Chapter Eight

 

Brooke gasped as Luke began steady, strong thrusts.

“That’s so good,” she said.

Luke smiled and kissed her, moaning into her mouth.

This surprise of a man was exactly who she needed tonight. In the past two days she’d cracked his serious exterior and discovered his sweet, funny, sexy center. Fine, the sexy had been obvious from the get-go, but he was sexier after showing her the other stuff.

She ran her hands up his corded arms, dwelling on the network of scars on his shoulder before dancing her fingertips along his torso. Taut and lean and thick in the right places. She caught the shifting muscles of his ass as he flexed his hips.

She pulled him into her, again, and again, and again.

Warmth flushed over her, and the coiling pleasure that had been tightening since they entered the elevator threatened to break and tug her under.

But not yet.

“Hey,” she said, breathing heavy and fast. “I want to try something.”

He brushed her hair from her face. “Tell me.”

“I want you in front of the window.”

“Anything for you.” He withdrew and she edged away from her orgasm. It waited, ready to burst through her body. Luke helped her from her bed, and they waltzed toward the window, kissing as she tasted his smoky goodness again.

He backed her up to the window, the panes cool against her back and ass, but in front was all heat. Luke bent and sucked her nipple, sending an electric thrill rocketing through her.

“Turn around.” He growled. “And brace yourself.”

As she placed her forearms against the glass, he held her hips and groaned as he slid himself into her. They paused, adjusting. He skated his hands up her arms, stopping to weave his fingers with hers. Locked in, he restarted his thrusts. His rhythm was perfect, like a metronome, hitting home every time.

“Like that,” she said. “Keep going, and I’ll come for you.”

Her body tensed, and the stretchy delicious sensation curled up from her toes and eddied through her, breaking like a tidal wave. As she moaned, he let his hips fly until he gasped and shuddered against her. One, two, three aftershocks, and he wrapped both his arms around her waist and rested his forehead against her back.

“You were right,” he murmured.

“I know. About what, specifically?”

“You’re two hands full.”

~ * ~

Shattering pain forked through Brooke’s temple. She covered her pounding skull with a pillow. Between that and the dull pressure behind her scratchy eyes, she wanted to lay in bed all day with snacks and Netflix, but the person jackhammering her door had other ideas.

Clearly, she and Luke had forgotten to hang the Privacy Please sign on the door handle last night. She glanced toward his side of the bed. All that greeted her was a Luke-shaped dent in the pillow. Was he the one knocking? Did he leave, but forgot something? If so, rude. Yeah, one-night stand morning-afters could be awkward, but a friendly goodbye would’ve been nice.

She pursed her lips and rubbed her forehead.

“Brooke?” her mother called and knocked again. “Are you there?”

She bolted upright in bed. Urk. Mistake. Her lurching, tumbling stomach added to the gross hangover.

“Just a second,” she croaked. God, had she gargled with Sriracha last night? She massaged her closed eyes with the heels of her hands. The sooner she could slurp a bucket of water and chomp a fistful of Advil, the better.

“Everything okay, hon? You didn’t pick up when I called. We’re leaving for brunch at CJ’s in twenty minutes.”

Brunch. Fuck. Brooke punched the comforter. The tone was friendly, but Mom was lecturing her through the door. It was high school all over again. Well, not today, Satan. Brooke stomped toward the door. Before flinging it open, she needed to hide her bedhead. Messy tresses would show Mom she’d just woken up.

Brooke slapped open the pocket bathroom door to grab a towel, and found her missing man.

“Uh, hi,” said a freshly showered Luke, who was also super naked.

Where were his boxer briefs? Oh, right. She’d stolen them last night after insisting those and his t-shirt were more comfortable than her pajamas. In her defense, they were.

“Towel, please.” She dipped her eyes low then back up to his bright blues. Rawr.

Without moving to cover himself, he tossed one to her.

“Thanks.” She wrapped her hair in the towel. “No noise, okay? My mom’s at the door.”

He held his finger to his lips and nodded.

She backed away, slid the bathroom door shut then opened the room’s door three inches. The gap was wide enough to peek into the hallway while hiding the tornado of clothes swirled around room.

Her mother’s face fell. “Oh, Brookie. You overslept?”

“No,” she lied. “I was in the shower. We’re supposed to meet in the lobby, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but when you didn’t answer my texts, I worried you’d—never mind. Have you packed?”

“Mostly.” And by ‘mostly’ she meant not at all.

“That face means you’re hiding something.” Mom barged forward. “Let me help.”

“Mom, no.” She didn’t budge. “I’m almost done. I’ll be in the lobby on time, I swear.”

Mom stopped her advance. “If you’re not, I’m sending your father.”

“Fine. See you downstairs.”

“In fifteen minutes,” Mom reiterated.

Brooke closed the door and rested her forehead against it. Today was shaping up to be a legit nightmare, made worse by her stomach being such a hungover brick. What the hell was up with that? She’d knocked back a few drinks at the reception. Not a big deal over the course of six hours.

She rubbed her temples.

That hadn’t been the last of the spirits, though, had it? She and Luke definitely drank more during their blitz visit to the Strip. Muzzy memories floated to the surface. Luke, his eyes serious, whispering…something important. Damn, what had he said? She tried to focus, but the tricky memory dissipated like fog in the sunshine.

However, not every part of last night was fuzzy around the edges.

Like when he’d kissed her in the elevator. That was clear, and one of her Top Five Hottest Moments, for sure. Her life’s remaining Four Hottest Moments occurred shortly thereafter, also starring Luke. Him, standing bare-chested above her…the window with his thick arms wrapped around her. After they’d collapsed in a satisfied heap, he’d double-checked that they’d locked the door. Then, they’d started another heated encounter until finally, he’d snuggled up next to her as they fell asleep.

The strongest memory, above and beyond all else, wasn’t visual.

Last night, she’d felt safe with him. Not in a misogynistic caveman way. The way he’d held doors open, kicked glass from her path, and loaned her his suit jacket when casino air conditioning chilled her to the bone. He’d made her feel like something precious.

Which also made her want to barf.

She couldn’t blame this particular strain of nausea on booze. Physical attraction was one thing. Scratch the itch then move on. That’s what she thought she was doing last night—scratching an itch. It turns out, having a huge crush on a good, solid man and finding out he could help her release a screaming orgasm took her attraction to unbelievable heights.

What a terrible, awful, bad idea. Good men seduced you into filing down your ambition, shelving your dreams, and smiling while you did it. She exhaled and reminded herself that Luke lived two thousand miles away. Temptation to stay with him wasn’t an option, and unlike other exes in Smalltimore, he wouldn’t randomly pop up at baseball games, concerts, or brunches.

Ugh, brunch.

She slid the bathroom’s pocket door open. While her mother had been sniping at her, Luke had tucked a towel around his hips. Good. The lines of his lower abs dipping behind the terry cloth were intriguing enough without him being full-on naked.

“Brooke?”

“Sorry,” she blinked her sandy eyes. “You don’t happen to have a change of clothes hidden in your suit, do you?”

“No, but my gym bag’s in my truck back at the Oasis.” He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Brunch at CJ’s and Helena’s in twenty-five minutes. I’m meeting my parents in fifteen.”

He winced. “Oh, shit.”

“Agreed. If you leave now, you’ll avoid them in the lobby. Or you can stay and be way late to brunch. Your choice, but it’s best they don’t catch you in last night’s clothes.”

He raked his hands through his hair. “I like the first option best. It’s less suspicious if I’m mostly on time, and CJ won’t give me shit.”

“Then you’d better hurry.” She folded her arms across her chest. “FYI, I’m keeping your clothes on because I don’t trust us both being naked.”

“Me neither.” He tried to leave the bathroom, but she blocked his path. Oaths and vows were required before he got dressed.

“Promise me you’ll keep last night a secret.”

“My whole job is keeping secrets.”

“Understood but can you please pinky swear you’ll keep this on the down low?”

“If you don’t let me pass, we won’t have a secret because your parents will see me.” He picked her up and set her aside. “Have you seen my pants?”

She pointed at the lamp. “Hanging over there.”

“I won’t say anything.” He hopped into his pants, and very little on him jiggled. “Your brother would kill me, but this headache might do the job first. Do you have any Tylenol?”

“No, sorry.” She shrugged.

“I’ll snag some at CJ’s.” He rubbed his forehead. “Shirt?”

“Um.” She swiveled her gaze she spied it hiding under the bed. “Found it.”

She picked it up and tossed it to him. The cotton sighed as he put the shirt on, much like she would if she draped herself on his sculpted pecs. Unfair she’d only scored one night with him.

“Thank you, by the way,” she said.

“For what?”

“Distracting me last night. I wasn’t in a great place.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and found three stray bobby pins. After tugging them free, she dropped them on the side table.

“Why not?” Luke pocketed his tie. “You played beautifully.”

“Because…” She blew out a breath. “I’m happy for CJ and Helena, and I love them together, but I’m low-key losing a brother. Also, despite my parents’ disappointment in a non-Catholic ceremony and not inviting lots of family, they celebrated big, as they should. If I showed them the one hundred percent real me like CJ does, they’d throw an intervention.”

“That’s a lot of heavy thinking during a wedding.”

She handed him his wallet. “Which is why I got drunk and brought you here.”

“So, who’s the real you?”

“This hot mess.” She gestured toward herself. “Wearing last night’s make-up, hungover, and exhausted after a one-night stand.”

“If it helps, I like the real you.” He tipped her chin up and grazed her lips with his.

The throb returned between her legs. Her stupid body had lost its mind. This couldn’t happen for many logical reasons. The lack of time, the family waiting for brunch… Most importantly, if she got another piece of him, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to give it back.

“Don’t be nice.” She backed away. “Because then I’ll like you, too.”

“Is liking me bad?”

“No, not bad,” she said. “But not right for me.”

His smile dimmed. She hated causing that, but clarity was best. Last night was it for them.

“Got it,” he said. “See you downstairs.”

~ * ~

Frustration wormed through Luke as he waited for the elevator.

He wasn’t right for her? She wasn’t right for him either.

Luke swung around and walked back to her room to tell her exactly that. Normally he could compartmentalize his annoyance and keep focused on a strategic goal, namely, getting out of here without being seen. Brooke’s casual dismissal bugged him, though, and if he didn’t tell her the feeling was mutual on the topic of not being right for each other, this frustration would simmer all through the brunch.

As he raised his hand to knock on her door, a ding sounded from the floor’s elevator bay.

“Well, Bernadette, you know Brookie.” Mrs. Buras’s voice carried down the hallway.

Shit. He crouched behind a housekeeping cart like a kid. Thank God he’d let his emotions get the best of him, or he would’ve come face-to-face with Brooke’s mother while wearing last night’s suit.

“She obviously overslept and is lying to me about it.” Mrs. Buras stopped and fiddled with her purse until she found her key card. “I’m praying to St. Jude, but it’s not working.”

Her voice faded to a muffle as she closed her door behind her.

An urge to defend Brooke burned in him. Sure, Warren. Tell Brooke’s mom he was to blame for her oversleeping after an amazing night of sex. That’d smooth everything over. He scrubbed his face with his palms then hustled to the elevators. With the push of a button, an empty car opened and was whisking him to the lobby.

As the floors counted down, he stretched to ease the tension in his neck. A fruity whiff of Brooke’s scent surprised him. Where...? His brain burped up a memory. Last night, at the Bellagio, Brooke had shivered so he’d given her his jacket. She’d worn it until The Venetian, when she’d shrugged it off to pose with a wax dummy.

What had they done after that?

He shouldered the wall and rubbed his temples. This was bad. Intelligence analysts can’t get blackout drunk. Too much information, too much vulnerability.

Think, Warren. Think.

Except the connections fizzled and evaporated. He’d have to shelve it for now. Breakthroughs happened when he downshifted, relaxed, and stopped crowding the information. This wasn’t the time, anyway. He had to pick up his SUV at The Oasis, change, then hightail it to a post-wedding brunch with the Buras family.

Which wouldn’t be at all awkward.

Yeah, right.

In the lobby, he wove through tourists to get to the main entrance. Only ten-thirty in the morning, and the unforgiving Vegas sun was already hot as balls. Between the weight of his suit’s fabric and Brooke’s scent clinging to it, he’d be happy to shed it.

The taxi ride from the hotel lasted only a few minutes, and the driver played music loud enough to drown out most of the thoughts Luke didn’t want to have anyway. There was his truck, lonely in the guests’ parking lot. He popped open the back to snag his duffel to change clothes in the back seat. The T-shirt, loose shorts, and sneakers were too casual, but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He started the car and zoomed toward the Air Force base.

As he arrived at CJ’s and Helena’s, his pulse picked up speed. He could do this. If they asked direct questions about last night, he’d offer enough information to satisfy their curiosity then switch the subject to neutral territory. Deflection was a tried-and-true tactic he used back home.

On the rare occasions he visited West Virginia, friends and family got a kick out of pitching spy craft questions. They hoped to get the inside scoop on everything from the accuracy of cable news’ latest Russia story, to aliens at Roswell, to the JFK assassination. He’d smile and nod, briefly explain he couldn’t talk about it, then ask them about their kids, or jobs, or pets.

Worked every time.

At the security gate, he flashed his badge. The guard waved him through, and he wound his way towards CJ’s—now CJ’s and Helena’s—house. His best friend stood in front of the grill on the patio along the side of his house. Time to face the music.

As Luke cut the engine and hopped out, he swallowed hard. Work had served up situations more fraught with tension than this. He could spend a pleasant morning with his best friend’s family and completely set aside his mind-blowing night with Brooke.

Couldn’t he?

As he trudged along the pavers, CJ’s family pulled up to the curb behind his truck. He’d expected them to beat him here, but their visitor’s passes must’ve slowed them down.

“Hey, man. How’s your first day of wedded bliss?”

“Fantastic.” CJ pointed tongs at Luke. “You headed to the gym after this?”

Before he could answer, the rest of the Burases joined him in the driveway. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny the pull toward Brooke. Annoyed as he’d been twenty minutes ago, it took everything he had not to throw her a signal, like a wink or a smile or a discreet touch.

Please let him not fuck this up.