DAMNED RIGHT IT’S going to happen—but my way.
I press my lips together, braced for what feels like a fall from the Duomo’s roof to the cobbles below. Because, even after one kiss, I know being physical with Brooke will test every inch of my restraint.
‘You know, for a man who loves control, isn’t it better to orchestrate the sex rather than allow it to sneak up on us both?’ Those delicious lips twitch. For the first time in years I wish I could shrug off the self-imposed shackles of my discipline. Wish I were free to simply drag her to the nearest flat surface and lose myself.
It’s been so long since I acted on instinct.
At eighteen I arrogantly thought I had life all figured out. Then Julia got pregnant. After the initial shock we made plans for our future—not the one either of us would have chosen so young, but one we vowed to make work. Then my reckless streak turned my best intentions, my dreams and Julia’s, to ash. I pulled back after that. Locked down any chance of that happening again. Made control an art form.
And, now I’ve worn these shackles of self-denial for so long, what if I let go and then can’t claw back that control? Pain slices through my lungs, seizing my breath. The last time I lost it, I also lost everything, including a part of my own soul that I’ll never get back.
No, I’d rather dictate my own punishments than suffer more painful ones. A little sexual frustration is a small price to pay to avoid devastating consequences. But I can’t divulge any of that without sharing the details—something I never talk about. The pain is still too vicious and raw and shameful.
Taking my silence for hesitation, Brooke sighs. ‘Look, my last break-up a year ago all but destroyed me and my reputation—I lost endorsement deals because of those nude pictures my ex sold. Some would argue that I was the victim, but I blame myself. I was too trusting. Naïve. And the worst part was that it hurt my family.’ She looks down, the confidence draining from her expression and posture, so she looks almost like a little girl playing dress-up with her mother’s clothes and make-up, not the international supermodel she is.
But her eyes, when she raises them to mine, conceal her very grown-up pain.
‘I can’t just hook up with some random person I meet. Most people just want me for all this.’ She waves her hand, indicating the fantasy of her current appearance. ‘They don’t want the real me—the klutzy knitting version...’ She smiles with the self-deprecating humour I love.
She’s so strong. She struggles with trust but still manages to speak and live from the heart. I fight my own smile, thinking of her hole-riddled knitting, my chest thumping hard. She’s doing it again––enticing her way under my skin so I know I have no hope of sleep tonight, just as it eluded me last night after that kiss.
‘There are things you should know about me beyond the fact that I can’t be responsible for your emotional happiness,’ I say.
Her defiance flashes. ‘I’m responsible for my own happiness. I’m not talking about emotions. Just sex.’
‘I’m only interested in the kind of sex I like.’ My eyes burn into hers as if drawn there by unseen forces out of my control.
‘What kind of sex is that? Because I liked what we did last night.’
I shrug, avoiding looking at those lush lips, which are parted in fascinated astonishment. ‘Intense...some would say deviant. Unforgettable. But not usually described as “fun”.’ I repeat her descriptor back to her, as if it’s distasteful, because I have all sorts of visions of those lips I tasted last night, the same ones painted red now, parted around my cock. Nope, fun is way too frivolous a word for that kind of pleasure.
‘I usually find partners who complement my tastes, so everyone knows what they’re entering into. No expectations and no disappointments.’ I stare into her expressive eyes, the ones I’ll likely see staring back at me from some billboard back in London when this gig is over. Everything about her is expensive, classy, seemingly untouchable. But I’ve seen the same eyes glazed with arousal. Seen them riddled with doubts. And narrowed in frustration when she’s bent over her disastrous knitting.
Yes this woman is nothing like she seems from a distance.
‘I think I’ve proved, twice, that I’m willing to complement your tastes, so why don’t you show me what you mean? I might surprise you.’ Her voice turns husky with repressed desire. I know this because I’ve heard her come twice now. Heard the moans and cries she makes, the stuttered breathing.
‘Is that right?’ I know she’ll surprise me because nothing about her is what I expected when I agreed to this extended job. In small doses, during daylight hours, she was easier to resist. But now, when there’s no quick escape...when she’s saying all the right things and I’ve already had one little taste...
‘There are easier, safer, options for you to have a little fun than with me.’ I’m running out of excuses save for the juiciest one—my police record. There’s still fight in me, although it comes with a vile taste in the mouth, suspicious of jealousy.
‘Perhaps.’ I catch sight of her fingers curling into the arms of the chair. ‘But I told you—trust is a big thing for me. I know you’re not going to steal and sell my underwear.’
‘No, selling it would be a waste... I’m sure.’
She laughs. She gets my sense of humour, although I’m only half joking, the animal in me dying to get a closer look, smell and taste of all she has to offer. But I know my tendencies—a little of the delectable Brooke goes a long way. I need to keep my exposure to this intense chemistry leashed. Dole out the dribs and drabs the way an addict hopes to limit their consumption.
‘I don’t want to sound like a spoiled little celebrity, but can you imagine how exhausting it is having to hide the real you all the time? Second-guessing the motives of everyone you meet? Promoting Brooke Madden the brand, without a toe out of line?’ She blinks, the vulnerability in her eyes slashing through what’s left of my defences. ‘Last night was...freeing for me, Nick. I didn’t have to do anything or be anyone. Just myself.’
My blood roars, demanding that I show her more. Show her everything. I brace my hands on the back of her chair and swivel her to face the mirror. Our eyes meet there—me standing at her back. My palms burn to touch her bare shoulders. To stroke her shimmering skin. To feel if it’s as silky as I imagine. My breath traps in my chest as I treat myself to a miniscule concession—a brief, almost accidental swipe of my right thumb against her upper arm.
The contact blooms through my body from that single point. One touch is not enough. I want to feel her under me and over me and wrapped around me.
‘You know by now I’m a voyeur,’ I say, watching the flare of heat rush over her skin. ‘Not the sleazy, illegal Peeping Tom variety, but the consensual kind.’
‘Why?’ she asks, lightning-quick.
‘What...? Not vanilla enough for you, Lady?’ I dodge the question, not sure yet how much I want to reveal about my kinky-arsed ways.
She narrows those trademark eyes of hers a fraction. ‘I’m open to other flavours, Nick.’
‘It’s a control thing. I need the distance.’ Admitting this feels as foreign as my stilted attempts at Buongiorno. She’s drawing me out even while I try to stay tightly coiled. ‘I touch on my terms. And then I walk.’
Her eyes go wide. ‘Always? Have you never had a relationship?’
I shrug, back-pedalling from the lure of her infectious openness. ‘One. A long time ago.’
Memories assault me anew. I loved Julia. Loved our baby. One mistake, one momentary lapse in judgement, snatched them both away. Disempowered, and left alone with the consequences, only regret and devastation remained. A cold, dark and lonely place.
I can never go back there...
‘I’m not interested in relationships. Only this.’ I shrug. I’ve been as honest as I can.
‘I’ve heard there are clubs for that kind of thing.’ She blinks rapidly, the effect accentuated by the false eyelashes she’s wearing. ‘Is that where you go to find these like-minded partners?’
I grow hard just at the idea of taking Brooke to a club. ‘Sometimes. There’s one here in Milan, in fact.’
Her eyes spark with excitement and challenge. ‘So why don’t you take me to this club? Show me what you like?’
‘We’ll see.’ I move away from her temptation and glance at my thumb, which is stained with glitter from my moment of indulgence.
‘Think about it, Nick, because last night I wanted to explore all this...’ she points from my head to my feet and back ‘...but I never had the chance.’
Think about it... There are so many Brooke fantasies crammed into my head, I feel as if it might explode. Willing and eager to embrace my desires and concede control, she’s a danger. But the idea of her hands on me...her mouth on me...makes me hard enough to decimate what little self-preservation I can muster.
At that moment I’m saved by the shoot director. ‘We’re ready for you, Brooke.’
I breathe a sigh of relief as she stands and heads out onto the roof terraces of the Duomo. I watch her pose against the backdrop of the cathedral’s gothic, gargoyle clad spires and imagine her at Club Vivace, posed in my sexual fantasies.
A very bad idea.
Resisting Brooke Madden is becoming its own trial by fire.