Strictly Pretend (The Salinger Brothers #6)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

EMMA

The sea of yurts – tents with a conical roof and a pretty name – have been erected in a wooded glade, presumably to lend some shade. Not that the shade is enough to keep them cool – each one has air conditioning running inside them – and as we step through the wooden door the blast of cool air hits my face like a welcome embrace.

I can feel Brooks’ presence right behind me as I walk in and take in the opulent interior. No money has been spared here. The floor is tiled with cool white marble, and at the center of the room is a four-poster bed. It has nets on each side, presumably to protect us from whatever insects like to nibble on you in Montana at this time of year. There’s also a sofa and coffee table on one side, and on the other is a dining table with two chairs. Another door at the back leads to a fully plumbed bathroom, complete with his-and-hers sinks, a double size shower, and a toilet.

There are at least a hundred of these yurts in the gladed woodland. I can’t even imagine the cost of renting the tents, let alone plumbing them and arranging for electric. It’s another world.

I turn around to make a joke to Brooks about the bathroom being ‘intense’ – but he’s walking around the main room, looking in light fixtures and running his hands over the wooden frame that the canvas is fixed to.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Nothing, darling. Come here.” He holds out his arms to me. It takes a second to realize I’m supposed to be walking into them. When I do, it’s nothing like the passionate embrace he gave me after I accepted his fake proposal. His arms are stiff and unyielding as they wrap around me.

“Twenty-four-seven,” he murmurs.

Oh. He was looking for bugs. Not the insect ones, the hearing ones. What kind of security operation does he think Cassie’s dad is running? They can’t listen in on everybody. It would take an army of spies.

I open my mouth to point that out to him, but this man can already read me like a book. He lets out an annoyed grunt and before I can utter a word he puts his mouth against mine.

If his embrace was awkward, his mouth is pure heaven. So soft, yet firm. Demanding, yet giving. He deepens the kiss and I pretty much melt against him as his hand slides down my back and into the dip between my spine and my ass.

When we part, I’m dizzy and I can’t remember at all what I was supposed to be saying.

And of course, his smirk is about a mile wide. It annoys me.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says. “I couldn’t help myself. You’re beautiful.”

I roll my eyes at him. And then I take out my phone and pull up my notes app, because there’s no point in sending a text to him. I jab my finger on the screen to write out the message and pass it over to him.

There’s no way anybody is listening. There are a hundred tents here. Plus all the guests staying at the main ranch and in the barns. Cassie’s dad would need about five hundred spies to listen in on everybody.

Brooks looks at my screen and sighs. I swear the man sighs more than anybody I’ve ever met.

He doesn’t need an army. They’ll use AI to do the initial screening, and only the ones that seem abnormal will be escalated. You know, like people conspiring to lie.

He hands the phone back to me. I read it, my jaw tight.

Isn’t it illegal to record us without our consent? I tap out.

He takes my phone again. Did you sign the waiver that got sent out with the invitation?

I blink. I’m not sure.

He lifts a brow. Well I did, and I’m pretty sure I gave my consent to audio recording. And since this is a one-party state, that consent covers both of us when we’re talking.

So they could record us having sex and that would be okay? I tap out. I’m feeling annoyed.

Isn’t that a moot point? He types out.

Well yes. But they don’t know that. I lift my eyes to his before typing again. And at least then somebody would find out what you sound like when you come.

His gaze lingers on my phone screen before he hands it back to me, no reply written. He lifts his eyes to mine and grins. I roll my eyes back at him. Not being able to speak to him – at least about the most important thing going on in my life right now – is excruciating.

I never realized how much I used conversation to work out my emotions.

“Who were you talking to on the phone earlier?” I ask, just because the silence is getting to me. Anyway, if somebody is listening in, it would be normal to have a conversation about that.

“My brother.”

“Which one?” I ask, walking over to the bed and pushing down on it, because I want to test out just how firm the mattress is.

“Myles. The oldest. He wanted to discuss a business transaction,” he tells me, walking over and standing next to me. He runs his hand along my side, and it sends a shiver down my spine before I realize he’s looking for my phone again.

He slides it out from the little pocket in my yoga pants and holds it out for me to unlock it with my face before he opens the notes app again.

“Is he the handsome one?” I ask, mostly because I want to see his reaction. One night when we were exchanging details of our lives he sent me a photo of him with his five brothers. They’re all stupidly handsome, but I’m enjoying riling him.

“If you like that kind of thing.”

“Well, he looks like you, so of course I like that kind of thing,” I say, my voice flirty. Brooks blinks, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he holds out my phone screen.

Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor.

“I can’t wait to curl up with you in this bed,” I say, my voice husky. “Oh, the things I plan to do with you.”

His jaw tightens. He types out another message.

Or you can sleep on the floor.

My mouth twitches. This could actually be fun.

“It’s so comfortable,” I say, sitting down on it and bouncing. “Shame neither of us will get much sleep tonight. Come try it out with me.” I pat the bed next to me and then I lie back, trying not to smile too wide.

“It’s fine. I have some unpacking to do,” he tells me.

“I’m offering you my body and you want to unpack?” I say it loudly enough that he winces. “We just got engaged. Don’t you want to consummate it?” If he’s going to shut me up every time I try to talk to him with a kiss, I’m going to tease him until he can’t stand it. It’s only fair.

“It’s very warm,” he mutters.

“That’s because you’ve got way too many clothes on.” I say it in my huskiest, most seductive tone. Then I roll onto my knees and reach for him, sliding his jacket from his shoulders.

“Emma…” There’s a strange warning in his voice as I slide my hand into his.

“Brooks…” I breathe.

His lips part as he exhales softly. He lets me pull him toward me until our bodies touch. The bed is so high that kneeling on it gives me a couple of extra inches, but he still towers over me. I slide my hand from his and put my palms between us on his chest. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

When I incline my head to look at him, there’s a darkness as he stares back at me. He looks almost angry, but not quite. I can’t place the emotion exactly, but it’s strong enough to make my heart hammer against my chest.

This man is so stupidly good looking. I open my lips and a needy breath escapes. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.” It’s supposed to be funny but it comes out wrong. Like I’m saying it for real.

Brooks reaches out, his palm curling around my jaw, his fingers lifting my head so he can stare straight into my eyes. I don’t know what he can see in them – I don’t know how I’m feeling myself – but that stare, it’s so hot I feel like I’m about to implode.

And because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know when to stop, my fingers reach for his shirt buttons. “All mine,” I whisper, unfastening them one by one. His shirt gapes open and I realize what I’m doing.

I can’t touch him without his consent. We didn’t talk about this type of touching. Even if we’re both ‘all in’ it would be wrong. I pull my hands away, but then he surprises me with his next move.

He shucks his shirt off and lets it fall to the floor, and every sane thought I had in my brain disappears. Every part of him is sculpted. Not in a thick, over testosteroned body builder kind of way. No, not at all. He has muscle definition that Da Vinci would have drawn pictures for. Like every rise and fall of his body has a purpose.

Though right now, the purpose seems to be aimed straight at me.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell him. He doesn’t blink. And I realize he doesn’t know if I’m playing or if I’m for real.

I’m not sure I know myself.

“Can I?” I whisper, holding my hand out to touch him.

“You don’t need to ask,” he tells me, capturing my gaze with his.

I run the tip of my tongue over my dry lips, deciding where to start. With his shoulders, I think. I trace his bare flesh from the back of his neck to the curve of muscle over his shoulder joint, where it meets his arm.

Then I do the same to the other side, my touch light, my concentration hard.

Taking his hand, I pull his right arm up, then trace the hardness of his bicep muscle, the inside of his elbow. He lets out a long breath as I reach his wrist, then his hand, turning it over so I can trace his palm.

“You have a deep heart line,” I tell him.

“What does that mean?” he asks thickly.

“It means you love hard and feel deeply.”

I wait for him to laugh at me but he doesn’t. He just swallows hard.

“Where did you learn to read palms?” he asks, as I take his other hand and trace his left arm the same way I did his right. I’ve always liked symmetry, and I’m all about fairness. Each part of him deserves the same attention.

“An old book at the shop. I used to read a lot of them during my school vacations.” I gently let his hand go, then reach up to place my palms against the very top of his chest. Like I’m about to push him away, but I have no intention of doing that.

Instead I slide them down until I reach his pectoral muscles. “What else did you learn?” he asks, his voice rough.

I feel the tiny peaks of his nipples against my palms. “One year I learned all about ancient Rome. Another time I learned how to write in calligraphy.” I slide my hands down, my fingers brushing against his nipples and he lets out a groan.

“Then there was the year I found an old copy of the Kama Sutra,” I tell him.

Our gazes meet. I trail my fingers down to the waistband of his pants and his eyes widen.

“I learned a lot from that.” He’s hard. I can tell that from the ridge pressing against his pants. And I’m not immune, either. My body feels tingly. Between my legs feels damp. I trace the line of his waistband with my index finger.

“Like what?” he asks. His voice rough.

I reach for the zipper of his pants, tracing the ridge of his erection. “That sex is an art,” I murmur. “That it shouldn’t be rushed.” I lean down to press my lips against his stomach, feeling the hard ridge of his muscles there. “That good sex starts in the mind and continues into the body.” I look up at him. There’s a fascination in his eyes as I kiss his navel, his hips, then the brief line of hair that disappears into his waistband. “That pleasure should be given and received in equal measure.”

He reaches down, cups my face. “Emma…”

I’m not sure I’ve ever been this turned on. And it’s been way, way too long since I touched somebody like this. All the anxiety and heightened tension of our agreement rushes out of my body as I feel the warmth of his skin against my hands.

I just want to stop thinking and start feeling for a minute.

I kiss his stomach again, then reach for the button and zipper on his pants as I look up at him, my eyes a question.

He nods in answer and I unfasten the button. Slowly. My movements are even slower as I slide his zipper down. The need to see this part of him is overwhelming. I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the desire heating between them.

“Emma! Are you in there?”

The sound of hammering on the door makes us both jump.

“It’s Mia. Are you decent? Can I come in?”

Panic washes over me as I look at Brooks. “Um, just a second,” I shout out. “We’re getting changed.”

“Oh hell, I didn’t disturb you in the middle of sex, did I?” There’s an embarrassed giggle.

“No, of course not.” I jump off the bed and almost run to the door. There’s a lock on it, but neither of us thought to use it. From the corner of my eye I see Brooks zipping his pants before he leans down to pick up his shirt. “We’re just getting changed out of our traveling clothes.” The heat in my cheeks won’t go away. Nor will the memory of the way his body felt against my fingers.

It's like there’s an ache in me I never knew existed. Maybe it didn’t until now. All I want to do is shut out the world and go back to my exploration of him.

I want to touch him. Kiss him. Taste him.

I turn to check if Brooks is decent, but he’s right behind me, reaching past my waist to open the door. He has his shirt on, but it’s still open.

Then he steps back and pulls me with him as he opens it.

“Mia,” he says, giving her the smile that I now know is fake. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She steps inside. “Aren’t these great? Can you imagine the effort it took to put them all up? They must have had an army of workers here.”

“How was the cattle drive?” I ask her.

“Hot. We just got back and we’re heading over to the lake for a swim. I wondered if you’d like to come.”

I frown. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

She winks. “Nor did I. Just swim in your underwear. Nobody’s going to care.”

Brooks is still holding me against his bare chest. It’s completely distracting. “Um…”

“Come on.” She tugs at my hand, giving Brooks a sly look. “We have so much to catch up on. Brooks, you’re coming too, right?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

I can’t see his face so I have no idea if he’s happy or annoyed about this one. Knowing him, it’s probably the latter.

“Come on then.” She pulls me out through the door. Brooks lets me go, but the feeling of his hands on my stomach still lingers. So does the confusion because I don’t know what’s going on in my head but it needs to understand the difference between real and fake.