Flirting With Disaster (12 page)

He gestured to the back of the store. “Come
on. We can go over each name.”

She blinked. Was he serious? She could never
tell. “Obviously there's Tate, Reid, and you. I have no problems
with that.”

“
I've spoken to Declan.”
Dane stopped at the office door and waited until she was inside
before closing it behind her. “He's happy to do it so that's why
he's on the list. Everyone on it has agreed.”

Her steps faltered, and all
she could do was stare. “You actually talked to Elliot?
Elliot
? I thought it was
just a possibility list.”

He shook his head. “He orders books all the
time. I asked and he agreed.”

She gaped. Elliot used to be some big shot
historian. He moved to Tanner Creek, but never actually talked to
anyone. An oddity because no one went unscathed in the small town.
If he weren’t only in his early thirties, he'd be Old Man Peabody,
yelling at the kids to get off his lawn.

“
You are scary,
Dane.”

He put out his hand, a corner of his mouth
curved. “I managed to get the one woman in town who hates my guts
to bring me a gift. I am very persuasive.”

Brooke took a moment to glance at his
office. It screamed high-maintenance, just like the man. He had
glass bookshelves, antiques, a very expensive Oriental area rug,
and a gold lamp on a side table near the desk. In that same glance,
she could see the spines on each book were well worn.

She handed the gift over, but frowned when
he placed it behind him on his cherry wood desk. “Now I know you're
just screwing with me,” she said.

He settled against the dark wood and crossed
his arms. He looked done with exchanging niceties. It was the way
his gaze had narrowed on her as though he was taking in everything
about her, finding everything about her arousing. It was the
tension in his stance, the jut of his jaw line, the way he drew in
his breaths. Slowly. Deeply.

The air held an unmistakable crackle. She
ran her hand over the skirt of her dress and watched him follow
that simple motion. Her heart pounded. Yes, she intended to take
control, but hadn't expected the intensity.

“
Come here.” His two words
were a challenge, a command.

The rasp in her steady breath sounded so
loud to her ears. “I would if you ask nicely.” She balled her hands
to hide the trembling. “Now, about the gift. How about I give you
clues?”

He tilted his head. “I know what it is.”

Did he know he was making her nervous?
“What?”

Something lit in his gaze. Yes, he did know.
His smile was slow and sexy. “A book.”

She swallowed and stepped in front of him.
His crossed arms gave him a relaxed appearance, but she felt the
tension radiating off him as he waited for her to make her move.
And still Brooke couldn't read his face. He said he didn't hate
her, never had, so cutting out loathing left them with lust. That
emotion burned bright in his eyes now as she inched closer.

The realization sparked a delicious tension
in her stomach. Hell, that truth confused her and drew her to the
heat of him. That knowledge made it okay for her to reach out to
place a hand on his chest, right over his heart. The rapid, nervous
thump teased a smile out of her. He unfolded his arms.

She said, “I don't know if you'll like the
book, but you'll know the writer's work. He's...scary famous.”

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and
lifted her hand to his mouth. He placed a kiss in the middle of her
palm and worked his way down to her wrist. She held her breath,
shocked and aroused in equal measure that something so innocent
could make her so wet.

When done, he straightened, pulling her to
him. “I like your hands.”

Warmth spread through her chest at his
confession. Everything else about her was as feminine as the next
woman's, except her hands. “The author was born after the
1880s.”

He scraped his teeth along her wrist. She
pursed her lips to keep in the moan. His touch reminded her of
everything she did her best to forget: the feel of his mouth
between her legs, the rasp of his five o'clock shadow on her
shoulder blade. She remembered everything about that drunken night.
Though it felt as though two other people had drunk themselves
silly until one of them was on their knees, licking, sucking...
That couple laughed. They didn't argue. They didn't have
resentments they put aside. There was no anticipation or
pressure.

She couldn't claim that now while her skin
felt tight just letting her mind wander close to what would happen
next.

Dane trailed his tongue over her pulse and
met her gaze. “Are you done rambling?”

“
I'm—” She bit her tongue
to keep from telling him she was nervous. Those words felt raw in
her throat. He was turning the tables on her, controlling this
moment between them. “I'm not.”

He let his fingers climb up her arms, behind
her neck. He tugged at the knot holding up her dress but didn't
loosen it.

“
What do you want, Brooke?”
His voice had become gruffer.

She started to bite her tongue again, but
she didn't want to lie to him, not when she felt the tension
practically vibrating through him. Perhaps he was in no better
control of the situation than she was.

“
I want you,” she
said.

The pull of material on her nape
disappeared. He watched the dress fall to the floor. She'd worn
heels too. Even she had to admit they made her legs look long and
incredibly sexy. He closed his eyes and then opened them again with
the next breath.

Her nipples pulled tight. His gaze was so
hungry, and for her. She started to say something, anything to
break the silence, but Dane dragged her against him. The force of
his need slammed into her, and before she could process the action,
his mouth was on hers. She placed her hands on his chest, spreading
them over the firm expanse until she curled her fingers into his
shoulders.

The kiss of air couldn't cool her heated
skin. It was too deep inside her, pulsating, and nothing would cool
that ache. He teased the outer curve of her breasts with his thumbs
before moving down to cup, squeeze, and knead the rest of her.

Brooke understood he wanted to touch all of
her, as much as he could, but she wanted a release, fast and hard.
She loosened her hold on his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. He
hadn't bothered with an undershirt and she wondered if he’d known
she'd drop by. The kind of man who wore slacks on an almost-daily
basis would have had one.

“
You knew,” she murmured
against his mouth.

He hissed when Brooke brushed her fingers
over his skin. His pec was well defined, and it only added to the
appeal of his nipple growing taut at her caress. She used her other
hand to tug the shirt from his pants.

He tightened his fist in her hair, deepening
the kiss, swallowing her soft moan. Her scalped tingled and that
sensation slid down to her stomach, her sex.

“
I hoped,” he confessed and
then sighed, a note of reverence in the sound. “I love your
nipples. Always so hard when I'm around.”

He flattened his fingers over them, tracing
them until they were aching points. He pinched them softly before
caressing her slowly, then faster. That desperate ache turned into
a liquid heat between her legs. He seemed to want to work up to
that first plateau, earn it, and likely make her beg for it. She
was no good at waiting or begging. By now he should have known that
about her.

She dropped her hand down and slid a finger
between the crease of her sensitive folds. She gasped. So slick and
swollen.

“
Impatient,” he accused,
knocking her hand aside.

She didn't get a chance to
voice a protest. His thick finger replaced hers. Dane groaned,
taking her mouth again, taking her over the edge with teasing
flicks. The message was clear:
He
gave her pleasure. He wouldn't deny her what she
wanted, but he was in control.

She gripped his forearm, guiding him to
touch her just the way she liked, the way she needed at that
moment. She was close.

“
Not impatient. Over a
week—” A moan chopped her sentence short.

So. Close. She threw her head back, arching
her hips forward. Her fingernails dug into his forearm because he
didn't need any more direction from her. Probably hadn't in the
first place, but she was desperate for that tightness in her
stomach to find an outlet.

“
It's been over a week
since I last kissed you,” he finished for her. “I know.”

Alcohol had blurred memories of the night
she spent in his bed, but the low rasp in his voice when he was
turned on was stark in her memory. There was Dane who gave as good
as he got, and then there was Dane intent on making her moan,
making her come. She wanted them both. Couldn't be vulnerable with
either, though. Didn't stop her from glancing up, her vision
tunneling because she wanted to watch his face when he made her
come.

His jaw was clenched. His gaze narrowed as
he fixed all his focus on that one task, and what she saw stole her
breath. Nothing pristine about the raw, vulnerable emotion clear on
his face, or the way he worked his finger over her clit.

She clutched him, needing an anchor as she
trembled and let the climax wash over her. He wrapped his free hand
around her, cursing softly, but he held her until the shudders
turned into a languid sigh. He rested his head on hers. It felt
natural to stand there in front of him, naked but warm in his
embrace.

She met his gaze, still feeling hazy.
“More.” This time, she demanded.

He emitted a guttural sound. It made her
stomach jump and she moaned again. He cupped her ass and lifted
her. Without needing to be told, she wrapped her legs around his
waist. By her next breath, they were on the floor, he was shrugging
out of his shirt, and he refused to stop kissing her.

The heat from their mouths coupling scorched
any protest. Now and on the floor was good enough for her. He could
have taken her standing, because that first release was only a
tease. She needed him hard and deep.

There were too many obstacles in her way,
like his belt and zipper. Why did he have to have underwear, too?
Finally, he was naked, hot, firm, and pressed over her. He shifted
his weight to his forearms, his mouth and tongue caressing her
mouth, then just his tongue caressing inside her mouth. She arched
her hips up, so damn impatient to feel him inside her.

He lifted his head, his gaze dark and
narrowed. “You want to run the show?”

“
In. Me.”

He tucked his arms around her and rolled
them so she was on top. Her heart skipped at the graceful switch.
She wanted like hell to take a moment and bask in how much that
turned her on, but her sex felt slippery against the hard ridge of
his dick. And right there for the taking.

In me
chanted in her head, refusing to let any other thought settle
in. She rose, grasped the base of his cock and guided him inside.
That first stroke—her mouth parted on a moan. When she glanced down
she could see he'd tilted his head back, exposing his Adam's apple.
It bobbed slowly as he swallowed.

His hands were already reaching for her hips
before he looked up. The depth of the need in his gaze pulled at
her, and she rocked into it, into him.

Bracing her hands on his smooth torso, she
repeated the action, adding a slow grind as she came down. His
nails dug into her hips. He met the next stroke and by the third,
he'd propped his legs up for enough traction to pump back.

Whatever control she had gained was lost. No
way to keep it as he gripped her ass and spread her wider, watching
his cock slide into her. Heat bloomed in her chest—her cheeks—at
his open, wanton perusal. His lids drifted lower, his lips parted.
All she could smell was him, feel was him, and he filled her with
him.

He was stripping down her walls, her doubts
with every stroke, every deep groan he made. It was the way he
grasped her, looked at her as though she was the only thing that
mattered. She couldn't be on her guard. The sex was too good. He
was too open, and it felt wrong to hold back as he guided her up
and down. Needing him closer, she bent down, brushing her lips
against his.

He groaned, the sound full of appreciation
and deeply masculine. Her sex tightened around him. He made it
again, his hands like a vise on her hips. Dane turned his head,
licked her ear and started to tell her how much he loved the feel
of her, naked and wet and tight around his dick. With each naughty
whispered word, she grew tighter, hotter, wetter. His strokes
reached deeper—faster—until that all-consuming heat burned her
alive.

Her breath got caught up in her throat, or
maybe she was holding it as that wonderful tension twisted in her
stomach, tightened her sex. And then she was awash in euphoria.

She let out a sharp cry and shuddered as she
came. He took over, pounding into her, and all she could do was
hold on as that orgasm stretched into another. His sharp gasp
tickled her lobe and then he stiffened beneath her.

“
Brooke, I'm close.” He
cursed.

“
Yes. Come.”

“
Can't. Condom.”

That word was like a slap.
That
in me
chant
had drowned out all common sense. His groan turned into a strangled
growl. She cursed but her hips rocked into him, that need, that
pull.

It was selfish and she knew it, and it was
irresponsible. “Wait. Just one more.”

“
Fuck,” he said but reached
down between their bodies. He stroked her nub, she ground into him
and his hand and she came again within seconds.