Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Brooke
Christmas Eve dinner was…less awkward than I’d expected.
Look, Wish Upton A Starr might not have ever made it to the tippy-top echelon of Hollywood wedding planning, but I’d spent my share of time with the high and mighty.
Ethan called me easily distracted, and he was probably right…
but I also found people interesting, and I was good at listening to clients, or making small talk with the preening billionaire heartthrob, or pretending interest in the self-important celebrity, or whatever.
But Abydos was different.
Well, I dunno—maybe he’d once been an asshole, and my sister had turned him into a thoughtful, interested guy. But on the other hand, I couldn’t imagine Riven falling in love with an asshole, so what did I know?
What I’m trying to say is that despite my worries, dinner was fun. It wasn’t like all the other meals I’d been forced to take with the ultra-rich; it was homey and friendly and fun. It was like having Christmas Eve dinner with family…which is exactly what we were doing, I guess.
Except.
Except there were a few people at the table who weren’t family.
And knowing that Sylvik was right down the table from me, knowing that he was also thinking about that kiss we’d shared? Holy moly, I really struggled to concentrate on the conversation.
I think it had mostly been about Riven’s wedding details, but don’t quote me on that. I’d been on autopilot most of the time, trying to keep my attention away from him.
Which was, let me tell you, extremely difficult.
Sylvik might not be as big as his adopted brother Garrak, but he still managed to take up all the space in my senses, if that makes any kind of sense. Throughout the meal, I was keenly aware of him; I could feel his gaze on my skin, causing prickles of awareness all over.
I probably had too much wine in an attempt to drown out that awareness and concentrate on the meal…but I couldn’t regret how deliciously languid I was feeling now.
I helped Riven clear the table, and joined in her teasing Abydos about how to do household chores.
He was a good sport, though, and carried in the largest dish to the kitchen.
Since I’d helped cook—I was determined that this Christmas would be Just Like Old Times, after all—Garrak and Mom insisted on doing the dishes.
Which meant it was the perfect time for me to slip out onto the back patio to measure the space for the archway. When I’d pitched the idea to Riven, she’d been delighted, and I’d already ordered the wrought-iron to be decorated next week.
The realization that I’d be working directly with Sylvik on this made my heart beat faster.
It might be December 24th, but I’d wanted to look cute for dinner, and thus had foregone my jacket and hat. I slung my wrap around the shoulders of my little cream-colored dress and tipped my head back to look up at the stars.
We didn’t have anything like this in Los Angeles.
The patio stretched the length of the house, a heavy stone half-wall that stood between the stone and the sheer drop off the cliffs. Far below, I could hear the sound of the sea crashing against the cliff walls, and I smiled into the darkness.
It was probably the wine talking, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease.
And then…
And then, a shiver ran down my spine, and I knew I wasn’t alone.
“Brooke,” came the rasped whisper from the shadows.
I pulled my wrap closer as my breathing stuttered in anticipation. Sylvik was here.
Play it cool. Don’t trip over yourself or do something stupid like fall into his arms and request another kiss.
So I swallowed, trying to remember how to act blasé. All I had to do was remember the way Ethan had been around me these last few years.
“Hi Sylvik,” I said too brightly. “I’m just looking at the space.”
“For the wedding.” It wasn’t a question, and despite my back being to him, I could feel him coming closer. “What are you thinking?”
Riven and Abydos wanted to be married on the patio on New Year’s Eve, so tonight was a pretty close approximation. So freaking focus on the wedding plan, yeah? Right. I could pretend that’s why I was here.
I gestured as breezily as I could to the most obvious place for the ceremony, a portion of the patio that bulged out along the cliff where the scrub pines and oak gave way before the view. “Here, of course. Riven wants the arch. Your idea.”
By now, he’d moved into the same area, and part of me was disappointed to see his attention on the ground. No, not on the ground—he was pacing out the space, the same way I would have done.
“What kind of arch does she want?” he asked.
Right. He was being professional, focusing on the wedding planning. That’s what he was here for, after all; helping to make Riven’s image come alive.
Maybe he wasn’t obsessing over how perfectly we’d fit together, how good he’d tasted.
I tried not to think about how much easier this process was with Sylvik’s help.
“Um…” I cleared my throat, shuffling forward to stand where I imagined Riven would stand for the ceremony. “Greenery, we said. Riven agreed that she wants to be married beneath greenery. Could you help choose what kind of greenery?”
“Absolutely,” he murmured, moving to stand beside me. “Garrak can help choose specific plants, since I wasn’t raised in the orcs’ world, but I’m thinking pine boughs for the season—”
“Holly berries?” I interrupted eagerly, turning on him. “Oh, please tell me holly sprigs will work? We could tie the holidays together.”
Those delicious lips of his curved upward into a smile as he faced me. “Pine boughs and holly leaves and berries. It sounds perfect. Lots of green—”
“And pops of red,” I murmured, stepping closer, my gaze locked on his.
“And red,” he agreed. “No wonder Ethan wants you back; you’re clearly brilliant at this.”
The compliment—was that a compliment?—startled me, and I reared back, blinking at him in confusion. Did he think I was going back to California to work with Ethan again?
Are you?
How was I supposed to think about the future—think about my ex—when Sylvik was standing in front of me? His scent filling my nostrils, his warmth reminding me of what it felt like to be pressed against a tree and claimed?
Even if it had been a mistake.
It hadn’t felt like one.
“I…I’m not sure,” I managed, although he hadn’t really asked a question.
His eyes flared green in the darkness, and he nodded once, the long column of his throat working when he swallowed and swayed closer.
“They’d be standing right about…” Sylvik’s hands went to my hips, and he nudged me half a step to the left. “Right about here, I think.”
“Yes,” I breathed, although I wasn’t sure exactly what I was agreeing with. Either my sister’s place in the wedding ceremony or the way my entire body had lit up when Sylvik had touched me. “Right here.”
“Right here,” he whispered, grinning down at me. “The greenery would be above us—them.” He tipped his head back, pretending to look up at the arch. I could see the long column of his throat, his smooth skin…I wanted to taste it.
Taste him.
I pressed my thighs together to capture the tingle, and I saw his nostrils flare, right before he tipped his head back down to meet my gaze.
His eyes were flaring green in the darkness.
“Brooke…”
What had we been talking about? My hands, which were supposed to have been holding my wrap snug around me, had somehow managed to rest against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my palms, and I knew mine matched the beat.
I swallowed. “Pine and holly,” I whispered. “Red and green. But her colors are green and white. We need something white. Ribbons?”
“No.” Sylvik swayed closer, his eyelids half closed. “Mistletoe. Right in the center of the arch. Hanging directly above us.”
Mistletoe, of course.
Unbidden, my gaze darted upwards, as if I could see the sneaky little troublemaking plant hanging on our imaginary archway.
Mistletoe had the same meaning to the orcs as it did for us.
My lips curled as I met his green gaze once more. “Mistletoe,” I agreed, moments before I surged up on my toes and he bent down and our lips met.
This time, it wasn’t a mistake.
This time, I let myself surrender to the sensations coursing through my body. When he groaned and captured my neck with one of his big hands, I sighed happily against his mouth. Yes. My hands snaked around his waist, pulling him closer, closer…
As his mouth and tongue played with mine, his hands teased the rest of me.
My wrap fluttered to the ground, and the cool wind blew from the cliffs, but I wasn’t cold, no.
I was hot—so hot, as if each of his touches branded me.
One large palm cupped my breast, and I swear I felt his heat through my dress and my bra.
When he rolled the hard little pebble of my nipple, I moaned against his lips and ground my hips against his hardness, trying to rub my clit along his shaft.
Then his hand was on my ass, lifting the skirt, his fingers digging into my butt. I wished my panties weren’t in the way; I wanted to feel his fingers on me.
In me.
As his mouth trailed to my jaw, I shifted my weight, widening my stance and opening my legs, silently urging him to touch me where I’d been dreaming of his touch. My fingers spread across his back as I rocked against him, anchoring him to me…
And he took the hint.
When his big hand cupped my pussy, dragging a fingertip across my soaked underwear, I whimpered with need and began to hump—yes, God, just like a dog!—his hand. I needed him. I needed this.
The growling sound he made seemed to come from his chest, and he switched his hold to push aside my panties. The heel of his palm pressed against my clit, working in circles as he stroked my folds. He rolled my nipple again, and I realized I was panting in need, clutching him like a lifeline.
“That’s it, Brooke,” he murmured against my temple, his finger sliding into me. So thick, so perfect. “Let me make you come.”