39. Maddie
39
MADDIE
The sound of a car in the driveway came, and Maddie was at the door of the lake house, barefoot despite the cold. The SUV parked, and Brooks climbed out, wearing a finely tailored suit and tie.
Damn.
When she’d left for work in the morning, he’d still been sleeping.
She didn’t even know where he’d gotten the suit from. He hadn’t had one in the closet, so likely someone had met him with it—but he looked freaking incredible in a suit.
As though he needs the help.
He met her gaze and, despite the serious expression on his face, a smile lit his eyes.
She didn’t wait for him to come to the door, running out to greet him instead.
As she threw her arms around his neck, he caught her and hoisted her up and onto his waist. “Hi, baby,” he whispered in her ear, then caught her lips in a deep, thorough kiss.
Maybe there were paparazzi there.
She didn’t give a shit right now.
She pulled back, searching his gaze. Sunset was well on its way and his eyes reflected the golden hue of the sky. “Hungry?”
“Depends on what’s for dinner. You?”
Maddie bit her lip, throwing a glance at the blank faces of the two nearby bodyguards. It was one thing to have them be in their shadows, but these intimate conversations were hard to have in front of them. “Um . . . maybe. I was going to say I made you something.”
Brooks gave her a questioning glance, then threw his head back and laughed. He set her down, then swatted her on the ass as they moved toward the door. “I meant, are you hungry? But now that I know having you for dinner is on the table, I’ll take you up on that.” He held the door for her.
“Having me for dinner on the table sounds much better than what I made,” she murmured in his ear, then kissed his neck.
He closed the door and pushed her up against it, his hand palming the bare sliver of skin between her crop top and her skirt and sliding to the small of her back. “If you’re going to play sexy housewife, you should think about dressing for the part,” he growled, then nipped her earlobe as he squeezed her breasts, hard.
She pulled the knot on his tie down, her lips inches from his. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m not wearing anything at all under this skirt.”
His eyes glimmered with pleasure, then he slid his hand from her back, down her waistband and over her bare ass. He groaned, his knees buckling ever-so-slightly as he pressed into her. “God, I love you.”
She didn’t mean to freeze at the words, but she did.
What?
He loves me?
He drew her chin between his thumb and forefinger, searching her gaze as though it had just dawned on him he’d said what he’d been thinking out loud.
I love you.
I love you.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
Their mouths came together in a kiss, slow and lingering, her heart racing as his arms swept her against him tightly.
Brooks loves me.
But she knew that.
He’d been so worried a few nights ago after the fishing trip, ready to leave everything and make himself miserable because of his fears and need to take everything on himself.
Yet he’d stayed.
She’d needed him, and he’d stayed.
And then he’d agreed to her long-distance plan, which meant forever seemed like a possibility now.
I love this man so much.
Lifting her into his arms, Brooks carried her into the bedroom. He slowly disrobed them both, then made love to her, lingering over her body, his mouth and hands caressing her, his gaze and words worshipping her. Not frantic, or hot and heavy, but sweet yet soul-achingly sexy, their fingers intertwined, bodies consumed with one another’s.
And absolutely perfect.
As she recovered in his arms, she practically purred and stretched. “I’m never leaving this room again.”
He smiled and kissed her forehead. “It was good for you, then?”
“Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. Much better than the dinner I?—”
She sat bolt upright.
Shit.
Taking the sheet, she ran from the bedroom to the kitchen. The burned smell reached her before she reached it.
“Dammit,” she cried, flying over to the oven. She threw the door open and found her pot roast smoking.
Using potholders, she pulled it out and carried it over to the stovetop, where she banged it down against the grates.
“Is it ruined?” Brooks asked, coming into the kitchen. He’d pulled on a pair of gym pants but remained shirtless.
Why does he look so amazing, no matter what he’s wearing?
Men liked to talk about women’s beauty using terms like “natural” while referring to women with ridiculously expensive hairstyles and precise makeup.
Brooks, on the other hand, was naturally, ridiculously beautiful. Maybe not effortlessly—she was certain those muscles took a lot of work—but still.
“Huh?”
He caught her staring and grinned. “Dinner? Is it ruined?”
She gave a sheepish nod as she lifted the lid. The roast was black. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. Damn you and your hot sex. I hope you’re satisfied.”
He came up behind her and set his arms around her waist, then lowered his chin onto her shoulder, glancing over it toward the pot. “I am satisfied. But still hungry.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “For sex?”
“For dinner, Miss One-Track-Mind.”
“I can’t help it. My boyfriend just told me he loves me, so I’m kind of on cloud nine.”
“We might save some from the middle of the roast if we cut off the edges. Make street tacos out of it.”
“Explain.”
He whistled softly as he went over to the knife block, then pulled a chef’s knife out. “Get a cutting board, then a head of cabbage out of the fridge.”
Maddie raised a brow. “You have cabbage? ”
He shrugged. “I eat a lot of tacos. They’re the perfect food.”
He would say that.
“You really are the perfect man, you know.” Smoothing the sheet over her front, she was distinctly aware that she was still buck naked. “How about I go clean myself up and get dressed? Be back in fifteen minutes?”
“I’m beginning to think this was a trap to get me to satisfy your sexual fantasies and then make you dinner.” He winked at her. “But I’m happy to oblige.”
She almost skipped back to the bedroom.
Pausing for a moment, she reflected on the fact that she’d never felt that happy with Josh. Or with anyone else. In some sense, she could be thankful Josh dumped her as she never would have had this had they still been dating.
Huh. And Naomi was right. Josh had never deserved her.
She had never, ever been so deliriously in love in her life.
When she was with him here at the lake house, it was almost possible to pretend they lived inside a bubble, just the two of them versus the world.
No paparazzi looking in.
No bodyguards staring out.
No rapidly approaching end of rentals or town fair concerts in four days— how in the hell has Brooks already been here almost a month? —or court dates that meant he no longer needed to stay.
No Pops asking her to take over his role at his company to be the face of his business.
But as each of those thoughts pressed in, she found her heart growing heavier and heavier, the clouds encroaching once more.
She got ready quickly, eager to be near him again, and as soon as she stepped out of the bedroom, she heard the soft strum of a guitar.
Brooks sat on a stool in the kitchen, a pencil tucked behind his ear and his guitar in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his jaw held slightly slack as his fingers slid against the neck of the guitar in a barre chord, and there was an exquisite sound of strings against the surface of his skin.
She tiptoed in farther, but he didn’t appear to have noticed her. It was as though he was deaf to the world around him when the guitar was in his hands.
“ You’re still whole and you are worthy . . .”
His deep voice was just a shade above a whisper, and she hugged her arms to her chest, leaning against the wall.
Brooks stopped, wrote something down on a sheet of paper on the counter, then slid the pencil behind his ear again.
Brooks Kent was writing a song.
Maddie’s hand slid up to her throat as she swallowed a lump there.
Maybe he did this in front of people all the time. Maybe not. But for all the times he’d stripped himself down in front of her—physically or emotionally—this felt different.
Like watching a master at work.
He continued as though in a trance for a few minutes, then frowned and looked up. He smiled when he saw there and set the guitar down. “I was wondering what happened to you. I left you a glass of wine on the counter.”
She slipped into the kitchen and found the awaiting glass. “I was enjoying listening to you. You didn’t see me?”
He shook his head as he closed the guitar case. “I had a sudden jolt of inspiration to write down something floating through my head. Everything is ready for the tacos, though. All we have to do is grill the tortillas and heat the shredded beef a bit. The potatoes and carrots in the roast were, sadly, not salvageable.”
“You’re officially my favorite person ever.” She picked up the glass of wine as he moved into the kitchen. “Is this what living with you would be like? Because I’m this close to quitting my job and being a kept woman.”
“I don’t have many references, but I am happy to make lofty promises of being an amazing roommate.” Brooks lit a burner and slid a tortilla onto a grill pan. “Do you want your tortillas soft or a little crispy and charred?”
“Ooo, option B.” She studied the stem of her glass, memories of the heaviness from when she’d been getting dressed pressing against her chest. “Um . . . so I have some news. News that might have a bit of an impact on you. On us , really.”
Brooks looked over his shoulder, the color from his face draining. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “No! I mean, I don’t think I am. I haven’t gotten my . . . I mean, I wouldn’t know yet, but . . .”
He’d grown even paler. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not pregnant, Brooks. I wasn’t even thinking about that, so you completely caught me off guard. I mean, with the amount of unprotected sex we’ve been having, it’s always a super remote possibility even on the pill, I guess, but—” She clearly wasn’t making him feel any better.
Maddie put her hands out in front of her. “Okay, let me start over. I’m not pregnant. But my grandfather asked me today to take over his role and be the face of his company, which is what I wanted to talk about. Not about pregnancy or future babies. Although, maybe we should so that we get that talk out of the way and know where we stand since you’d clearly be miserable if I was pregnant.”
Why did she always do this when she got flustered? She needed to learn when to stop talking.
The corners of Brooks’s eyes narrowed, and he gave her a thoughtful stare, then flipped the tortilla with his fingers.
“I wouldn’t be miserable. I don’t want kids...or never have wanted them before. But I’m open to discussion. It’s . . . just not a great time in my life for any other stressors, especially after the day I had today.”
She tilted her head. “I thought today was a good day? Didn’t you say in your text that the judge dropped the case?”
He nodded and spooned some meat into the grilling tortilla. “She did.”
“Then what?” She approached him slowly, worry creeping in.
“Um, you know what? Why don’t you go first? You had news and I railroaded it with the pregnancy stuff. Your grandfather wants you to be the face of his company?” He started on another taco, not meeting her eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“I—” She had the sudden, urgent need to sip her wine. Swallowing back a large mouthful, she then set the glass down. “I don’t know, Brooks. It’s a lot. His business is based here. People come to Brandywood to see him. The whole show is set here. There’s just . . . a lot to consider.”
“You’d be great at it.” He took one taco off and set it on a plate. “Add some shredded cabbage, avocado, and lime juice to that, will you?”
She took it from him and went to the island, where the remaining ingredients had been placed on a cutting board. “You don’t know that I’d be good at it. I’m not really sure my grandfather knows that either. He just likes that we’re similar in personality.”
“No, he knows. So do I. I watched you on stage that night at the apple festival. You have good stage presence. You’re comfortable there. And, of course, you’re beautiful and smart.”
“So you think I should do it?” A wave of disappointment crashed through her. He had to know how much that would tie her to here.
He brought a couple more tacos over to her. “I didn’t say that. I just said you’d be good at it. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, though, if it’s not what you want to do.”
She kept her gaze focused on filling the tacos. “There’s a lot of distance between LA and Brandywood, Brooks. I know a lot has happened between us in a short amount of time, but I can’t pretend that’s not going to factor into my decision. Long distance is one thing, but taking this job means even more permanency here for me.”
He was silent at her side, helping her, and she counted the seconds as they passed.
Not knowing what he was thinking was driving her crazy.
“Brooks?”
“I heard you, Maddie.” He wiped his fingers on a damp cloth. “I just don’t know what to say.”
Not the answer I was hoping for.
“We can’t put off a conversation about what happens with something like this, babe.” Frustration brimmed from deep inside her. “A handful of days ago, you were ready to pack up and go back to LA. Now the arraignment is over, the concert is in four days, and your rental here ends in three days. We talked about long distance, and I’m happy with that, but what if I can’t move so easily?”
His shoulders fell. “I don’t know. You don’t want to leave Brandywood anyway, do you? That’s what I always understood. You love it here. And now your grandfather?—”
“I don’t want to leave, at least right now, but that’s less important to the discussion than me being able to understand what happens if I can’t leave. I mean, I don’t even know if you want me to leave and go to LA someday.”
He prepared two plates and carried them over to the table. “Coming?”
Her anxiety grew despite his calm demeanor. That he was this calm made it worse, actually.
Carrying her glass of wine to the table, she sat opposite from him. “All I want to know is what you want. Do you even want me to be a part of your life in LA? Or would you consider moving here?”
The tacos he’d made looked mouth-wateringly delicious, but she’d also lost her appetite.
Brooks lifted his gray eyes, his expression guarded. “I love you. Of course I want you to be a part of my future in LA. Or maybe here, if we could make it work.”
Once again, what he hadn’t said was louder than the spoken.
He might not be able to live here.
“But . . .”
Brooks took a bite of a taco. “Eat something.”
Because he’d made it, she lifted a taco obligingly. It tasted as good as it smelled. “Wow,” she admitted, taking another bite. “These are really amazing. I didn’t know you could cook anything outside of hot dogs and mac and cheese.”
“Unless I wanted Kayla eating McDonald’s every night, I had to learn how.” He chewed slowly, scanning her face. “But you’re the one who made the roast. So really, it’s me who should thank you.”
“Nice try. Don’t worry. You’re on track to get lucky again tonight without the fake schmooze.” She finished the taco, mostly because it was delicious and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she really didn’t want any more. “Now finish your previous statement. You love me, but . . .”
Brooks slipped his phone onto the table and clicked it open. Sliding it across the table, he drew his hand back.
“A YouTube video?” She frowned.
“Just watch.”
Tapping the play button, she leaned toward it. A grayish video, as though taken at night, came into focus. The front of the Depot . . . and Brooks crashing through the front window.
Fred Strickland.
The taco sat heavy in her stomach now as her gut clenched.
“Mike threatened me after the court case today. Said he was going to release this to the tabloids—I think he wanted money. I told him to fuck off. Sure enough, the video hit the tabloid sites about an hour ago, and I’m sure it will be on the entertainment cable shows soon.”
“Dammit.” Her failure to retrieve that video stung even more now. “How the hell did Fred figure it out? And give it to Mike?”
“I don’t know. But Mike’s clearly been digging. And he says he has more damaging material.” Brooks finished his other taco and took a sip of water.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze grew distant. “But I sure as hell won’t allow him to threaten me or Kayla or Audrey . . . or you. And I’m worried that he’s going to threaten all three of you. I will protect the people I love.”
“What about you, Brooks? Who protects you? Because you’re ultimately the person he’s threatening.”
“I have bodyguards and security teams and lawyers. I’m not worried about me.”
His words didn’t make her feel any better.
“So what does that mean for us? Sure, Mike is a threat, but there will always be threats.”
“I won’t let you be threatened.”
“You can’t control everything, Brooks. You can’t stop every threat. Not for me or Kayla or Audrey. Or any other person you might fall in love with in the future.”
He lifted his head sharply. “You’re it for me, Madison. I love you. Only you. Always. But I will rip out my own heart if it means protecting you.”
The intensity of his words stole her breath.
She shut off the looped video, reached across the table, and took his hand. “I know you would, but so would I. And if it’s you and me now, then we have to start making these decisions together. Even if it means hard talks and scary unknowns, all right?”
Brooks’s shoulders tensed. At last, he nodded. “All right.”