Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Brooke Delancey…
Riley couldn’t get her out of his mind. All weekend, he tried to focus on his usual routine of relaxation and fun, but no matter what he did, his thoughts somehow seemed to drift back to her.
Leaning by the bar in those figure-hugging jeans, with a smart retort on her gorgeous lips and that look of sad hesitation in her eyes.
She shouldn’t have been wearing one of those things, and for once, Riley wasn’t voting for her clothes.
It was a damn shame, that’s what it was. For a woman like her to swear off men? Talk about the crime of the century. She seemed to think that one bad breakup was game over, not the start of a whole new quarter, and Riley would have loved to prove her wrong.
But he’d been raised to listen when a lady said no, so Riley tried to block out the thought of bringing a smile to those sweet lips of hers—and a few moans too, for good measure.
After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of other options for some no-strings fun.
Every night in the bar brought a fresh crop of possibilities, and judging by the number of digits scribbled on napkins, there were plenty of volunteers for the job.
Like the girl currently blowing up his phone, one of those sexy coeds from Friday night. Riley felt the buzz in his pocket, and checked to see the text.
What u up2 l8er?
He winced. “Since when did people stop using full sentences?” he asked, stepping into his friend Mackenzie’s art studio.
She had a gallery just off the town square, selling pottery and sculptures, and could usually be found in the studio in back, covered in dust and paint.
Sure enough, today she was up to her elbows in wet clay, with her wild red curls caught back in a bright blue bandana.
“Since 2010,” she said, looking up from the potter’s wheel. “That’s what you get for dating freshmen.”
“She graduated last year,” Riley protested.
“And you’re, what, pushing thirty?” Mac laughed. “What do you even talk about with these girls?”
“Who says we’re doing any talking?” Riley grinned.
Mac rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to fall for a real woman. A grown adult with a personality and decent grammar, and I’m going to be here to watch you fall flat on your face.”
“So supportive,” Riley teased. “You really want the best for me.”
“It’s what friends are for.” Mac pumped the potter’s wheel again, effortlessly smoothing the lump of clay as a bowl took shape beneath her fingers. Riley watched, fascinated. He was always impressed by her skills.
“What is it this time, whales and lobsters?” he asked, picking up one of the fired bowls that was waiting for a decorative glaze.
“Try Old Glory,” Mac said. “I’m going red, white, and blue for the new line.”
“Smart.”
“Plus if I have to hand-paint another sea creature, I’m going to kill someone,” Mac said cheerfully. “A girl can only stick an octopus on so many coffee mugs before those tentacles start choking some tiny sailors.”
Riley laughed. “Now, I’d buy that.”
Mac paused, getting a gleam in her eye. “You know, that’s not a bad idea, actually. I could do a whole series of nautical disasters. Sinking ships and sirens luring men to their doom and massive flesh-eating squid. Thanks!”
“Anytime.” Riley idled in the studio, picking up and putting down her unfinished work. “You know everyone on the Cape, right?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Pretty much.” Mac finished off the bowl and set it in line to fire in the kiln. “I’ve spent most of my life here. Why?”
“Just wondering. I met someone the other night, but I don’t know how to find them again.”
“Them?” Mac arched an eyebrow. “Or her?”
“It’s not like that.” Riley shook his head. “She just moved here, and I figured I could be a good neighbor. Make her feel welcome and all.”
“Mmmhmmm.” Mac smirked. “Naked and welcome.”
Riley gave her a look. “Her name is Brooke, Brooke Delancey.”
Mac paused, furrowing her brow. “Blonde, yea high, scarily professional?”
“That’s her.” Riley tried to hide his triumph. “You know her?”
“Not really.” Mac stripped off her clay-splattered apron. “I’ve seen her at the bakery a couple of times. She works at a hotel up the coast, I think.”
“Which one?” Riley asked.
Mac looked amused. “Sand something? Sandcastle. Sandy road . . .”
“Sandy Lane.” Riley remembered the name. It was right on the water, a classy boutique place, which suited Brooke down to her tiny pearl earrings. “Thanks. I might just drop by and say hello.”
“Good luck,” Mac said. “Something tells me she’s out of your league.”
“No way. I’m in a league of my own,” Riley drawled.
Mac paused, then gave him a mischievous look. “You know, you should invite her to Summer’s party tonight. You said you wanted her to feel at home, right?”
“Right.” Riley narrowed his eyes. Mac was up to something, he could tell.
“So I’d love to meet her.” She gave him an innocent smile. “It’ll be a fun event. A great way for a newcomer to make friends.”
“Hmmm.” Riley studied her, but he couldn’t figure out what she was doing. Besides, it was actually a good idea. It would be a totally innocent invitation, asking Brooke to join a big, friendly event. Not romantic at all. “Maybe I will.”
“Great, see you there tonight.” Mac rolled up her sleeves. “Now, time for some drowned sailors!”
Riley left Mac to her pottery and drove up the coast to the hotel.
He’d been there for some event last year, and it was just as elegant as he remembered, set on perfect manicured lawns with sweeping views of the ocean.
He strolled inside and looked around the polished lobby.
“Hey, do you know where I can find Brooke?” he asked the guy on the front desk.
“She’s in the salon, I think.”
Riley followed his directions to a bright, sunny room in the back of the hotel.
Brooke was talking to some staff members, and he paused in the doorway, watching her at work.
She seemed focused and animated, explaining something with gestures and a smile.
She was still as buttoned up as the first night he’d seen her, but she was definitely more at ease here than in the crowded bar.
At least she was, until she glanced over and saw him.
She froze.
“Hey.” Riley lifted his hand. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“No.” Brooke blinked. “I . . . uh, we’re all done here. Thanks, everyone.” She dismissed the other staff members and turned back to Riley, looking cautious. “What are you doing here? I told you?—”
“That you’ve sworn off men and you’re joining a convent, I know.” Riley gave her a reassuring grin. He’d have liked a warmer welcome, but hey, one step at a time. “Don’t worry, I won’t try and change your mind. A friend of mine is having a party tonight, and I thought you might like to come.”
“On a date?” Brooke was still looking at him suspiciously.
“The opposite of a date,” Riley said. “No flowers, no dinner, no fooling around in the backseat of my car, I promise.”
Brooke cracked a grin. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
“I do, but I won’t be showing it to you. Scout’s honor.” Riley crossed his heart. “What do you say? It’s my friend Summer’s birthday, I think you’d hit it off. She makes a mean chocolate cake.”
Brooke’s expression changed. “Summer Bloom, the baker? I know her! She made the most incredible cake for a wedding here. It had a peach frosting; I still dream about that cake.”
Brooke looked longing for a moment, and Riley was struck with jealousy.
He wanted to be the one to put a smile like that on her face.
And the one to lick it off.
“Well, drop by tonight, and you might get another taste,” he said, pulling himself together. “Eight o’clock.” He took a pad of hotel paper from the table and found a stub of pencil in his pocket, scribbling Summer’s address on the letterhead page.
Brooke took the paper, looking torn. “I don’t know, I’m so busy here . . .”
Riley wanted to stay and convince her, ask about her job and what brought her out to the Cape, and a million other questions that had crossed his mind since the other night, but he knew to tread gently.
He was playing it cool, remember? Platonic.
“No problem, just thought I’d give you the invite. I better get going, but see you tonight. Maybe.”
He gave her a wink and then strolled away like he had someplace better to be, even though it felt wrong to be walking away from her.
This is what happened when a woman turned him down for once, he thought ruefully. It scrambled his whole damn system. Still, the party tonight should be fun. Either Brooke showed and he’d get to know her a little better, or he’d take on that cake table alone.
Now that sounded like a win-win situation. His favorite kind.
Brooke watched Riley walk away, still feeling thrown. She’d thought she was imagining him at first, strolling into the spotless formal sitting room in worn-out jeans and an old Beach Boys T-shirt, but he’d been all too real.
And so was Brooke’s temptation.
She tucked the address away and quickly straightened up some stray cushions. She didn’t have time to drool over off-limits men, she was due to meet a potential client right now. And as for Riley’s casual invitation . . . ?
It was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
Never mind the promise of making friends and sampling cake; Brooke knew a guy like him didn’t make an offer like that without an agenda, and she’d already had a preview…
…Up against the wall of that alleyway.
The memory hit her in a rush. His mouth easing her lips wider, his tongue teasing her with wicked heat. And his body, God, his body, crushing her to him with hard muscle and coiled, devastating power . . .
“Brooke Delancey?”
A voice cut through her X-rated visions. Brooke startled.
“Yes!” she yelped, spinning around. A polished-looking woman was standing there, sizing up the room. She was clutching a thick binder, with her phone in one hand.
“Meredith Porter?” Brooke extended her hand quickly, still feeling flushed. “It’s great to meet you. Thank you so much for considering us for your wedding.”