The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (116 page)

“You can do this.”

She stares up at me, looking at my eyes, my mouth, and finally lowering her gaze to my neck. She wets her lips and swallows hard.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

She looks so sad. So small.

Fuck, I want to hold her. Why did I have to make it so goddamn hot in that studio?

I squeeze her hips, hoping this small touch will give her some comfort.

“I know you don’t. You care, Brooke. And that’s why you’re going to do something amazing. Just breathe a little, yeah? Try not to worry so much.”

Her mouth tics—the hint of a smile. Letting her eyes slip closed, she takes in a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity before releasing it slowly through her nose. She seems to slide closer.

“Better?” I ask, moving my thumb over her jeans.

She nods, her hands moving around my waist as she stares at my chest. “You know this means I’ll be tied up all weekend except for the dinner. We won’t really see each other.”

I dismiss her underlying apology. “No worries. I have a few classes to teach. I’ll just be across the street for distractions and words of encouragement, if needed.”

“Yeah.” Her voice comes out quiet and swift. She tugs at my shorts, her nails scrapping across my skin. “Mason?”

“Mm?”

She looks up. I recognize the shift in her eyes. Desire.

With her small, very capable hands, she glides up my arms, slowly, squeezing my muscles and wrapping her grip around my neck. Our bodies press together.

She doesn’t mind my appearance?

“You’re all sweaty and sweet. Just like last night,” she whispers, standing on her toes to kiss me, crushing her perfect tits to my chest.

Jesus.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

I moan when she rubs her hip against my slowly hardening length. My hands rest on her waist. “Are we still talking about cakes?”

“Yes.” She smiles against my mouth. “What else would we be talking about?”

“You’re touching my cock. I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.”

Laughing, she twists and brushes against me again.

“Baby,” I moan. “I need to go.”

“And I need to come.”

Ah, fuck.

I groan and suck on her tongue a little, touching her arse, feeling my reserve and all responsibility for the business I own fading to nothing.

Maybe I can make this quick? Maybe my attendees will understand my weakness for this woman and wait me out?

Maybe I don’t need to make this quick?

With a soft moan, Brooke pulls away so it’s only her hands on my hips and nothing else. She looks up, a softness pooling in her eyes.

“Thank you for coming over and talking to me. I’m sorry I worried you with my text. I wasn’t thinking.”

Christ, that text. I nearly got run over by a delivery truck sprinting over here like I did.

I frown. “It’s fine.”

“I’m with you.” She touches my face.

My breath catches in my chest.
Brooke.
I lean into her hand, my throat tightening as I try to swallow. “Yeah.”

“I’m with you, Mason,” she slowly repeats, her lip trembling, tears brimming her eyes again, but her voice so fucking sure it shatters any wall or shield she ever put up between us. Obliterating every hesitation and uncertainty. Every whispering doubt in my ear.

Gone. She’s mine, and I am so fucking hers I don’t remember the person I was before this.

“Baby.” I crush her against me, kissing her, giving her my racing heart and my urgent touch and every breath I will ever take. “With you,” I tell her.

She nods and breaks away to kiss my jaw and my cheek, pressing her lips all over my face.

We embrace each other, just holding, until our bodies steady and the pressing urge to touch and kiss and fuck lessens to a sufferable longing.

“Okay,” Brooke whispers against my mouth. “Go, before you lose half your class.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mason,” she laughs, kissing me hard and then with a firm hand, pushing against my shoulder, shoving me in the direction of the door. She gives me an incredulous look.

I don’t care . . . fuck, that’s a bit mad. A truth, nonetheless.

This is Brooke. My Brooke. She’s finally mine and she’s with me.

She’s with me
.

I stop at the door. “Say it again.”

Lifting her head from the attention she’s giving the paper on the counter, a contented look shadows her face. Her hazel eyes appearing brighter now. Bigger, as she looks me straight on, standing taller, holding my gaze with that swelling confidence I’m used to seeing on her.

“I’m with you.”

Her sweet voice lifts in the air, her words soaking into me, saturating my heart, my bones, and somehow going deeper than that. I feel them absorbing into my blood and taking on the life of my pulse, beating . . .

I’m with you.

Beating . . .

I’m with you.

BROOKE

I’m excited for tonight. More than excited, actually. And not a bit nervous.

Wait . . . I’m not nervous at all?

I hold my hands out in front of me, turning them over in the air, watching for any signs of panic.

They’re steady. No tremble to my fingers. Not even a slight twitch.

Huh. Look at that.

I press two fingers to the inside of my wrist. My pulse is stable, and my stomach doesn’t feel like I just stepped off the world’s scariest rollercoaster.

I’m not sweating.

I’m not pacing my bedroom or annihilating every sweet in this condo.

I’m not trying to talk my way out of tonight, or making up an excuse as to why I can’t make it.

This is a big deal. A huge deal, and the only reason why I’m anxious is because I’m ready for it to happen.

I’m ready. So fucking ready.

Bringing Mason with me to dinner at Juls and Ian’s house, officially stepping out with him as a couple, introducing him as my boyfriend. Any one of these would usually send me into a fit where I’d be locking myself in my room and blowing everyone off, refusing to answer my phone or faking an illness. I normally don’t do stuff like this. I never do stuff like this.

But something is different. I’m different.

Maybe it’s seeing the look on Mason’s face when I tell him he’s not alone in his feelings. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s become more than just a man I’m interested in. He’s a man I want to be with all the time, doing everything with, including breakfast dates and dinners at my sister’s house. Camping and late night drives through the city.

Or maybe it’s just him. No one else could’ve gotten me here. I’m sure of it.

Mason went from being a guy I wanted to fuck, to a man I wanted to know, to the only person I care to be around.

The only person . . .

I sure as hell didn’t see this coming, but I want it, and I’m not nervous.

I’m ready.

As I’m tying my navy cinch dress and securing the loose bow at my hip, my phone rings from on top of my dresser. I run my fingers through my loose curls before hitting the speaker phone button.

“Hey. I’m just finishing up getting ready. Mason should be here any minute.”

Picking up my gloss, I apply a thin coat of the shimmery peach shade and press my lips together as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“Change of plans. I think Jake has chicken pox,” Juls says.

“What?” I look down at the phone. “Are you sure? How did he get it?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Playground, I guess. Ian was giving him a bath and saw the blisters on his stomach. My poor guy.”

Poor Jake is right.

“Well, shit. That sucks.” I toss the tube of gloss into my makeup case and carry the phone over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress. “You know Izzy will probably get it now.”

“I know. I’m almost hoping she does, that way I can just get them both out of the way at the same time. God, does that make me a horrible mother? Wishing a miserable infection on my child? Ian thinks I’m crazy.”

Juls, a horrible mother? Please. She kills it. She’s that mom other mom’s hate because she’s so fucking good at life.

She’s organized. Her kids are perfectly behaved and always look like they hopped out of a Children’s Place catalog. She still looks like a pin-up girl after two babies, and she rocks heels every day.

Every day. Even at the playground.

I stare at my feet. “Makes sense to me. I wish mom would’ve done that with us, that way I could still come over with Mason, assuming he’s had chicken pox before.” I feel a smile lifting my mouth. “I wonder if they call that something different in Australia. Like koala pox or spots down under.”

“That second one sounds like an STD.”

We both laugh. I pull my knees up and brace my heels on the wooden frame.

“I am bummed though. I was really looking forward to tonight. All of us hanging out.” I pick at the hem of my dress.

How long does chicken pox last? A week? Several? Is there a period where it isn’t contagious?

I bring up Google and do a search while keeping Juls on the line.

“Aw, me too. You know how excited I was. And the kids. Especially since you were bringing Mason. I really wanted to see you two together.” She pauses as I skim the page on WebMD. “Can I . . . okay, I want to ask you something, but you can’t get all Brooke on me.”

I huff. “What does that mean?”

All Brooke . . .

All awesome and sexy as hell? Because that’s unavoidable.

“You know exactly what it means. You can’t bite my head off or hang up on me because I’m bringing up mushy shit you don’t usually like to talk about. It’s not nice. I want your word that you’ll at least give me an honest response.”

I exit out of the search on my phone and stare at the screen.

I have a feeling I know where this conversation is going. Mason. Juls wants details, which isn’t surprising. I really haven’t given her any. In fact, the last time we spoke about this I’m pretty sure I bit her head off and hung up.

I definitely hung up.

I sink back onto the bed, resting my phone beside my ear. “I promise.”

“Really?” Juls whispers in complete disbelief. I smile and stare at the ceiling.

“Yes. Hurry up before I change my mind.”

She clears her throat. “Wow. Okay. Well . . .” a soft, shuffling noise comes through the phone.

“Oh, my God, Juls. Do you have notes?”

Little Miss Wedding Planner. I can totally see her having a list of topic points for this discussion.

“What?” she asks, sounding startled. “No, no I’m just reading a magazine. Glamour or something.”

Thud.

A notepad getting tossed, perhaps?

“Right,” I laugh.

“Anyway, I was just wondering how serious this is with you and him. I mean, obviously you’re willing to admit you’re dating, since you planned on bringing him with you tonight.”

“Mm mmm.”

“And that in itself is a miracle,” she chuckles softly. “Headline news. But, I didn’t know if this is just something you are doing for fun, or if it’s more than that. If you even know what it is.”

“I love him.”

She gasps. My stomach does a strange little flip.

“What? You do? Really?”

“Yeah.” Grinning, I grab the phone and set it on my chest. I lift my hair up and let the cool comforter chill the back of my neck. “I really,
really
love him. I think I just got butterflies from saying it. So apparently those are real.”

“Brooke, that’s wonderful.” Her voice grows exceedingly quiet.

I listen to her soft sniffles. My sister, ever the emotional wreck when it comes to anything even slightly romantic.

“Oh, my God. I was not expecting you to say that. Does he know?”

“I told him last night, right after I figured it out.” I pinch my thighs together. “Then we had wild, shameless sex into the wee hours.”

Juls shrieks. “I’m so happy for you! On both counts, obviously. And I know he loves you too. God, I saw it that night at The Tavern. The way he spoke about you while you were in the bathroom. He was so in love then.”

“What?” I scoff. “No, he wasn’t. That was before we even knew each other at all.”

Is she insane? How he could he have loved me then? I met him two minutes before that night.

“So? I went out with Ian one time and I knew I was going to marry him. One date and that was it. Boom. Why should it take longer? Your soul is recognizing who it belongs to. Knowing should be immediate. It’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd.”

I press my lips together, holding in my programmed skeptical remark.

Hmm. Maybe Juls is right? Maybe it isn’t entirely strange for it to happen in an instant for some people. I remember what she was like after meeting Ian. Lord, she never shut up about the guy.

And now I never shut up about the guy.

“Maybe,” I quietly reply, thinking back to that night at the bar.

Mason’s face when he walked over. His engaging stare. The way he cared more about hearing me than staying and having a few drinks.

Did he love me then? God, that seems completely senseless.

“Is this like, it for you? Is he the one?”

“Jesus, Juls.” I sit up and hold my phone out. “Would you get out of wedding planner mode please? I told you I loved him. I didn’t ask your opinion on venues or centerpieces.”