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I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to pull my hand from his because I liked very much how it felt, so warm and protective.
He sighed just slightly, but I caught it. It reminded me of an expression of relief from him.
I didn’t understand why or what his interest could be in choosing me for his five-million-dollar penthouse renovation, but now I was well past caring.
Because I very much liked that feeling as well. Peaceful. Excited. Distinctly different, yet equally describing what it felt like to have my hand claimed by Caleb’s hand. It maybe should have felt presumptuous of him, a tad rude even. Yet strangely it only felt right.
Caleb
She smelled so good and looked so pretty it took some restraint not to crowd her. I wanted to. I wanted to do a lot of things with Brooke.
Once I had her beside me in the backseat of the car, I felt myself relax—immense relief, which was fucking unbelievable, but exactly how I felt. It made no sense because the whole experience was unfamiliar to me. I had to process everything from scratch. Brooke was a step-by-step exploration of territory I’d never ventured into before. I wanted to stake my claim on her—to her—with her. I wanted more than I could have of her right now. I instinctively knew I’d have to take it slow in order to have any chance at all with the girl who had worked her way so deeply under my skin I barely recognized myself anymore. Was this love like Lucas said?
I didn’t want to let go of her hand when Isaac delivered us at the curb in front of the restaurant. It was just the touch of hands—hers and mine intertwined. Just a touch. But not enough. The Smashing Pumpkins understood my pain.
So, as soon as we were under the awning and out of the rain, I took her hand again and didn’t let go until we were inside and seated across from each other. The freedom to rove my eyes over Brooke to my heart’s content was amazing. She was beautiful, of course, and I loved looking, but having her complete attention directed at me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. She hadn’t pulled away when I’d held her hand. She hadn’t clung for more, either. Brooke was not desperate for my attentions. She just accepted it.
“I hope this is okay,” I said, looking over my menu. Boscono’s on the Hill was a new Italian place in Beacon Hill. “I’ve never been here before. My PA suggested it actually, after I told her I wanted somewhere quiet with great food and a decent wine list. I figured you liked Italian because of your picture the other night.”
“It’s perfect, and I already know what I’m ordering.”
“Even I know what you’re ordering, Brooke.” Some variation of something with meatballs, no doubt. I loved her humor. “What kind of wine do you like?” I asked.
“Something on the sweeter end of the scale. I hope that’s okay,” she said quickly.
“I like it sweet,” I said softly, and then watched her blush again. Fucking hot.
As the waiter came to take our orders and deliver the most expensive Lambrusco that existed at twenty-eight dollars a bottle—and that was probably including a thirty percent markup for the restaurant—I had to appreciate her lack of interest in my wealth. It was refreshing.
I remembered how I’d pressed my lips against the softly scented skin of Brooke’s cheek in greeting her at the design studio. I’d wanted to lick my way down her neck instead, pull her in against me, and suck on the place where her neck drifted into her shoulder. I wanted to feel and experience her response to me. What would she look like when I had my lips on her body? How would she sound? What was she like during sex? Did she taste sweet like this wine we’d been served?
This dinner was going to test my control, but I had to remember to keep things low-key. Coming on too strong would not be the right move with Brooke.
She studied me for a moment before saying, “Just right now you reminded me of someone I know on the island.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, my nan’s fiancé.” She shook her head and smiled. “Gosh, that sounds so strange but I have to get used to it because the wedding is in a month, and I’m planning it.”
“Congratulations to the happy couple.” I couldn’t help wondering who Mrs. Casterley was marrying in her golden years. I’d bet she was still as lovely as I remembered—pretty, kind, and very British, ruling over the house at Blackwater, making sure everything was as perfect as it could be for our imperfect family. I remembered a great deal of patience on her part, especially when we got into trouble and made huge messes as children do.
“I just thought of this, but Herman will be my grandfather once he marries Nan.”
Herman? The back of my neck tingled. Herman was not a common name. I could safely predict that the only Herman living on the island was my uncle. “Herman Blackstone?”
“Are you related to Herman?”
“He’s my uncle. So, Uncle Herman is getting married. Wow. That is awesome.” I’d have to come clean to Brooke about Blackwater. There was no way to keep that secret going. “Have you seen the guest list for the wedding?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “No, they’re still working on it.”
“Well, I imagine my name will be on there when you do.” I was thrilled for him. Herman deserved some happiness after the shit deal he’d been saddled with the first time around. Aunt Cynthia had not been a nice woman. In fact, she was remembered fondly as a fucking hydra. My mother would be beside herself when she heard the news. Imagine a former servant marrying into all that money. I could hear her moaning the words over her chardonnay. I’d be lying if the thought of my mom’s distress over Herman’s news didn’t amuse the goddamn hell out of me.
“So your father and Herman are brothers?” She frowned. “I thought he just had one brother—”
“He did. My father, John William, or JW as he was known, was his only brother and ten years younger than Herman.”
Her expression grew compassionate and I figured she had now finally made the full connection. Such a smart girl.
