“I don’t remember you showing up at my place with this much stuff,” Brooks said, the top half of him hidden behind the stack of boxes and bins in his arms.
“And I wasn’t expecting to spend twenty-five days at your bachelor pad either. A girl can’t get by on one bag of goods alone.” After unlocking my apartment, I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I was wincing, bracing myself to find musty, water-damaged carnage inside.
“Are we going to hang out in the hallway all night, waiting to be recognized, which will no doubt lead to a stream of questions as to what we’re doing together without a camera in our faces?”
Brooks’s prompt gave me the motivation I needed to push the door open. No foul odors seeped out—promising, I thought as I flipped on the lights. My whole body relaxed when I got a good look at my apartment. It looked exactly how it had pre-flood. With the exception of the ceiling and floor, nothing had changed. My furniture, area rugs, curtains; everything had been dried, cleaned, and replaced how I’d had them.
Brooks had to maneuver through the door sideways to fit without knocking the boxes out of his arms.
“You got your cardio and your strength workouts in,” I said as I unloaded the top boxes from his pile.
“And now I need a nice massage.” The hopeful look on his face made me laugh.
“There’s an Asian spa of questionable repute just down the block. They keep night hours.”
He followed me to the dining table I was stacking boxes onto. “Every massage come with a complimentary happy ending?”
“That depends on your definition of happy.”
He leaned in as he set down the bins in his arms. “If you want to be my masseuse, I can help demonstrate what makes me happy.”
Taking a breath, I held my palm in front of his face. “My hands are all chapped.”
He surprised me by pressing his cheek into it, his stubble scratching the soft flesh. “Good. I like it rough.”
My hand dropped back at my side as I distracted myself by heading into the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
My voice was off, but so was everything else. Having him here in my apartment. The front door closed and locked. Late in the evening, my willpower and inhibitions worn to the point of snapping. I shouldn’t have accepted his offer to help. I shouldn’t have let him burrow so deeply into the contours of my life.
But here he was.
And here I was.
Whether fate or circumstance had led us to this moment, I knew it was not coincidence.
“I’m good, thanks.” His footsteps echoed through the apartment. “Your place is exactly how I expected someone like you would keep her living space.”
I rummaged through the cupboards as a diversion. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or observation.”
“Actually, it’s a compliment,” he said, his footsteps coming to a halt. “You know who you are and aren’t trying to change that to fit a generic mold.”
My fingertips rolled along the counter. “Thanks?”
He chuckled as the sound of shuffling came from the living room. “Good god. Pride and Prejudice on the top of the pile. Both DVDs and books.” Brooks grunted. “What is it with women and Darcy?”
After forcing myself from the kitchen, I mustered up as much composure as I could. Which wasn’t much. “I don’t know.” I watched him turn over my worn copy of the book, the DVD I’d watched with my friends a couple of months ago in his other hand. “He’s a reluctant hero. This guy who seems like an egotistical ass but turns out to save the day in the end, without attempting to take any credit for it.”
“But he does take the credit in the end. And he gets the strong, spirited Miss Bennett.”
My mouth worked as I removed the book from his hand and set it back where it belonged. “That’s what makes it a love story and not a tragedy.”
“Ah, that’s the distinction.” Brooks wandered to the wall where I had a couple dozen photos in ornate, mismatched frames. “As opposed to the guy who does not get the girl or get the credit for his heroic act.”
“Correct.”
“But isn’t that romantic as well? Giving up the woman you want so she could be happy with someone else? Staying the anonymous savior instead of basking in the glory of recognition?” The corners of his mouth twitched when he studied the photo of me as a toddler with my parents. Chubby and wild-haired—the story of my life. “I’m asking you because you’re the expert. I’m in uncharted territory where the romance phenomenon is concerned.”
After sliding my sandals from my feet, I padded closer. “I suppose so. In its own way. But it’s hard to imagine Elizabeth being happier with anyone besides Darcy.”
“But like you said, Darcy’s an egotistical horse’s ass.”
“On the surface maybe, but what hides behind all of that is what matters. And he loves her.”
Brooks leaned in to make out where I was in my senior class photo. “So you’re saying that’s enough?”
My fingers combed through my hair as I attempted to sum up what point I was trying to get across. “I’m saying love is a good start.”
“There it is again. The L word.”
“It scares you,” I stated.
“How can it scare me when it doesn’t exist?”
“Why are you so sure it doesn’t exist?”
The floor creaked as he moved toward the next picture; the one with Grandma and me at my high school graduation. “Because I have no evidence to prove its existence.”
“Evidence?” I sighed. “It’s literally all around you.”
“Says the woman dubbed Ms. Romance.”
“But if you’re wrong, you’ve sacrificed a lifetime of potential intimacy and commitment. If I’m wrong, I’ve spent my life believing in a fanciful dream.”
He leaned in closer to the picture, shaking his head. “No, I’d live my life free with the truth. You’d spend yours chained to a lie.”
A puff of air rumbled out of my lips. “I know where this conversation is going. Nowhere.” Grabbing one of the bins from the table, I carried it toward my room. “I’m going to save my energy for unpacking instead of arguing a pointless battle with you.”
“But pointless battles are my favorite.” He wrestled a box under each arm and followed me to my bedroom.
My heart about seized when I heard his footsteps right behind me. My room had been tidy when I left, but who knew what shape I might find it in. Hopefully any signs of unmentionables or items of a personal nature wouldn’t be spread out on my comforter in plain view.
“More pink. And flowers. And sparkle. And lace.” Brooks gave me no time to give my room the once-over before his gaze moved from one corner to the next, not missing a thing. He fought a smile when he got to my fancy vanity, half of the surface covered by pretty perfume bottles.
“What? I, unlike some people, like to surround myself with things that bring joy. Instead of self-loathing.”
He huffed, peeking inside my dark closet when he passed by. “This room is some cross of a little girl’s, a Hollywood starlet’s, and a great-grandmother’s.” He paused beside my bed, his fingers reaching for my nightstand drawer. “But I bet there’s some stuff hiding in here that isn’t so innocent.”
“Brooks!” I exclaimed, lunging over the bin I’d been about to open, hauling ass to intercept him before . . .
He must have been expecting me to put on the brakes, because he didn’t move, his eyes widening a moment before I crashed into him. We collided with a loud slap, our bodies careening onto my bed. Somehow, I wound up on top of him, my legs tangled around his, my chest moving fast from the exertion and mini panic attack I’d given myself from thinking about him finding what was tucked into that nightstand drawer.
His arms had found their way around me as we tumbled, but they refused to unwind now that we’d landed. His throat moved when my eyes found his, one side of his mouth lifting high.
“Not so innocent at all,” he said as his eyes skimmed down the length of my body covering his.
Heat wound up my spine. Before I gave myself a second to reconsider, I rolled off of him, tumbling onto the empty bed beside him. I focused on the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing. The mattress whined when he rolled onto his side toward me.
“Brooks,” I breathed. “Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He was watching me, waiting for my attention. It only made me stare at the ceiling harder. “Hannah?”
“Please. Don’t.”
“I’m not touching you.” As he said it, my instinct was to scoot farther away from him. “Is my presence offending you now?” He motioned between us. “One minute I think I know what you want from me, and the next I realize I don’t have a damn clue.” His voice grew with every word as he went to crawl off the bed.
Out of nowhere, my hand reached for his, pulling him back down beside me. The next thing I knew, I was pressed against him, my mouth crashing into his as my hands grabbed hold of whatever firm place on him I could find.
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He shifted below me so our heads were perfectly aligned, his mouth rising with mine, and falling together. He tasted like cinnamon and need, and the harder I kissed him, the more I wanted of him.
When the rest of my body went to cover him, my hands slipping beneath his shirt at the same time, Brooks went still.
“Wait.” His breathing was uneven, strained, as his fingers formed vises around my wrists to draw my hands out from beneath his shirt. The warmth of his skin lingered in my palms, the firm planes of his stomach imprinted on them.
“For what?” When my mouth molded into his again, ever so slightly sucking at his bottom lip, he trembled.
“You are not making this easy.” He didn’t sound like himself at all, as his body went tense.
“I’m not trying to make it easy.” My own voice was nearly unrecognizable as that black hole of want reappeared. I’d only experienced it once before, that night he and I had shared together. It was a feeling that overwhelmed me, alarming in its magnitude.
“Check,” he breathed, his hands twisting around my wrists tighter when I tried to pull free.
When my hips slipped over his, gently rocking against him, he cursed under his breath. “Hannah.”
His eyes opened into mine, his chest beginning to calm. He felt so solid beneath me; the kind that suggested no force of nature could get through him.
“What’s the matter?”
He released one of my wrists, resting his hand on the bend of my neck. “The first time we met, I had you in my bed after a few hours. And I lost you.” A deep line creased between his brows. “This time, I’m going with a different approach.”
My mind struggled to keep up with what was happening. From wanting to jump his bones to hearing him confess he wanted to . . . wait?
“I’m lost,” I breathed. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Three hours after meeting, we fucked. This time, it was almost two months to a first kiss.” His fingers curled into my neck as he lifted his head off the pillow, his lips finding mine. Gentle and slow, yet strong and swift.
My lungs collapsed before he ended that kiss.
“I don’t plan on losing you again.” His breath was warm against my skin as he pulled away.
My body. My heart. He was doing everything right to appeal to them both.
I had to remind myself this was Brooks North. Mr. Reality. Everything he was saying and doing could have been to manipulate me into falling for him. I knew that. Yet something in his eyes told me this was no ruse.
“Why wait?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t the type of man who did or had to wait to get a woman into bed.
He combed my hair back from my face. “Because you’re worth it.”
“You’ve already had me.”
“I’ve had your body,” he said, drawing my head to his chest, holding me against him. “But now I want the rest. I want it all.”