“WHAT ARE YOU in the mood for?” Marc asked.
“Just about anything you have in mind,” came a throaty, feminine reply.
Marc instantly responded to the sultry invitation in Brooke’s voice. His stomach clenched with need, and his body grew hard with incredible, astonishing ease. Glancing from the cupboard of canned goods, he cast his gaze over his shoulder, watching as Brooke approached from the living room. A suggestive gleam sparkled in her blue eyes, and the alluring glide of her body spoke a hedonistic language that said she was his for the taking, despite that she should have been exhausted and sexually depleted from their earlier tryst.
Her nap had obviously restored her ardor and enthusiasm.
He fought the primitive urge to haul her over his shoulder and spread her back down on the sleeping bag in front of the fire for another sumptuous feast. But since they’d skipped lunch, they needed sustenance of the nutritious kind. “I’m talking food, Brooke.”
“So am I,” she said, all innocence.
Marc knew better. With his earlier encouragement, the sensual creature within Brooke had been unleashed, and she was enjoying the benefits of being so winsome, of basking in the glory of physical liberation. Her new, brazen attitude showed in her soft expression—the come-hither look in her heavy-lidded eyes, and the I-want-you-for-dinner smile curving her mouth.
No way could any healthy, red-blooded male resist that kind of ambush.
He drew a deep, steady breath to calm his raging hormones. This was a fascinating side to Brooke he’d never seen before, and he couldn’t help but wonder how this sexy, exciting woman hadn’t been more than enough to satisfy his brother. Obviously Eric hadn’t taken the time to discover all that passion simmering beneath the surface, hadn’t taken the care to coax her desires and needs to their full potential.
Or maybe Eric hadn’t wanted his wife to be that kind of woman. The sudden, fleeting realization slipped through Marc’s mind, making sense in a warped kind of way. Before he could analyze the thought further, it was quickly obliterated by the press of Brooke’s body up against his chest, and the bold way she dragged her palms down his belly and tugged on the waistband of his thermals. Without hesitation, her fingers slipped inside.
Groaning deep in his throat, he grasped her wrists before she took him in her hands and erased his good intentions to make her dinner. With obvious regret, he withdrew her shameless touch. “We really do need to eat.”
She buried her face against his neck and breathed deeply of his scent, then nibbled on his throat. “You taste good enough to eat.”
Abrupt laughter escaped him. “Food, Brooke.”
She lifted her head and looked up at him. A sigh unraveled from her, the sound rife with regret. “You’re right, of course, especially since I want to make sure you’ve got plenty of energy for later.”
He lifted a brow. “Later?”
A feline smile curved her lips. “My fantasy,” she whispered, reminding him that she had a score to settle. “So, what are my choices? For dinner, that is.”
Trying not to think of the ways she might extract her revenge, he turned back to the cupboard and perused their selection. “We’ve got beef stew, chicken noodle soup, or ravioli.”
She reached for one of the bigger cans. “Let’s go for something hearty and filling, like beef stew. It’s going to be a long night.”
He watched her sashay toward the stove, exuding too much confidence, and knew he was in big, big trouble.
They worked together to prepare dinner, all the while talking companionably. There wasn’t an ounce of tension between him and Brooke after what had transpired earlier, just a special closeness that they’d never shared before. She flirted and teased impetuously, exhibiting all the unmistakable signs of a woman attracted to a man. She touched him often and with abandon, and he liked every aspect of their new, intimate relationship. Way too much. More than was wise.
They settled across from one another at the small table, along with their bowls of stew, saltine crackers, and the apple juice Brooke had found in the pantry. Nothing gourmet, but definitely a tasty and filling meal.
He picked up his spoon and pushed around the steaming chunks of beef and vegetables, resuming their casual, easy conversation. “So, how do you think Jessica and Ryan are surviving being confined together during this storm?”
She spread her napkin on her lap and slanted him an inquisitive look. “How do you mean?”
“We’ve both noticed the verbal sparring and sparks flying between the two of them.” He grinned. “I’m just wondering if they’ll come out of this as friends or enemies.”
“I’m not worried much about Jessica,” she replied wryly, and bit into a saltine cracker she’d dipped into her stew. “She can definitely hold her own with Ryan, as you’ve seen.”
He nodded. “And I can vouch for Ryan enjoying the challenge she presents.”
A brief show of regret entered her eyes. “Unfortunately, that’s all Jessica will ever be for him.”
Curiosity got the best of him, prompting him to delve deeper into their discussion. “Why? They’re obviously attracted to one another.”
Her spoon stilled over her stew, and she met his gaze steadily from across the table. “Just as we are, but that doesn’t mean anything will come of our attraction beyond the here and now, right?”
Marc’s gut clenched. He had the distinct impression she was testing him and his answer, possibly hoping for more than they’d originally agreed to. As much as he wished he could promise her more than their pact as temporary lovers, he knew it wasn’t possible. Not with him. And he refused to offer her false hopes.
“You’re right that our time together is limited to this cabin, but our circumstances are different than theirs.” He chased that lame statement down with a long drink of apple juice, then concentrated on finishing his stew.
She had every opportunity to turn the tables on him, to confront their circumstances, challenge his excuse, but she didn’t. He exhaled a breath of relief.
“Ryan doesn’t stand a chance with Jessica,” she replied, putting their conversation back on track. “There might be some kind of attraction between them, but he’s a lawyer, and a divorce attorney at that. Those are two major strikes against him.”
“What, exactly, does Jessica have against Ryan being an attorney?” He reached for a few more crackers. “And what’s with Jessica’s wisecracks? I’ve never heard such a colorful assortment of lawyer jokes.”
She laughed lightly, but there was an odd tightness to the sound. “Collecting them is a hobby for her and has been since she was a teenager. As for her aversion to attorneys, well, that stems from lingering anger over our parents’ divorce.”
Marc didn’t know much about Brooke’s parents, or her past, and found himself interested in that aspect of her life. “What happened?” he gently prodded.
Her brow creased with reluctance. Setting her spoon in her nearly empty bowl, she hesitated, giving him the strong feeling that it had been a long time since she’d talked about her childhood. He waited, giving her the time she obviously needed to sort through memories.
She rewarded his patience, her release of breath seemingly releasing that tight hold on her thoughts. “Jessica was only nine when our parents separated—I was thirteen—but our father’s actions made a huge impact on her. She was his little girl, and she idolized him, so when he left the family for a younger woman and filed for divorce, Jessica was just as devastated as my mother.”
Finished with his meal, he pushed his dish aside. “And what about you?”
“Oh, I was definitely crushed,” she admitted, absently running a finger over the rim of her glass. “But someone had to be strong and keep a level head during the separation.”
So she’d been the sensible, reliable one of the trio—at a startlingly young age. “I take it the divorce was a nasty one?”
“Yeah,” she said grimacing, the recollections he’d evoked obviously unpleasant ones. “Everything about the split was awful. Our mother was a stay-at-home wife, always had been, and when our father left she was forced back to work and had to keep two jobs in order to support us, which left me to take care of Jessica and basically take over our mother’s duties at home.”
He frowned, not caring for the image of her at thirteen, taking on the responsibilities of an adult when she should have been enjoying her teenage years. He silently absorbed everything Brooke and her sister had gone through, grasping a better understanding of Jessica’s emotional state, as well as why Brooke was so sensible, levelheaded and stable. She’d had to be, for her sister’s sake, and to support her mother’s mental well-being, as well, he suspected.
“What about alimony and child support? Didn’t that help your mother?” he asked.
“This is where the animosity toward attorneys comes in,” she explained with a faint smile. “When our father walked out, he wiped out their savings account and took all the money they had. Come to find out, his new girlfriend liked pricey things and was very high-maintenance. He hired a cutthroat lawyer who had no compunction about taking advantage of my mother’s emotional shock. He raked her over the coals, so to speak, and since my mother couldn’t afford to hire a decent attorney, she lost everything. She was forced to sell our house, and after my father took his portion of the proceeds, my mother barely had enough to move us into a one-bedroom apartment and buy herself a used car to get her to her two jobs.”
She glanced away toward the fireplace, but she wasn’t done recounting her disturbing tale. “Somehow, my father got out of paying alimony, or he just didn’t pay it at all. Child support payments were sporadic, and then they just stopped, as did his infrequent calls and visits.” Her gaze found his again, the hurt in her eyes running deep—deeper than she allowed anyone to see, he’d hazard to guess. “It’s been over thirteen years since we’ve seen or heard from him.”
He shook his head in astonishment. “I can’t imagine how things would have been if my parents had gone through something similar when my father had his one brief affair. Granted, Eric and I were eighteen and sixteen at the time, but if my parents hadn’t worked through their problems and decided to make their marriage work then Eric and I would have been casualties of divorce, too.”
Sighing, she stood and began stacking their dishes. “Consider yourself lucky. Your mom and dad obviously believed they had a marriage worth saving, despite your father’s one indiscretion.” A fond smile lifted the corner of her mouth at the mention of his parents, but he caught a brief glimpse of sadness in her eyes before she turned and moved toward the sink. “My father wasn’t willing to work through the problems he’d created, or give up his new love interest. His family hadn’t been a priority for him. His only concern was his own selfish wants and needs.”
Marc cleared the table for Brooke while she filled the sink with hot, sudsy water, giving him a few quiet moments to reflect on the turmoil her father had inflicted on so many lives. His own father had strayed and caused Marc’s mother emotional distress, but his family was fortunate in that his parents had worked hard to repair the problems in their marriage, and avoided becoming a statistic. Most couples weren’t so lucky.
Marc had learned from his father’s mistake, along with his own past transgression with another woman. That one incident in his life was a vivid reminder of why he avoided serious, complicated relationships. He had concrete proof that he had his father’s wild blood running through his veins, just as Eric did, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk the possibility of breaking a promise as sacred as wedding vows. Eric had tried, but those impulsive urges had destroyed his own marriage, had made Brooke a casualty of divorce not once, but twice. Yet she didn’t seem to harbor any resentment.
He came up beside her and set their glasses on the counter, searching her expression. “After everything you’ve been through with your father, you don’t seem bitter at all,” he commented, fascinated by her acceptance when she had every reason to be cynical.
“I dealt with the situation differently than Jessica, and I couldn’t afford to wallow in those hostile emotions.” Shrugging, she pushed up the sleeves of her thermal shirt and dipped her hands into the soapy water. “I was too busy learning to cook and clean, raising Jessica for my mother, and keeping myself in school, too. I think I just came to accept the circumstances because I had no choice, but my sister was so young and my father’s actions really disillusioned her.”
His hand clenched into a fist against the crazy urge to reach out and touch her, to offer some kind of physical comfort for what she’d endured. He ached to pull her against him, hold her close, and give her everything she’d been denied. Except he was the last man who had the right to stake such a claim, to make promises he feared he’d break.
Instead, he reined in his desires to the best of his ability and opted for the consolation of words. “It sounds as though the men in your life haven’t exactly been pillars of security, or fidelity.”
Regret fluttered across her features as she scrubbed a bowl, rinsed it, then placed it on the dish rack. “Yeah, I’d hoped that my own marriage would be different from my parents, that I wouldn’t get divorced.” Her gaze captured his, the deepening color of blue revealing a puzzling culpability. “But honestly, I’m partly to blame for my marriage to Eric not working out.”
His brows shot up in surprise, and he grabbed a terry towel to dry their dishes. “And how’s that?”
“My expectations of Eric, and our marriage, exceeded what he’d been capable of giving me.” Resignation laced her voice. “I should have seen that before the wedding, but I was so swept up in Eric’s single-minded pursuit that I didn’t take the time to analyze the situation, or the fact that I’d let his charm seduce me. Despite knowing about Eric’s wild ways, I wanted to believe that he could be the kind of man to give me everything my own father hadn’t given my mother. Like unconditional love. Respect. Security.”
Something within him softened perceptively. Behind all that strength of hers hid a wellspring of vulnerabilities. “But you never had any of that in your marriage to Eric.”
It was a statement, not a question, but she answered him, anyway. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe I can find a man who will give me those things. Next time, I just need to be more careful, and selective.” An indulgent smile brightened her expression. “Even after everything my father put my mother through, she managed to find a terrific man who treats her like she deserves. They live in West Virginia and have been happily married for the past seven years.”
He dried a bowl, then replaced it in the cupboard. “I guess it’s just a matter of finding the right person.”
She nodded in agreement. “Yeah, along with compromise and lots of open communication.”
“Which you obviously didn’t have with Eric.” He knew that personal observation should have remained unspoken—the problems Brooke and Eric experienced in their relationship were none of his business—yet he wanted to know the details that had driven his brother toward other women, when his own wife should have been more than enough to satisfy him, emotionally and physically.
His comment didn’t seem to bother her. “I tried to be a good wife, and I suppose in some ways Eric tried to be the kind of husband he thought he should be.” Reaching for the pot on the stove, she submerged it in the water. “In the end, we both discovered we weren’t meant to be together. I married Eric wanting a house in the suburbs, a dog, two or three kids and the whole family kind of thing. Eric said he wanted those things, too, but he was forcing himself into a role that didn’t fit him.”
He frowned at her explanation. “What do you mean?”
“I think Eric married me because I was safe for him, a way for him to deny his true nature.” She unplugged the sink, and stared out the window as the water swirled down the drain. It was completely white outside, the banks of snow nearly four feet high and they still had another day to go.
She transferred her gaze back to him. “There was an attraction between us when we first met, but once we got married, there was no real emotional intimacy between us. Eric played the part of a hardworking, serious husband, and he treated me like, well, a wife.”
He put away the last of the clean utensils, not sure he was following her. “As opposed to?”
“A woman. A lover.” She bit her bottom lip, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks. “Eric and I…well, we never would have done the kind of things you and I did earlier. Our sex life was okay, but very predictable. Nothing hot or wild or exciting, and Eric seemed to prefer it that way. None of that really mattered to me, probably because I didn’t know what I was missing.”
Until now.
The tempting words hung between them, making him too aware of the sensual, sexy woman he’d had the pleasure of awakening within Brooke…and wanted to again.
He realized his earlier assumption had been correct. It wasn’t as though Brooke hadn’t been enough to keep Eric content, but that his brother had pegged her into a demure, domestic role that didn’t include erotic intimacies. It had been Eric’s way to keep his distance emotionally and maintain the stability of a proper marriage, while his affairs had offered the fantasy of hot sex.
Unfortunately, Eric hadn’t realized he could have had the best of both worlds with Brooke.
Dragging a hand through her hair, she shook her head and grinned ruefully. “Where did all that come from?”
He hadn’t meant for them to embark on such a serious conversation, but it was apparent their discussion had been good for Brooke—and very educating for him. “Sounds like you needed to let it all out.”
As if she’d just realized all the personal things she’d confided about herself and her marriage to his brother, she slid a sheepish glance his way. “I’ve never really talked about my marriage to Eric to anyone. I adore your mother, but I’m not about to discuss Eric with her, and Jessica has her own opinion about the matter and is too quick to accuse instead of just listen. And I really shouldn’t be discussing my relationship with Eric with you, either.”
Tossing the towel aside, he leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing we talked about will go any further than this cabin,” he promised.
“Thank you.” She looked immensely relieved, believing his word without question, making him feel absurdly pleased that she trusted him so completely.
Tipping her head, she regarded him teasingly. “Do you charge by the hour for your therapy sessions, Mr. Jamison?”
He winked at her and grinned, liking this playful side to Brooke. “For you, I’ll waive the fee.”
“No, that won’t do at all.” A provocative gleam entered her gaze. “I don’t have a whole lot of money on me, but I insist on paying up in other more inventive ways.”
His libido twitched as she moved toward him. “Such as?”
“I think we’ve talked too much.” Aligning her body against his, she twined her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers. “How ’bout I show you?”
Her parted lips meshed with his, and she compensated him with long, rapacious kisses that threatened his sanity, made him wish for impossible things, and proved that she had plenty more newfound passion and desire to put to use.