The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) (3 page)

Caroline Brooks
was one of the most put together and intelligent women he knew. Organize a
recital for two dozen pampered princesses and make it look like child's play?
Like she was having a blast doing it effortlessly? That's exactly what he'd
watched her do two weeks ago. Oh, those who knew Cara best might have
recognized a hair's breadth of irritation with some little darling, or, more
likely, her mother, but only those who knew her well would recognize it. For
the rest of the world, she was Miss Congeniality.

Her marriage to
Jason had been much the same, Greg had decided. Whatever hardship she'd
suffered being married to a man such as Jason, Cara weathered well, if the
facade she put out there was any depth of truth. But look deeper and you might
have seen the carefully mended ragged edge of loneliness and neglect. Jason
hadn't been much to brag about in the husband category.

Greg felt
justified in thinking so. No one on God's green earth had adored his older
brother more than Greg had Jason. And really, what was not to love? He'd had
looks and charm and raw, effortless talent on the football, baseball and track
fields until it wouldn't have surprised anyone for him to sweep championships
in all areas. Hell, it would have amazed them for him
not
to have done
so. He was that kind of guy. All American. Eagle Scout. Most Popular. Most
handsome ... just all that and a bag of chips. The kind of guy who walked into
a room and
sucked up
everything  ... attention, girls, oxygen, then
made it look like he'd brought it all for everyone else's enjoyment. It was
carefully practiced and artfully ...
brilliantly
executed maneuvering.
And it worked
every.freaking.time
.

Greg didn't even
try to outdo his brother. He was simply
"the other Brooks boy"
and
idolized Jason with the rest of the world. It wasn't hard. But if he was
honest, really down in the gut honest with himself about Jason, Greg knew there
were chinks in the armor. It was hard not to immortalize or deify Jason now
that he was gone. That was human nature. But Greg knew that as a father and
husband, Jason had been selfish and emotionally unavailable to his family. And
that was a damn shame, because Jason had had about the best wife and kids a man
could ever hope for.

"Are you
holding up this column or posing for a fashion photographer?" Cara
whispered from over his right shoulder. " 'Cause you look like a hot men's
wear model." It brought him upright immediately, that tickle of moist
breath falling on his ear.

"Hey. When
did you get here and--" words left him when he actually got a look at her.
He turned around fully and took a step back, wanting to get the full effect.
She looked like a million bucks in a coral colored short cocktail dress that
hugged her tighter than sin, cupping her ass like a second skin and scooping
way low at the sequined neck line to reveal more cleavage than he'd seen her
bare in a long time. Her hair was drawn up off her neck and arranged in a loose
curly, swirly thing that made a man want to get his hands all up in it.

He shook his
head slowly and whistled under his breath, taking in the whole picture from
head to breasts to hips and all the way down those dancer's legs to a pair of
five inch heels, and it was enough to blow any persona of cool he might have
previously possessed. "Damn, girl. You clean up real good," he said.

She smiled all
sexy like and reached to straighten his folded kerchief in his breast pocket.
"I could say the same to you. This is a great improvement over coach's
shorts and running shoes. You look very handsome in a tux. Don't guess I've
seen you in one since your wedding to Beth."

That sobered him
some. "Yeah, well, let's don't go there." He leaned back for one more
look at her, not even attempting to hide his appreciation. "Turn around
and let me get a good look at you."

She gave him a
reproachful look, but did as he'd asked, twirling slowly and pausing halfway
through to look over her shoulder at him. "It's not too tight on my butt,
is it? Maddie said she didn't think so, but I'm a little uncomfortable."

He didn't know
how to take it that she could so blithely ask him to check out her ass. She
either thought him totally immune to her assets, or too much of a brother to be
affected by a good long look at her tight little ass. Either way, she was dead
wrong. It had him shunting blood like a randy teenager.

"You're ass
looks great, Cara. Any better and I'd have to cop a feel to make sure it was
real," he told her. It was an old game they'd played for nearly as long as
they'd known one another. He'd make a threat to grab a handful of ass, and
she'd make a big game of tease and evade. Just ribald banter between them that
was nothing more than good-natured teasing. Jason had ignored it. Beth had
tolerated it after an initial period of indignation as a newlywed. And Cara and
Greg enjoyed teasing one another with it. Simple as that.

She chuckled
deep in her throat, a naughty, sexy sound that he absolutely loved and was
probably the primary reason he'd continued to tease her all these years ...
just to hear it.

"But
seriously, Greg ... you look great tonight," she said, giving him a quick
hug and sisterly kiss on his jaw. "Mmm, and you smell nice, too." She
leaned back to assess him critically. "You on the troll for a Sugar
Momma?" she asked, then laughed that thoroughly bad girl, sexual laugh
again.

He grinned.
"Well, hell yeah. Who isn't?"

She laughed and
hooked her arm through his. "All right, then. I'll be on the lookout. It
shouldn't be too hard to snag one looking like you do, Mr. G.Q." She
squeezed his arm to her side tightly, drawing it up close to the fullness of
her breast, and beamed a million watt smile up at him. "You ready?"

"Sure,"
was the most intelligent thing he could manage at the moment. To her, it was
simple banter, like they'd always done. Right now, it didn't feel simple to
him. It felt complicated as hell ... confused his senses and deprived his brain
of blood. It must be true that, while men had been given two heads, they'd been
allotted only enough blood to operate one at a time. There was little doubt
which one was going to be in control tonight.

All through
dinner and the moderately entertaining speakers, Cara charmed his table guests
like she'd been born to the role of hostess with the
mostest
.
As the banquet gave way to party, the band cranked up, warming up the old coots
with Sinatra and a touch of Big Band so they might take their wobbly wives for
a spin on the dance floor. Greg watched with amusement as Cara had one of his
heavy contributors nibbling crumbs out of her hand all evening. The old guy was
widowed a while back, Greg knew, and probably hadn't seen this much female
attention since the Nixon administration. He was bound to need some muscle
relaxers tomorrow, having danced several times with Cara. Hell, he might shake
something loose before the night was over.

The band was a
good one, an Austin favorite for university and politico gatherings, and they
knew how to drive the party. Big Band sounds surrendered to the music of the
Stones, Motown, an occasional disco tune, and even a Tim McGraw or other
country song thrown in for seasoning every once in a while. A great mix.

And it didn't
take long for Cara, in that bright coral dress to garner a lot of attention.
One after another, deep-pocketed givers came to Greg's table asking her to
dance. He had only managed to dance with her once all evening, but had some
schmoozing to do, so it was all good. She was the perfect little cherry on top
of the sundae tonight, just what he'd needed for the night to turn profitable.

Cara returned to
the table for a drink of water, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair clinging to
the damp skin of her neck in little curls in a place or two. "Wow. I
thought I was in great shape, but these old guys are dancing my butt off,"
she said
soto voce
.

He shook his
head. "Not happenin', Sweet Cheeks. It's still there. I've been watching
it all night," he assured her.

She took another
long gulp of water and cut her eyes at him over the rim of the glass. "I
haven't had this much fun in a long time," she said, dropping into her
chair next to him and blotting at her neck with a cocktail napkin.

And she was
serious, he could tell. "Don't get out much do you, girl?"

She looked
resigned, then laughed at herself. "That obvious?"

"No,"
he said, rushing to assure her. "No, it's not. Matter of fact, you're the
hit of the party in my rather educated opinion."

"Whatever."
She drank more water and dismissed him with a quick roll of her eyes.

"I'm
serious, Cara. These guys are smitten with the chick in the 'orange' dress.
I've heard it several times.
'Who's your hot date?'
I've been asked more
than once. And when I tell them you're my sister-in-law, they say,
'No joke?
Hook me up.'
Or
'They don't make sisters-in-law like that where I come
from.'
I've heard it all night long."

She'd switched
to her wine glass and held it to her lips, but a smile played softly behind the
glass and her eyes went all liquid and sentimental. "You're sweet to tell
me that stuff."

He shook his
head in denial. "It's the truth, darlin'."

She leaned over
and pressed one palm to his cheek, her gaze still holding his. "Thank you
for giving me a night out. And for taking such good care of me. You always
do."

"And I
always will," he said, making it a promise.

She leaned back
in her chair and took a sip of wine. "Until I find me a Sugar Daddy,
anyway. Then you can pass the torch." She smiled at him impishly.

"But make
sure he empties his pockets at the door. I'm trying to raise money here
tonight," he reminded her, but the very thought of her finding someone was
unsettling.

About that time
a man Cara had danced with earlier walked just to the edge of the dance floor
near their table and shook his hips at Cara, then jerked his head in the
general direction of the action. Not the most suave invitation to dance Greg
had ever seen, but effective.

Cara rose, took
one last sip of wine, and smiled at the man. "How deep are these pockets?'
she whispered to Greg as she set her wine back on the table.

"Deep,
babe. Real deep. Go shake your money maker," he told her, then spent the
next four minutes enjoying watching her do exactly that.

They were well
into the wee small hours when Greg finally walked Cara to her car in the
parking garage. It was nearly deserted at this time as Greg had felt obligated
to stay and see the final party animal contributors off for the night. Cara was
blissfully worn out. Her feet ached until she'd removed her to-die-for five
inch heels and now carried them instead. Her makeup was perspired half-away,
and her buzz was long gone as well, leaving her tired, but happily so. She
couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun dancing. It was one thing
to teach dance or even to practice its art in a studio. That was disciplined
work, and she loved it deep down in her soul. But tonight had been a cut loose,
footloose kind of night, and man, had she needed it. She hadn't known how much
she'd needed it until now, and it made her feel almost giddy.

It had rained
while the party was going on and there now ran a small river through the parking
garage between them and her car. She stopped, barefooted, and wrinkled her nose
at the thought of wading through the collection of motor oil, dirty water, and
trash, but squeezing her feet back into those heels sounded tantamount to hell
about now.  

"What's the
matter?" Greg asked, stopping beside her.

"I'm trying
to decide which is worse ... wading through that water or putting these killer
shoes back on," she said. "I think I'd rather wash my feet than ruin
my three hundred dollar shoes in that."

"Easy fix,
darlin'," he said, just before he swooped her into his arms and carried
her across the raging urban deluge. She squeaked a little noise of surprise,
and quickly wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing.

They cleared the
water, and she expected him to release her, but he kept on walking toward her
car across the garage. "You can put me down now, Gregory."

"This floor
is filthy. I'd hate for you to mess up that fancy pedicure, Caroline," he
answered back, nodding at her feet dangling over his arm. She raised one foot
to look at her pedicure. She'd had it done especially for tonight, and it was
rather fancy, she had to admit, with a painted swirl and a rhinestone on each
big toe nail. Very festive, indeed.

"Do you
like that?" she asked, turning her leg back and forth to make sure she
hadn't danced her rhinestones off.

"Sure
do," he said, and kept right on walking.

"It's a
long way over there to my car, Gregory," she said pointedly. "You
sure you don't want to put me down now?" she asked, her tone a mix of
sultry and challenge.

"I'm
absolutely certain. You have a problem with me carrying you?" He looked
her straight in the eye, and from this close proximity she noticed how gorgeous
his eyes were. Of course, she'd always known Greg had great green eyes, but
from this distance, they were just plain gorgeous.