The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (104 page)

Billy looks up, places his hand on Joey’s shoulder, and muscles him outside. He looks to be struggling with it.

“We’re . . . go, will you? Jesus! We’re going to go sit on the balcony. Give you two a little privacy for a while.” He jerks his chin and then steps out onto the terrace, pulling the door closed and drowning out Joey’s flippant protest.

“Goddamn it, Billy,” I faintly hear through the glass.

Brooke’s quiet giggle turns my head as she sits beside me, her bare feet swinging in the air. “This is my fourth apple martini.” She takes a small sip, licking her lips. “It’s apple.”

Laughing, I twist off the cap on my beer and take a swig. “How’s your leg?”

“Mm. Good! Look.” She sets her drink down and pulls up her pants. “It’s not even red anymore. Not that you can tell ‘cause of the Band-Aid, but still. I cleaned it like you said and put some Neosporin on it. Billy said it looks fine. He’s had tick bites before.”

I wrap my hand around her calf and examine her leg, slowly running my thumb along her smooth skin.

Images of Brooke on the rock, scared and trembling corrode my mind. Her broken voice fills my ears.

“You know how sorry I am for this, right?” I quietly ask, looking up into those big, curious eyes. I tug down her pants to her ankle and release her leg. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooke. I should’ve never taken you there. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

She gives me a lopsided smile. “I liked the swanky tent. Remember what we did in there?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t make me do any of that.”

Straightening with a quick breath, I look down as her hand finds mine under the lip of the bar. She squeezes my thumb.

I close my eyes.

Fuck, she’s so different with me right now. When has she ever reached for my hand, or displayed any sort of honest affection for me in front of people she knows? Is it the alcohol?

Christ, just enjoy it, will ya? Stop analyzing everything.

“I thought it was over today,” I softly admit, brushing my fingers against hers and staring down into my lap. “I was shocked when you called. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Maybe you were.”

Our eyes lock, and she breathes a laugh, taking another sip of her drink and then tipping her head down. Her eyes flutter. “Dreaming about me is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

“
You
are kind of my thing.”

“And yoga.”

“Yeah.” I reach up and grab a piece of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. My phone beeps with a text alert, and I pull it free from my pocket and place it on the counter.

Tessa
: Well?

I quickly type my response.

Me
: Crisis averted.

“Who is that?” Brooke asks, leaning close to see my screen as I set the phone back down. She studies it for a moment. “Tessa?” Our eyes lock. Hers narrow. “Mm.”

I turn my head, smiling as she rights herself on her stool and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s a mate from Alabama. I’ve told her about you.”

Brooke lifts her glass to her mouth. “Oh, really? And have you seen her vagina? Because I’ve never seen any of my mates’ vaginas. Just saying. Or their penises, before you ask. No penises or vaginas between mates.”

I rub at my neck, watching her, uncontrollably smiling at this development.

Now this is quite interesting.

“Are you jealous, Brooke?”

Her head snaps in my direction, eyes heavy with disagreement. She lowers her glass to the marble. “Jealous? Me? Of who? That ugly bitch who just texted you? Why would I be jealous of her if you’ve never seen her vagina, which you have yet to confirm. Please confirm that before I toss my drink in your face.”

I take another swig of my beer, letting her stew a bit next to me before I respond.

“Tell Theresa to find her own Australian.”

I nearly choke.

Wiping at my mouth after my coughing fit, I turn to Brooke and set my beer down, reaching for her hand. She fights my hold for a good three seconds before letting me have it, but keeps her gaze fixed behind the bar.

“
Tessa
, not Theresa, and I went out on one date months ago. I never even kissed her, Brooke. She’s just a really good mate.”

“You don’t need to explain your relationship or whatever with her. I really don’t care.”

“No?”

She shakes her head.

I lean forward to see her face. “Because I would really fucking care if you were texting some bloke and I didn’t know who he was to you. I’m not a jealous guy, but I think for you I would be. It’s staggering how you make me feel.”

She turns her head, watching me press a kiss to her palm.

“And I rather like thinking you might be right there with me, willing to be jealous and crazy for only one person.”

Her face relaxes the longer she stares at me. She wets her lips. “You never even kissed her?”

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Not like I want to kiss you.”

Slowly, like she’s fighting it, a gentle smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then pulls across the rest of it. She shakes her head through a quick exhale, giggles quietly, then slides her warm body into my lap, squeezing my neck and pressing soft kisses to my jaw.

“Tell me something in Italian again,” she whispers as her fingers slide through my hair. “I liked it so much before.”

I drop my head beside hers. My arms tightly coil around her back. “You like not knowing what I’m saying?”

“Mm.” She nods and kisses my neck.

“I could say anything, you know? Maybe something you aren’t ready to hear.”

“I know.” She moves back and stares at my mouth. Her eyes darken, liquid desire swirling in those wild green and brown irises. She wets her lips and grabs my face. “I think I’m drunk.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she leans in. “Definitely.”

Her lips press against mine. I open my mouth and take her tongue, sucking off the bitterness from the alcohol. Letting her taste saturate my soul.

God, what this woman does to me.

She moans and presses her chest closer, kissing me hard and unhurried, stroking her tongue against mine, sucking on my lips and wiggling in my lap.

I both hate and love how Brooke’s being with me tonight, so unashamed with her affection. Abandoning all her doubts. Exactly how I want her to be with me all the time. Exactly how
I
am with her, all the time.

It’s bloody torture, knowing why she’s acting so free with me, but fuck, it’s hard to pull away from.

This is what it can be like. And this, goddamn, this is what I’m missing.

“Mason,” she groans, digging her nails into my neck, rocking her hips against my erection.

I snap out of my haze and slow us down, moving my lips to her cheek and kissing her dimple.

“Voglio che questo non finisca mai,” I whisper against her skin.

I won’t ever want this to be over.

She stills in my arms, her breath blowing hot and sharp against my ear. Then, with a quiet sigh, she drops her head to my shoulder and goes limp.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I won’t remember that tomorrow.”

Laughing, I lean back and push the hair out of her face.

“Are you spending the night?” she asks, her fingers dancing along the back of my neck. She looks excited for that possibility.

“Better not.”

Her lip twitches. “Think I might forget your rules and try and take advantage of you in my drunken stupor?”

I smile, squeezing her hips. “Yeah, and I might forget you’re drunk.”

Too much temptation. I know how fucking amazing it feels having Brooke next to me at night. I won’t be able to keep my hands off her.

“I would,” she confesses through a massive grin. “Forget,
and
take advantage of you. But can you at least stay until I fall asleep? I’ll let you stare at my tits a little.” She shimmies her shoulders and makes her tits bounce and sway.

My cock stirs.

No bra. Fuck, this is going to be a challenge.

“Jesus Christ, Brooke,” I groan, leaning in and taking her mouth again, tilting her head and pressing kisses to her jaw. “You’re keeping that on, yeah?”

“Nah.”

She laughs and I suck on her neck.

“Good,” I tell her. “Then I’ll stay.”

BROOKE

Mondays have never bothered me.

I know most people would rather skip this day entirely, but I’ve never had a problem with it. I don’t mind working on Mondays, or dealing with the general population on this specific day of the week. Traffic is never really an issue because I work so close to where I live. And as long as I’m not drinking my weight in booze the night before, I never have difficulty waking up and getting my ass to the bakery on time.

Mondays have never bothered me. Until today, this particular Monday.

The Monday after my weekend with Mason.

Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to come into work today?

Because I was nursing a wicked hangover all day yesterday and spent my life in bed with my door locked, Joey missed his opportunity to run off at the mouth and bug the shit out of me about everything that happened this weekend. But now that I’m fully coherent and stuck in this chocolate raspberry scented Hell for eight hours? I not only get to try and ignore Joey’s nosy comments, but Dylan is also weighing in with her opinion on everything.

She’s my boss. I can’t exactly toss her through a window to shut her up now, can I?

Plus, there’s the whole pregnancy thing. I’m sure that wouldn’t be good for the baby.

“Cupcake, you should’ve seen her.” Joey’s broad smile reemerges as he steps into the back for the hundredth time today.

I sigh and keep my head down.

“Talking about how sweet Mason was when he removed the tick. How he held her while she cried with those sexy ass arms of his. She even mentioned something about having a decent time up until that point. Can you believe it? Our little mini muffin actually enjoyed camping.”

I place another pastry into the large bakery box in front of me and glare at him from across the worktop. Dylan laughs quietly from her stool. “I was drunk when I said that,” I tell him.

I can’t believe it. I actually had fun camping. What is happening with the world?

“You were barely into your first martini. Don’t even go there with me, Brooke.” Joey points a finger at my face. “I am way past the point of trying to get you to admit you have feelings for this guy, because I think you’re way past just having feelings. I saw you with him when he came over, and I know how you flirt when you’re drunk. That wasn’t it, honey.”

I close the box and stack it on top of the other two I have already filled. A sharp, unrelenting tension builds behind my eyes. I ignore Dylan’s pleased smile and focus all of my annoyance onto Joey.

“Well, I don’t remember how I looked when Mason came over, because like I said fifty times already today, I was well on my way to party hour, but I’m sure I looked how any woman would look when sex comes knocking at their door.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Dylan pushes a sheet pan away from her and crosses her arms under her chest. “Brooke, when was the last time you had sex? How many days ago?”

I open my mouth to answer, then quickly close it.

Fuck. Fuuuck. I can normally count my response to this question on one hand. But today I have no idea . . .

How long has it been?

Paul. That giant asshat was my last regrettable encounter. I met Mason the following week. Am I into double digits territory?

Holy shit. That had to be at least two weeks ago.

“Do you need a calendar, Brooke? There’s one right over there.”

Ignoring Dylan and her question, I open up a paper bag and begin filling it with banana muffins, keeping my eyes down and focusing on my task.

“So what if it’s been longer than usual since I’ve had sex. Who cares? I’m doing other stuff with Mason. I’m still getting off. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is or why both of you are bugging me about it.”

Silence.

No wiseass responses. No amusing little noises like I’ve been listening to all morning.

Have my prayers been answered? Am I suddenly the only employee of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth?

I look up and spot two pairs of eyes on me.

Damn.

Joey looks over at Dylan, grinning wildly. “I so wish I would’ve gotten that adorable speech on camera. You?”

She nods slowly. “Absolutely.”

What the fuck are they going on about now?

“What?” I ask, setting the bag down. My hands flatten on the wood as I flick my gaze between the two of them. “What did I say?”

Dylan straightens on her stool and rests her hand on her belly. “You just admitted you don’t care anymore that Mason is withholding sex from you. You, Brooke Wicks, don’t care about sex because you’re spending time with a man who is making you so happy, you’re forgetting what you’re missing.” She tilts her head. “Now, are you ready to admit
why
you don’t care?”

“I just told you!” I yell, slapping a hand over my mouth.

Oh, my God. What am I doing?

Dylan and Joey both startle from my outburst. Worried glances are exchanged, and then directed at me.