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“Let’s have sex. It’s clear, at this point, your rules and so-called contract are not going to keep us apart. We’re way beyond ‘just kissing,’ babe, and you know it. I can’t keep my hands off of you, if you hadn’t noticed. I was thinking...”
“I don’t like the sound of that...”
But he ignored her. “Everyone thinks we’re a couple anyway, so it won’t be strange if I sleep at your place until you move to the ranch. It’s Thursday today; that means we’ll have eight nights until next Friday. I know you have to work and I know Connor is around, but we’ll have the nights to well, scratch the itch. When I leave for Seattle next Sunday, we’ll tell everyone things didn’t work out. By the time I get back, we’ll just be friends again.”
Just friends. How was she supposed to be “just friends” with Gavin after they’d made love? Made love. Where did that come from? He was proposing sex; nobody was talking about love. He wanted to scratch an itch, to be precise.
“Babe?”
“Let me get this straight—you’re proposing an eight-night stand?”
“With a friend, I’d add.”
“Eight-night stand with a friend to...what again? You’ve put it so eloquently? Oh, yes, to scratch an itch. Tempting, but I’ll pass.” Finally, she could feel her legs again, and she jumped up. “Goodnight, Gavin. I’ll make sure Connor is ready for you on Saturday.”
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Bewildered, Gavin staredat the black screen on his phone. Well, hell. He’d thought by now he’d be on his way back to Brooke’s place. She’d been going along with him for a while, he was sure of it, but then... Groaning out loud, he dropped his phone. He’d messed up the whole thing by calling having sex with her “scratching an itch.”
What had happened to all his smooth moves? With Brooke...she scrambled his usual, logical thoughts, she shook him up, and to be honest, she scared him to death.
He walked to the window and stared out at the street. It was already dark outside, a crescent moon lying on its back his only companion. Rubbing his chest, he turned away and left his room. There was no way he was going to spend another night tossing and turning in bed. He had to start prepping for the first client he was going to see in Seattle; he might as well work.
Half an hour later, even though his laptop was open, he caught himself staring into space, thinking about Brooke, about Connor, about life on the ranch, about a damn German shepherd dog for the boy. What the hell was wrong with him?
Maybe it was time to be honest, with himself, at least. Brooke excited him, she awakened emotions and feelings he’d never experienced before, and because of her, he was dreaming about things he hadn’t allowed himself to dream about before.
But, as he’d told her, he had nothing to offer her she didn’t already have. She kept insisting she was quite capable of handling her own life, and she was right. As he knew all too well, he wasn’t anybody’s hero. He’d probably hurt her tonight, another reason why he should play his part in this charade without touching her again. And kissing her, even one more time, was definitely out of the question.
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By the time Connorleft for school Friday morning, Brooke had a splitting headache. Her phone rang as she waved him goodbye. It was Guy, the attorney. Her heart sank. The fact that he was calling only meant one thing—there was trouble.
“Hi, Guy,” she greeted him, crossing her fingers.
“Brooke. We have a problem. I can take this further but...”
With a heavy heart she listened to Guy. Bill Norton had replied to Guy’s email, insisting he’d only hand the paintings to Brooke and to her alone. Guy couldn’t get hold of Lynda, either. He could take Bill to court, but that would take time and money; it might be quicker and less messy if she were to fetch the paintings herself.
“Okay, thanks, Guy. Let me get back to you. I appreciate your help. Do let me know what I owe you.”
“Absolutely nothing. I’ll do anything for Eleanor. You know I adore your mom.” He chuckled before he ended the call.
Adored her mother? That was interesting. She’d never thought of her mom with anyone else. She had to remember to ask her mom about him.
She sank down on the nearest chair. After another sleepless night dreaming steamy dreams about the very sexy Gavin Wilson, she was in no mood to deal with anyone, let alone Bill Norton, but Guy was right. If she wanted this over soon, she should drive to Missoula and get her paintings. A long, drawn-out court case was not something she even considered. She simply didn’t have the time or the emotional capacity at this point.
Checking her watch, she dialed her mother’s number. Her head was buzzing. It was about a three-hour drive. If nothing unforeseen happened, she could be back in Alisson later tonight.
“Brooke, darling, I’m so glad you called. I’ve found you the most beautiful wedding dress—”
Brooke groaned out loud. “Mom, seriously, I don’t have time for this now. Please listen...” She quickly explained she was on her way to Missoula and asked her mom to pick up Connor after school.
“I should be back tonight. I’ll fetch him tomorrow... Oh, I just remembered. Gavin was going to pick him up tomorrow—”
“Don’t you worry about that, my dear girl, just go. I’ll text Gavin. And if it’s too late tonight, please rather stay over in Missoula or even Butte but don’t drive in the dark.”
“Okay, thanks, Mom. By the way, Guy doesn’t want any payment from me; he says he adores you.”
