Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) (15 page)

“I want you all of the time. Can’t think about anything else.” He thrust into her, setting a steady, relentless pace. “I have to have you.”

Her nails bit into his back, but she couldn’t force herself to ease up. She wanted him as much. Maybe more. “You have me.”

“I know it’s too soon. I know we’re moving too fast—”

She shifted, urging him to move faster still. He groaned, a low, ragged sound ripped from the soles of his feet, but gave in to her demands.

“Brian.” She spoke his name to the ceiling above, rolling it on her tongue, savoring the pure joy of having him buried deep inside her. Hers. For a moment, for a week, for forever. It didn’t matter. She had him. “Oh, Brian.”

“Oh, shit. Don’t say my name.”

She smiled, drunk on her own power. “You said you wanted me to.”

“I can’t—”

Closing her eyes, she reveled in the creak in his voice. He was so lost, so out of control, so completely hers she felt a rush through her body she had never felt before. She arched up into him and whispered, “Brian,” one more time, because she could.

She felt his control snap like a twig. His movements became rough and erratic, each reckless pulse tying her up in knots only he could unravel.

“I’m going to come again.” She murmured the confession to herself, the realization filling her with wonder. She’d never climaxed so easily before. Never felt so comfortable with anyone. Even on the kitchen floor.

Every nerve in her body stood poised and ready, reaching for sweet, torturous relief. He ground against her, capturing her moan with his mouth and giving her one in return. Give, take, kiss, devour. They moved together in a dance so instinctive it had to be hardwired into their DNA.

Her back bowed away from the cool tile as he filled her with pulsing heat. Her nails sank into the tight mounds of his ass. The ripple of his orgasm shuddered through her, as much a part of her as her own.

“Brian,” she whispered to seal the deal.

He kissed her. Blind, searching, sweet little nips and gentle pecks trailing over random bits of skin until he found her mouth once more. His lips clung to hers long after the madness faded. She wanted to keep whispering his name, embed it into his skin with every kiss she pressed along his jaw. She fought the urge to spill it all, the bubbling tumult of emotion welling up inside of her and the scary conclusions forming in her mind. But she’d been right earlier. It was too fast. Too much.

He kissed her softly, mercifully trapping her too-tender emotions inside her where she could keep them safe.

His chest heaved against hers. He shifted to relieve her of his weight and the suction created by the small of her back pressed tight to the floor broke the spell with a decidedly unromantic sound.

They stared at each other in startled shock, then dissolved into helpless laughter.

Hugging him tight to her, she beamed at the stark white ceiling as she smoothed his rumpled hair. She pressed a tender kiss to his ear and squeezed him a little harder. “That’s what happy sounds like.”

“Hard to argue that.”

Her laughter bounced off the walls, but she didn’t relinquish her hold on him. “Glad to know you’re not gonna argue with me when we’re lying mostly naked on the kitchen floor.”

“You’ve already had your way with me. I can’t play hard to get now.”

“I had my way with you?”

“Repeatedly.” He gave her a blandly innocent look. “I was only trying to eat dinner.”

She fixed him with a squinty-eyed stare. “You think you have to keep me interested?”

“You have an avaricious intellect. I have to keep you stimulated.”

“You do excel at the stimulation,” she said with an approving nod. Heaving a sigh, she blinked at the ceiling. “I really do have some nice sheets, you know.”

“Call your mama. I’m coming for supper on Sunday whether Jack’s there or not.” He took a deep breath then nodded decisively. “We’ll go to my parents next weekend.”

Emmaline smoothed her hair back and beamed a fifty-thousand watt smile. Then she jabbed her knife into the golden deliciousness of a Weston’s apple tart a tad too forcefully. “Oh, so you’ll both be unemployed. Isn’t that nice, Henry? They’ll have so much free time to get to know each other.”

“We’ve known each other since we were six.”

Brooke grumbled the correction with such petulance, for a moment Brian wondered if she might still be six. He smiled at her mother, half-stunned by Emmaline Hastings’s enduring beauty, and half-poleaxed by the barely concealed hostility rolling off the older woman. He’d been as charming as he could possibly be. Arrived with a pink bakery box containing one of the coveted apple tarts old Jack was blabbering on about. Worn the shirt he’d been wearing the day the paparazzi snapped a couple of pictures of him walking out of The Ivy ahead of Gwyneth Paltrow. Hell, he’d shown up at Emmaline’s party as commanded and given her a generous check to help preserve St. Patrick’s for all those future Saints. A check he was willing to bet was more generous than most. This about-face in attitude was more than a little disconcerting.

Tearing his gaze from the former Miss Alabama, he focused on Brooke. “Actually, I was five when we started school.”

“Five? Really?”

The sharp edge in Brooke’s tone caught her father’s attention. At last, Henry Hastings looked up from his plate. Unfortunately, the man’s riveting stare made Brian want to squirm in his seat like the aforementioned five-year-old. “Mama always said I was precocious.”

“What are your plans?” Henry’s question was direct and demanded an immediate answer. The kind Brian didn’t have fully formed as of yet.

“Well, sir, I guess I am a little at loose ends.”

The tightening of the older man’s mouth told him that while he might appreciate the candor, the content was not nearly good enough. Catching the speaking glance Emmaline darted at Brooke, he blundered into the fray.

“I assure you,” Brian said, “it’s a matter of having too many options rather than no prospects.”

Before he could draw breath, Brooke’s mother leaped in. “You know, that’s exactly what Jeannie Horst always says about that oldest boy of theirs…Frank?” Without asking if he was through with his meal, she whisked away his plate and replaced it with a slice of tart. “Truthfully, I think the boy is no more than a bum, living off his mama and daddy.” She tsked as she cut another slice of tart then shot him a sidelong look. “Are you stayin’ with your folks while you’re here in town?”

Brian stared at the saucer in front of him, wondering if the woman was leaving puncture marks behind after her little digs. He needed a moment to decide if he had balls big enough to tell her he hated apples. In the end, he realized he didn’t. Not when Henry was looking at him like a wad of chewing gum stuck to his shoe and Brooke was wearing a puzzled frown.

“No, I bought a house on Dauphin Island.”

“How did I not know you were younger than me?”

He smiled, hoping to ease the sting he heard in her voice. “Always have been as far as I can tell.” Dropping a quick wink, he shrugged it off. “I’m sure I got lost in the shuffle of birthday party invitations.”

“What kind of prospects?” Henry demanded.

“I imagine Jack Tucker could use some help at one of the dealerships. He tells me business is booming.” Emmaline deftly served up a hunk of tart and slid it in front of her daughter. “He really is doing quite well for himself.”

“He’s doing quite well for his uncle,” Brooke corrected. “And I hardly think Brian’s about to go to work selling cars.”

The derision in her tone sent a perverse thrill skittering down his spine. He shot Brooke a grateful smile then turned toward her father. “I’m meeting with the chairman of the Horizon Institute this week.”

Salt and pepper eyebrows rose in appreciation. “Are you?” Setting his fork aside, Henry gave his wife an imperceptible nod, and like magic, a slice of tart appeared. “I’ve played golf with Bill Barnett a few times.”

“Dr. Barnett was my post-graduate advisor.”

“Absolutely nothing wrong with selling cars, Shelbrooke,” Emmaline admonished. “Why, look at the lovely home Drew and Cissy Tucker live in. You know Drew plans to leave the business to Jack one day.”

“Brian has a doctoral degree in Oceanography, Mama. What would he know about cars?”

Catching the tail end of this, Brian gripped his dessert fork a little tighter. “Actually, I know a lot about cars.”

“You do?” The women asked the question simultaneously but in completely different tones. Emmaline, with nerve-grating hopefulness, and Brooke with obvious annoyance.

“My father and brother are both engineers,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but aerospace—” Brooke blurted.

He rolled his eyes and held up a hand to stop her, no longer able to contain his impatience with the whole Hastings family and their inane lines of questioning. He set his fork gently on the edge of the plate.

“I could disassemble and reassemble any internal combustion engine by the time I was ten. Mechanical engineering isn’t my field, but I can do a great many things aside from what I choose to do professionally.”

Turning to her father, he folded his hands in front of him. “Sir, aside from my discussions with the Horizon Institute and other research facilities, I have a few fairly lucrative documentary voiceover projects signed and in the works. Should your daughter somehow lose the ability to provide for herself, I would be more than happy to keep her in peanut butter and jelly if she’d let me.”

“Mrs. Hastings.” Brian was gratified to see Miss Alabama jolt when he addressed her directly. “This was a wonderful meal and I’m thankful you allowed Brooke to bring me along.”

She blinked, those luminous eyes wide with surprise. “You’re welcome.”

“And while I am certainly happy to hear old Jack Tucker is doing so well for himself trailing on his uncle’s coattails, I have to tell you, I’m pretty sure your daughter isn’t interested. As a matter of fact, I know she isn’t.” He turned to face the woman in question. “Because she’s interested in me. Right?”

“Right.”

Heartened by her breathless but unhesitating response, he plunged ahead. “As for her job, she is a brilliant, ambitious woman, and she knows what’s right for her. If my opinion counts for anything, I think this is exactly the right time for her to make her move. Not that I could stop her if I wanted to. No one can. She’s too damn good at everything she does to let anyone hold her back.”

“Amen.” He father nodded his assent, a slow smile spreading across his features.

Brian reached for Brooke’s hand and she gave it to him, entwining her fingers with his on the snowy-white linen. Right there, in front of her parents. “And I’m exactly two months and six days younger than you. In case you hadn’t done the math yet.”

“You know I’m going to lord those sixty-six days of wisdom over you.” Her eyes twinkled as she issued the warning.

He held her gaze, losing himself in the radiance of her smile. “Okay, but it’s sixty-seven. May has thirty-one days.”

“Anything else you need to tell me?”

“I hate apples.”

Brooke smiled and pulled him from his seat as she rose. “Mama, dinner was delicious.” She offered the compliment without taking her eyes from his. “We hate to eat and run, but it’s a beautiful day and Brian promised me a boat ride.”

Henry pushed back his chair before Emmaline could protest. “A boat ride sounds great.”

A rush of warm, thick happiness slowed Brian’s heartbeat to a contented thud when Brooke gave his fingers a gentle squeeze then let him go. “I’d be happy to take you out to do a little fishing if you’d like, sir.”

The older man cleared his throat, shooting his wife an apologetic glance as he took Brian’s hand and shook it firmly. “I’d like that very much. I don’t get out on the water much these days, not having a boat of my own and all.”

Emmaline stood with all the dignity of a queen ascending from her throne. “We’re happy you could join us, Brian.” She offered her cheek for a polite kiss. “Tell your mama I’ll be calling her next week about the Spring Fling committee.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.” He rocked back on his heels but resisted the urge to retreat altogether. “You got my check for the tickets to the Bay Ball?”

Emmaline’s smile widened exponentially. “I sure did. I dropped the tickets in the mail to you Friday morning. Of course, if I’d known then that you were coming for supper I’d have hung onto them—”

“Bye, Mama. Thank you.” Brooke stemmed the stream of her mother’s dissatisfaction by pressing a loud, wet kiss to her cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.” They made it to the front door before the click-click-click of Emmaline’s kitten heels caught up to them. “Y’all be careful out on that boat,” she called after them. “You do know how to drive a boat, right? Or do you have a captain?” she asked, her face lighting with speculation.

“No, ma’am. No captain,” He ushered Brooke to the passenger door of his car without breaking stride. He paused, his hand wrapped around the doorframe as Brooke settled into the seat. Once she was secure, he turned back to her mother with a grin. “The internal combustion engine I took apart when I was ten? I helped old Harv Previns fix an engine valve on Drew Tucker’s cabin cruiser.” He wrinkled his nose as he glanced from one beautiful Hastings woman to another. “I have to say, those Tucker boys never did know much about using their tools.” He let the door slam on Brooke’s sputtering laugh and tossed off a jaunty wave before making a dash for the driver’s side.

* * * *

The sexy red boat zipped along the shoreline at breakneck speed. The captain glanced over at Brooke, his eyes shielded by a University of Alabama baseball cap and his pirate’s smile as brilliant as the afternoon sunlight. Skimming along choppy waves with a scarf tied around her hair and Brian’s fleece jacket zipped to her chin, Brooke figured things couldn’t get any better. She leaned back, tipping her face up to the warmth of the sun as the chill spring wind stung her cheeks.

She’d spent the day after her resignation working on another one of Nels’ lame assignments. She planned to work out her notice with as much dignity as she could. The fools she worked with probably thought the playing field might level out once she packed the framed letter confirming her Pulitzer nomination and left. They obviously didn’t appreciate the breadth and scope of the chief’s boundless ego.