Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (6 page)

“Skye,” he murmured, peppering kisses along her jaw before taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth and pulling lightly until she whimpered.

“Brooks,” she panted, leaning her head to the side to give him better access to her throat.

Releasing her ear, he pressed teasing kisses to her sensitive skin, lingering at her pulse to rest his lips against the throbbing beat there. Her nipples puckered against her bustier, the aroused peaks longing for the touch of his lips as her inner muscles clenched with need, dampening her new lingerie with a rush of wetness.

Through a fog of lust, with her skin still tickled by the brush of Brooks’ hair on her chin and lips on her neck, she opened her eyes slowly and stared up at the starry sky. The North Star, bright and steady, shined overhead, and she gasped, picturing the tattoo on Pat’s wrist.

“
A sailor must have his eye trained to the rocks and sands as well as the North Star
,” she quoted in a whisper, a soft sob emerging from her throat where a lump quickly formed.

“What?” Brooks mumbled, his lips still moving against her skin.

“Pat.” Skye swallowed with difficulty then pushed at Brooks’ chest, as her face flushed hot with guilt and shame. “I’m with Pat.”

Brooks leaned up, his eyes glassy and thick as his chest pushed into hers with every panted breath. His eyebrows furrowed together for an instant, as though he was seeing her for the first time, and then he shook his head, cringing.

“I-I know. Pat. Yeah. God, I’m… oh, I’m sorry. Skye—”

She pushed harder against his chest, dropping his eyes as he released her to take a step back. Skye stared down at the ground, trying to figure out what to say, but words failed her and her eyes burned with the gravity of what she’d just done. In a nutshell? She’d cheated on Pat. Cheated. She was a cheater. Just like her mother.

Turning around, she rested her palms flat on the brick wall, trying to catch her breath and figure out how the hell that had just happened. Brooks’ hand was warm and gentle on her shoulder, but she jerked away as though burned.

“Skye…I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“That…” she began breathlessly, touching her fingertips to her lower lip as she turned to face him, “…can’t happen again, Brooks.”

His hand still hovered in the air near her shoulder, but he lowered it, fisting it by his side.

“It won’t,” he promised her gravely.

“We’re just friends,” she insisted, though the imprint of his lips and the soft slide of his tongue against hers would be impossible to forget. “You said you didn’t even see me as—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted her with a growl. He softened his voice to add, “I don’t know what got into me. I shouldn’t have …” His voice trailed off as he raked his hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to her lips before capturing her eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

“I should go,” she said, edging away from the wall to step around him, her heart still hammering with equal parts of desire and shame.

“Skye,” he called, his face stricken as he gazed at her from across the terrace. “I mean it. I won’t lay a hand on you ever again. You don’t have to worry.”

Even with her conscience bearing down on her, she couldn’t deny Brooks’ devastating handsomeness in the moonlight, or the toe-curling chemistry she’d just experienced with him, and for just a split-second, she considered running back into the heat of his arms.

Cheater
, sneered her heart.

Her eyes prickled with tears as she whispered, “Goodnight,” in a broken voice before rushing back into the ballroom.

Though it briefly crossed Brooks’ mind to call Elite and arrange for a woman to meet him upstairs in a hotel room to ease the force of his arousal, his pledge not to use the escort service again left him with few options. He could walk back into the ballroom and find another woman to seduce, which could lead to undesirable complications, or he could stalk out of the fundraiser and drive home to Westerly for a date with a cold shower.

Adjusting his pants to no avail, he took several deep gulps of the cool evening air, surprised to hear the door behind him open again. Whipping around in the hope that Skye had returned, he was disappointed to see his youngest brother, Christopher, standing in front of the closed door with a shit-eating grin.

“So,” he said, eyes twinkling with mirth, “
that
happened. Some auction, huh?”

“Just be lucky you’re not the oldest, Chris. You’re spared from this idiocy because you’re the baby.”

Christopher took a few steps toward his brother, swirling his drink in thought, his lips still tilted up. “Actually, Jess is the baby. And frankly, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Whoever she is, she’s gorgeous…
and
she spared you from a week trapped on a boat with Felicity Atwell.”

“Only because I’m paying her,” huffed Brooks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Chris’ smile grew wider as he nodded. “Ahhh. I see. I should have known you’d rig it. Who is she?”

“Why?” asked Brooks, leaning his head to the side and staring back at his little brother with narrowed eyes.

“Like I said, she’s beautiful. Every man in that room is wondering who she is, me included.”

“Well, she’s not for you or any of them. She’s a mechanic at the marina where I moor my boats. And she has a boyfriend,” added Brooks, fully aware of the warning in his voice—a warning he’d have done well to apply to himself, he thought with disgust.

“A boyfriend? Huh. Because it sort of looked like—”

Brooks cut him off. “She’s doing me a favor. We’re just friends.”

“
Friends
?” Christopher winced. “Didn’t look much like friends.”

“Well, that’s all we are.”
Were.

“That sucks for you,” lamented Christopher, “because she’s stunning.”

Tell me about it.

“Wait a second. The boyfriend doesn’t mind that you two are about to go away for a weeklong cruise? All alone?”

Brooks sighed, pulling Christopher’s drink out of his hand and throwing it back before handing the empty glass back to his brother. He figured he needed it more than Chris.

The truth? Brooks wasn’t sure.

He and Pat had been sailing out of the Chesapeake Cruising Club together for the past few years, and though he didn’t know Pat very well personally, they’d crewed together a time or two, which meant they’d also shared the odd beer in the club bar. Pat was a solid sailor, but he was always talking about himself. Brooks knew all about Pat’s ex-wife, his plans to circumnavigate, his boats, his life… he was the sort of guy who monopolized the conversation for twenty minutes, then excused himself when someone else started telling a story of their own. That said, Brooks didn’t have a problem with Pat, per se, he just wasn’t one of Brooks’ favorite people either.

And frankly, Christopher’s question led to a good point. Presumably Pat knew what Skye had going on under her overalls—a thought that made a totally irrational bolt of jealousy clench Brooks’ stomach—so it didn’t make a lot of sense that he’d leave her for almost two years while he circumnavigated alone. Hell, if Pat had had misgivings about Skye being pursued during his absence, he should have considered bringing her with him. Come to think of it, Brooks thought, his forehead creasing, hadn’t he heard that Skye was supposed to join Pat on his trip? Hmmm. He wondered what had happened. One thing was salient, however: Pat didn’t know the jewel he had in his hands, or he did and didn’t care. Either way, he was a damn fool for leaving her behind.

“Earth to Brooks.”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s bothered. I guess not. I’m sure she mentioned it to him.”

“Huh. Some boyfriend. It would bother the crap out of me to know that my girlfriend was going away for a week with you…and I’m your brother. I actually trust you.”

Brooks gave Christopher a cocky smirk. “Even though I’m definitely better in bed than you are, small fry.”

Christopher rolled his eyes, passing his empty glass from one hand to another thoughtfully, refusing to rise to the bait. “And yet you haven’t had a girlfriend in years to verify that claim.”

“Who hasn’t had a girlfriend in years?” asked Preston, sauntering out onto the porch and gesturing to Brooks with his thumb. “This sad sack?”

Brooks glared at Preston, who followed Brooks in birth order and was probably his closest friend.

“Speak for yourself, lonely hearts,” said Brooks with an annoyed smirk. “Just because I don’t have a girlfriend doesn’t mean I don’t see action.”

Preston scoffed, then deadpanned sarcastically, “Yeah. Some action. Westerly’s a regular revolving door.”

“Just because I don’t bring women to Westerly doesn’t mean—”

“Maybe they’re all skanks.”

“You have a lot of room to talk, Pres. When’s the last time you had a steady girlfriend?” asked Chris, pegging Preston with a dubious look.

Preston’s eyes flicked to Brooks, his usual relaxed posture stiffening just a touch. For years, Brooks had assumed that Preston’s reluctance to fall in love had something to do with their father’s early death, but just recently Brooks had learned the truth about why Preston was so non-committal when it came to women. That said, he’d stumbled across the information accidentally, and had sworn to keep Preston’s secret.

“Pres likes playing the field,” Brooks said evasively, coming to his rescue.

“Women are a lot of work,” muttered Preston, his shoulders relaxing as he gave his older brother a grateful nod.

“Truth,” said Brooks, his mind shifting effortlessly to Skye and wondering if the kiss that just rocked his world was going to cost him Skye as crew. He’d have to think about what he could do to win her back. He’d already promised that he wouldn’t touch her again, but he had a sinking feeling it would take more than promises to win back her trust.

“Listen, I may not be interested in a girlfriend hanging around my neck, but I will say this,” said Preston, his characteristic teasing smile back in place. “
She
was a beauty. If I was the type of guy who
wanted
a lasso on his balls, I wouldn’t mind if she was the one holding the rope.”

“No one wants to hear about your demented sex life,” said Christopher, shaking his head and turning back to Brooks. “So, I’m interested…how come your sailing partner
friend
just hurried across the ballroom swiping at her eyes and bee-lining for the exit alone after being out here with you for ten minutes?”

“Great question, Chris,” piped up Preston, raising his eyebrows and leaning his elbow on Christopher’s shoulder. “I noticed that too.”

She was crying? Crap. If she was crying it was
definitely
going to take a lot more than promises to get her to sail with him. Brooks shook his head, looking back up at his brothers. “I… damn it, I kissed her.”

“Dude!” exclaimed Christopher, his age showing with his surprise. “You
kissed
her? What the hell? What about the boyfriend?”

Brooks took a deep breath and released it slowly, giving his little brother a sour look. “Obviously I wasn’t thinking about the boyfriend at the time.”

Preston’s shoulder were shaking from laughing. “Oh, man, you’re screwed. If she withdraws her bid, the auction winner will default to the next highest bidder.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Fine print,” said Preston, who was the most popular sports lawyer in Philly. “You probably should have read it before you let Jessica talk you into this whole thing.”

“Talk me into it? I wish! I was railroaded!” yelled Brooks. “Tell me about the fine print.”

“Your
friend
,” said Preston, using annoying air quotes, just as Jessica had earlier, “has a week to pay. If she doesn’t, she defaults, and Felicity Atwell will be given a chance to win you with her last bid.”

Brooks’ nostrils flared as the full meaning of this settled in his mind. If Skye didn’t follow through with their agreement—which was looking tenuous at best, after the haunted look in her eyes—he’d be stuck at sea for a week with Felicity.

Christopher clapped him on the back, stifling a chuckle. “Tough break.”

“Maybe grovel?” Preston’s eyes were still sparkling with glee. “Sometimes groveling works.” He adopted a high-pitched, pitiful-sounding voice. “I’m so sorry I kissed you, Skye…”

As his two younger brothers headed back into the ballroom cackling with laughter, Brooks cursed loudly, running both hands through his hair in frustration. Begging for forgiveness was not his strongest suit. In fact, Brooks purposely compartmentalized his life so that he didn’t make emotional decisions that required contrition and apologies. He didn’t like impulsive behavior. Impulsiveness scared him because it represented a lack of control, and Brooks much preferred a controlled, orderly existence.

What the hell had gotten into him tonight?

He grimaced as his mind flashed to Felicity’s over-eager smile, and groveling suddenly didn’t sound so terrible. Unless, he thought, his mouth dropping open as his brain came up with an alternative solution, he could offer her something even better.

***

“Honey!” said Clay, “
All
the details. I want every. single. one. How tall is he up close? What does he smell like? Was his tux Armani? No! He’s Main Line all the way. I bet it was
Brooks
Brothers!”

Because Skye had never been particularly adept at making female friends—her clothes had always been unfashionable and her interests were decidedly masculine, which hadn’t exactly endeared her to the girls she went to school with—she didn’t have a trusted confidant to call as she climbed into her car and sped away from the Ritz Carlton. She had a cousin with whom she was somewhat close, but Tina had small children who were probably in the middle of their bedtime routine. And though she liked several of the wives and girlfriends of Pat’s friends, she didn’t feel comfortable calling them. When she’d glanced down at her phone to find a text from Clay asking about her evening, he suddenly seemed like the perfect person to call.

“And why on earth are you calling
me
when you should be enjoying
him
?” he finished with a huff of disapproval.

Skye sucked in a deep breath, navigating the crowded streets of Philadelphia as she headed toward the highway that would take her home. “He’s much taller than me. He smells like fresh air and the sea and hot skin. His tux was black.”

“Oh,” sighed Clay dramatically. “Then why on God’s green earth are you calling me, girl?”

The words were like a bomb about to detonate in her head. She had to get them out. “Because he kissed me.”
The line was silent for a moment, as though Clay was waiting for more. “Aaaand…?”

Skye squirmed in her seat, the memory of the kiss making her stomach flutter and her pulse quicken. “It was…it was…”

“Spell-binding? Mind-blowing? Toe-curling?”

All of those things
, thought Skye, but she heard herself murmur, “Wrong.”

“Wrong? Wrong! Honey, you’re going to have to school me on how kissing an ex-Olympic hottie like Brooks Winslow is wrong. I didn’t notice a ring on your finger this afternoon.”

“Oh, no!” Skye rushed to answer. “I’m not married!”

“Engaged?”

“No!”

“Then I fail to see the issue.”

“I’m
with
someone.”

“But are you engaged or married to him?”

“No. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” He repeated the word “boyfriend” with hints of exasperation as Skye turned onto the highway and pressed down hard on the gas. “Okay. You ready for today’s truth serum, Miss Skye?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not actually sure she was ready at all.

“If you don’t have a ring on your finger, you’re still looking, you’re still available, and you have every right to keep your options open, girl. You’re still figuring out what you want.”

“But, I cheated on—”

“Cheated? Who cheated? Didn’t you say
he
kissed
you
?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And here’s what I need to know…where was this mysterious boyfriend tonight?”

“Oh, he’s circumnavigating right now.”

“Circum—what?”

“Navigating. He’s circling the globe on a catamaran for the next two years.” She told Clay all about how she and Pat had agreed to sail together, but how he’d decided to go alone, and they had approximately twenty more months ahead until Pat made his way home.