Chapter 6

Saturday 4.57pm

Brooke

I pull out of Carter’s arms and sniff. “I need a drink. You want a drink?’

I blow my nose and flinch at my puffy reflection in the mirror. I glance at him and find him eyeing me far too seriously.

Concern is knotted into his brow; his body is tense. “What’ve you got?”

I blow out a breath, trying to blow out the stress and the worry as I try to think. “Everything. Aunt Jane liked to drink. My dad told me she used to have incredible parties here before he moved away. Apparently, things got pretty wild.”

He cocks his head at me, his scrutiny so intense, I wish I could peer inside his head to see what he’s thinking.

Instead of inviting more conversation, I grab Carter’s clothes and turn away from him so I don’t have to try to decipher his expression.

I don’t need his pity right now. I just need to forget, and since he’s here for a little longer and since I don’t usually have company, I may as well use it as practice.

I call over my shoulder as I descend the stairs. “Actually, you could help me. I was thinking about trying to create a signature drink for guests.”

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and I turn so I can look at him. He leans against the banister, looking halfway relaxed in his borrowed robe. “You mean like a cocktail?”

I nod, feeling a little silly. “It’s a dumb idea—”

He cuts me off with a frown. “No, it’s not. It’s a good idea. I’ll get the fire going in the dining room, and you can test some out on me.”

Carter doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns and leaves me standing gripping his clothes to my chest.

I half grunt half snort as I head to the laundry. I dump his clothes in with mine and pour in the liquid. I’m not sure if he’s being nice because I cried, but his presence is oddly comforting.

I sigh and step back out into the hallway, again noting the way he fixed the wall without me even mentioning it.

I open the pantry door and gather up as many bottles and mixers as I can carry.

Carter is building the fire as I put my collection on the table. My stomach backflips as he winks at me.

In the kitchen again, I slice a lemon, fill an ice bucket and find a few spoons.

He’s sitting on the couch, leaning back, ankles crossed as I return. His phone is in his hand, fingers poised as he looks up at me.

His expression switches to guarded as he puts his phone on the table.

I can feel his eyes on me as I pour two shots of gin into both glasses and add tonic.

I add some ice and a slice of lemon and extend the drink towards him. He takes the glass and raises his eyebrows as I sit. “Nothing special, I know, but right now I need a drink.”

I sink back into the sofa and close my eyes as I take a large sip. Warmth spreads through me.

Carter doesn’t say anything as I finish my drink and move to make another. My robe parts as I twist, exposing my thigh. His hand slides to my knee, and up further making my skin rise.

I turn around, sinking further into the sofa as I feel the alcohol start to work. Carter moves closer so we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

His fingers slide further up my leg. I should protest but when he abandons his drink and starts kissing my neck, all thoughts of Nate, all thoughts of losing the house, disappear under a wave of desire so strong I nearly spill my drink.

I drink the remainder a second before Carter takes the glass out of my hands. He kisses me again, this time he pushes my robes off my body so my breasts are exposed.

My skin dimples as he flicks his tongue over my nipple and pushes my legs apart.

I lean my head back as he pushes his fingers between my legs and starts fingering me until I’m groaning and near panting with need.

I open my eyes, and his lips find mine. I grab the back of his head as his fingers work me faster and slide inside me easily.

I bury my face in the tender skin of his neck and whimper as I come.

Pleasure surges through me as he pulls me onto his lap. I lose myself in how good his touch feels, how hard his cock is, how much I want him, how he smells, how his tongue is merging with mine.

I pull his robe open, so he’s as exposed as I am, I bend so I can lick the tattoos on his chest.

I run my tongue over his nipples, hair trailing over his skin, getting even hornier when one of his hands slide to my ass and the other fingers my nipple.

He grabs my hips, and I slide over him so he can push his cock inside me. Bliss shoots through me as I start to rock back and forth, moaning loud as he runs his hands through my hair.

I ride him until I can feel a climax building again. I slide his robe off him so I can see all of him, then I grip his shoulders tightly as I start to shudder.

I come hard in quivering ecstasy, core pulsing with pleasure as I try to catch my breath.

Heart rate still speeding, I slide my hands down his arms, feeling the knotted muscle beneath my fingers.

Carter kisses me, tongue teasing me as he squeezes his hands around my waist.

With a grunt, he lifts me and shifts his hands so they’re under my ass. He carries me a few steps until I’m hard against the wall.

He keeps kissing me as he starts to pump. I cling to his back, feeling his muscles tense as he thrusts until he’s making pleasure shoot through me again.

He explodes at the same time I do, our screams competing with each other as my back bangs against the plaster.

Carter’s legs give out, and we tumble in a collapse of sweaty skin in front of the fire.

I lie on top of him, struggling to breathe as his hands wrap around me. He strokes my lower back and ass as his chest heaves.

The slightest rumble coming from the table where his cell lies makes me slide off him to find my robe.

Carter doesn’t seem worried when he puts his hands under his head and stretches out his legs, looking entirely content.

I wrap my robe around me and pull it tight. “Don’t you want to get your phone?”

He shakes his head. “What I want is the drink you promised to make me.”

I frown down at him, alcohol and lust muddying my thoughts as he runs his tongue over his teeth. “Well. I did say I would, and technically, you are my guest. I should be doing everything I can to keep you happy…” I say.

He grins lazily. “Relax. You’re doing a fucking good job of making me happy.”

I tilt my head at him, trying to decide if he’s making fun of me, or being sincere. When all I get from him is a wicked smile as he pushes up on one elbow, I give up and just go with the brief reprieve from thinking about the mess I’m in.

If Carter wants me to ply him with drinks, I can’t think of a single reason not to oblige.

“Okay. But dinner first. I’m not getting hammered on an empty stomach,” I say.

***

Carter

I should be enjoying this a little more than I am. I should be enjoying the warmth from the fire, the candlelight, the way Brooke’s curled into the sofa, legs tucked under her.

I cram another piece of cheese and some spicy meat into my mouth as Brooke tries to tell me about the supplier and how she’s trying to source produce locally.

But somewhere between shit about the farmer’s market, the cheese platter she made for us to eat, and the four gin and tonics, I switched off and started smiling and nodding and thinking about things I’d rather not.

I prod her arm with my empty glass. “How about that drink?”

Her mouth opens in an ‘O’ before she gets off the sofa, stumbling a little as she reaches for a bottle of whiskey. She fumbles with the ice, and a cube lands on the floor beside her feet.

Instead of making another drink for us, she stares down at the ice then at her toes.

There’s a slight slur to her voice. “You know how long it’s been since I had a pedicure?”

Since I figure it’s a rhetorical question, I stay quiet as she holds out her hand and examines her short nails. “Or a manicure? I used to get them all the time. Well, before Nate.”

She says the name with such venom I chuckle which earns me a squinty-eyed glare. “You don’t understand…Nate, he…I was stupid. I trusted him, thought he cared about us, about me. But he was always looking for a way to make money. The faster the better. He wasn’t interested in putting in the work…”

Brooke is rambling, but strangely, I’m curious so I don’t interrupt her. “I’d booked the venue, the caters, everything. I was at a spa, getting my nails done for my bachelorette’s night. I came home to debt collectors knocking on the door, and a note saying he’d gone. I had to explain to everyone he’d left three days before we were getting married. It was humiliating.”

I have no reply, so I just nod slowly, and silently wish I could find this Nate asshole.

Brooke swallows as she shakes her head like she’s trying to shake off a thought. “Anyway, I stayed with a girlfriend, got drunk and decided to move out here where no one would know what an idiot I was.”

Her eyes meet mine and her mouth twists into a scowl. “A note. Can you believe that? After two years, he took everything and left me a note.”

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, meaning every single word. “You want me to go beat the shit out of him?”

Brooke’s eyes widen, then she starts to laugh. “Maybe…maybe break his nose, he was always so damn conceited. I think he spent more time on his hair and clothes than I did. Oh, nails! And you wanted a drink. Give me a sec.”

After her almost nonsensical outburst, she spins on her heel and stalks out of the room.

When it’s apparent she’s not coming back any time soon, I slide across the sofa and take a look at the various bottles she’s lined up.

I’m fixing a whiskey with lime and soda when she strolls in carrying a metal box.

She sits cross-legged in front of the fire and starts pulling out a selection of girly nail crap.

Since this is the most domestic scene I’ve experienced in my entire life, I sit back with my drink and watch as she starts to sort through the colors she wants.

Her lips are puckered when she holds up two tiny bottles and squints in my direction. “Which one do you like?”

I rub my chin, tilt my head, and do all the things that make her think I’m considering when I really don’t give a shit.

“It’s your call,” I say.

That was obviously not the right thing to say. She peers at me like I just suggested we strangle a kitten before she rolls her eyes.

“Never mind,” she mumbles.

She throws one bottle back in the box and unscrews the polish and hold the brush hovering over her toe.

I finish my drink in two gulps, wondering if this sort of thing is normal when she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Damn it. I can’t see my toenails.”

She blinks up at me from her position on the floor. “The light’s fading and I’m…”

Brooke doesn’t need to finish her sentence. It’s obvious she’s toasted. Her eyes are glazed. No wonder she can’t see.

Her bottom lip starts to wobble as she jams the lid back on. “I just wanted to do something…”

I don’t know what the hell I’m saying, but I put my drink to one side and gesture for her to sit down. “I can paint them.”

Her mouth slackens, chin dropping as she tries not to smile. “Um. It’s really tricky.”

I shrug. How hard can it be? I’ve painted plenty of things. Helped Andy’s son paint his model airplanes.

I pat the sofa cushion beside me. “Come here.”

She rises slowly, an incredulous expression on her face as she takes a seat again.

I take the polish out of her hand as she scoots back so she can place her feet on my thigh.

She giggles when I take hold of her feet. I growl and hold her ankles tight as I try to figure out the best method.

I’m about to attempt it when she snorts a laugh. “Could you be any sweeter right now?”

Sweeter? What the fuck?

Brooke leans forward and tries to take the bottle from my fingers but I’m committed and pissed she has no faith in me so I hold it out of her reach.

Her disbelief grows. “I appreciate the offer, but there’s a knack to it.”

I grab one of her toes and twist her foot. “Stay still,” I growl.

The brush is tiny, and the polish is runnier than paint and has sticky quality, but like everything else I learned on the fly, I manage to figure out how to make it work.

She looks as surprised as I feel when I finally sit back, neck and shoulders aching, and she has a full set of dark red nails.

There’s a tiny amount on her skin, but by and large, the paint job is as smooth and clear as the ceiling upstairs.

I roll my shoulders back, put the bottle on the table beside me, and grab my now warm drink.

I pat her legs and send her a look ready to ask how long it takes to dry when I find her staring, tears in her eyes as she tries to smile.

Her fingers are wrapped around her glass but she’s stopped drinking it. My throat gets thick when she gives me a watery smile. “You keep being this sweet to me; I won’t want you to leave.”

I can’t meet her gaze as I swallow more of my drink. But it doesn’t stop the pain spearing into my chest, so I reach over and grab hers and down it in one.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say a word as I ease her legs off me so I can get up. “I’ll go check on my clothes.”

I stalk out the door and go looking for the laundry so I can end a conversation I’m not prepared to have with her.

Not now and considering what she’s going through and the way this is heading, probably not ever.