Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Apartment
The next morning, my ringing phone jarred me awake. I cracked an eyelid as my hand went to the nightstand. I failed to grab the cell phone fully and it tumbled to the floor.
“Crap,” I muttered, hoping the screen hadn’t cracked.
I leaned over the bed and scooped up the offensively loud device, unsure of the time.
The sun was aloft and Brooks was gone.
A smile bloomed across my face when I saw the name on the screen. I pressed a button and flopped down onto my back.
“Hi Grampy.”
“Hey, sweet pea,” my grandfather said. “You sound tired.”
“I just woke up,” I admitted. “But I’m glad you called. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“Hang on a second.” His voice was diffused, as though he’d turned away from the speaker and was talking to someone else. I distinctly heard blood pudding and no thank you.
“Poet? You there?” he asked, coming back on the line.
“I’m here. Are you having an early dinner?” I asked.
“Late lunch or early dinner. How did I wake you? It’s ten a.m. in New York.”
“Well, it’s only seven a.m. in Huckleberry Hill.”
“Why are you in Huckleberry Hill?” he asked in surprise. “The baby shower for Hadley and Salem isn’t for another week at least, right?”
I smiled even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, you’re right.”
“Then why—”
“I quit my job,” I blurted out.
“You quit your job?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes. Almost a week ago. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
He was silent for a moment and then he said, “I’m buying you a ticket.”
“A ticket for what?”
“To come to England,” he said. “After the baby shower. You’ll come to England, and you can be on sabbatical with me.”
My heart melted in my chest. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. I miss you, sweet pea. And now that you don’t have that anchor of a job weighing you down, you can finally travel with me. We can go to Italy, if you want. See Bard’s band play.”
It was an incredible offer. Gallivanting around Europe with my grandfather for several months . . .
Why would I say no?
A key entered the lock of my front door, and I sat up, phone to my ear as the door handle turned.
And then Brooks walked in with a to-go coffee cup and a Sweet Teeth bakery bag.
“Poet?” Grampy asked. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, not taking my eyes off Brooks, who’d come to a stop when he realized I was awake.
“Think about it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’ll think about it.”
He paused for a moment and then said, “They’d love to see you, too.”
“Right.” I sighed. “Okay, well, I love you and I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, sweet pea.”
I hung up with my grandfather and set my phone aside. Brooks closed the door behind him.
“Who was that?” Brooks asked.
I ran a hand down my face. “My grandfather.”
“Oh?”
“I told him I quit my job, and that I’m in Huckleberry Hill. He was a lot less shocked than I expected him to be.”
I was suddenly aware that Brooks was dressed in a cowboy hat, jeans and boots, and I had bed head, morning breath, and probably looked like a swamp creature.
I reached for my glasses, and his fuzzy outline became crystal clear. I scrambled out of bed and all but ran to the bathroom.
After closing the door, I brushed my teeth and left the water running while I did my business. When I came out of the bathroom, Brooks was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking amused.
“Hi,” I said, my cheeks blazing.
“Morning.”
“Why aren’t you at the Ridge?”
“I was waiting for you to wake up so I could drive you,” he explained. “I took a chance that you’d be awake early.”
“Early-ish, anyway.”
“Coffee?”
I nodded.
He handed me the Sweet Teeth to-go cup and the pastry bag.
“What did you get me?” I asked.
“Take a wild guess. Or look.”
I arched a brow and peeked into the bag. “Is that—no.”
“Yes.”
“A yellow cake donut with chocolate frosting?” I asked in surprise. “You got Gracie to make it for you?”
“I didn’t get her to make it for me,” he explained, pushing away from the counter and coming toward me. “I asked her to make it for you.”
“When?” I demanded.
“Last night.” He smirked. “I wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it happen this morning, but she surprised me.”
“You got her to make a yellow cake donut with chocolate frosting . . . for me?” I asked again, still not believing it.
He frowned. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because it’s—I mean—you were listening. When I talked.”
“Of course I was listening,” he said in exasperation. “You talked about Entenmann’s last night while we were grocery shopping. And you were basically drooling in the bakery aisle.”
I gasped. “Drooling?”
He laughed.
I set my coffee and pastry bag onto the counter and then I launched myself up at him. He caught me easily as I wrapped my legs around his waist.
His embrace was tight.
“You gonna kiss me good morning now?” he asked, his voice husky.
I pulled back so I could stare down at him. I cradled his face in my hands and leaned down, brushing my lips against his.
He smelled like coffee.
“Open your mouth, baby,” he whispered.
Shivers of pleasure swept down my spine and I did as he commanded.
His tongue slid into my mouth and his hands went to my lower butt. He gave my cheeks a squeeze as he lowered me just enough, so that my core rested at the fly of his jeans.
I wriggled against him, wanting to be closer, wanting nothing between us.
Our kiss was hot and wet, and it set my nerves on fire.
He groaned and wrenched his mouth from mine.
“No,” I whispered, trying to turn his face back toward mine.
“Gotta stop now, Freckles. Otherwise, this goes all the way.” His tone was gritty and strangled.
Tremors wracked my body and my resolve melted away.
I wanted him. I needed him.
And I thought I’d die without having him inside me.
Brooks released me and I slowly slid down his body, causing his jaw to tighten in thwarted lust.
“Change clothes, yeah?” he croaked. “And we’ll drive to the Ridge.”
The Poet of a few days ago would gather her jeans and shirt and change in the bathroom, out of sight. Prudish, modest Poet would hide and conceal.
But Brooks didn’t make me feel prudish or modest.
He made me feel wild and free.
So, with boldness I’d never felt in my life, I slowly removed the T-shirt I’d slept in. My eyes never left his.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Changing.” I grinned at him and then slid my sweats down, so I was in nothing but my underwear.
Underwear that was sexy and lacy.
Underwear that I wore for myself to feel powerful.
“Woman,” he breathed.
I arched a brow at him. “Yes?”
He ripped his hat off and set it down on the counter. And then he was stalking toward me, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching.
Brooks made it to me and placed his large hands on my hips, spanning them easily.
And then I was sailing through the air. I landed on the bed with a thump, breath whooshing from my lungs.
“You can’t do what you’re doing, Freckles,” he growled. “You can’t stand there half naked, gorgeous in the morning light, looking at me the way you are. Now I gotta see.”
“See what?” I asked, breathless.
“How flushed I can make you.”
He knelt at the edge of the bed, slid his hands beneath my bottom and pulled me toward him so my cleft lined up with his mouth.
“Wearing these things,” he whispered, his breath teasing the lace covering me. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“You expected granny panties. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You were wrong.”
“Never been so glad to be so wrong in my entire life.”
He dipped his head, and breathed me in.
“Fuck. Me. I can smell your arousal.”
“You can smell it?”
“Damn right. And woman? You are turned on as hell.”
I swallowed. “Gonna do anything about that?”
He lifted his head to meet my eyes, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You liar. You know exactly what you want. Don’t be shy with me now.”
He was right.
I did know.
“Taste me, Brooks,” I croaked. “Taste me until I beg for more.”
He slid up my body to peer at me for a moment and then his head dipped . . .
His mouth was hot and featherlight as he kissed his way across my flesh toward my lips.
Brooks robbed me of my senses, and I angled toward him. His tongue slid into my inviting mouth, and I wondered if my body would be as welcoming.
He kissed me and kissed me, tasting me. Deep. Erotic.
When he broke our lips apart, I was dizzy with passion.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “Your eyes are already glazed. And that’s just from me kissing you.”
He stared at my breasts with a look of wonder and reverence.
And then his head lowered to a peak.
He engulfed my nipple with his mouth.
I needed something to hold on to, so I grabbed the back of his head. My fingers sank into his dark hair.
He teased my nipple, pulled and sucked on it until it was hard. It was like a wire was strung between my breast and my core and with each tug, I throbbed between my legs.
My head was thrown back and I was slippery between my thighs. I wanted more and I was on the verge of begging.
I gently stroked him over the fly of his jeans; he was stiff and ready for me.
He released my nipple with a pop and then gently swirled a finger around the other.
“Lay back, Freckles,” he growled. “Show me how wet you are.”
Biting my lip, I widened my legs.
“Not good enough,” he stated. “I want to see you.”
He reached down and tugged at my panties.
I was too turned on, too primed to even think about being embarrassed when I spread my legs again.
“Oh yeah,” he murmured, his eyes glassy with desire. “I can see you. So fucking pretty. And that’s all for me, isn’t it?”
I nodded again.
He slid his hands beneath my behind and dragged me toward the edge of the bed. And then he got down onto his knees and placed my legs on his shoulders.
“I’m going to fuck you with my tongue,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue and you’re going to make a fucking mess. Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
With a wicked grin, he bent his head and feasted.
Brooks knew exactly what to do to make my vision blink in and out.
“Oh God,” I moaned.