Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (26 page)

Ostrich lady moved in.

On an irritated sigh, Brooke strode to the
end of the drive. She wiped at her eyes, blinking the sting away.
She breathed in and out. In and out.

More shoppers arrived and crowded where they
could, worried they might miss something someone else had found. A
small laugh coughed out of Brooke, relieving the pressure in her
chest. She stole a glance Elliott’s way. No one went near him. In
fact, one rather single minded-looking woman walked right around
him without notice. Like he was part of the sale. Furniture.

Maybe it was the way he’d treated the sale
host or maybe she felt like an old stick in the mud that made her
think, how nice to be invisible to all the elbowers.

Once Elliott made his goodbye to the host,
handshake and all, they got in the car to leave. Wordlessly, Brooke
grabbed her costume. When he opened his mouth to speak, she
shrugged and put the car in drive.

“If this were yours, what would you keep in
this?” he asked after a moment, gesturing to his new box.

Part of her was disappointed he’d skipped
teasing her about her change of heart. “I don’t know. I don’t
really keep things,” she lied, scared his question was filled with
hope and meaning.

“Really? Not even mints or earrings or straw
papers twirled up in little springs?”

“Straw papers?” She kept her attention on the
road.

He laughed. “Long story. Seriously though,
there must be something.”

Sure there was. But the idea of telling him
such little intimate details made her heart ache. Those were the
things you were supposed to find out about the love of your life,
like that man and his wife. Things Jason should have known.

Elliott shouldn’t be the one interested. He
shouldn’t be the one making her hopeful. He shouldn’t be making her
wish for the impossible. “I don’t know,” she said.

She turned the car left onto Pyramid Way,
headed out toward Spanish Springs and wished the next sale were
closer. She shouldn’t adore the fact that he was asking her, or be
half hoping if he’d gotten it with her in mind.

“I’d keep wintergreen lifesavers in it,”
Elliott said. “The big ones you can get at the grocery store bins.”
He examined the lining of the box. “They crumble in your mouth if
you suck on them long enough.”

Lifesavers? Brooke bit her inner cheek. If he
kept all this cute up, she’d be pulling over and making out with
him on the side of the road for anyone to honk at. What was it
about him that got her so bundled up with emotion and girlish
longing?

That boyish smile? His unabashed sincerity?
Or maybe it was just the way he could look at her and make her feel
like she was all he saw. Whatever it was, this spending the day
doing business together had danger written all over it. Her heart
was still too vulnerable from the divorce. No, that wasn’t it. It
was still vulnerable from the idea that love still existed for her,
that Jason had only been a detour and that her path to love
remained open and waiting once she found her way to it.

She pulled to a stop at the light. Her belly
was tight and the back of her throat was tighter. The warm air from
the heater began to feel too hot and she thought about rolling down
a window. The next sale was two blocks away. Ditching this rotten
mess of emotions would be so much easier if they’d taken separate
cars. Why, oh, why had she fooled herself into thinking she could
handle this proximity?

Should have stuck to simple sex. Gorgeous,
hot, delicious trysts until she got her fill and said goodbye.

Before she could dwell or dwindle any
further, the next yard sale came into view. She parked, put on the
red flannel, the awful fanny pack then strode to the sale. Elliott
was close on her heels and silent. Contemplatively silent. One of
those silences when you just knew someone was sizing you up and
strategizing a move.

She couldn’t take any more moves. Her heart
was beating too hard and his smile did too many marvelous things to
her. She had no business dreaming of a future with him. So, she’d
stop. She’d find four or five things to sell if it killed or maimed
her, drive him home and leave. By herself.

On her own.

Alone.

Chapter Twenty

Elliott shoved his hands in his pockets and
walked slower. He hung back a little and watched Brooke begin her
attack at the sale. Like a force of nature. One table, the next,
seemingly oblivious to her surroundings or the crowd. Her arms
crossed over her so tight they might have fit a straightjacket.

She adjusted the fanny pack, tugged at the
flannel’s collar. Probably scared to death walking around in those
clothes. But damn it if she was going to let it stop her.

He almost laughed. She made a nice little
spectacle in her getup. The fanny pack sequins glinted in the
snatches of sunlight. The hat sat on her head like a box, and the
shirt could’ve been a dress. He wanted to laugh. But the large lump
in his chest wouldn’t move over for anything.

His mind reeled. Uh-oh. Lookout, folks. He
had fallen in love with her.

This would not be pretty. This wasn’t
supposed to happen. Not like this. Not this fast. This intense. But
there it was, the rush and crash of undeniable joy and fear.

If Brooke found out, even suspected, he had
zero doubts she’d drop him like fire. She viewed their
agreement—viewed him—as an indulgence. She didn’t want to let him
in. Probably anyone else, for that matter.

She must have lots of sturdy reasons why,
too. There were probably a few excuses he should have, as well.
But, he’d done more than let her in. From that first day at the
bookstore, he’d laid himself wide open. Now he knew why.

She was raw, hidden beauty, through and
through.

Whatever had happened between this sale and
the last, she’d changed. So had he. Or had he before and was only
now seeing it?

It hurt. His chest, his heart, his shoulders,
his mind. In that sweet, achy, wishful way of childhood. He should
have known from the start. Should have seen it coming. She did
things to him.

Being around her grounded him. Made him
bigger than he used to be. Braver. No, that wasn’t it. More
insightful? Suddenly, life, work, the past, his future all fit
together like an intricate mosaic enigma that had waited for her to
arrive and turn his perception just enough to see it.

They’d only known each other a handful of
weeks. Yet he felt he’d known her all his life.

Days in bed pouring his heart out like a
fool. He should have recognized it then. That invisible pull to
her, from the start, pulling like some addiction. So strong he
couldn’t ignore it. So fresh and real, he’d run from her after that
first night.

Brooke stalked each table, grabbing things,
setting them down. Haphazardly, shaking her head, nodding. Throwing
her hands up and dropping them.

He’d almost lost her because of his fear.
Then she’d come back. Life had brought her back to him. Like
fate.

Fate? If he let himself think like that, he’d
be bending on one knee and making a complete ass out of himself.
So, instead he hung back and watched, trying to absorb this strange
new clarity.

Was she talking to herself?

Elliott chuckled. The sound broke from his
chest and shattered the rock of fear inside.

Love. Brooke.

The only thing he had to do, really, was
sweep her off her feet and promise her the world. Then deliver it.
Not so bad.

Hell, she might even end up loving him
back.

If he played his cards right.

He kept his distance and his eyes averted.
Brooke finally made a purchase and they left. Drove to the next.
She stalked, bought and gave him a wide berth. He let his discovery
settle in. Love. In love with her.

What did he do now? What next?

He certainly couldn’t tell her.

The only thing his lovestruck, testosterone
filled brain could think of was getting her into bed again. Get her
into bed and never let her leave. A tremor tickled his stomach. He
craved her. But he fought the idea. Surely, an educated man such as
himself could rise above base urge and get creative. Sex was not
the way to Brooke’s heart.

Memories of her, nude and writhing in
pleasure, flashed in his head. Possessing her. Feeling the
vibration of her groan. Pleasure he gave her. That was what he came
back to, again and again. He imagined that flannel on his foyer
floor. Then on his kitchen floor, her thighs slung over his arms.
Him driving into her. Claiming her. Making her unable to ever
forget him. Making her feel, really honestly feel, what she did to
him, what he felt for her, if only for a few moments.

No. He should ease up instead, give her
space, time. The worst thing to do was smother her with need and
hope. She’d run.

By the time she pulled her car in front of
his house and parked, he was decided. No sex. Their silent ride
home screamed at him to back off. He’d listen.

After some small talk, and a quick goodbye,
Elliott made it into his house. He’d done it. She’d smiled, focused
on his chin. He’d nodded, clapped her on the shoulder. Friend-like.
He should feel better but his guts rotted with dread.

What if he never saw her again? What if he
never kissed those lips, touched her soft skin, again? But he knew,
he’d had to leave.

He laid his head against the door with a
thud. The dusty smell of the heater met his nostrils. He missed her
scent, missed her, all the more. He almost opened the door to wave
her down and stop her. And say what?

Emotion choked up his throat.

He threw her flannel bundle down and set the
box on the table. Her box. Maybe she’d overheard him asking about
it. Maybe that’s what had changed. The box and all his dumb
questions. Had he blown it again?

He’d just been so happy, had been having so
much fun. Not to mention the story the box came with.

He lifted his head, lovesick. A knock thudded
behind him. With a catch in his chest, he swung the door open,
unable to stop a thrill from springing upward. Brooke smiled
sheepishly up at him.

She’d come back!

“You forgot your hat,” she said.

“Oh.” Shit. The hat. His joy deflated.

She handed it over and lingered. He took it
and widened the door. He fought down jitters, kept his features
smooth. Cool as ice.

Inside, he was begging her to make a move.
Even a shrug, a flirtatious glance. A long pause. Anything to
encourage him. Because damn it, but he had to kiss her one more
time.

“Elliott?” she asked, eyes cast down.

“Yeah?”

“You were right?”

He swallowed. “About what?”

“The clothes.” She licked her lips.

Great. The clothes. Still, she hadn’t left.
Hadn’t met his eyes, but hadn’t left. “I’ve got all sorts of
tricks.”

“The thing is,” she said and shifted her hip
out. “I have a really hard time taking you seriously looking like
that.”

He looked down. The fanny pack bulged at the
faded sweatshirt hem.

“Maybe you could take them off,” she said and
looked up.

The bold, sultry glow in her eyes sent a shot
of adrenaline ringing in his ears.

Before he could manage a sexy come back, she
put a hand to his chest and backed him in. She shut his door behind
her. Her keys clanged against the tile flooring. Elliott closed his
mouth.
Don’t say a word
, some part of him yelled.
Don’t
speak or you’ll screw this up
.

She began at the fanny pack. It dropped with
a smack. She moved to his sweatshirt. He helped her pull it over
his head. She stood back then shook her head.

“Better. Definitely an improvement, but I
think I’m going to need more. Or should I say less?”

God, yes. Take it all.
He quirked an
eyebrow, daring her.

Her eyes narrowed. Her fingers unbuttoned his
pants, unzipped the zipper and found his waiting erection. She
gripped his hard flesh in her hands. Elliott fought to keep his
eyes open, focused on her.

Letting go of him, she led him toward the
stairs. He prepared to go up them. She stopped, shook her head and
motioned to the wall. He liked where she was heading. He
followed.

He backed her against the wall, drew her
hands up above her head. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, she licked her
lips. Part of him wanted to ravage her. He could, too. He sensed
that she wanted him to be rough and cold. Uncomplicated.

He couldn’t be. Not anymore.

Elliott clasped her hands in one of his and
trailed a line with his other down her arm. She closed her eyes and
leaned her head back. Elliott bent and kissed her earlobe, letting
his lips barely touch her skin.

Brooke pressed her hips forward into his. Her
hands strained in his. He refused to give in or rush. He wouldn’t
let her ignore the emotion coursing between them. Every caress,
every kiss, could be a word to express his feelings for her. He
couldn’t tell her, but he would let her feel his love.

She squirmed, he held tighter. She wriggled,
he kissed her longer, deeper. She responded, reluctantly at first,
then petulantly. At last, her resistance fell away. Gently, he
released her arms and lifted her into his.

He carried her to the stairs. She shook her
head. “Here,” she said, her head buried against his shoulder.
“Please, Elliott, let’s stay down here.”

Where was it she didn’t want to go? His
bedroom? Too intimate? Apprehension stabbed through him.

He strode to the living room instead and set
her on the sofa while he spread a blanket over the thick carpet.
Adding a few throw pillows, he tugged her by the hand to his
makeshift bed. She kept her gaze from his face.

What didn’t she want to see? Could looking at
him reveal, or expose, some secret emotion? And if so, hers or his?
God, he wanted to peel her hands away and just tell her. That he
wanted her, in every sense, for all his life.