The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) (10 page)

Cara moaned and
curled her fingers into his hair as he pleasured her, and he found supreme
pleasure in the doing. The taste of her, the sounds and soft murmurings she
made built a drumming need in him that finally drove him to put on a condom and
seek her warmth. She felt like warm velvet, so sleek and hot as he eased in
deep.

He knew it
wouldn't take long for him to find release, so close now he could feel it
building. And he could sense it coming in
her
, too,
as her muscles clenched around him like a tight fitting glove, her breath
falling in little panting gasps from her lips. He kissed her quickly once, then
cradled her head in his hands, his hips keeping a steady pounding pace.

"Cara, look
at me," he said, and kissed her again.

She opened
passion-drugged eyes to look at him.

"Oh, babe
... it's so good," he said, holding her gaze with his.

"Yes,"
she sighed. "Yes ... Greg," she said, breathing his name and sending
him over the edge of oblivion. She followed immediately, her body's grip
drawing everything he had to give.

They held one
another as pleasure died, their breathing labored and deep. Greg loved the feel
of her satiny skin pressed to his from breast to feet. They kissed again and
again, unable to get their fill. Soft and breathy offerings, or deeper, lush
and ardent, Greg wanted every kiss he could get from her.

He rolled them
to their sides, withdrawing, and their arms and legs entangled at once, unable
to get of enough each other, be it kisses or skin or scent. He kissed her
forehead, her fluttery eyelids, the part in her hair, and finally her mouth,
which was searching for his by this time. "I think about kissing you
probably a thousand times a day," he admitted.

She smoothed the
hair back from his forehead and pressed her mouth to his four or five times in
quick succession. "Then you must ... kiss me ... a thousand ... times a
day," she said, punctuating every odd word with a kiss. She folded her
arms around his head and held him close, his lips grazing the skin of her sweet
smelling neck.

"And when
will I have time to work?" he asked, nuzzling the tender spot above her
collarbone.

She sighed as
his mouth found a particularly sensitive place. He loved the sound, wished he
could record it and use it as his ringtone. "I'm just guessing here,"
she suggested, "but you're not getting much work done if you're thinking
about kissing me a thousand times a day."

He chuckled,
filling both his hands with the lusciousness that was her ass, and he gave her
a firm squeeze. "Oh, darlin' ... you're not just kiddin'. Because that's
just the kissing. There are, at least, a hundred other things I think about
doing to you as well."

She pulled back
slightly to look into his eyes. "A hundred?"

"At
least," he assured her.

"I can't
think of a hundred sex acts. What are you reading in your spare time, the Kama
Sutra?"

He laughed, and
rolled her onto her back once more. "Babe, I'm gonna make you think I
wrote
the Kama Sutra before it's all over with." She laughed that purely sexual
purring laugh he loved so much, and he felt it inspire new life in all his
appendages. "You just might be surprised one day when I break out a little
bit of that kinky stuff you've heard I like."

"Bring your
best game, Gregory.  I'm a willing learner," she admitted, making him
moan at the thought.

Sometime later,
spent and sated, they lay in her bed facing one another. He could sleep for a
week now, a happy man.

"Greg?"
she whispered, pulling him back from the edge of slumber.

"Hmm?"

When she said
nothing he opened his eyes to find hers regarding him deeply. "What is it,
Cara?" he asked.

"There are
no ghosts here," she said, her voice barely audible.

Okay, back
awake. What did that mean?
He watched her for a time, but she didn't expound
on it.

"Are you
telling me that my big brother isn't perched up there on the crown molding
watching us with extreme displeasure?" he asked.

"I
guess," she said, shrugging shyly.

"No sweat.
I don't believe in that crap," he said. He knew he sounded more gruff
about it than he meant to.

"I don't
either," she said, rearranging her hair on the pillow more comfortably.
"People don't die and become angels. Angels are created beings. But right
after Jason died, so many people tried to tell me that he would be my guardian
angel from now on. And at first, I wanted to believe it. Kinda. But after the
emotion settled down a bit, I saw it for the lie it was. He didn't act much
like a guardian or protector while here. Why should I think he'd care what
happened to me after he died?"

He looked at her
in the dim light of the room and wanted to take that hurt away from her, remove
that pinched look between her eyebrows and tell her that he would always
protect her, always take care of her. The growing instinct did a number on him
though. Was he ready for that kind of commitment to her? Ready for all the
fallout it might bring?

"But I
wanted you to know that he doesn't haunt me. I don't feel his presence here. I
don't pine for him. And he's not between us when we're--" she paused,
uncertain, "when we're having sex." She shrugged. "At least, not
for me."

Greg couldn't
exactly say the same. He'd wondered, when they were making love, if Jason
crossed her mind, or even dwelled there in her fantasy. But he said nothing in
reply.

Her voice grew
even quieter. "I wanted you to know," she whispered. "It's you
and only you."

He kissed her
for her thoughtfulness. And he kissed her again for her intuition, for her
cleverness in knowing what happens in a man's mind sometimes. "Thank
you," he finally said.

"You're
welcome," she whispered.

He dropped his
voice to a whisper, too. "Why are we whispering?"

"You have
to whisper in the dark. That's the rule."

"Are we
afraid of getting caught?" he asked, whispering still.

"Nope. It's
just the rule."

He snuggled her
under his chin, his arms holding her tightly, relishing. "Really? You're
not afraid of getting caught? What if I spend the night? What if my truck sits
in your driveway all night long?"

"I don't
care, Greg." She rubbed her face against his chest, her hands moving up
and down his back. "Ryan is coming home in a couple of days. But tonight
... I want to sleep in your arms all night."

He kissed her
forehead lingeringly and tightened his arms around her. "Then sleep,
darlin'. I'm here for the duration."

***

The light was
barely a suggestion beyond the curtains when Cara woke the next morning. Greg
still slept beside her, his breathing regular. She watched him, his features
relaxed, his hair sleep tousled and alluring, making her want to run her
fingers through it, into it. He lay on his stomach, arms folded under his head,
and she examined his left hand, resting on his upper arm, memorizing every tiny
detail about it. He had manly hands, with long square fingers and neatly
clipped, clean nails. The hands of an executive. But they were also capable
hands. Hands that knew their way around a Harley engine and were equally
skilled at pleasing a woman. She felt herself flush thinking of this man's
hands and all the ways they'd pleasured her in the past week. What a lover he
was. Commanding and masterful, but also intuitive and generous, putting off his
pleasure to make certain of hers. He seemed to know her body better than she
did herself, touched her in ways she'd never been touched.

And he wanted
her.

How refreshing
it was to be found desirable. To be wanted so badly he couldn't stay away, even
after his long day of travel. He'd still wanted her. It was too good. All of
it.

Cara plumped her
pillow a little and carefully laid bare the contents of the baggage this thing
included. How in the world would they hide this from her kids? Those same kids
who looked after her like they were the parents and she the child, so worried
for her well-being, so protective. How would she manage to keep this from them?
Because she
had
to keep it from them. There was no way in hell they'd
understand this.

"That's a
mighty deep furrow you've plowed there between your brows, Caroline," he
said quietly, his voice husky with sleep. "What are you thinking
about?"

She found his
gaze and tried to soften her expression a little. "Nothing worth worrying
about," she said.

He studied her
for a time and she knew she hadn't fooled him. She reached up and brushed the
hair back from his forehead. He allowed it for a moment, then pulled her hand
to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. He rolled to his side and pulled her
into his arms. "Come here, you very poor little liar."

She went more
than willingly, needing to feel his arms around her, his strength, his shelter
from all that she imagined was piling up against them. Her hair snagged on his
beard stubble and he reached up to smooth it back down, tucking her against his
heart. She could hear its solid beat against her ear.

"You're not
seeing ghosts this morning, are you?" he asked. His hands smoothed up and
down the length of her back, caressing, squeezing, massaging in a lazy wake-up
call of pure goodness.

"Absolutely
not," she answered.

"Good,"
he said. "Then what are you fretting about?"

"Nothing
really." At least, she wanted it to be nothing. She just couldn't quite
believe it. He was patient, allowing her the time to say what was on her mind.
"It's the last day before Ryan comes home tomorrow. Barbara will be right
behind him, then Etta and Maddie. And everything will go back to normal. I'm
not really ready for that," she finally admitted.

He kissed the
top of her head. "So I guess you're trying to tell me there'll be no more
booty calls when I fly in late at night?"  He tried to make it sound
light, like a joke, but there was so much more to it than that.

"Yeah, no
more late night booty call," she said wistfully. "Damn."

He rolled them
over until she was beneath him and looking up into his eyes. "What about
early morning booty call?" He flexed his hips, making it perfectly clear
he was cocked and primed for such. "Think I could sneak in after they're
off to school?" he asked, nuzzling her ear with his warm breath.

"That's a
very tempting offer you're making, Mr. Brooks."

His tongue
swirled into the shell of her ear, making her breath catch in her throat.
"Temptation is just one of my specialties," he murmured, flexing
against her in the best possible place. "There are others, too."

Damn, he was so good
at this. "I might be interested in examining your entire portfolio of
offerings, sir," she said, growing more breathless.

"That can
certainly be arranged," he said, and took her mouth in a blistering kiss
that put a stop to all conversation.

She cooked him
breakfast of pancakes and bacon while he showered, then they lingered over
coffee, talking about everything but what was uppermost in her mind.

"Guess I'd
better get to work. I've been really unproductive for the past few weeks. Need
to honestly earn my living for a change," he said.

"I doubt
that. I know how hard you work." She rose, placing her plate in the sink
and he followed, placing his there as well. He pinned her in, his hands on the
countertop on either side of her. She turned around and looped her arms around
his neck and raised up to tip toe to kiss his mouth.

When she pulled
back, she recognized the smolder in his eyes. "My word, but you're
insatiable. Are you always so ... so--" she broke off, not really knowing
what to call it.

"Horny?"
he supplied with a knowing grin.

"Well, yes,
as a matter of fact. "

He chuckled and
swiped another quick kiss from her mouth. "Only for you, Sunshine."

She cut her eyes
at him, dubious, but charmed with the thought nonetheless. "Go to work,
Gregory."

He gave her
backside a parting squeeze. "Talk to you later," he said.

"Bye."
She watched him go, and wondered how she was going to do without a steady
supply of this man after life resumed tomorrow. It was going to present a
challenge, for certain.

Later that
morning as she made the bed, she found her panties adorning the lamp shade on
the night table and had to chuckle. He'd pitched them aside last night in
haste, and that must have been where they landed. Wouldn't that have been
something to explain had one of her children spied them before her? She took a
picture of it, typed a message and sent it to him.

Thinking of you.

He replied
immediately
.

 You are not
helping my productivity one bit, lady. Besides, I think you're just after my
"entire portfolio of offerings".