick walls of her sex. When only the tip remaining notched inside her, he plunged back in.
Sex shouldn’t be this—fuck, good didn’t cover it. Couldn’t begin to describe the heaven and hell of pushing into her and feeling her sex give way for his penetration. His possession. With every stroke, every thrust, he claimed her as his. And with every ripple of her sex over him, whether she acknowledged it or not, she branded him as hers.
On that thought, he gripped her hip and the back of her neck and set a steady, hard ride. He rocked inside her, and the sexual melody of skin smacking skin, the suction of wet flesh releasing and accepting a thrusting cock, his grunts and her whimpers filled the room.
He angled her hips, slamming his to hers, taking her over and over. He wanted to—needed to—lose himself in her. But the crackle and snap of electrical pulses tripping down his spine and burning the soles of his feet relayed he wouldn’t last much longer. But he refused to go over into that sweet oblivion without her. Reaching between them, he circled his thumb over her clit, ruthlessly teasing and circling the bundle of nerves.
“Give it to me, Brooklyn. Come for me,” he demanded, and as if she’d been waiting on those words, she stiffened, throwing her head back, and erupted with a soundless scream.
And after two, then three pounding strokes, he followed. Just as he would willingly follow her anywhere.
SO THIS WAS PEACE. This was contentment.
He hadn’t believed he’d ever experience it again. Especially after his father’s death.
But this...calm that sank into his bones exceeded anything he’d experienced before. He hadn’t known what it was to be truly whole until now. Until he had Brooklyn’s scent on him, her body pressed to his, her breath whispering across his skin.
Patrick sighed, nuzzling Brooklyn’s curls.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, stroking his hand up and down her spine.
“Yes.”
She didn’t say more, but her formerly pliant, relaxed body gradually went rigid until she felt like a marble statue on his lap. The peace that had filled him slowly became a thing of the past as dread pressed down on his lungs, infiltrated his veins and spread the unease to every part of his body.
“Sweetheart?” He leaned back, pinched her chin and titled her head up. He needed to peer into her eyes and prayed that he would only glimpse remnants of the pleasure they’d just shared instead of remorse. “What’s wrong?”
He would hate to be her regret.
“I...” She turned her head, dislodging his hand. “I should get up. I need to get dressed.”
Her usually fluid movements jerky, she scooted off his thighs and bent down, hurriedly grabbing her clothes off the floor. For a moment all he could do was watch her dress, numb with shock and confusion. Finally, as she tugged the sweater material down over her legs, he jolted out of his paralysis and rose from the chair. Their nudity hadn’t bothered him just seconds ago, but now he felt exposed, raw.
Following suit, he dragged his clothes on and buttoning his shirt, he studied Brooklyn. Noted her trembling hands as she smoothed them over her hair, then down her hips. In the space of seconds, they’d gone from lovers to awkward strangers.
And he hated it.
“Brooklyn,” he murmured, abandoning his shirt and moving toward her, hand outstretched. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She shifted backward, away from him, and he jerked to a stop, dropping his arm to his side. Pain bloomed behind his sternum, red hot and searing.
“Patrick.” She stroked her palm over her hair again, the gesture nervous, agitated. “I don’t...”
“Nothing’s changed,” he finished flatly.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. “God, I don’t want to hurt you. But this...” Her lips flattened, and she briefly closed her eyes. “This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have—”
“Why? Give me your reasons why,” he demanded, voice a harsh rasp.
Give me your reasons why you’re throwing us away before we truly begin.
“Patrick, there are several reasons, and we can’t ignore any of them as if they’ll just disappear because we will them to. I’m your employer,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “You’re still my sister’s ex. We wouldn’t just be hurting her, but my whole family. Kayla and I might not be close, but I can’t do this—” she waved a hand back and forth between them “—to her.”
“So what’s changed? You were my boss when you moaned into my mouth. I was your sister’s ex when you welcomed me inside you. You were—”
“Please. Stop,” she rasped, holding up a hand, palm out.
But he didn’t stop. Not now when it seemed as if he was fighting for them. Not when he was losing. He moved forward until that palm pressed against his chest, and he covered her hand with his.
“I won’t. Not when you’re determined to place everyone’s opinions about who you are and what you do above your own. What do you want? What about your happiness? Isn’t yours as important—if not more—than anyone else’s? Don’t you deserve a life that doesn’t just include work but love? You should be a priority in your own life.”
“Are you kidding me?” She snatched her hand out from under his. “Are you really saying this to me? Sex doesn’t suddenly make you an expert on me or what I should want or deserve.”
“Maybe not. But years of friendship does. Sweetheart.” He spread his hands wide, staring down at them. Imagining them stroking over her skin. Hurting at the thought of never doing it again. He fisted them and looked up, meeting her angry gaze. “You’ve spent so many years fighting for your parents’ approval, their attention, that you don’t know what it looks like to be unconditionally accepted and loved. You don’t recognize it when it’s standing here right before you, offering itself to you. No strings. No conditions.”
He ached to touch her, draw her close, hold her. But he couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t. And not just because he respected her space and obvious desire to place emotional and physical distance between them.
No, he refused because he’d fought for them. It was her turn now.
“I love you,” he murmured. “I’ve loved you for longer than I had any business doing. Yet, I’ve never regretted the space you’ve carved out for yourself inside me. I’ve chosen you—I did years go. But this time, it’s your turn to choose me...choose us.”
“Patrick.” Her voice broke on his name, and he stepped back, fixing his clothes.
As brave as he wanted to be in this moment, he couldn’t look at her any longer. If he did, he might fall to his knees and beg her to take him as hers.
And he couldn’t do that. Not to her. And not to himself.
Both of them deserved more.
“I’ll see you Monday.”
He rounded the desk, pausing only to grab his keys from where he’d dropped them on the floor and left the office, quietly closing the door shut behind him.
Shutting the door on what could’ve been.