Chapter 20 - Dani #2
I huffed out a laugh, caught off guard by how much I needed to hear that. “Good to know.”
She lifted her can in a mock toast. “Speaking of men who don’t deserve us, I’m getting married again.”
It took me a second to process. “Wow, really? Congratulations.”
Her grin widened. “Thank you. And before you ask, yes, Carolina already knows. Mitchell actually asked her before he asked me. Got down on one knee and everything.”
My hand flew to my chest. “Stop it, that’s ridiculously cute. My hormones can’t handle it.”
“She said yes before I did,” Allie relayed with a shake of her head, but her smile was fond, her gaze tender as it flicked back toward her daughter shrieking under the tent.
And just like that, the air between us shifted—lighter, easier. No sharp edges, no competition. Just two women, bound by the same little girl, standing shoulder to shoulder on the edges of delicious chaos.
Later that night, the house finally stilled. Gone were the shrieking children and frosting bombs and rainbow-sprinkled madness. All that remained was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the steady sound of Brooks brushing his teeth in the en suite bathroom.
I’d showered, scrubbed off what felt like two pounds of sticky residue, and pulled on one of his shirts.
And like the rest of the clothes I had stolen from him, it swallowed me whole, the hem brushing my thighs, the sleeves hanging past my elbows.
Who needed a shopping spree when you had access to your own personal Brooks Brothers?
Minus the brother. Brooks had two stepsisters.
When he finally crawled into bed beside me, I expected him to immediately pull me into his arms. Instead, he grabbed my ankle and tugged until both my feet were in his lap.
“Woah,” I said when he dragged me halfway across the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.” My eyes rolled back into my head when he started kneading slow circles into my arch, his thumbs strong and sure. “You were on your feet all day.”
I melted back against the pillows with a groan I wasn’t proud of. “Holy shit.”
He smirked, eyes glinting as he worked over another knot. “I’m serious, kitten. You’re doing too much.”
I let my eyes fall shut, caught between bliss and exhaustion. “Your ex is getting married again,” I murmured, changing the subject. He could scold me all he wanted tomorrow, but tonight, I was gonna soak up his hands on my body.
“I know.” His voice was quiet, steady.
“Do you ever think about getting married again?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, like my mouth had gone rogue while my brain was still catching up. Where the hell had that come from? We’d never discussed marriage before. Hell, we’d never even defined whatever our relationship was.
Dating, sure. Sleeping together, technically, but only in the most literal sense of the word. But marriage? Love? Those conversations lived in a box labeled too soon, shoved somewhere behind the part of my brain currently consumed with hormones and cupcake wars.
And yet here I was, throwing it out there like it was no big deal. Like my heart wasn’t thudding in my chest, waiting for him to flinch.
His thumbs stilled, just for a beat, before he said, “To you? Sure.”
My eyes flew open. “How do you say something like that so casually?”
He leaned over, brushing his lips against my temple, his voice rough. “Kitten, you should know by now that there’s nothing casual about my feelings for you.”
Heat shot straight through me, pooling low in my belly. My thighs pressed together under the hem of his shirt, which suddenly felt dangerously short.
Brooks noticed.
His hands slid up from my feet to my calves, slow and teasing, his gaze fixed on mine. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”
I swallowed hard. “About what?”
“That shirt. Coming off. My fingers touching you, fucking you. How long it’s been since I had you under me.” His voice dropped, gravel and sin. “Too damn long.”
My pulse spiked, traitorous and eager. “You’re awfully confident for a man who just spent the day losing a cupcake war.”
His grin turned wolfish as his hands pushed higher, skimming bare skin. “Sweetheart, I always win where it counts.”
My breath hitched, every nerve lighting up. Take me now. I wanted to drag him down over me, fist his shirt in my hands, and erase the weeks we’d spent holding back like fucking idiots thanks to me and my stupid mouth. I was already arching into him, needy and reckless.
“Brooks . . . ,” I pleaded.
His mouth brushed mine, featherlight, enough to spark but not satisfy. The heat coiled low in my belly, fierce and demanding.
I wasn’t above begging. Not when his hands were sliding higher, his voice turned to smoke and gravel in the dark, and every inch of me ached for him to finally, finally stop holding back.
The thing was, I wasn’t a woman who begged. Not for favors, not for attention, not for anyone. I’d learned long ago what it cost to need someone more than they needed me. Begging was a weakness. Surrender.
But with Brooks?
It was trust. It was laying myself bare and saying take me apart and put me back together. I would let him do both, so long as I got to do the same, too. Turnabout was fair play.
But before I had a chance to literally get down on my knees and beg him the way we both wanted, he pulled back.
I blinked, stunned, chasing his mouth without meaning to.
“Please don’t look at me like that.” His thumb traced the line of my jaw, tender in a way that gutted me. “You’ve been on your feet all day, and I’m not about to push you when you’re this tired.”
“But I want—”
“Oh, I know what you want,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead that was somehow both infuriating and unbearably sweet. “And believe me, I want it too. But when I finally get inside you again, kitten, I’m not stopping.”
His certainty and restraint were somehow even sexier than if he’d just rolled me under him and given us the ride we were both craving. My chest ached with equal parts adoration and sexual frustration.
Mostly sexual frustration.
Brooks smirked at the look on my face, thumb still stroking along my jaw. “Don’t forget, I was in the trenches today, too. Cupcake wars, six-year-olds hopped up on sugar? I’m not twenty-two anymore. That shit nearly killed me.”
A laugh burst out of me, sharp and helpless, even as heat still pulsed low in my belly. “What happened to all that stamina I’ve been hearing about?”
“I left it under the tent, buried under six feet of fondant,” he said, grin flashing.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he murmured into my hair, smug and tender all at once.
Unfortunately for me, he was right.