hard, very hard, and that fact only deepened how she felt about him. “I’m just tired,” he said. “And needed a moment alone.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” And she went to leave, because she understood that, but then he added, “I don’t want to be alone from you.”
She turned to look at him, but he’d moved closer and she bumped right into him. Her chest to his, his thighs to hers, and she actually let out a shuddering sigh that might have been a moan.
“What was that?”
Oh, just her brain cells blowing fuses left and right. “Nothing.”
Snagging her hand, he held her close, peering into her face. “You let out a…sound.”
“Yes. It’s called breathing.”
His hand slid to her waist and gently squeezed. “It sounded like more.”
How about a sexually charged, needy whimper? Did it sound like that? “No.”
His gaze searched hers for a moment. “Maybe we should talk about the kiss.”
Kisses. Plural. “Probably we shouldn’t. It might lead to…”
More. He was waiting for her to speak.
“I think I heard the fire alarm.”
“Huh,” he said, sounding curious.
“What?”
“You’re not as honest as I thought.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Really?” His hand slid to the small of her back and stroked lightly. “Then what are you thinking right now?”
That he’d look mighty fine naked. “That I’m hungry.”
Not a lie. She was hungry. For his yummy body.
“Brooke…”
“Yeah. Listen.” She let out a breath. “I’m trying to resist you here, okay? I’m failing miserably, but I’m trying.”
“Why?”
Wasn’t that the question of the year. “Because this is unlike me, this thing we have going on. I don’t flirt, and I certainly don’t do…whatever it is you’re thinking right now.”
“Never?”
“No, not-not in a long time.”
“That’s just not right, Brooke.”
Just the image of what they were talking about gave her an odd shiver and changed her breathing, and she realized he wasn’t breathing all that steadily, either. “Not helping, Zach.”
He laughed-at himself, at her, she had no idea really, but she found herself staring up at him, torn between marveling at the ease with which he showed his emotions and laughing back because the sound of his genuine amusement was contagious. “Happy to amuse you.”
“I’m sorry.” Still smiling, he sighed. “Ah, hell, that felt good. Laughing.”
“Laughing at me felt good.”
“Oh, no.” Gently, he tugged on her ponytail. “Definitely laughing with you, I promise. And I should be resisting, too. But I can’t seem to do that.”
His words caused more of those interesting shivers down her spine, and to other places, as well, secret places that wanted reactivating. Standing there in the hallway, way too close to this sexy man, a smile wanting to split her face, laughter spilling in her gut, she realized something.
Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d made roots here, temporary ones, but roots she would treasure and remember always. And now she wanted to strip naked and let him do things to her, lots of things, things that would create more lasting memories that she could take with her. “So how often, when you give that look to a woman, when you talk to her in that low, sexy voice, when you touch her, do her clothes just fall off?”
When he opened his mouth, she shook her head. “No, you know what? I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. Because I was on board for that. The clothes-falling-off thing. But…”
“But…?”
“But I’m not mixing business and pleasure, no matter how sexy you are. I can’t, much as I want to. I just can’t, not for anything less than a meaningful, lasting relationship, a real connection.”
Her own words shocked her but she found she meant them. To the bone. Being in her grandmother’s house had obviously sent that yearning within her rising to the surface, and she couldn’t help it. “I mean it. I’m sorry if I let you think otherwise, but I really do.”
Looking torn between bafflement and disappointment, he nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry if I led you on. If it helps, I led myself on, too. I hope we’re still friends.” All that was left to do was walk away gracefully, when in her heart of hearts she didn’t want to walk away at all. She started with one step, a baby step, and then another. “I also hope that the rest of your shift goes well,” she managed.
“Thank you. That’s…friendly of you.”
Was he was mocking her? “Well,” she said primly, backing to the door. “Just because we’re not going to…”
“Mix business and pleasure,” he supplied helpfully.
“Yes.” Because obviously he was not looking for a deep or meaningful relationship, or he’d have said so. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t get along.”
“I think,” he said slowly, in a tone she couldn’t quite place, “that we’re not going to have a problem in that department.”
No. No, they weren’t.
She nodded, and managed to turn and leave, but in the hallway, alone, she leaned back against a wall and let out a long breath. There. That hadn’t been hard or awkward.
Ah, hell. It’d been plenty of both.
But she’d done the right thing. Now she wouldn’t fall for him and mourn him after she left. Yep, definitely the right thing.
Damn it. Why couldn’t she have gotten all self-protective after she’d gotten to see him naked? Brooke turned around to look at the closed kitchen door, nearly going back in, but she restrained herself.
The right thing. 6 SEVERAL SHIFTS LATER, Brooke was sitting outside the fire station on a rare break, laptop open, flipping through a national job database to see where she might go after the house sold and this job ended in a few weeks.
The warm sun beat down on her, the waves across the street providing the perfect white noise. It should have been incredibly peaceful. Instead, she was thinking about Zach. About the kissing. About her opening her mouth and saying that she wasn’t going to mix pleasure and business.
She’d meant it, but she really regretted saying it.
Cristina came outside. She wore her blue uniform trousers, a pair of kick-ass boots and a tiny white tank top, which emphasized a figure that a Playboy model would envy. Chomping into a red apple, she glanced at Brooke. “Are you actually relaxing, New Hire?”
“Brooke. My name’s Brooke.” This was now a three-week-old refrain between the two of them.
Hard to believe she’d been in California for so long already, but it was a fact. And as she always did, Cristina shrugged. “Hey, I called Number Four Skid Mark, so consider yourself lucky.”
She would. Cristina might be sarcastic and caustic but she was brutally honest, emphasis on brutally, and loyal to a fault. In short, if you were on her good side, you had a friend to the death. Brooke knew the two of them weren’t there, not even close, but at least she didn’t have a nickname she couldn’t live with.
“There’s no point in remembering your name when you all eventually quit,” Cristina continued.
“I’m not leaving until my six weeks are up. I’m just past halfway.”
Leaning back against a tree, Cristina studied Brooke with interest. “People who aren’t from around here rarely stick.”
“Gee, really? Even with your sweet and welcoming attitude?”
Cristina smiled. “It’s too bad you’re not sticking. You could grow on me.”
