Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) (8 page)

“I’m sticking.”

“Just making sure. I’d hate to see a great girl like Brooke get hurt, is all.”

Brian bristled, annoyed by the latent chivalrous streak he’d uncovered in his brother. “I hate to point this out, but I think you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Are we picking sides already?”

The bait flashed like a shiny new hook embedded in feathery camouflage and he couldn’t resist rising to snatch it. “We’re not picking sides. I’m here to stay, I have no intention of hurting Brooke Hastings. And you can tell Mama I want a fresh-baked pie if I’m going to be interrogated.”

Jake shot another screw home with three quick bursts of power. “Will do, but I get to choose the flavor. Messenger service, you know.”

“Anything but rhubarb.” He made it two steps before he turned back once again. “I never actually met Jennifer Aniston, you know.”

Jake gave his head a slow shake. “Huh. Guess you really can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

Brooke regretted her wardrobe choices the second she stepped foot on the dock. The sun-splashed aluminum shifted and swayed. Her pencil skirt was too tight for ease of movement but it was sexy as sin. The faux Ferragamos on her feet were meant to boost her confidence and add a bit of stature. After being blunt with Brian—and sharing a smoldering dance in the dark—she figured she needed as much fashion-inspired poise as she could muster.

She hadn’t counted on navigating a funhouse ride to get to him, though. Tiptoeing along the center run, she smirked at the clever names of the boats she passed. She spotted one called Sea Duced undulating in its slip.

“It’s all in the motion of the ocean,” she murmured as she scanned the numbers affixed to the dock.

The sun beat down on the water. A humid breeze stirred her hair. Spring was moving out and summer creeping in. The silky blouse she wore clung to her back. Brooke thanked the good Lord she’d decided against pantyhose.

Her steps slowed as she neared the end of the dock. His directions specified slip twenty-two, but old suspicions died hard. Brian hadn’t wanted to grant her an interview. In fairness, he didn’t want to give interviews to anyone at all. She understood and played her hand accordingly. Given their skirmishes in the past, and the dick swinging at the restaurant, and the fact that she’d been outright avoiding him before giving in to his text assault, she wouldn’t put it past him to drag her all the way out to Dauphin Island just to lead her on a wild goose chase.

The thought made her sad. She’d had fun with Brian. More fun than she ever imagined. He was easy to talk to and was surprisingly supportive when she’d talked about her dream of going freelance. She hoped it had been sincere. Back in the days when their birthday parties were arranged by mothers armed with a class list and enough invitations to be sure no child was left behind, they’d been friends. Or friendly. Brian had simply always been around. Like the given at the beginning of every geometry proof.

Her early memories of him were sketchy at best. As the two brightest kids in the class, they shared a love of reading and learning that predated jealousy and competition. They’d been assigned seats next to each other in third grade, but all she could remember was he was very neat. He never colored outside the lines and his multiplication table was laminated. One day he broke the lead on his yellow number two and she loaned him one of her pink Barbie pencils, but otherwise she had dim recollections of shaggy hair and serious brown eyes.

She tottered when the dock shifted and rocked on the gentle wake. Gripping the rail, she let the memories wash over her as she caught her balance. She could see teenage Brian perfectly. A tall, reedy adolescent weighted down under armloads of textbooks or stooping over to peer into a microscope. The derisive teenager who dismissed her as easily as the rest of their classmates snubbed him.

It wasn’t until her internal playback reached the moment when he lowered his lips to hers that she recalled he rarely smiled in high school. In that heartbeat, fueled by passion and impulse, his mouth had been stretched into a thin line of determination. Oddly enough, it seemed all she did was smile in those days. She’d curve her lips and her friends wouldn’t notice she’d checked out of their inane conversations. A flash of teeth and they’d vote her Homecoming Queen. She’d managed to smile through Brian’s triumphant Valedictory speech despite her desire to kick him. Hard. And after he’d left her on the commencement stage, shaken and stirred, she smiled so no one would guess how much his hard, humbling kiss had affected her.

Now, standing on the swaying dock, she realized she’d seen Brian smile more in the brief time they’d spent together than in all the years she’d known him. He’d grinned that wicked grin when he kissed her behind Putnam House. He’d smiled with eager anticipation when she’d slid into the booth across from him at The Pit, and with confidence as he let Jack know he was no longer the big man on campus. The warmth of his attentions made her feel all warm and melty. The memory of his hot, hungry kisses and those unexpected smiles were what made it so hard to resist his advances.

But there were other memories and another kiss. If she were smart, she’d hang tight to those. It would certainly be easier to relive old hurts than to leave herself open to new ones.

Brian wasn’t smiling the night Principal Hollings pinned the blue ribbon from the St. Paul’s Academy Eighth Grade Science Fair to her uniform jacket instead of his, that was for sure. Brian hadn’t been at all pleased with honorable mention and Brooke didn’t blame him.

But she did blame him for letting one blue ribbon ruin the connection she had with the one person with whom she didn’t have to fake it to impress. A silly science fair project spawned a fierce competition lasting four long years. It also generated an unforgettable kiss and a decade-long string of what-ifs.

She stopped and stared at the sleek watercraft moored in slip number twenty-two. It was a flashy fantasy of a boat too flamboyant to suit the sober, brooding boy she knew. Blinking away the glare of disbelief, she squinted to read the tiny sign hanging above the slip. The boat’s name was Reefer Madness. Maybe the name explained the unexpected departure in style.

“Hello?” She picked her way along the slip. “Brian? It’s Brooke.”

The hollow echoes from her tip-tapping heels bounced off the water beneath the dock. Water lapped at the boat’s cherry-red hull. Rich teak accents offset the sun-bleached deck. The vessel gleamed in the bright morning light, but the door to the cabin remained shut. She gave the idea of pulling a cut and run some consideration but then remembered she had more than an interview by-line riding on this meeting.

“You said to come by at noon,” she called out. Annoyed by the resulting silence, she planted one hand on her hip and turned in a slow circle. The decks of the surrounding boats were empty. Not one hotshot marine biologist in sight. Apparently, he hadn’t outgrown his need to jerk her chain. “Hello?”

Waves of disappointment licked at her anger, wearing away the sharp edges like surf washing sand. She’d spent the entire trip out from Mobile refusing to think about how badly she wanted to see him again. The slow, deep kiss they’d shared behind Putnam House played on a continuous loop in her mind. Brian kissed the way she expected him to—thorough and single-mindedly. The slant of his mouth conveyed all the same urgency and possession he’d displayed on graduation day, but this one tasted like much more than a simple kiss. In those brief, heart-hammering moments she understood the truth about Brian she’d never grasped before.

He’d made her his quest.

How was she supposed to resist? But she had to resist. She needed him more than she wanted him. Okay, maybe not much more, but more all the same. The work she was doing was important. Not only did her career depend on it, others were depending on her to bring their story to life. The story had to be bigger than this…whatever it was between her and Brian.

Aside from the ogling and the interview and her research, there was one important bit of information she needed from Brian Dalton. She had to know what possessed him to kiss the bejesus out of her and walk away. Determination renewed, she gripped the rail and lifted one foot, preparing to board with or without permission.

She nearly lost her footing when a sudden rush of water startled her. Brian’s head popped up over the rear of the boat and her equilibrium went overboard. Water cascaded off his body as he hauled himself up the ladder, steady streams of riveting rivulets trailed over his chest and abs. A pair of virulent green board shorts hung low on his hips. Teetering on one spiked heel, she pinwheeled her arms when the dock shifted.

“Grab the rail,” he barked.

She responded instinctively to the gruff command, snagging the rail and hanging on tight as he swung a leg over the edge of the boat. With both feet planted under her once again, she took the opportunity to gawk. He’d always been tall, but he was nowhere near as powerful as he was now. His shoulders were wide and heavily muscled. The cuts in his biceps and triceps shone, sharply defined and mouthwatering.

When her editor shoved the interview assignment down her throat, she immediately went back to her desk to look for an angle to spin a question and answer session into the leverage she needed. She clicked on a link leading to a photo of Brian with a neoprene wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips and all research came to a screeching halt. Their copy editor quickly dubbed him Hots Cousteau, though it galled Brooke to admit the geek she’d known had grown up well, Brian had both the looks and the smarts to live up to the standard set by Monsieur Cousteau’s legacy.

Facing those same ripples and muscles live and in person, Brooke was forced to agree the nickname suited him to perfection. The man was ripped. For a moment, she wondered if he’d been bitten by a radioactive spider. It would be too perfect. She was, after all, a girl reporter itching to talk to him.

One crazy dance and she’d lain awake long after she’d slipped her trusty vibrator back into her nightstand drawer. Remembering the long lines of his swimmer’s body pressed snug against hers made it difficult to sit across from him at lunch. Watching him lick barbecue sauce from his fingertips left her unable to think about anything else but where and when. Looking at him standing wet and half-naked, she prayed it would happen here and now.

“Shoes off.”

She leveled a sharp stare at him and raised her foot. The blood-red shoe popped off her heel, but she didn’t shake it free. Instead, she arched her brows, offered a polite smile and said an overly courteous, “Hello, Brian.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he raked her with a long, leisurely inspection, taking his sweet time getting back to her face. “You wear soft-soled shoes aboard a boat. Preferably ones with traction.” He wiped a drip of water from his chin with the back of his hand. “I’m guessing those don’t have much.”

Brooke flexed her toes and let the shoe drop to the dock with a clatter. She’d never make it onto the boat in those shoes without breaking her neck and they both knew it. But the second her bare foot touched the sizzling aluminum dock, she lost a layer of skin and all her dignity.

Hopping like a crazed flamingo, she let loose with a flow of creative curse words. It wasn’t until she managed to gasp the word ‘hot’ that her hero finally caught on.

“Ah, crap.”

He reached up and snatched her from the scorching-hot dock and she fell willingly into his arms. Brian might have been oblivious to the water streaming from his hair, but she wasn’t. And getting up close and personal with his hard, sun-warmed body was worth a second degree burn or two. The familiar scent of seawater mixed with sunscreen was sexier than any expensive aftershave. Brooke kicked the other shoe aside and curled her toes in the puddle of cool water pooling at his feet. His gaze dropped to her chest, and a shark’s smile stretched his lips.

She glanced down at the dark, damp spots where her blouse soaked up his water then back up into his eyes. The heat she saw was familiar. It burned low and steady like a pilot light, ready to flare to life at any moment. She fought the urge to cover the wet spots highlighting her breasts as she twisted herself from his hold. He started this, and she refused to shrink from an opportunity to go head-to-head with him. As far as she was concerned, their competition ended in a draw. This time, she wanted them to both come out winners.

Gathering all the ammunition in her arsenal of ace-reporting, she lobbed her most pressing, hard-hitting, newsworthy question at him. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He answered without missing a beat. Seconds too late she recognized her mistake. This was Brian, after all. She needed to be specific if she wanted a real answer.

“I meant back then. Why did you kiss me like that? In front of everyone.”

He smiled, and the realization that he’d expected her to ask made her cheeks flame, but the need to take him down a notch burned hotter. She struck back at the one spot she knew might still be touchy for him.

“Fairly ballsy for a quiet guy like you.”

The light in his eyes faded, but he kept the familiar smirk in place. The sardonic eyebrow twitch that dogged her all through high school was back, too, but she knew the blow hit home. She’d been high school royalty—popular, pretty, and well-liked—and he’d been the guy who blew the curve on every test.

His eyes narrowed but remained locked on hers. “You mean a nerdy guy like me.”

The intensity of his stare dredged up a raft of insecurities she thought she’d jettisoned years before. “You were such a jerk to me all through school.”

“I thought we already covered this.”

“I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“You’re brighter than that, and I’m a simple organism. Nothing complex about the why, Brooke.”

His voice was melodious and deep. The confidence ringing through the cooled molasses thickness of his drawl proved as seductive as poetry. He wasn’t a shy boy anymore. This man knew damn well the effect he had on women.

Blowing out a breath, she stared out over the sun-dappled water. “You wanted to embarrass me?”