Flirting With Disaster Page 5

  “And maybe you should be on-site for it.”

  Naomi glared at the subtle suggestion for her to find a lover. “I bet Dane will be on the list of bachelors.”

  This was her chance. She thought of what would be worse than getting caught kissing him. Absolutely nothing. “And I'd be there with bells and whistles. Happy?”

  “Not until you sound happy about it.” Naomi paused. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

  Brooke had been inspecting his hand and then his mouth was on hers. It still felt natural and right. It was crazy. “Chemistry.”

  “And?”

  Brooke didn't know what happened, what had changed to even begin to dissect it. “I don't like him any more than I did this morning. I never said he wasn't good looking.”

  “But you never kissed him before, either.”

  Brooke ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She could almost feel the soft nips again. “A fluke.”

  Naomi shook her head. “Eat your sandwich.”

  “Happily.” But unease had started to spread through her stomach.

  “Do know as soon as you're done, I'm calling Peyton and telling her what I just witnessed.”

  Brooke looked around the town square. It wasn't empty, never really was. Who else had witnessed the kiss? Probably enough people that she was doomed either way. She would never hear the end of this.

  She bit viciously into her sandwich. “I'm screwed, aren't I?”

  “Pretty much. But think of it this way, folks will finally stop talking about Peyton and Tate. You jumped on a grenade and was a good friend.”

  She snorted. “When you put it like that...”

  Still, unease kept her shoulders tight. Nothing had changed. She found a lot about Dane troubling. He'd kissed her like he wanted to own her because he wouldn't know any other way. That unease spread further and she put the rest of her sandwich back down, having lost her appetite.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dane leaned against his car and met his friend Reid's bewildered gaze.

  “Why are you standing outside the bar?” Reid asked. His sandy brown hair appeared black in the darkness of the Grog's parking lot. He held a fedora in his right hand, and the man tapped it against his thigh in an impatient rhythm. When he wasn't wearing his police uniform, he tended to wear dark jeans and black shirts. Tonight was no different. With an actual night off, no on-call, of course they'd be at The Grog Monster. It was Reid's sister's bar, and that's just where people in Tanner Creek went on Friday nights.

  Dane answered with, “Waiting for you and Tate.”

  Reid frowned. “When did we go into The Grog in groups?”

  A car door slammed next to Dane. Tate climbed out of his truck. Tall but solid, he rose to his full height. “When Dane decided to have public sex on a bench with Brooke.”

  Reid laughed. “Heard about that. Is she in there?”

  Dane groaned. “We kissed. It wasn't sex.”

  Tate snorted. “Same difference in this town.”

  Reid's grin widened. “I think he's nervous. Are your palms sweaty? Is your heart racing? O-M-G.” Reid made his voice sound all breathy and girlish. “I have such a crush on her.”

  Tate laughed and added, “Her hair is so soft. I can't wait until I can run my fingers through it again.”

  “Fuck you both.” But Dane laughed too. “If I'm going to have to deal with this all night, I need a drink.”

  Reid clapped him on the back as they walked toward the bar. “Aw, don't pout. I'm surprised it's taken you this long. All that arguing was going to lead to sex eventually.”

  Tate whispered, “I think we made him blush.”

  Reid whispered back, “I bet he does when he sees her.” He raised his voice. “So, how's the calendar going?”

  Dane grinned. “Jackasses, the both of you.” He got a thought, one not so nice. “Matter of fact, I want you guys in the one I'm putting together.” He didn't give them any other details and considered it payback. “Are you in?”

  “Sure. Anything for the town,” Reid answered.

  Tate's dark brows drew down and looked wary, but he nodded in agreement. Dane laughed and pushed the saloon doors. The Grog was packed. The noise of it washed over him. There were a ton of familiar faces, and when those curious gazes in the crowd caught sight of the two most talked about people in town, he could see the whispers starting.

  Not surprising, Tate took it in stride, already looking for his girlfriend in the mass of people. A smile broke out on the man's face but he didn't move from inside the doorway.

  Dane's gaze followed the direction the man had looked and Peyton strutted over. She snatched her brother's hat out of his hands. Without missing a step, she slapped it on her head and jumped into Tate's waiting embrace. Beside him, Reid made a disgusted noise and headed for the bar. Dane followed because this was a ritual for Tate and Peyton. The kissing would go on for as long as they wanted.

  He tried to prepare himself for the next part. Reid saw what happened in the town square as inevitable. It wasn't until Brooke was caressing Dane's hand that the next step, kissing her, became inevitable. They'd never touched each other, not really, which seemed improbable because they must have bumped into each other. Their hands must have brushed when she gave him a drink while tending the bar as a favor to Peyton.

  He couldn't recall a single time they had before their handshake in Steeped and Brewed, so he’d sat there startled at first of the warmth of her touch. Within seconds, that surprise had turned into an ache for her to explore more than his hand, and then he had needed to know what she felt like under his palms. Turned out she was supple in all the right places.

  Shit. His cock hardened just remembering that and the sound of her moans. Those memories were why he'd stood outside The Grog. He couldn't be alone with her anymore. He'd lose his head, because all he wanted was her mouth under his. It wouldn't be enough until she was beneath him, moaning and touching him back.

  Reid made headway through the crowd and reached the bar first. He leaned on it, a smile softening his fierce expression. He glanced toward Dane and laughed.

  Yeah. If his attraction was that obvious from one look at his face, he had the right idea that Brooke and he shouldn't be left unchaperoned.

  He squeezed in beside Reid.

  Brooke's smile didn't dim, but she only nodded at him before meeting Reid's gaze. “I'm guessing Tate's here somewhere licking your sister.”

  “Just give me something that'll put hair on my chest,” Reid replied.

  Brooke pushed out a breath and looked at him. His gaze strayed down, and her nipples were tight points against her low cut dress.

  “Brooke,” he said.

  She shook her head. “What can I get you?”

  “A Coke.”

  “Coming up.”

  Reid waited until she went down the bar to get their orders. “You're a pussy, and I'm embarrassed to call you my friend.”

  He shrugged at the accusation. “I'm not going to do this to myself.”

  “Tatiana.” Reid guessed and made a noise like he all too well understood about ex-girlfriends who ripped out your heart.

  After one too many beers when Dane had first moved into town, the men had somehow gotten on the subject of women and past relationships. Reid had told Dane about Madison, his high school and college sweetheart. In turn, Dane had told Reid about Tatiana. There had been no winner on who had the better story, but a friendship had grown.

  Reid's gaze held nothing but understanding. “Brooke is nothing like that.”

  Dane glanced down the bar where she'd gone. Brooke was flirting with someone. He could tell from the way she bit down on her lip. She'd done that often with him over the past few weeks for him to know.

  Dane said, “You're right. She's nothing like Tatiana. She's worse. She's the kind of woman who's afraid of needing a man. If she does, she makes him pay for it.”

  Reid frowned, narrowed his eyes and tried to defend his sister's friend. �
��Brooke is like a rose. She's beautiful. She's also covered in thorns, but only to protect herself. You know that or you wouldn't have that dumb expression on your face whenever you looked at her. And you keep looking at her.” Reid gave him a pointed stare, probably in hopes his point hit home. “Anyway, whatever is in the air seems contagious. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your new girlfriend. I like her.” He looked at Dane, his face serious now. “She's my sister's friend. So...”

  “Ah. Big brother.”

  His friend's face flushed. “When Tate started looking at Peyton like that I gave him the same warning.”

  Tate pushed in beside Reid. “You told me you'd shove my balls down my throat, if I'm remembering right.”

  “I said I should, not that I would.”

  Brooke was making her way back down to them with their drinks. Tate got the bright smile, too, when she settled the glasses on the counter.

  She said, “Your friends suck. They didn't order you anything.”

  “I'm dating the owner,” Tate said, “I think I'm covered.”

  Reid grabbed his drink and downed half of it. The man was having trouble being friends with his sister's boyfriend.

  It amused Dane to no end. “Karma. Such a bitch.”

  Brooke put his Coke in front of him. He squinted. Right. That's why they had never really touched. They'd found ways around it. No, her hands weren't smooth, but that didn't stop them from sparking something hot and unruly deep inside him. She caught him staring and her breath hitched.

  He flexed his neck to keep the tension from creeping up. “Let's find a table,” Dane suggested.

  Reid grinned, his malicious intent clear in his eyes. “Let's sit at the bar. Gives me a better view of everyone.”

  Peyton rounded the counter, her hands filled with empties. “I told you I can handle drunks. A million times.”

  Reid finished his drink. “I'm getting drunk tonight. You might have to bounce me.”

  Brooke snorted. “So, is Dane the designated driver?”

  “No.” Reid shook his head. “Dane's a wuss.”

  He scoffed at the insult. “I could drink you under the table.”

  Brooke laughed. “And I could drink you both under there.”

  Tate dug into his pocket and then threw a twenty on the counter. “My money's on Brooke.”

  Peyton threw money on that pile. “Oh, we have family dinner this week. My money's on Reid.”

  Brooke frowned at her friend. “But who'll help you?”

  “Tate, since he's not drinking hard tonight.” Peyton smiled at him.

  “Fine,” Tate said, “but later—”

  “Jesus,” Reid cursed. “At least wait until I'm drunk before you two start.”

  Everyone else threw their own money into the pot. Peyton collected the pile while Brooke lined up three shot glasses. She motioned for Reid to wait. “We need to catch up first.”

  Dane glanced at the bottle of top-shelf whiskey. He was going to regret the shit out of opening his mouth, but this was going to be a group event. No one would be left alone and temptation could be skirted. Well worth the hangover in the morning. He could avoid daily lunches with her by sending emails to coordinate their watches or only meeting Brooke at the coffee shop. He wasn't going down the road of dating a woman who held such contempt for him, for being human, for wanting more than what she was willing to give. Fuck that. He'd made that mistake once and never again, attraction be damned.

  He dug deeper into his wallet and paid for another bottle. Brooke's brows rose, but her voice was even when she said, “All right. Looks like I'm taking tomorrow off. On the count of three.”

  Down went their first round. He pounded his fist on the bar. Brooke's eyes watered until she let out a soft whimper.

  Peyton sighed. “This is going to end so badly for you, Reid.”

  “You're right,” her brother said. “I'm out.”

  Dane shook his head but faced Brooke. “You and me, if you have the balls.”

  She poured the next round. “Bigger than yours.”

  He couldn't help laughing. He waited until she knocked back her drink to say, “If you ever asked nicely...I'd show you.”

  She choked and he drank his whiskey before she could reply. She leaned on the bar and her cleavage suddenly became the focus of all his attention. He wanted to wet the tip of his finger, draw it down and then back up...

  She said, a little breathless, “I think I know what our wager is?”

  “Yeah?” He finally managed to look up, and she wore a wide grin.

  “Go old school. A money wager.”

  “You know what would be interesting?” Tate said.

  Wary, Dane asked, “What?”

  She poured the next round for them, and this time the liquor went down smooth, which was the first sign that he was going to really, really regret having indulged in this drinking contest come morning. Peyton strayed down the bar to fill some orders, and Reid rose as though to help her. She waved him off. He went anyway.

  Tate added, “When you guys get the numbers, the loser has to stand out on the street for a week holding a sign for the winner's business.”

  Brooke snorted. “I love it. There's the possibility of pictures. You're going to look so cute holding up a Hall’s Mechanic and Body Shop sign.”

  “Damn, that is good.” Dane glared at Tate for even coming up with the idea. “Fine. We're agreed. But, I know for a fact I'll win. Drink up.”

  She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “You have no idea who I am.”

  “Who is that?” Dane asked.

  “I'm a Hall.” She lifted her chin. “We don't lose.”

  “Huh.” The way she'd said it with such pride sounded ingrained. He tried to hold that thought and what it could mean, but the bar's temperature had gone from cool to fry your balls hot. He unzipped his jacket and threw it across his leg. “Then show me how a Hall wins.”

  She bent beneath the bar and lined up eight glasses. She poured like a pro, straight down the line. “Go!”

  By the third one he couldn't stop laughing long enough to drink. After every shot Brooke's face would scrunch up like she was about to sneeze, ball her hands into a fighter stance, and whimper. He finished after her, but he was still chuckling.

  “Never drink like that again,” he said.

  She pressed a hand to her chest but stared him down. “Shut it. My chest is on fire,” she wheezed.

  He laughed harder. “Is a Hall throwing in the towel?”

  She looked at him partially impressed and in horror. “You just belted those damn things down like they were water.”

  His mind fuzzed at the edges and his chest burned from the liquor. He'd had too many shots, but it was too late now for that regret. “Peyton has family dinner. I have annual family trips. Last one was Russia. Vodka. Lots of vodka.”

  She made a face. “Family trips?”

  He checked to his left and blinked. His friends were gone. He glanced around the bar. Tate was helping Peyton. Reid was somewhere in the crowd, either picking up empties or delivering drink orders. He'd gotten his hat back from his sister and had put it on his fat head. Dane glanced back at Brooke. They were alone. In a room full of people, but he hadn't noticed anyone but her.

  He poured himself another drink, conceding for the moment. “Don't get me wrong. I love my family but the love wears a bit thin after three weeks together.”

  “No one ends up dead? You must have the patience of a saint or your family isn't half bad.” She leaned on the bar again and that was where all his focus went.

  Full, soft, beautiful brown breasts. His palms itched to cup them, bring them up to his mouth and taste her. He sighed, finished the drink and tipped the glass upside down. “For the record, I win the drinking contest. But, yes, my family is like the Huxtables.”

  Her cheeks were flushed and her gaze had lost most of the edge it held whenever she looked at him. “Your love of sweaters make sense.”

  “I flirte
d with fashion design until I fell in love with literature.”

  Her brows lifted. “That's a huge change.”

  “My parents indulged me when I was young. I could draw and I liked clothes. I had a hip-hop phase. Suit phase. Everything in between. So, they sent me to some camps. Found internships and apprenticeships that would further my career when I got older. I wasn't impressed with the behind-the-scenes of being a fashion designer. I didn't know what to do and then I discovered Robert J. Parker. He was completely different from anyone I had ever read at my private school. Books became my passion. I didn't just want to read them or own them. I wanted to share that love.”

  Someone took the stage, and the music blasted out the karaoke speakers. For a second indecision played over her features and then she shrugged. He sighed, not ready for the conversation to end. He was curious how she became a mechanic. She'd probably dress him down if he said she didn't look like a car nut. After talking to her the past few weeks, he’d decided she would have made one hell of a CEO or some kind of business consultant.

  But ending their conversation before he went way too deep into her past was probably for the best.

  He shrugged too and turned toward the crowd. It would never be a club. Not by a long shot. Whoever was singing was drunk enough to believe they could have made it as an artist. The song had a nice beat, and he was drunk enough to not care about anything else. He spotted a pretty girl near him, not from town, so he smiled.

  It caught her eye. He rose and went to flirt with someone who wasn't worse than his ex.

  *****

  Brooke was drunk. Had to be. Anger crept up her throat and squeezed off any air.

  Hours before, he’d had his lips plastered on hers, and now he had those same hands she'd craved for, lusted after, on someone else.

  They weren't a couple, but she couldn't shake the intense emotion. Yup. She was drunk. And, not jealous because that word implied what she felt for him was more than passing attraction.

  Seething was a better word. For thirty minutes he'd fooled her into thinking he wasn't the chauvinistic jackass she'd thought him to be. He was upper-middle class, but she damn sure couldn't hold that against him, given her own upper middle-class background. But growing up not having to fight for every little thing skewed her worldview and likely his.