Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (8 page)

With barely more than a second’s notice, they both fell into the murky water of the harbor, bobbing up to the surface a moment later, sputtering and spitting with surprise.

***

“Oh! God! Oh, no!” said Skye, taking in Brooks’ soaked, annoyed face, which made more laughter bubble up inside. “I’m so s-s-s-sorry!”

Brooks leaned his head back to get his hair out of his eyes, grimacing at the slick of oil on the surface of the water. He frowned at Skye, which only made her laugh harder.

Diving under the water to escape his irritated scrutiny, she came back up with her hair slicked back and eyelashes glistening. Blinking at him, she turned back to the dock, put her hands on the planking, and hefted herself out of the water, sitting on the side. She grabbed the hem of her shirt, twisting it in her hands to wring out the water, and chancing a glance at Brooks only to find him staring at her chest with his eyes on fire. Looking down, she realized that her wet shirt was hugging her breasts like a second skin, which made a shiver run down her back, and puckered her nipples into tight points.

Damn it.

Her cheeks flushed instantly. Looking up, Brooks’ eyes seized hers for a hot moment before she became aware of the giggling behind her and stood up quickly, turning to her students.

“Well, I guess that’s it for today,” she said, forcing a smile, even though she felt unsteady and hyper-aware of Brooks still in the water behind her.
Why
was he still in the water? Then she thought of his hungry eyes and a very hard and long reason occurred to her, which just made her blush deeper. Thank God she wasn’t facing him. “We, uh, we were almost done today anyway.”

There were a few groans as the kids took off their life jackets and left them on the floor of the Optimists.

“Just, uh, leave your boats where they are. I’ll take them back over to dock ten later.”

One by one she helped the kids back onto the dock, waving goodbye to them as they scurried toward the marina where their parents would collect them. Only when the last child entered the marina did she turn back to Brooks, who, at some point, had lifted himself out of the water and sat on the edge of the dock, his expensive shoes still submerged in the dirty water.

“So…” she started, uncertain of what to say. His green eyes locked on her blue and she could feel the heat of his gaze in her toes.

She’d promised herself to leave their Saturday night kiss in the past and chalk it up to a one-time mistake. No matter what Clay had counseled, Skye was not a cheat, and until she and Pat decided to take a break, she was not available to Brooks or any other man. And that meant the following thoughts were off-limits: the memory of their kiss, fantasies of future kisses, and any other mental image that included Brooks Winslow’s lips touching down on hers.

That said, she’d also sworn off overalls for a while, Brooks’ words about not seeing her as a girl still smarting. It had felt sort of nice for men to look at her so approvingly on Saturday night, but she didn’t need to dress like a girly-girl to add a
little
femininity to her wardrobe. She’d pulled her shorts and polo shirts from the top shelf of her closet, and stowed her overalls for now. She had to admit, the change was refreshing. However, looking down at said polo shirt now, she realized it was once again clinging to her breasts like a second skin. She pulled it away from her body, looking over at the abandoned Optimists as Brooks finally stood up.

“Sorry,” she said softly, chancing a glance at him.

“No,” he said. “It was my fault. I moved away when you put your head on my… It was my fault.”

His eyes dropped to her lips for a moment before he looked away, sighing deeply.

“This is awkward,” she observed.

“It was bound to be,” he said. “Although for a moment there, I thought we might slip past it.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “You were right. They
were
a tough crowd.”

He chuckled softly gesturing to the Optimists. “Can I help you with these?”

Say no and tell him to go.

“Sure. Why not?”

They both leaned down to un-cleat a line and Brooks’ arm brushed against hers, sending a jolt of warmth down her arm, forcing her to say what needed to be said.

“Brooks?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t…I just don’t think the cruise is a good idea,” she murmured, looking down at her fingers which held the line securely.

“I was afraid you might say that,” said Brooks, handing her his line, then standing up to pull the small trailer over to the edge of the dock.

When the trailer was in place, he pulled the first little boat out of the water, positioning it easily onto the trailer bed, then pushing it a small ways up the dock before retrieving the other trailer.

“I mean, Pat wouldn’t…he doesn’t deserve that, Brooks. I feel terrible about it.”

“What if I swore to you that it wouldn’t happen again? That I will not make a move on you for the entirety of the cruise? I promise, Skye. I can’t say my hand won’t brush yours or I won’t bump into you on deck. But I swear I won’t, you know…purposely…” He took a deep breath and sighed, leaning down to pull the second boat out of the water.

Skye stood up to help position it onto the trailer, looking at him from across the little boat, grateful for the solid boundary it imposed between them. Did she trust that his self-control could prove as reliable a boundary?

They stared at each other in the fading afternoon sunlight, each leaning over the side of the small boat, the moment intense and incredibly intimate even though they weren’t touching. She searched his sea-green eyes, lingering on his dark, beautiful, obscenely-long eyelashes and ignoring the sudden quickness of her breathing.

“I promise, Skye,” he whispered.

And she saw it in his eyes, the sincerity behind his words, the force and weight of his promise. It’s not that she didn’t see desire in his eyes. She did. But the strength of his vow outshone his longing. She felt it in her bones and knew she could trust him.

“I believe you,” she said, dropping his eyes and walking to the first trailer without another word, tugging it back up the dock behind her.

The reason she turned away so quickly…the truth she didn’t want him to discern in her own eyes was that, unfortunately, Skye didn’t totally trust herself.

Yes, Brooks would keep his hands to himself.

But could Skye?

She heard his footsteps squeaking behind her, his wet shoes complaining as he followed her, dragging the second boat.

She’d thought of little else but Brooks since Saturday, reliving the best kiss of her whole life in exacting detail over and over again. Though she knew that Brooks had enjoyed the kiss as much as she, she also sensed he wasn’t comfortable that it had happened. Not then, and not now. Why? Because of Pat? Because it was a mistake? Because he didn’t really want
her
, but she’d been convenient and available in a romantic moment? She sensed strongly that Brooks wasn’t interested in her on any serious romantic level, and it made her think about the different women with whom he sometimes spent time on his yacht. Maybe it wasn’t personal. Maybe Brooks didn’t want to be attached to anyone.

But why?

Did he like being alone? Did he prefer it?

She frowned as she parked the Opti on the dock, set the brake on the trailer, and pushed it gently into the water, leaning down to cleat the bow line.

For lack of any other diversion in her life, Brooks had become a fascination to her this week. She’d known him for years, yes, but she didn’t really
know
him outside of the marina and their mutual passion for boats and sailing. Had there ever been someone
significant
in his life? Had she hurt him? Had she made him swear off romance and love?

Skye couldn’t help wanting answers to her questions, but digging for answers would mean getting to know Brooks on a deeper level, and she feared that any additional intimacy between them would invariably lead to more kissing. And more kissing meant more cheating. And Skye was
not
a cheater like her shameful, embarrassing, disgraceful escort of a mother.

Brooks’ Optimist sloshed into the water beside hers, and she looked up at him, the question in his eyes unmistakable. Would she still sail with him? Could she?

“You can skipper,” he blurted out. “For the whole week.” He paused, clenching his jaw before releasing it. “I’ll crew for you.”

Her eyes widened and her lips dropped open in shock. She’d never, ever expected this sort of custom-made sugar to sweeten the deal. He trusted her to skipper his boat? His brand new antique Cutter? For the whole week?

A small laugh escaped her mouth, and she quickly covered her lips with her fingers. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“You mean it? You’d let me skipper?”

He took a deep breath, nodding and finally offering her a grim smile. “I’m out of options. I
need
you Skye. And yeah, I trust you with my boat. I trust you more than anyone I can think of.”

And quite possibly, those were the words that sealed her fate because they were neither casual, nor flippant. In fact, they were everything she’d longed to hear from Patrick and never received, which meant that they fed and soothed an ache inside of her. Patrick had neither needed her, nor trusted her skills as a sailor. But Brooks needed her. Brooks trusted her.

“Okay,” she said, picking up the line attached to her trailer and giving him a quick nod as she headed back down the dock to pick up another Optimist. “I’ll still do it.”

He stared at her for a long second, disbelievingly, before his face broke into a beaming smile. “You will? You’ll do it? You’ll come with me?”

His smile was so joyful and relieved, it was utterly infectious, and she found herself grinning back. “I will.”

“Thank you!” he said, opening his arms and taking a step forward like he was going to wrap her in his arms.

And, oh man, that sounded like heaven, but at the last minute, she thought of Pat and stuck her hand out, firm and straight between them. Brooks looked at her hand, his smile fading, and stepped back. He offered her a small, reserved smile, then reached up and took it, shaking it once before letting go quickly.

“Friends?” he asked, leaning down to pick up the rope attached to his trailer.

Yeah, right
, she thought, but she gave him what she hoped was a
friend
ly smile and nodded.

“Friends,” she agreed, taking a deep breath as he turned away, preceding her back up the dock.

They ended up taking the Cutter out for a test sail on Wednesday evening after hauling the remaining two Optimists from dock seven to dock ten, their conversation carefully neutral as Brooks explained the stops they needed to make en route to Charleston.  He’d chartered his own course a couple of weeks ago, looking at nautical maps, weather patterns and currents, and making reservations for them at various marinas down the coast, but now that he’d turned over command of the Cutter to Skye, it would be up to her to figure out the route she wanted to take. And Brooks would have to fall in line.

As he stepped down the grand staircase at Westerly on Saturday morning, the day before the cruise, the thought chafed a little—letting someone else skipper one of his boats. Then again, he thought, his expression softening, it was Skye. Not only did he trust her completely with his boat, he needed her, and he was relieved she’d given him a second chance. He was determined not to ruin it.

Peeking into the West Salon, he saw Jessica with two of her girlfriends, Valeria Campanile and Kate English, sitting at the small gaming table, staring at a poster board diagram in tense silence.

“Morning, ladies.”

Three pairs of eyes—green, brown, and blue—turned to look at Brooks and offer greetings, and Jessica hopped up to kiss her brother’s cheek.

“Brooks, we could use your help.”

Valeria, the newish girlfriend of Stratton English, whom Brooks knew to be outspoken in a harmless sort of way, rolled her eyes meaningfully. “And this is why I tell Stratton ‘No’ every time he hints about proposing.”

Kate, who had recently become engaged to Brooks’ childhood neighbor, Etienne Rousseau, looked down at her engagement ring and grinned up at him, “And why
I’m
glad there’s no more bad blood between the Englishes and Rousseaus.”

Valeria cleared her throat.

“Which is great,” said Jessica, grinning at her friends, “because it means I don’t have to separate your men.”

Valeria cleared her throat…again.

“Who
do
you have to separate?” asked Brooks, glancing over her shoulder at the poster board.

“Well…I can’t have Bree Ambler with Emily and Barrett English.”

“Or J.C. Rousseau,” Kate reminded her.

Jessica sighed, “Right. And Betsy Story still feels awkward about Etienne. Sorry, Kate.”

“She needs to get over that. It was a million years ago!” Kate shrugged. “But now that you mention the Story sisters… Alice Story and Etienne’s brother, J.C., have had bad blood since Princeton.”

Jessica nodded, then gave Brooks a knowing look. “But Cam will
definitely
want to sit near Margaret Story, right?” She turned to Kate. “Do you ever remember hearing about a
thing
between Jax Rousseau and Cort Ambler?”

“Cort?” Kate pursed her lips. “I don’t
think
so.”

Jess nodded, knowingly, moving Cort’s tiny place card away from the Rousseaus. “I do.” She paused a second, looking at where she had Etienne and Stratton side by side at one of the two head tables that included the English and Winslow siblings. “Be honest. Will Stratton be okay sitting next to Etienne?” Jessica asked Valeria.

Val gave Kate a dubious look. Stratton English and Etienne Rousseau had learned to tolerate each other for Kate’s sake, but they certainly weren’t the best of friends.

“They’re total pains in the ass,” lamented Val, grimacing at the tiny place cards.

“Amen,” said Kate, raising her hand for a high-five, which Valeria slapped on cue.

Jessica blew out an exasperated breath, sitting back from the table and throwing her hands in the air. “I give up.”

Brooks’ head was positively spinning. As the oldest child of the twenty-three kids born on Blueberry Lane between 1980-1991, he’d been largely insulated from the drama.

“Okay. Wait,” said Brooks, leaning over his sister’s shoulder and moving the place cards around like puzzle pieces. “J.C., Jax, and Mad Rousseau with Dash and Slone Ambler at one table. Alice, Betsy, Pris, and Jane Story with Bree and Cort Ambler at another. Make sure Cam asks Margaret to be his date, so she can sit with me, Pres, Chris, and Kate at one head table. And you and Alex join Barrett, Fitz, Stratton, and Weston at the other.  Done.”

Silence reigned as the three woman looked down at the diagram in amazement.

“Holy cow!” cried Jessica, leaping up and throwing her arms around her brother’s neck. “You are the
best
!”

“You really are,” said Kate, staring at the poster board in awe.

“Whoot! Go Brooks!” said Valeria, raising her hand for another high-five. After he slapped her palm gently, she looked up at him thoughtfully. “So, now that that’s done, we need the dirt. Who was the hottie who bid on you at the auction last Saturday night?”

Damn it! Why had he solved the seating problem so quickly? Now they were all focused on
him
. He leaned back from his sister.

“Yeah, Brooks,” said Jessica in a sing-song voice. “Who was the hottie?”

“Uh, well…she’s my mechanic,” he said, opting for the truth.

They all stared at him with wide-eyes, as though waiting for the punchline.

“I’m serious,” he said. “She’s my mechanic.”

“Your…
mechanic
? Okay. Well, that’s a new one. Does she work
under your hood
?” asked Valeria, enunciating each word carefully before winking at him.

Brooks frowned at her suggestive tone, which made Kate English giggle. “I think it’s kind of cute that you call her your ‘mechanic.’”

“No, I don’t
call
her that.”

Valeria grinned at him. “But it’s sweet that you
think
of her that way. Someone who’s giving you a tune up. That’s a very healthy role to play in a new relationship, you know.”

“But, we’re not in—”

“Your
mechanic
.” Jessica shook her head, grinning at him. “It
is
sweet, Val. You’re right. I can’t wait to get to know her better!”

“No, it’s not…” he started saying, but they’d all turned back to the seating chart, deciding which group should sit at which table and how far away they needed to be to keep the peace.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Brooks decided to escape while it was still possible. He headed out of the room quietly, turning back at the last minute. “Jess, just a reminder…I’m leaving tomorrow for that cruise. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks.”

“You have an appointment with Dr. Dryer this afternoon. Don’t forget.”

Brooks huffed softly. He
had
forgotten.

“We’re all going this week,” she said dismissively, still staring at the chart in front of her. “Me and the boys, too.”

He grimaced. Dr. Dryer was his family’s cardiologist, and each of the siblings visited his office every six months for a routine check-up that included an EKG. It only took fifteen minutes, and Brooks knew it was important, but it tied him up in knots every time.

“Fine.” He sighed.

“Oh, and Brooks,” she said, without turning around. “Have fun with your…
mechanic
.”

She used air quotes over her head which made Valeria and Kate giggle, looking up to grin at Brooks before turning their attention back to the seating chart. It was all incredibly annoying.

Skye isn’t my…my…anything
, he thought as he walked through the labyrinth of hallways at Westerly that led to the kitchen. She’d made it more than clear on the dock that she was with Pat, committed to Pat, and other than joining him for the sail to Charleston, there was nada between them. Fine. Good. That’s exactly how it should be. That’s exactly what he wanted, right? Right.

Wrong.

On Wednesday, when she’d leaned on him and he’d breathed in the scent of her coconut-scented sunblock as her shoulders shook with laughter, he’d had a split second when he allowed himself to dream. With those little faces looking up at her, and the light weight of her forehead on his shoulder, he’d inadvertently opened the window to a whole fantasy he saw playing out in his mind like a sneak peek of heaven: this sweet-smelling girl beside him, little ones with his green eyes and her blonde hair, sunshine, sunblock, and sailing. His heart had galloped from her nearness, the guilelessness of her personality, the way he felt so much better, so pointlessly hopeful, in her presence.

You can’t have her,
he’d reminded himself, and the whole fantasy came crashing down. God, he’d practically pushed her away.

Taking a loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread from the bin on the counter, he placed two slices in the toaster and poured himself a cup of coffee.
You going to steal her away from her boyfriend? And offer her…what? Hot kisses? Maybe even a week of unforgettable on-board sex? Make her fall for you…and then what?

His first sip of coffee burned his throat, but he took a second sip anyway, preferring physical pain to the alternative. He knew what Dr. Dryer would say today. He’d say the same thing that Dr. Fiorello had said to his father so many years ago: Your heart sounds good. Your heart looks good. See you in six months.

Except, for his father, six months had been a cruel promise. Taylor Winslow had never even made it to three.

So, there it is,
thought Brooks, closing the door on the bright and lovely fantasy of having a woman like Skye in his life.
Stop thinking about her as anything but your friend. And be grateful she’s still willing to be that.

***

Skye stared at the mess on her bed feeling overwhelmed. She’d have to sit on her over-packed duffel bag to wrestle the zipper shut, there were nautical charts spread out all over her comforter, and a notebook serving as her Captain’s log was splayed open with scribbles she’d need to decipher. But most distracting of all was her contact lens case, which alone wouldn’t be such a big deal, but when she’d pulled it out of her bedside table, the serrated edge of a condom had hitched a ride on the black nylon of the case.

She’d dropped the case onto her pillow like it was on fire and turned away quickly to continue packing, but every few minutes, her eyes darted back over to the simple black nylon pouch now decorated with a cheerful red and white foil packet that read “LifeStyles.”

It taunted her, resting on her pillow, because both she and her pillow knew that she hadn’t had the need for a condom in months. Even before Patrick left, their sex life had been a little thin, owing to his obsession with his trip. Her nose twitched as she counted back in her head and realized that she hadn’t had sex since…Valentine’s Day. Four and a half months ago.

God, how depressing.

No wonder she couldn’t seem to control herself around Brooks Winslow.

She’d had no business resting her head on his shoulder on Wednesday evening, but she hadn’t given it thought, turning to him, her whole body shaking with laughter—it had seemed the most normal and natural thing in the world. And it had felt nice to laugh with him. Really nice.

Brooks wasn’t—as far as Skye had observed—a laugher. He seemed, more often than not, to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. His face serious, his eyes cast down, as though life had, at some time or another, delivered him a terrible blow that he’d just as soon not reprise.

It made her wonder again, what had happened to make him so reserved.

“Or maybe that’s just the way rich, handsome, ex-Olympians roll.” She sighed, pulling the charts off her bed and folding them neatly.

She glanced at the notebook, picking it up and taking a closer look at her notes. She’d seen Captain’s logs a thousand times, but she’d never held her own, and she felt pride as well as trepidation as she stared at it. She took a deep breath and raised her chin. Brooks was trusting her to skipper for a whole week, and she wasn’t going to let him down, regardless of what Pat thought of her sailing skills.

After the
Celeb!
photos at the marina tomorrow, they’d lift anchor and sail south via the Chesapeake Bay to Gloucester Point, Virginia, not far from Virginia Beach. On Monday morning, they’d do the obligatory photo shoot for
Celeb!
before setting sail along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, stopping in Hatteras on the Outer Banks of North Carolina where they’d drop anchor on Tuesday night for another photo shoot. It was an aggressive sail, but if she and Brooks kept the boat cruising throughout the day and didn’t make any additional recreational stops, they should make it on schedule. On Wednesday and Thursday, they’d be at sea, stopping in Myrtle Beach on Friday morning before arriving in Charleston late-afternoon on Saturday for their final photo shoot. On Sunday morning Skye would fly home.

“Seven nights,” she murmured, her traitorous eyes flicking over to her pillow reflexively.

Brooks had promised her the aft, or forward, cabin which had two full-sized berths and ample storage with a connecting bathroom. This led her to assume he would take one of the two guest cabins, both of which had two twin berths. Those were smaller, much more narrow and configured like bunk beds in a really nice closet.