Читать книгу: «Tempted»

1

Three months later

“HERE’S TO YOUR NEW single status, Brooke.” Stacey Sumner lifted her strawberry margarita in a toast to mark the beginning of their weeklong “girls’ retreat” in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

Brooke grinned at her best friend and co-worker. Clinking her glass with Stacey’s and then her sister’s, she took a drink of the frothy beverage. “How about a toast to seven days of skiing, soaking in the hot tub, girl talk and eating everything we shouldn’t?” At the grocery store on the way up to the time-share cabin she still maintained with Eric, they’d bought enough to satisfy every craving they might have—junk food had definitely been on their agenda.

“Oh, yeah,” Jessica agreed, her pale blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Sounds like heaven.”

Stacey reclined on the matching love seat cornering the sofa and crossed her long legs. “Seven days of doing what we want, when we want. Spontaneity is the word for the week.”

“And relaxation,” Brooke interjected, thinking of all the novels she’d been wanting to read for the past six months and had brought along to curl up with at night.

“Aw, Brooke, you’re no fun,” Stacey lightly chastised. “This week was supposed to be about spontaneity and shedding inhibitions in celebration of being single again, remember?”

Averting her gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth, Brooke took another drink of her potent margarita. Yeah, she remembered the lecture Stacey had imparted on the drive up to Quail Valley for their ski vacation. But Brooke had always been the quintessential good girl—responsible, dependable and virtuous—thinking long and hard about consequences before acting. She’d even accepted her job as an accountant for Blythe Paints because the position was staid and reliable.

Being reckless wasn’t in her psyche…unless she counted that very spontaneous, uninhibited kiss with Marc three months before. Try as she might to forget about that impetuous embrace, the incident, and the man, invaded her thoughts on a daily basis. And at night, well, she’d never had such erotic dreams, had never woken up so on edge. It might have been her own ministrations that had brought her the release her body sought, but it had been Marc who’d starred in the forbidden fantasies she’d woven.

Dismissing the kiss should have been relatively easy, considering she hadn’t heard from Marc since that night. It was the way of the Jamison men, to seize the moment, then move on before the situation got too complicated. In this case, it was probably for the best.

Ignoring the heat flushing her skin—from the combined effects of tequila, the warmth of the fire and her sensual memories of Marc—she met Stacey’s gaze. “You’re the impulsive one, not me,” she retorted.

Stacey made a sound of mock disgust. “You’re just too exciting for words, Brooke.”

She shrugged unapologetically, casually studying her nails. The pale pink polish was chipped and in need of a fresh coat—she planned on treating herself to a manicure and pedicure sometime this week. That’s about how exciting her life got. Predictable…and boring, she realized.

“Let’s try something different, in the way of girl talk,” Stacey suggested. “If you could create the perfect, ideal male to be stranded up here with, what qualities would he have and what would he look like? Use your imagination. Fantasize a little.”

Unbidden, Brooke’s imagination conjured up thick black hair rumpled deliciously, a hard male body made for sin and pleasure, and eyes that darkened from silver to charcoal with a kiss. The fantasies that crowded her mind were something she refused to share with anyone.

Curling her legs beneath her on the sofa cushion, she shoved Marc from her mind and decided to give her ideal male her best shot. “Looks don’t really matter,” she said honestly, “as long as he’s intelligent, warm and humorous.”

Stacey braced her elbow on the armrest of the love seat and propped her chin in her hand, giving Brooke and her description of her exemplary mate her undivided attention. “And sexy?”

“In an understated way. Nothing presumptuous or arrogant.” She finished off her margarita and thought about one of the things that her own marriage had lacked, and that she had often wished for. “His sole focus would be on me and my needs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stacey said in a throaty purr.

Brooke caught her friend’s drift right away. “And I don’t mean just sexually.”

Stacey wriggled her brows suggestively. “Though being focused on sexual needs doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m talking about emotional needs.” She sounded practical and dull, but didn’t care. After witnessing what her mother had gone through with her father, and her own experience with Eric, those qualities were important to her. “He’d be a good listener, and not afraid to show his feelings. He’d be secure in his masculinity so he didn’t need other women to stroke his ego. And that goes hand in hand with him being monogamous. That’s an absolute must.”

Which certainly left love-’em-and-leave-’em Marc out of the competition.

“That’s very sweet,” Jessica said, a bit of awe in her voice. “Do you think men like that actually exist?”

Brooke glanced at her sister, regretting that Jessica’s illusions about men had been shattered at such an early age by their father’s actions. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly, knowing at the same time that it was only her fantasy.

“You’re so serious about men.” Stacey drained the last of her drink and set her glass on the coffee table in front of her. “Ever thought of just going out and having a wild, mindless affair? Finding some guy that turns you on and having your way with him?”

Brooke imagined ripping Marc’s shirt off, buttons flying. She imagined dragging those tight jeans he wore down his hips, pushing him onto his back and straddling his thighs, then seducing him…

Swallowing a groan, she tried to force those erotic images right out of her head, but she couldn’t ignore that she had wondered a time or two what it would be like to be as sexually liberated as Stacey. To enjoy a man’s attentions without pouring a lot of emotion into the relationship. To just lose herself in mutual pleasure with no expectations, no strings, and without the risk of investing that deep, significant part of herself she could never recover once it was offered.

Men did it all the time. Her ex-husband had been guilty of playing that game, but then again, Eric hadn’t invested the same emotions that she had into their relationship. She’d learned, belatedly, that he’d been incapable of doing so. She’d discovered, belatedly, that she’d been little more than a challenge for her husband, one he’d conquered, claimed, and quickly grown bored with. She’d determined, belatedly, that commitment wasn’t an attribute the men in the Jamison family took seriously.

She knew that, so why was she allowing a bad boy like Marc to get under her skin and consume her thoughts?

“I don’t think Brooke is that kind of girl,” Jessica said when Brooke didn’t answer Stacey’s question.

The corner of Stacey’s mouth tipped up in a lazy, confident smile. “Everyone has a wild side. It’s just a matter of whether or not they tap into it.”

“Very enlightening,” Jessica said with a giggle. “And on that note, I think I’ll go blend the next batch of margaritas.”

Once she’d disappeared into the kitchen, Stacey glanced at Brooke, purpose glimmering in the depths of her eyes. “Ever looked at a guy and thought, I wonder if he’s any good in bed?”

Brooke kept her thoughts centered and focused. “No.”

Stacey considered that for a moment. “Ever looked at a guy’s hands and wondered what they’d feel like sliding over your body?”

Marc had nice hands, large, callused, hot. Her body thrummed at the thought of those palms stroking over her flesh, touching her in sensitive places. “Never.”

“Ever looked at a guy’s lips and imagined the slow, deep kisses he could give…or maybe the different ways he might use his mouth?”

“No, never.” Liar, liar, liar, a voice inside Brooke’s head chanted.

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘just do it’?”

Brooke shrugged. “Yeah.”

“It was meant for people like you.”

Brooke frowned. “People like me?”

“Yeah, people who are too serious and self-controlled. You need to loosen up so you can get in touch with your feminine needs. ‘Just do it’ needs to be your new motto—at least for this next week. Then when we return to civilization you can resume looking for that fantasy man of yours.”

“Just do it, huh?” Brooke repeated, testing out the words, not sure she could be so unreserved and direct—not when she’d spent her life being responsible and sensible in her approach.

Stacey grinned, looking pleased with herself. “Yeah, whenever you’re unsure of something, but you want it really bad, repeat those words. Just do it.”

“Just do what?” Jessica asked, returning with a fresh pitcher of strawberry margaritas.

“Anything that strikes your sister’s fancy this week,” Stacey said, holding up her glass as Jessica refilled it with the slushy liquid. “Especially when it comes to men.”

“Brooke is going man-hunting?” Jessica asked, intrigue infusing her voice.

Brooke winced. “That sounds so…reckless.”

“Impetuous is a better word, I think.” Stacey took a sip of her drink, her eyes bright with sensual knowledge. “You just kind of have to go with the feeling and not analyze the situation from every angle like you do those columns of numbers you work with. If it feels right, just do it.”

Brooke chewed on her bottom lip and pondered her friend’s suggestion. When it came to men, she’d always been cautious and selective, even analytical. Even her marriage to Eric had been based on practicality rather than uncontrollable passion—on both their parts, she now knew. They’d both had different expectations of their relationship, and each other, and in the end those individual needs had driven them apart emotionally and physically.

Ultimately, she wanted passionate love, a marriage based on mutual respect, and the kind of solid family unit she’d grown up without. She wasn’t like Stacey, who dated a slew of men, enjoyed the moment while it lasted, and didn’t think about the future. Brooke wanted a future with a man.

One week. Which wasn’t a whole lot when she thought of it in terms of the rest of her life stretching ahead of her.

Brooke took a gulp of her margarita, her mind spinning. Could she shed her inhibitions and have a hot, wild, unemotional fling with a stranger before returning to her stable life and dependable job?

“Tell you what,” Stacey said easily, as if sensing her doubts, “starting tomorrow, we’ll check out the prospects on the slopes and see what’s out there. If sparks happen, then go for it. If they don’t, no loss.”

Sparks, like the kind Marc generated. She shivered at the thought.

“Since I don’t ski, you two are on your own,” Jessica said, settling back on the couch. “I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet in the cabin and get caught up on my medical transcripts.”

“Then it’s you and me, Brooke.” Stacey grinned, lifting her glass in another toast. “And a mountain full of men to choose from.”

Brooke groaned as three glasses clinked together, trying to keep an open mind about Stacey’s man-hunting plan and her new motto for the week.

Just do it.

“JUST DO IT,” Brooke murmured to herself, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice as she wiped the coffee table of the remnants of their afternoon margarita-fest while Stacey and Jessica cleaned the kitchen. The words sounded flat and dull, too much like her personal life.

She snorted in disgust. For the past year she’d buried herself in her work, grasping on to the monotony of her job to counterbalance the stress and disappointment of her divorce. And now here she was, starting a new phase in her life…and still clinging to the safe and familiar.

Dull. Boring. Too damned predictable.

She sighed and straightened the sofa cushions. What Stacey was suggesting went against her grain and all those good-girl qualities she’d lived with her entire life, but much to her own surprise, she was gradually warming to the idea of finding a guy who turned her on and indulging in a sexy interlude. And she hoped in the process she’d finally banish Marc from her mind and ease the sexual frustration he’d caused her for the past three months.

Yeah, that particular idea definitely had merit. And maybe she’d return to Denver with a new attitude and a new outlook on her future.

A beam of headlights slashed through the windows facing the front of the small cabin, cutting through the shadows of twilight. She heard the crunch of snow beneath tires, an engine rumbling as it idled, then everything went quiet.

Curious, she headed toward the window next to the front door and pushed aside the curtain to peer outside. Even bathed in early November dusk, she immediately recognized the vehicle parked next to her Four Runner, a black Suburban with the Jamison Electrical logo emblazoned on the door in bold, white print.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as the object of her lustful fantasies slid from the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another male figure emerged from the passenger side, and finally, a third stepped from the back door, his boots crunching on the snow. Marc said something to the two other men, and while the duo moved toward the back of the utility vehicle, Marc started for the cabin’s front porch.

Brooke’s pulse tripped all over itself. Abruptly, she dropped the curtain and groaned, unable to believe her private refuge was about to be invaded by roughly six hundred pounds of gorgeous male testosterone, two hundred of which was trouble with a capital T.

Of all the possible ironies!

Knowing it was inevitable she face him, she opened the door before he had a chance to insert his key into the lock. His hand stopped midair, and their gazes met. A slow, intimate smile claimed his mouth, and his gaze drifted down the length of her with a slow, natural ease that came from years of assessing a woman in a single glance.

Not only did he assess her, he seemed to brand her with a breathless heat wherever his gaze roamed—and it covered plenty of territory in an amazingly short span of time. She found his bold perusal unnerving; the fluttering deep in her belly was equally disconcerting. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something that was distinctly male, a trifle dangerous and a whole lot predatory.

Her skin tightened, and to her dismay her breasts responded to his visual caress. They swelled within the lacy cups of her bra in a purely feminine way, pushing her taut nipples against the soft cotton of her University of Colorado sweatshirt. Even her thighs and legs seemed to become sensitized to the soft, faded denim of her jeans.