11. Maddie
11
MADDIE
Maddie had been less nervous about pulling up to the place where Brooks was staying the night before. But now, staring at the enormous lake house, her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, her gut in knots.
What the hell did I get myself into?
Brooks hadn’t ever been nice during their interactions. Maybe civil. At best.
But nice? She wasn’t sure if he was capable of that.
Last night, though, he’d shown a harder edge. Maybe she should have expected that, considering she was blackmailing him.
She checked her reflection in the mirror, trying to put on a mask of calm before she killed the engine to her car. She could handle Brooks Kent, no matter how nasty he got. She’d dealt with plenty worse before. Her family considered her to be the angry customer whisperer—somehow, she always defused sticky situations better than everyone else. Pops claimed she got it from him, and she probably did.
She opened the car door and slipped out onto the paved driveway. Jason Cavanaugh sure knew what he was doing when he’d bought this place and fixed it up. The house was one of the prettiest on the lake now. She’d checked the rental fees for it after Lindsay had told her Brooks had rented it. Not something she would even think of renting for a week.
No doubt Brooks didn’t have any problem spending per night what would be someone else’s monthly income to stay here.
Maddie hurried to the front porch, then rang the doorbell. She was early, but that was normal for her. She always got everywhere fifteen minutes early, at least. Today, it was almost twenty.
When no one answered, she pressed it again.
Could he be out back? He might not hear her if so.
She went around to the back of the house. “Brooks?”
Nothing.
“Hello?”
She made her way closer to the back deck, seeing the sliding glass door to the living room open.
He must be here.
Then she spotted him. He was in the hot tub, leaning back with his eyes closed. He’d shaved, which surprised her, and appeared to be relaxing. Clearly not in a rush to get ready for their meeting time.
She started up the stairs, lifting her long, flowy skirt as she walked. Just as she got to the top of the stairs, Brooks shifted, then stood out of the hot tub, dripping wet . . .
And naked.
She stopped short, staring at him.
God damn, he had a nice body. Well-toned muscle carved his skin, his arms both covered with tattoo sleeves. His stomach was perfectly chiseled, a trail of dark hair dipping to a deep-V that led?—
He turned toward her, then gave a start. “Holy fuck!” He grabbed the edge of the hot tub, tumbling out of it with a yelp.
As he fell to the deck, Maddie took an involuntary step toward him, then stopped again. She turned in an embarrassed circle as he stood, fig-leafing himself with his hand. He yanked an earbud out. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Why the hell are you naked?”
“Because I don’t have a bathing suit and thought I was alone. Why the hell are you so early?”
A flush heated Maddie’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. You didn’t answer the door and—” She turned away. “I’m sorry.”
She could feel his stare—man, was he angry.
“Will you toss me my towel? It’s on the bench beside you.”
Maddie grabbed the gray-striped towel beside her, then flung it toward him.
It landed in the hot tub with a splash.
“Nice shot,” Brooks said wryly, a hint of red on his throat. Probably from the hot water. He fished the soaking towel out, and it landed against the deck with a slap.
“I can go get you another towel,” she offered, looking down.
“No, I’ll get it myself. And get dressed.” He turned and left her there, not bothering to cover his naked ass.
Man, he has a nice ass. For a guy.
She could practically imagine the hardness of that muscular behind, how it would feel to rake her fingers against his hips, and?—
What the hell am I doing?
She moistened her lips, a fresh wave of embarrassment creeping through her. Had she really just been fantasizing about him?
If she was honest, though, it wasn’t the first time the man had been involved in her fantasies. Maybe she hadn’t imagined him , but she’d lain in bed before, listening to that silky voice, lowering her hand between her legs, and . . .
Her core turned to liquid at the distant memory.
Okay, enough. Get ahold of yourself, you idiot.
This was Brooks the Asshole. Not some fantasy man who’d play the guitar for her.
She curled her arms around her waist.
Josh had once written a song for her. “This is for you, beautiful. And someday, I’m going to record it and have it played for our first dance as husband and wife.”
A stab went through her heart.
She sat on the bench, turning away from the house and looking out over the lake. Swiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she sighed. Did Josh still play that song? Would he sing it for Gina, too?
Here at the lake, she’d always found a sense of solace. That was the nice thing about Brandywood. If you wanted company, you could always find someone to share a conversation in town. If you wanted to be alone with your thoughts, there were a ton of beautiful, serene spots to let your soul be at ease.
A heron dove over the sparkling water and flapped its long wings, gliding smoothly. The first hints of fall were showing on the surrounding trees. Soon, everything would be golden and red and breathtaking.
Brooks cleared his throat from behind her, and she stood. He was on the deck again, this time fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt. Flip-flops completed the outfit. His hair was dark and wet, revealing a hint of curl at the top. He looked like a different person without the beard but also . . . not.
He looked like Brooks Kent.
The one who had graced the poster in her bedroom.
A dry lump formed in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“We’ll call it even. I caught you in the shower yesterday, and now it’s my turn to be caught unaware. Care to come inside?” Brooks gestured toward the house.
She nodded, tempted to keep her hands curled around her stomach. She was so nervous she might throw up.
He held the door open for her, and she went past him into the living room. The place was as immaculate as it had been the evening before, without a trace of anyone having been there. “Are Cormac and your sister out?”
“My sister had to go back home for work. Cormac took my niece to the park so I could talk to you.” Brooks went over to the fridge. “Sparkling water?”
Maddie shook her head. “No, thanks.” Did that mean Cormac knew about her attempt to blackmail Brooks?
Brooks shut the door and uncapped his water. He ambled over to the couch. “Have a seat.”
No way she was about to protest or argue with him when he was being polite, so she went over and took the loveseat across from him, crossing her legs at her ankles. He stared her down, a frankness to his perusal that made her shift with discomfort.
“You’ve never blackmailed anyone before, have you?” Brooks said it without a hint of irony or amusement.
“Are you saying you don’t believe I’ll go to the press?” Maddie tilted her head, holding his eye contact. If he didn’t believe that , then she was screwed. Act tougher.
His mouth turned into a slight scowl. “I’m prepared to believe the worst about you, Madison. I haven’t gotten to where I am in life by being naive.”
Something about the way he said her name made her heartbeat speed up. No one ever called her by her full name—just her nickname. It had always been that way.
Yet the sound of her name on his lips felt oddly . . . natural.
Sexy.
Dammit all to hell. Enough, already.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The thing is, I’m not at liberty to commit my band to a concert without talking to the powers that be. I’m not the only person involved, and my band would have to be available. And it’s a big ask. I can’t exactly explain to them why I want to play at some backwoods town fair when I usually play at international venues.”
That wasn’t a no, though.
Dare she hope? “I’m sure you could pull the right strings to make it happen.”
“Maybe.” He sipped his drink. “But it doesn’t exactly feel like an even arrangement. You can’t guarantee me no one will find out about the wreck. And . . . let’s say they did. Let’s say you go to the press. You can’t prove anything other than that I had a car accident—which is , by the way, exactly what happened. Sure, they might spin it, but there’s not any evidence that I was anything other than tired.”
“There’s the fact that you tried to hide it, though, isn’t there?” Maddie kept her shoulders thrown back. “That doesn’t really sound innocent.”
“The only thing I’m guilty of is being famous.” His mouth drew to a line. “Why do you want this favor so bad? What’s in it for you? You could go to a concert of mine anytime you choose. Hell, I was supposed to play a few hours from here just the other night. You weren’t there, and you’re not a fan, so why the interest now?”
Would a little honesty hurt?
Maybe. He might think she was weak and stupid.
Then again, their relationship was already fringed with enough lies on the outside. She had even lied to her family for him. Asked others to lie for her.
She twisted a ring on her finger. She didn’t have to tell him the whole story. Just enough that he would understand the need.
“Until about a week ago, I had River House on the books for the concert. Then they pulled out from the day I’d scheduled them for—which is supposed to be the ‘big night’ for the fair—and were moved to the day before. I’m in charge of filling the spot for Saturday’s musical act now because my family’s business is sponsoring the main stage that night.”
Brooks furrowed his brow. “River House, the country band?”
“Yeah, the one and the same.” Her posture relaxed slightly. He wasn’t being aggressive at all. If anything, he seemed genuinely curious.
“They suck.” Brooks rubbed the bandage on his left hand that he still wore from the day before. “You should consider yourself lucky they pulled out.”
“But they didn’t entirely pull out. They moved to Friday. And now I’ll be lucky if I can find a local band to take that slot.”
“So?” He crossed his arms. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a town fair.”
“The town fair is a big deal. We might be a small town, Mr. Kent, but that doesn’t mean we don’t excel at what we do. I’m not kidding when I tell you we draw a sizable crowd, especially after my grandfather put Brandywood on the map in Maryland a few years ago.”
“You can call me Brooks, you know.”
“Can I?” Her eyes narrowed. “We never went through the formalities.”
Something roguish danced in his eyes. “I suppose we skipped to the part where I nearly saw you naked, I wrecked your store, you cut me with broken glass, blackmailed me, and then definitely saw me naked.”
“Don’t forget I tended to your wounds.”
He smirked. “We should sell our story to River House. They’d make a terrible bro-country song about it.”
Our story. Her diaphragm dropped. He had a way of disarming her that was unexpected. Just like the day before, when she should have been angrier at him. Yet he’d talked her into calling three people to cover his tracks, asking them to lie, then lied to her own family and concealed the evidence of his crash.
Come to think of it, how did he get me to do all that?
He seemed to sense the tension dissolving between them and stiffened. “Like I said, I can’t make any guarantees. Which means I can’t sign your contract.”
She shrugged and stood. “Fine. Then I’ll go to the press.”
His fingers curled around the neck of the bottle. “But then neither of us gets what we want, Madison.”
She stepped toward him. “At least if it’s public, I’ll have more of a guarantee that you’ll actually pay for the damages you inflicted on my business.”
“If it’s about trust, I should warn you that this stunt you’re pulling is doing the opposite of building trust between us.” Brooks set his bottle down on the coffee table and stood. He was several inches taller than her—had to be over six feet—and she had to raise her chin to look him in the eyes.
“Admit it, sweetheart, you need me. River House might suck, but you’re right—you’ve got no chance of booking a bigger band than them in a month. Not for some country fair in Appalachia. And maybe I’m not so dishonest that I won’t pay for the damages to your store, but I sure as hell can take my time doling that money out to you, given your bad behavior.”
“My bad behavior?” She spat a laugh out. “What are you going to do, put me in time-out? Give me a good spanking?”
Oh God, did I just say that out loud?
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking a step toward her.
That intense look in his eyes from the night before returned, and this time, it burned right through her chest. “Don’t throw your weight around with me, Brooks. I may not have many cards to play, but I will play that ace all day if I have to. Either you sign the contract or I walk.”
He edged closer still, using every inch of his body and posture to bear down on her, intimidating, raw . . . masculine energy.
And dammit if her body didn’t seem to betray her when he was this close to her. Her panties were fucking wet.
Damn him.
He scanned her gaze, his gray eyes fierce in their scrutiny. “I’ll sign the contract under one condition.”
Her mouth grew dry as he focused his attention on her lips. “And what would that be?”
“Ten hours of your time this week, whenever I want, no questions asked.”
Huh?
Her brows drew together.
What on earth did he mean by that?
“What for?” She swallowed hard.
“I haven’t decided yet. Don’t worry, I won’t ask for anything illegal. But something about you intrigues me. Most women, hell, most people, are more afraid of me than you are. You’ve got guts. I might find a use for you. Deal?” He held out his hand.
She hesitated. “The fact that people are afraid of you doesn’t make me feel better.”
Ten hours to be at Brooks Kent’s beck and call for god-knows-what?
A wicked gleam lit his expression. “Are you still worried I want to spank you? This isn’t one of those types of deals. There are no safe words with me.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you.” She stared at his hand.
“That was never on the table.” He continued to hold his hand out. “I won’t make you an offer again.”
Her mind raced. She hadn’t expected him to turn the tables on her like this. “But you said you can’t guarantee your band will be there.”
“You let me worry about that. Five seconds or no deal, Madison.”
“Wait, but?—”
“Five . . . four . . .”
Shit. He wasn’t even letting her think about this.
What’s the worst thing he could ask me to do? She knew nothing about him, after all.
“. . . two . . . one.”
She thrust her hand into his. His fingers enclosed around hers, a sizzle of electric current seeming to leap through his touch. A smirk played on his lips. “Good girl.”
“You’re a real ass, you know that?”
“I’d be offended if you thought otherwise. You know how long it’s taken me to spread that rumor?” He released his grip. “You can go. I’ll call you when I figure out what I need you for.”
She drew her hand back, suddenly drained of all confidence.
Did I just make a deal with the devil? Something I now doubt I’ll win?