The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) (9 page)

"Will do,
Maddie."

He hung up and
laid his phone on the bedside table, but didn't exactly know what to do with
the very naked, very quiet woman lying face down in the pillows beside him. He brushed
the hair back from her shoulder and pressed a lingering kiss there, but she
didn't stir. "Guess you heard all that," he said, his lips still
pressed against her shoulder.

She nodded, but
kept her face buried.

"Come on,
darlin'. It's not the end of the world. You'll call her in a minute and be all
kinds of sorry and set her mind at ease. No big deal," he said. But he
knew it was. And he knew it was only the beginning of the difficulties he and
Cara would face because of this paradigm shift in their relationship.

"I feel so
guilty," she finally said.

He rubbed her
back up and down, comforting her. "I know. I feel like the world's worst
uncle, lying to her like that."

Cara rolled over
and faced him and pushed the hair back from her face. "Sorry you had to do
that. I left my cell in my bag. I think it's in the saddle bag of the
bike."

"I'll get
it," he said, and rolled off the bed. His jeans were still on the floor
where he'd left them last night, and he slipped them on.

She sat up, hair
in glorious disarray around her shoulders, a sheet hugged up to her breasts,
and looked like something he'd like to wake to every single morning of his
life. "Would you grab my clothes and boots, too, please?" she asked.

"Sure. Be
right back."

He absolutely
hated the awkwardness that was creeping into the morning. And what he hated the
most was that it wasn't really between them. It was others pressing the
discomfort on them. He could have easily made love to Cara again this morning
and spent the rest of the day in her company quite happily, but because of
Maddie's phone call and her worry and his lies to her, necessary though they
might have been, he had a distraught momma on his hands. And that led to guilt,
which led to distance and awkwardness. He could already see where this was
going today.

He delivered her
phone and clothing to her. "I'm going to make some coffee while you call
Maddie," he said, and got a sad little thank you smile in return.

He did make
coffee, and drank a whole cup while waiting on her, finally figuring out that
she had had plenty of time to talk to Maddie and make herself presentable. She
was likely delaying the inevitable discomfort of facing him now. He swore, a
single foul word that matched his mood, and she chose that unfortunate moment
to walk into the kitchen.

She paused,
clearly having heard him. Their eyes met across the way, hers troubled, and he
had little doubt she saw much the same in his.  He didn't know what to do
or how to offer an explanation for it. It was just too damned complicated. He
opted for the banal.

"Coffee?"

She shook her
head slightly. "No, thanks." Which he read as,
"Can you just
take me home now so we can put an end to this awkwardness, please?"

He stood there,
his back against the counter, arms folded across his bare chest and felt like a
total loser. He'd slept with his brother's widow. That alone was legion. He'd
probably ruined what he was coming to realize was one of the most important
relationships in his life. And he'd lied to his niece. What kind of man allowed
his libido to rule his life to that extent?

Cara looked as
miserable as he felt, standing in his kitchen in her wrinkled sundress and
cowboy boots, nervous hands looking for something to do, and it about broke his
heart.

"Cara ...
are you okay?" he asked softly.

"No."
Her voice was so small and wobbly, and there were tears gathering in her eyes.
God, it ruined him. Totally ruined him. He walked over and pulled her into his
arms, thankful he didn't meet resistance. It might not have surprised him. But
he didn't. She melted into his arms and hugged him tightly, pressing her face
against the wall of his chest and tucking beneath his chin.

"I feel so
guilty, Greg," she said. "Maddie had been so worried."

"I
know." He soothed her, massaging the tight muscles of her neck. "It's
all right. I'm sure she's fine now that she's heard from you."

She sniffed once
and nodded. "They're so protective at times. We've really pulled together
in the past couple of years. We've had to."

Greg knew she was
right. He'd watched them do exactly that since Jason died. "I know,
darlin'."

Even as guilt
ripped him, he acknowledged how right she felt in his arms. It felt stolen, the
pleasure he took from holding her and comforting her, but it also felt more
right than anything he'd experienced in a long time. Entirely too complicated
to sort out this morning.

"I am still
confused, Greg. I feel so guilty for spending the night with you, and yet,
you're the one I want to comfort me. It's your arms I want around me," she
said, pressing her cheek to his bare chest.

It made his
heart tender and full ... and very happy to hear her say that.

He raised her
chin and kissed her sweetly. It was nothing like the demanding kisses they'd
shared in the past week. It was clinging and soft and wanted for nothing,
hinted at hope. At least, that's how it made him feel.

The drive home
was quiet, but less awkward than she might have expected. At one point he'd reached
across the seat and held her hand, a sweet and comforting measure that went
straight to her heart. And wasn't that the most wonderful thing about Greg?
That powerful ability he possessed to make her feel safe and comforted, even
when things looked so bleak and hopeless. He'd certainly done that in the last
year for Cara and her children. It didn't matter the circumstances. Whatever it
was, Greg would fix it or at least make her feel like she was going to live
through it. It had been a potent draw in the past year. Coupled now with this
unyielding sexual attraction, his allure quotient had gone through the roof.
And what in the world was she supposed to do with that?

"You
remember that I'm going to California this evening?" he asked as they
neared her house.

Something about
that rang a bell, but it seemed much more germane today than it had when he'd
told her a week or two ago. "Yes," she said. "When are you
coming home?"

"Wednesday
evening," he said, pulling in to the driveway.  He put the truck in
Park, but didn't turn off the engine, signaling, she supposed, that he wasn't
coming in. And that was for the best. They both needed some time to think.

"You'll
call me when you get home?" she asked.

He picked up her
hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. "I will. Might even call
you before then. Is that okay?"

Lord, it felt so
much like they were starting a real, honest to goodness relationship. She
nodded and opened the door to get out, then paused. "Thank you for a
lovely birthday," she said with a shy smile.

He smiled too, a
sexy, very hungry grin that did something almost painful to her insides.
"Thank
you
, darlin'. We'll always remember our fortieth, won't
we?"

"I expect
so. Bye, Greg." She closed the door and went inside.

But that
tantalizing smile stayed with her for the rest of the day. And every time she
thought of him, of what they'd shared the night before ... making love on a
Harley, well, it about set her ablaze with a new case of want.

Late in the
afternoon, he sent her a picture of the bike with a caption that said,
"It's not the same without the gas tank ornamentation.  Missing you
already." It told her he was thinking about it, too. And that made it even
hotter.

He called on
Monday evening. She was working on studio stuff for fall promotion, knee deep
in files and class rosters, and was inordinately pleased to see his name on her
phone. She probably would have enjoyed the break, whomever might have called at
that moment, but she doubted the thrill would have been the same. He made absolutely
no bones about missing her, told her that he couldn't wait to get home.

She might have
expected it to have put her off. She might have thought it would scare her,
make her feel hemmed in. Too much, too fast. What she hadn't expected was to
feel exactly the same way he did. She missed him terribly and could hardly wait
for him to come home.

They texted one
another several times on Tuesday. Just
good morning
greetings and
how
is your day going
updates. But it made her feel special and cared for. To
know he had her on his mind was pleasing somehow.  She'd been without this
kind of attention for so many years.

Ren arrived on
Tuesday.  Francesca hadn't been exaggerating in the least about her son's
beauty. Cara was thankful Maddie wasn't home to fall madly in love with her
older cousin.  Ren's dark eyes, stunning, dimpled smile, and his shredded
body made him almost painful to look at, but she was hardly able not to. Cara
could only imagine the trouble this man could stir up. He had charm in abundance,
like his father, and a taste for fast cars, as evidenced by the red Ferrari he
drove.

She actually
grew to feel sorry for him as they cooked a meal together, though she knew from
past phone conversations with Francesca that his exile was likely well-earned.
She'd seldom seen anyone so condemned about his sentencing.

"Ren, it's
not as bad as you're thinking. Texas is a wonderful place to live," she
assured him, watching in awe as he chopped up fresh herbs like a professional.

He paused in his
chopping. "Well, you can be sure of this, Cara. I'm not 'living' here ...
just camping, thanks.  No beach, no mountains to ski, and what passes for
a tree out here is a joke. The resources are not at all what I'm used to. What
the hell do you guys do for fun around here?" he asked.

"There are
hundreds of lakes in this part of Texas, so boating is fun. The fishing is
good. Austin has a great music scene ... whatever kind of music you like. The
weather is nice, too, though I don't guess we can really compete with
California in that regard," she admitted. He didn't look all that
impressed with the thought of fishing for entertainment, and having come from a
Hollywood point of reference, she couldn't say she really blamed him.

They ate dinner
round the pool, sharing wine and catching up. Cara enjoyed him thoroughly,
finding Ren to have grown into a talented, utterly charming young man. In fact,
Ren Maggio was on the cusp of becoming a really fine man, Cara believed. Uncle
Taddy was probably right to keep a firm hand on him, though. Ren had a lot to
offer the world, all right. He just needed a little harnessing to point him in
the right direction, she imagined. It would be fun to see how it all worked
out.

Ren moved on,
eager to see what south Texas had to offer. He assured her he wasn't expecting
much, and promised to stay in touch. Cara saw him off from the driveway,
wondering what south Texas would think of Ren Maggio. She thought it might be a
culture shock for all involved.

Wednesday endured
forever. She worked out, cleaned house, shopped for groceries and new lingerie,
telling herself one was as everyday as the other, though it didn't excite her
to think of him seeing her produce nearly as much it did thinking about his
reaction to some new "scraps of lace" she bought.

She ate a lonely
dinner, wondering if he'd changed his plans and stayed over another day in
California. The thought depressed her more than she cared to admit. Television
couldn't hold her interest after dinner, and though the steamy novel she had
been reading for a couple of days was great entertainment, it was not making
the wait to see him one bit more comfortable.

He finally
texted her from Dallas, having had a full and busy day, but told her that his
flight was delayed due to weather. He didn't know when he'd get home.
Disappointment turned her mood swiftly. She hated to admit how much she'd been
looking forward to seeing him. It gave her pause, this building need she had
for him. Not just physical, by any means. She had thought of a dozen things she
wanted to share with him in the past three days. She simply enjoyed his
company, she told herself, but finally acknowledged that there was nothing
simple about their relationship. Nothing at all.

She fell asleep
with the light on, steamy novel on her chest, but was awakened by another text
from Greg.

 
Is it too
late to come by?

She glanced at
the clock, then realized how ridiculous that had been. It didn't matter what time
it was. And though she had nothing much on her schedule for tomorrow, it
wouldn't have mattered if she had. She texted back.

Not at all. Come on
by.

Greg stood on
her front porch and wondered at the wisdom of coming tonight, but he'd not been
able to stay away. He'd thought of her dozens of times a day in the past four
days, still slightly amazed at how their relationship had changed in the past
three weeks. There was no portentous event that signaled a change was coming.
He just looked at her one day and knew that it had arrived. And there didn't
seem to be a damn thing he could do about the way he felt.

He rang the
doorbell and waited. The door creaked open and she peeked around the corner to
make sure it was him, but kept herself well hidden behind the door.

"Hi,"
he said.

She smiled and
it was chock full of goodness: welcome, and happiness, a flash of sensual heat,
and a hint of nervous anticipation. He felt it all.

"Hi,"
she said in return, but she didn't open the door any wider.

"Can I come
in?" he asked after a moment.

She seemed to be
considering, actually looked him up and down in assessment while continuing to
hide herself behind the door. "Do you think I'd be safe, letting you
in?"

Little tease
. He shook his
head and laughed. "Not a chance."

"Oh,
good," she said. Her hand snaked out to grab his necktie, and she dragged
him through the door and closed it behind them. She leaned her back against the
door, but didn't let go of his tie, though he took a half-step back to get a
look at her. She wore a short, silky wrap robe, tied at her waist, and he
suspected there was nothing under it except her. He looked her over thoroughly,
separated only by the length of his necktie, which she now fondled in a brazen
manner, petting it in long strokes up and down. Finally, his gaze met hers
again.

Her brows rose
slowly, and the most delicious smile teased her lips. "Hi," she said.

"Hello,
again," he said, their eyes holding steady, full of suggestion and
expectancy and desire.

She began to
reel him in with his tie, one small handful after another, she drew him closer
and closer until he braced his palms on the door above her head, their lips a
heartbeat apart, their bodies barely brushing.

"Welcome
back," she whispered, her breath falling across his lips. He could nearly
taste her, but the anticipation of doing so was so good, he prolonged the
moment, holding back enough to keep them wanting.

"Mmm, yes
... it's good," was about all he could mutter.

Her hands
slipped inside his sports jacket and, through his starched shirt, began
exploring his chest and ribcage, which was expanding like a bellows now, his
breathing coming harder and faster. And still their lips were a breath apart.
Their noses touched, rubbed lightly, and he inhaled the scent of her, so warm
and enticing.

He might have
been able, with some accuracy, to say how many days, hours and minutes it had
been since he'd tasted her last, having been so preoccupied with it since then,
but his memory hadn't done her justice, he decided when he finally touched her
lips with his. The soft give of her mouth, the warmth and silky soft honeyed
texture of her tongue meeting his in sensual play was his reward for having
endured the drought of the last four days without her. He sank into the kiss
like it was his first, a new dawning, eager and hopeful, and like it might be
his last, hoarded up and savored in all its richness.

Cara moaned into
his kiss and pulled him closer against her, her thigh rising, her foot wrapping
around the back of his calf. He reached down and lifted her knee higher, hiking
it up over his hip, and bent his knees slightly to fit them together. He ground
against her, and knew the fit to be perfect as she broke the kiss abruptly, her
head falling back against the wooden door, her breath hissing between her
teeth, eyes closed tightly, lost to ecstasy.

It fired him
like a rocket propeller. "Oh, damn ... I have missed you," he said,
and rocked against her again, then tasted the skin beneath her jaw, along her
neck. She led his hips in a sensual dance, her hands pulling him to press
against her again and again. He lifted her to ride his hips, and her legs
wrapped around his waist as he pressed her against the door. He opened the robe
to caress her breasts and filled his hands with them. The soft sounds coming
from her were like fuel to his fire.

"Greg ...
let's go to bed," she said finally, something between a plea and a demand.

He didn't need
to be told twice. He released her, allowing her feet to find the floor, and he moved
back to look at her again. Her lips were kiss-stung and rosy, her hair mussed,
the robe hanging on the hills of her shoulders, open all the way down so he
could see a wisp of panties that barely covered her mound. He was going to
remove those pretty little things with his teeth, he decided, and felt that
thought send a fresh shot of blood to his cock.

She took him by
the hand and led him to her bedroom. The bedroom and bed she used to share with
his brother, he thought, but pushed it from his mind for the time being. She
removed it further from his mind as she pushed the jacket from his shoulders
and began loosening his necktie. He kicked off his shoes and worked on the
buttons of his shirt, but had to stop for another kiss here, a gliding caress
of her skin there. Finally, they were both bare save that tiny beribboned thong
covering the part of her he most wanted to touch and taste. He laid her across
the bed and placed his mouth on the fabric, breathing hot, moist air against
it, then rubbed his tongue along the crease of her cleft through the material.
She rounded her back, lifting herself more firmly to his mouth, and he did
exactly what he'd planned, dragging the thin scrap of fabric away from that
hidden treasure with his teeth, then his hands pulled them free of her legs,
and he feasted properly on her.