Strictly Pretend (The Salinger Brothers #6)

BONUS EPILOGUE

Some years later…

EMMA

I fold up the book I’ve been reading and look at the crowd of children with smiling faces, sitting criss-cross on the rug the bookshop has laid out. Even after all this time it’s still so strange to see my name on the front of this book.

Emma Robbins-Salinger

I started writing childrens’ poems as a way to entertain all our nieces and nephews whenever we had family gatherings. Now, all these years later, I have six books to my name, and I’ve visited every continent – bar Antarctica – to read them out loud, sometimes in languages I’ve never encountered before.

But today is special. I’m sitting on an old chair that we brought with us from the old bookshop. After we got married, Brooks and I worked on a plan. He needed a project – because he resigned from running Salinger Estates after our wedding and moved to Oak Hollow – and I had a vision of creating a whole chain of bookshops along the eastern seaboard. We mostly sell new books now, though we’ve kept the warehouse going for internet orders of older books.

Granddad finally retired. He’s living his best life meeting up with his buddies every day to play chess and shoot the breeze outside the local coffee shop. He’s still addicted to flat whites, but takes them uncaffeinated these days.

“Everything is bad for me at my age,” he grumbled over the phone to me last night. “I might as well just put myself in a deep freeze and be done with it.”

When I stand, the children mill around me, asking me with excited voices about the book. This one is called It’s Okay Not to be Okay and it’s close to my heart because it’s about losing people, going through grief, and finding a way out of it.

I feel an arm slide around my back. “Hey.” Brooks kisses my cheek. “You have ten minutes before we have to leave.”

“Give me twenty,” I say, grabbing a pen because there’s a little girl holding out her brand new book, beaming as I lean over and write her name and then sign my own below it.

He chuckles because he knows we’ll stay as long as it takes to talk to every single kid. And it’s not like he’s averse to chatting with them either. It’s funny how much children gravitate to him. I tease him that it’s because he has resting asshole face and they know where they stand with him.

He tells me it’s because he has natural charisma. It’s probably both.

It actually takes an hour before everybody has left the bookshop. I already sent the staff home – Marnie, who manages this outlet – has two boys who play baseball in the summer, and I know tonight is a game night. It’s been a while since I’ve had to close down a bookstore, but Brooks and I do it together, the same way we do everything together.

When we lock the door and switch on the alarm, he takes my hand in his. The night is sultry, and he looks stupidly handsome in his shirt and dark pants.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” he asks me, his eyes crinkling.

“About a hundred times. But I’m willing to hear it again.”

He leans forward, his warm lips brushing mine, and I feel that tingle I always get when he’s close. “I’m so damn proud of you. I can’t wait to show you how much when we get into the cabin.”

“It’s a six hour drive to Virginia,” I remind him, checking my watch. It’s already seven, so it’s going to be a late one. But I know he’s excited to see his brothers and their families. Especially his nieces and nephews. We both are. If we get there tonight, we’ll all be in the lake by the morning, goofing around and splashing each other.

He opens the door to his sports car – his not-quite-mid-life-crisis on wheels – and I sit down, watching as he strides casually around the front then into the driver’s seat. We usually take turns driving this baby, but Brooks has offered to drive all the way tonight, which I’m completely fine with. After traveling for six months promoting my latest book, all I want to do is sit back and relax with my husband.

“By the way,” he murmurs, his hand behind me on my seat as he reverses out of the space. “I remembered to pack Francie’s gift.”

“You did?” I pat his thigh. “I’m proud of you.”

He grins, because he’s terrible at packing. But great at everything else. And the whole reason we’re heading to Virginia for the weekend is because it’s his sister’s birthday.

“Can you believe she’s turning eighteen?” I ask him.

“Nope. Because I’m only twenty-one.” He winks at me. He’s actually forty-one, to my thirty-nine. And he’s only gotten better with age. He has this smooth confidence that I only ever aspire to feel. Nothing phases him. He just goes with the flow and makes sure I’m happy.

I’m also not averse to the sprinkling of silver hair that’s starting to appear in his dark locks. He’s the last of his brothers to get any gray and I’ve been waiting for it. I love the effect that time has on him.

“Are you looking at me again?” he murmurs, a smile on his lips as we pull onto the road.

“Just wondering how long it’ll take until you’re fully gray,” I tease.

He lifts a still-dark brow. “Just because you haven’t got any gray hair yet.”

“It’s a redhead thing,” I tell him. “It’ll happen. And anyway, I like you like this. All sophisticated and elegant.”

“Elegant?” he muses. “That’s a new one. Annoying. Grumpy. I get those a lot.”

“Grumpy and elegant are my thing,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss his jaw. There’s a little beard growth there. Enough for it to scrape my lips.

“Well then I’m looking forward to bending you over our couch in a grumpy and elegant way as soon as we get to the cabin,” he tells me, shaking his head.

“You can wait that long?” I tease. “You must be older than I thought.”

“Well I wasn’t planning on pulling over and having you against the hood.”

I tip my head to the side, loving the way we never run out of words to say. “Well that’s disappointing.”

He chuckles and it warms me. “I’m forty-one,” he says, “I think my car sex days might be over.”

“It’s an interesting hypothesis,” I muse, looking up at the moon. The same one I howled at all those years ago, not knowing Brooks was watching me. “But there’s only one way to prove it.”

“There is?”

“Pull over,” I whisper, pointing at the trees in the distance.

“Here?”

We both know this area well. To get from Oak Hollow to the interstate involves a whole network of country roads. This one is full of trees and wasteland. “Remember that time we had Rowan and Abigail in the car and Rowan needed to throw up?”

“You’re really selling it to me here.” He grins.

“Anyway, we stopped right here and the scenery was so pretty and quiet.”

“It was?”

“Pull over and find out,” I tell him.

So he does, slowing the car down and taking the small rocky lane to our right. We’re only off the main road for a minute before it feels like we’re completely secluded.

“You know you can get a ticket for car sex?” he tells me, his eyes still crinkled the way I love them.

“I was hoping for an orgasm,” I tell him. “But a ticket is okay.”

He laughs and pulls my face to his, kissing me softly. He’s a man who likes to take his time, no matter where we are or what we’re doing. He’s never in a rush, because the moment we’re in is everything to him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting me over until I’m straddling him. It’s a damn tight squeeze, so he presses the button and his seat goes backward, giving us more room. His eyes meet mine, and they’re dark. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’m not sure.”

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, my jaw. Then he trails down my throat, kissing the special spot beneath my ear. The sensation shoots straight between my thighs, making me groan.

He slides his hands down my sides, until his palms are cupping my hips, and he starts to roll me against him. I can feel that he’s already hard and waiting for me.

Pushing me back so he can look at me, he unbuttons the blouse I’m wearing, then kisses the swell of my breasts where they meet the lace of my bra. He’s murmuring softly, telling me how pretty these are, how good I feel, how much he wants me.

The same way I want him.

I reach between us, my hand pressing against his thickness. Then I unbutton his trousers and slide my hand inside, my fingers curling around him as I start to move my hand.

“Christ,” he mutters, pushing my bra down to expose my nipples. He worships each one with his warm mouth, his tongue teasing, his teeth biting me softly. Then he’s touching me there, letting out a grunt of appreciation when he feels how damp my panties are.

This man is a walking ball of pheromones. Sue me.

Because car sex isn’t ever as smooth as it looks in the movies, it takes a couple of minutes and a few Kama-Sutra-esque positions for me to take off my panties and for him to slide his pants down until the hardest part of him is exposed. Then he lifts me back over him, his mouth gentle against mine as he slides inside me.

I gasp against his lips.

I’ll never get tired of the way he feels when we’re together like this. The way he dominates me with just a slide of his hips and a whisper in my ear.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, as I start to roll my hips against him. He angles himself so I can feel him right where it causes me to see stars. I’m so full of him in every way.

I never want it to stop.

I tangle my fingers into his hair, my mouth moving against his, my body warm and tingling as we move together like one. His hands are on my hips, then on my breasts, on my stomach, before I feel his finger teasing me at my most sensitive spot, making my back arch with pleasure.

“Brooks…”

“Let go,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And just like that, my heart is full of him, too. Because this man always has me. He’s always on my side, my biggest cheerleader. My rock. “You too,” I tell him. “I need you to come inside me.”

“Not a damn problem.”

His finger circles against me as we move our bodies to a rhythm as old as time. And as I reach the peak he’s there, holding me, loving me, telling me how beautiful I am. How much he wants me.

And when I fall, he’s there, still holding me as I arch my back and whisper his name. I tighten around him and he lets out a low oath before he’s following me into oblivion, surging inside me, telling me he loves me.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, kissing him softly as we hold each other tight. “And you’re definitely not too old for car sex.”

brOOKS

We’re woken up the next morning by a barrage of fists against the front door of the cabin. Emma mumbles something and rolls over, and I kiss her cheek softly before grabbing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to pull on.

Tiptoeing quietly out of the bedroom, I pull the door closed behind me because my wife deserves to finally catch up on some sleep.

When I open the curtains, I see a crowd of my nieces and nephews standing on the other side of the glass door. I give them a grin and open the lock, sliding the door open as I put my finger to my lips.

“Aunt Emma’s asleep,” I tell them. “Let’s give her a chance to rest.”

“But you’re coming swimming, right Uncle Brooks?” Oliver asks.

“Yep. Let me shower quickly and I’ll be right out.” I look around. Now that all of the kids are older and they’re better swimmers we’re not as panicked every time one of the kids goes in the lake. But I’m still relieved when I see Charlie, Lila, and Francie – my sister – already in the water. Right now they’re all seventeen and the three of them are great swimmers.

Francie grins when she sees me, swimming over to the deck. “Hey, big bro,” she says, pulling herself out of the water and hugging me.

“Hey Francie. Happy birthday for tomorrow. You ready for the party tonight?”

She was born at exactly midnight. So she chose tonight to celebrate.

“Yeah. My friends are arriving this afternoon.” She shrugs, and I’m kind of hit by how old she looks. She’s the only female Salinger sibling and she’s too damn beautiful for her own good.

“They know there’s no alcohol allowed, right?” I ask her.

“As if you didn’t drink at eighteen,” she says, shaking her head.

“Yeah, but what I do and what you do are…”

“Different standards.” She rolls her eyes. “Sure, we won’t be drinking. At least not in front of you.”

With that she dives back into the water, hitting the surface so elegantly she’s almost swan-like.

We’re gonna have to watch her like a hawk tonight.

For the next hour it’s just me and the kids in the water, playing polo and sharks and hanging out. One by one, their parents get up. They were all in bed by the time Emma and I arrived last night, so they come over and hug me and ask about Emma and her book tour, and then the conversation, naturally, turns to tonight’s party.

Ava, Myles’ wife, rolls her eyes when we start talking about how we’re going to stop Francie and her friends from getting near the alcohol.

“I’m not saying it’s a good thing. But she’s eighteen,” Ava points out. “And I know for a fact that none of you were abstinent at parties when you were that age.”

We all look at Myles, who shrugs. “I was the one mopping up most of your vomit,” he points out. “Sometimes I like to entertain Ava with the stories of your misspent youths.”

Ava narrows her eyes at him, then concentrates on us. “Seriously, give Francie a break. It’s bad enough that every single one of you acts like you’re her dad. It’s her birthday, be nice to her.”

“Technically, it’s her birthday tomorrow,” Liam points out, grinning.

“We’ll be nice at midnight,” Eli agrees.

Ava looks at me. “Brooks?”

I shrug. “We can’t help it. She’s our kid sister. We’re always gonna want to take care of her.”

“That’s it, I’m washing my hands of all of you.”

“Who’s washing their hands?”

I turn to see Emma walking over. She’s wearing the most spectacular swimsuit. I let out a low breath.

She comes to kiss me. “You should have woken me up,” she says.

“You’re exhausted. And tonight’s going to be a late one. I thought you should sleep.”

“They’re all ganging up on Francie,” Ava tells her, the tattletale. “We’re going to have our work cut out keeping them off her back tonight.”

“I know a way to calm this one down,” Emma says, kissing my jaw. I close my eyes for a moment, because she’s not wrong. I’m putty for this woman.

“Yeah, I’m thinking we’re all going to have to use our best feminine wiles,” Ava agrees, looking over at Myles. His eyes catch hers and they both smile this secret smile that I never used to understand.

Until I met Emma. And now I know exactly what they’re smiling about. The same thing I smile about whenever I look at my wife.

I love you. I know every part of you. You’re always on my side. Plus the sex is amazing. Want some more?

Not necessarily in that order.

Ava catches Emma’s eye. “I think we need to get the other girls together. Make a plan.”

“Sounds good to me,” Emma agrees. “I’ll bring the cocktails.”

“Cocktails?” Liam says. “I want some cocktails.”

Ava grins at him. “Come over to our side. We get to protect Francie from her evil brothers, drink mimosas, and gossip about sex with the Salinger brothers.”

Liam nods. “I’m in. Who cares about protecting Francie anyway? She’s the toughest cookie I know. She could eat us all for breakfast without even having to burp.”