Riding with Maryse between his thighs walked a thin line between being thoroughly enjoyable and utterly frustrating. On the one hand, there was no doubt in Brooks’s mind that she fit there just right. Like she was supposed to be there. Or always had been there. Or whatever other sappy statement he could muster up about fate.
But on the other hand...
The fact that she did fit him so well made it hard not to act on the desire that filled his mind. It was even tougher to control his body’s automatic reaction. With every little move, it got more difficult to contain it. Each bump in the road jarred his concentration, and he kept thinking of the way she looked in her tiny bedroom in nothing but her little bits of satin when he knew he should be thinking of ways to confront Caleb Nank.
Little bit heaven, little bit hell.
So when she finally said something about seeing a wide enough shoulder ahead, he couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. Damned if it didn’t sound like a barely restrained growl.
As Maryse pulled the car to the side of the road and eased to a full stop, Brooks reached for the handle and flung open the door. Icy air blasted through the small space, temporarily cooling the fiery need that raced through his veins. The reprieve didn’t last long. Maryse swung a leg sideways and twisted her body toward the door. Then stopped. One of her hands was outstretched, the other pressed dangerously high on his thigh.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m stuck.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Hang on.”
Brooks sat very still as she wriggled back again. She only succeeded in getting herself sideways, her firm rear end balanced between his legs, her hip resting against the zipper of his jeans. Now she was breathing a little heavily, too, which did nothing to bank Brooks’s libido.
“I think my coat is pinned to something under the steering wheel,” she told him, reaching up to pull on the zipper, which didn’t move. “Dammit. Can you help me? Maybe hold the front part down while I try to get it open?”
Fighting a groan, Brooks brought up his left hand. He grabbed the jacket and pulled down firmly while she worked at the buttons. After what seemed like a full minute of struggle, Maryse at last got all but one undone. The little sigh she let out as she finally popped open the last button was almost an aphrodisiac. The way she wriggled herself out of the coat was as good as a plate of oysters. When she was free of the jacket, though, she stayed in his lap.
“Are you unstuck?” he asked.
“Um. No.”
“Not the coat?”
There was a pause, and a crimson flush crept up her throat. “No.”
Brooks’s eyes followed the line of bright pink to the V of her T-shirt. “What, then?”
“I’m not sure. Could you...?” She tipped her head over her shoulder, indicating what she meant.
“Sure.”
He reached around her body, trying not to inhale too much of her honey-laced scent. He ran his fingers along the lower edge of the steering wheel until he found the source of the jam.
“Your belt loop is hooked to something under here.”
“Can you get it loose?”
Brooks wiggled the denim to no avail. “Don’t think so. Maybe if you swing a bit more toward me.”
She inched back, then lifted her knee. The move knocked away his grip of the snagged pants.
“Gonna have to try again.”
“Okay.”
She started to move her leg again, and he stopped her just before her knee slammed into his already-sore chin. He grabbed her calf, slid his palm to her heel, then ducked and swept her foot past his head. She was straddling him now, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing.
“Hold still a sec,” he said.
She complied, balancing overtop of him. She went so motionless that he knew she had to be holding her breath. Holding his own to match, he dug behind her, feeling for the offending piece of fabric and whatever random thing it was that held it in place. His thumb finally found the loop and slid through it. He pulled, and the denim sprang free, triggering a chain reaction.
Maryse yelped and flew forward.
Brooks tried to move back and out of the way and failed. His hands came up in a slightly delayed attempt to stop her from smacking into him, and that effort failed, too. Her chest slammed—not unpleasantly—against his own. The impact forced his arms back, and one smacked into something plastic. With a noisy creak, the seat fell back. Finally, a gust of wind sent the driver’s side door to an echoing close.
For several seconds after it happened, neither of them moved. They lay there, pressed together, both breathing heavily. Then Maryse’s body vibrated against his, racked by silent tears. With a thickness in his throat, Brooks freed his other hand—which had somehow managed to get wedged between them—to stroke her hair.
“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get moving and make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare.”
She didn’t lift her head, and she continued to shake.
“Sweetheart?”
“I’m—I—I— Oh, God.”
Her face finally came up, and he saw that she wasn’t crying at all. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were pinched up and her mouth was open in silent laughter.
“Maryse?”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, collapsing down onto his chest again.
“You’re sorry?”
“It’s not funny. I know it’s not. Nothing about it is. So I’m sorry. But—” She cut herself off with something that rode the line between a giggle and a hiccup. “Am I hysterical?”
Brooks couldn’t help but smile. “Might be.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“It gives me an excuse for laughing when I should be crying.”
He traced a thumb along her jawline. “It’s okay to laugh.”
“Camille would be,” she told him.
His smile widened. “Oh, yeah? She’d be amused by you being stuck in my lap?”
“Well. She’d be amused by me being stuck in anyone’s lap. She thinks slapstick humor is the best kind. Laughs like crazy when people fall down, Three Stooges–style.”
“Me, too.”
“You do?”
“Yep. In fact, I was once chasing down this guy who’d stolen some lady’s purse, and he was pretty damned close to getting away, but his foot got stuck in a catch basin. He kept trying to pull himself out and almost did. Right before I got to him, his foot got free. But his shoe stayed behind. He flew out of the damned thing and straight into a tree. Splatted like a cartoon cat.”
She propped herself up on her side and stared down at him. “Is any of that true?”
“No.”
She burst out laughing, and this time it didn’t have the edge to it. “Brooks!”
He grinned. “See?”
“What?”
“It’s okay to laugh. Even when you’re having the worst moment of your life, there’s a little part of you that wants to be happy. And I swear to you that it’s really and truly all right to do it. Trust me on this one. I’ve seen a lot of worst moments.”
“I do trust you,” she said, a hesitation clear in her voice.
“But?” he pushed.
“But even under the best circumstance, it seems wrong to be happy without Camille. Whenever something good happens to me, I want to share it with her. So this...”
“This what?”
“You.”
“Me?” he teased.
“Stop it. I’m serious.”
“Okay. I make you want to be happy in this otherwise awful situation. And you want to share me with Cami.”
Her blush was back in full force. “Yes.”
“I’m okay with that.” In fact, he was more than okay with it; he was honored that she thought enough of him to want to introduce him to her daughter.
She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. What makes it really wrong is that if Camille hadn’t been taken, we wouldn’t have met. So being happy about you is contingent on admitting that something good came of her kidnapping. And I just don’t think I can do that.”
“Life is never simple, sweetheart. But you can’t overanalyze every detail. You’ll make yourself crazy, and you’ll miss out on the moments that matter. Moments like this.” He brought his fingers to the back of her neck and dragged her mouth to his for a slow kiss.
“I don’t think I’ll be sharing that with Cami,” she breathed as he pulled away.
“Yeah. Maybe gloss over a few of the details.”
“Good plan.”
This time, she kissed him, her soft mouth roving over his with an enthusiasm that made him burn. Her hands slid across his chest, then up to his shoulder, then under the collar of his jacket to caress his T-shirt-covered skin.
“We should go,” he murmured against her mouth.
“We have a few minutes.”
“Not enough—”
“Time. I know. You said that before.”
She kissed him again, even more deeply, and Brooks knew his control was wavering. Heated desire coursed through him, threatening to overtake all else.
He forced himself to break away. “Maryse.”
“This is a moment, Brooks.”
“I want more than a moment, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse with the admission.
“I do, too,” she said. “But what if we don’t get another one? What if this is it?”
The question darkened his mind. Even though they’d known each other for less than a day, he was damned sure he didn’t want to miss out on a future with her. The idea that this might literally be it for them pained him.
“Don’t overanalyze it,” she said, echoing his own sentiment. “Just embrace it.”
She pushed his sweatshirt off his shoulders. Then she yanked it off completely, tossed it aside and slid her hand down to the bottom of his shirt. She worked her way underneath it, her fingers trailing across his stomach and circling up his chest.
He tried to argue once more, but she brushed her lips over his, silencing him. And as she darted her tongue into his mouth, Brooks knew he wasn’t just helpless to say no. He was all hers, plain and simple.
* * *
As Maryse traced the inches of Brooks’s taut muscles, her hands shook. Not with nerves—she was 100 percent sure that this was what she wanted—but with anticipation. Brooks was right. She’d spent years thinking through every detail of her life. Scrutinizing how each move would affect the next. Even the moments of spontaneity were never truly spontaneous. She had everything so carefully planned out that the odd step outside of routine was completely without risk.
And look where that got you.
She shoved aside the thought in favor of sitting up so she could push Brooks’s T-shirt up, then lift it over his head. Her breath caught at the sight of him. His chest was wide and thick and had the kind of definition that came from hard work rather than working out.
Perfection.
She ran her hands over the corded muscles without shame, then lifted her gaze to meet his. He was smiling, and his eyes had darkened to the color of maple syrup. The warmth she found there held her, stilling her completely.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Hi.”
“You’re beautiful up there, you know.”
“Likewise. Well. Down there. And you know. Handsome.”
He chuckled and reached up to touch her cheek. “I’ve got an idea. How about a little bit more of that quid pro quo.”
She frowned. “You want to save my life again?”
He laughed again, then tugged on the bottom of her shirt. “Nope. Yellow looks good on you, but I feel like we should even the playing field.”
“Oh.” Pushing through a renewed shyness, Maryse used both hands to pull off the top. “Better?”
Brooks’s eyes traveled over every inch of exposed skin before he answered. “You have no idea.”
“I have some idea.” She gave him an equally thorough once-over, then bent to kiss him once more.
The tempo increased almost immediately, and while Maryse knew it was because of their limited time, a large portion of her ached to slow it down. To relish it. To sweeten it, and to make it the kind of first time that could be cherished.
But eagerness quickly overshadowed both the desire to go slower and the need to hurry. Elbows and knees bumped awkwardly, hitting door handles and each other. Low laughter filled the car almost as much as their rapid breaths. In moments, pants and caution had been cast aside. Skin met skin. Lips met lips. And Maryse was ready for all of it. She almost couldn’t restrain herself as his fingers unfastened her bra and slid it down between them. In fact, when his thumbs circled up across her bare breasts, she couldn’t quite hold in a little thrust forward. He lifted his hips at the same moment, driving every boxer-clad inch of him between her thighs. Dizzying need filled her. The fabric between them was a wall that had to be torn down.
“Brooks?” His name was a gasp.
He leaned back. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Take them off.” She didn’t bother to disguise the desperation in her voice. “Please.”
In seconds, he’d stripped off both his underwear and her own, and they lay together, their frantic movements temporarily suspended.
“Maryse,” he said, a raw edge clear in his tone. “I want this. I want you. But I need to make something clear.”
“Um. Now?”
“Now.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not a short-term guy.” He cupped her cheek. “So if what you’re looking for is—”
She cut him off, unable to fight a bemused smile. “It’s not.”
“No second thoughts?”
“None.”
“Good. Because when we’re done with all of this...when we’ve succeeded...I never want to hurry ever again.”
The firm statement made Maryse’s heart swell. “Me, neither.”
She threaded her fingers through his and pressed them up over his head. Then she lifted up to her knees and—with her gaze locked on Brooks’s hazel eyes—eased down slowly. Her body ached as he filled her, and for a moment, she simply sat still, in awe of the sweetly torturous feeling. Then she rocked forward. His eyes dropped shut. And the world of conscious thought slipped away, replaced by instinct. They moved together, faster and faster, locked in a rhythm that was all their own.
The heat built quickly, fueled how well they fit, how perfectly in tune their bodies were. The pace became near frenzied, need outweighing everything else. And soon it reached a crescendo. Brooks clutched at her hips. He drove upward and said her name, his voice throaty and full of want. And that was her undoing. She cried something back—wordless, but far from meaningless—and she shuddered against him, then collapsed to his chest. She tried to speak, but her mouth was as spent as the rest of her body, so she settled for a satisfied murmur and tucked herself into his embrace instead.
As Brooks trailed his fingers up and down her spine, her eyes wanted to close. She realized this was the first time she’d been truly still since she found Cami’s bed empty. And with good reason. But now exhaustion crept in. Her mind and body both wanted to drift, and she could feel sleep pulling at her. She wished she could give in. She knew she couldn’t.
“Brooks...”
He sighed. “I know, sweetheart. We gotta move or we won’t make our flight.”
“Sorry.”
“You’ve been in Canada too long. You’re apologizing for things you don’t need to be sorry for.”
“Sor—er. I mean.”
“See?”
She laughed and started to reply, but as her gaze slipped out the fogged-up windows, she froze.
Brooks immediately pushed to his elbow. “What’s wrong?”
She swallowed. “There’s a patrol car headed this way. Lights on, sirens off.”
“Crap.”
“To put it mildly.”
She made herself move, fumbling around in search of something—anything to use to cover herself up. Why were her clothes suddenly so elusive? Even her coat was nowhere to be seen. And the flash of red and blue was bright now, cutting through the recently darkened sky.
Brooks’s hand closed on her wrist. “Stop.”
“But the car’s going to be here any second!”
“I know. Just lie back down.”
Pushing aside the need to do anything but be calm, Maryse flopped back onto his chest. Brooks reached around her to pull up his sweatshirt. He tucked it around her just as the lights flooded the car and the sound of tires crunching on gravel carried through the air.
“What now?” Maryse whispered.
“Wait.”
Moments later, a fist rapped sharply on the driver’s side window. Still holding her close, he sat up and made a show of peering out the window. The officer tapped again, and this time, Brooks opened the door a crack.
The policeman—a surprisingly older patrolman with ample gray peeking out from under his hat and a stern, fatherly look on his face—cleared his throat. “Sir. Ma’am.”
Brooks blinked at him. “Yeah?”
“Everything all right in here?”
“I’d go with more than ‘all right.’” Brooks sounded so offended that Maryse almost laughed.
But her amusement died as the cop directed his attention her way. “You here because you want to be?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
He scrutinized her for a moment longer, then looked back at Brooks. “Kind of a public spot.”
“Kind of the point,” Brooks said, now sounding smug rather than offended.
“You been out here awhile?”
“Not long enough.”
“Too long, I think,” the cop replied drily. “Time to think about packing up. You headed into Laval?”
“Montreal,” Brooks corrected, then added, “Everything all right out there?”
“Bit of trouble up the road. Abandoned car. Still probably best if you take off.”
“You got it, Officer.”
The cop offered them a smile and tipped his hat. “Stay safe.”
Then he closed the door firmly and headed back to his car.
Maryse stared after the vehicle as it pulled away.
Stay safe.
The words sent a tickle of concern and guilt through her. Through the course of their encounter—and her enthusiasm for spontaneity—she hadn’t thought about safety at all.
Stupid.
Biting her lip, she tossed back the jacket, climbed over to the passenger seat and scrambled to find her clothes.
She spoke breathlessly as she tossed them on, piece by piece. “You think he knew we had something to do with the supposedly abandoned car?”
Brooks pulled his T-shirt over his head slowly. “Nope. Wouldn’t have let us go if he did.”
“Or he could be waiting up the road.”
“Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve been in his shoes enough times to know he wasn’t suspicious.”
“Thank God he didn’t see the other side of our car.” She did up her jeans button and stared straight ahead. “Ready?”
“Something wrong?”
For a second, she thought about not answering. Or at least not answering truthfully. But she knew it was just a defensive, knee-jerk reaction that could have bad consequences in the long run.
“We weren’t...um. Safe.” The sentence felt as awkward as it sounded.
“Safe?”
“We didn’t...” She trailed off, shrugged and met Brooks’s puzzled gaze, then tried again. “We didn’t use any protection.”
His face cleared. “Oh. On the safety side of things, sweetheart, I’m in the clear.”
“Me, too,” she said quickly.
“And on the baby side of things...”
Maryse’s stomach was somewhere around her knees. “Yes.”
“We’ll deal with that in nine months. If we have to.”
“Brooks. This is serious.”
“I know. I’m being serious.”
“But...”
“But what? It’s not a reality yet. And if it does happen that way, I have no doubt that we’ll work it out.”
“Okay,” she managed to get out.
“Okay,” he agreed, sounding far surer than she did.
She stared at him. She couldn’t help it. He did sound serious. And not the slightest bit worried. A man she’d known less than a day was really telling her—more or less—that he didn’t mind if she wound up pregnant.
“Ready?” he asked again.
She nodded, took a breath, tried for her own sake to lighten things. “Well. At least we have a thing.”
“A thing?”
“You know. Pretending to be a couple so no one asks questions.”
She expected him to laugh. Instead, he shook his head.
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“About that being our thing?”
“Oh, we have a thing.”
“But that’s not it?”
“Nope. Nothing pretend about us being a couple.”
Then he leaned across the console and gave her a kiss. Firm. Possessive. Desire-inducing in spite of her recent satiation. And without another word—but with a small, pleased smile on his face—he put the car into Drive and pulled out onto the road.