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Tempted
Janelle Denison


Brooke Jamison is finally going to get a life! Newly single, she's planning to shed her inhibitions and indulge all her romantic fantasies. But the only man in those fantasies is her oh-so-sexy ex-brother-in-law, Marc. So when he unexpectedly shows up on her doorstep, Brooke decides it's time to get Marc out of her dreams…and into her bed!Marc Jamison has always been fond of his former sister-in-law. Only, Brooke is acting anything but sisterly now! Suddenly, shy, sensible Brooke has turned into Marc's own personal fantasy! And he's definitely enjoying helping her discover her sensual side! But will he still have a place in her life once she finds it?









“Do you want to try out the sex survey?” Brooke asked


Marc glanced at the magazine, then at Brooke. His eyes grew dark. “I’m game if you are. But no cheating.”

Brooke wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t cheat.”

“That’s good to hear.” He stretched out on his side, propped his head in his palm and patted the sleeping bag in front of him. “Still, I think you’d better come down here so I can look into your eyes when you answer,” he said, grinning.

She hesitated for a moment, then scooted down until she lay on her side facing him. They weren’t touching physically, but a keen sense of intimacy surrounded them.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get started.” He paused over the questions, deliberating which one to choose. “Here’s a good one,” he said. “‘If someone completely turned you on, would you consider having a hot fling with them?’”

Brooke’s skin tingled. The question addressed an issue they’d been avoiding since yesterday morning’s kiss. With her new motto, Just Do It, ringing in her head, she answered, “Well…yes, I guess I’ve considered it.” She gathered up her courage and looked him in the eye. “With you.”


Dear Reader,

The title, Tempted, just about sums up the premise of this book. When my sensible heroine, Brooke Jamison, finds herself stranded with her very sexy ex-brother-in-law, Marc, she can’t resist the temptation to shed her inhibitions and indulge in a few of her favorite erotic fantasies. Two days of blissful confinement changes everything between them, but can she risk her heart on a man who is as commitment-shy as they come?

Hot, sexy, erotic…Those are the elements inherent in the BLAZE subseries that allowed me to push personal boundaries and make this one of my most sizzling books to date. I hope you enjoy Brooke and Marc’s story, their sensual journey and the passionate discoveries they make along the way.

And be sure to watch for my next ultra-sexy Temptation BLAZE novel, Seduced, available in December 2000. Meanwhile, I’d love to know what you think of Tempted. You can write to me at P.O. Box 1102, Rialto, CA 92377-1102. I always write back! For a list of upcoming releases, check out my Web site at www.janelledenison.com.

Fondly,

Janelle Denison




Books by Janelle Denison


HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

679—PRIVATE PLEASURES

682—PRIVATE FANTASIES

732—FORBIDDEN

759—CHRISTMAS FANTASY


Tempted

Janelle Denison






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Carly Phillips and Julie Elizabeth Leto, for your extraordinary friendship and unending encouragement. Viva las Divas!

And to Don, for understanding that our astronomical long distance phone bill is a legitimate business expense.




Contents


Prologue (#u1db4d33e-89fa-5d0a-a52e-9fed8959998b)

Chapter 1 (#u57076df0-170a-5b8c-891e-f4abf8d09c24)

Chapter 2 (#ua6496098-dceb-527d-8a73-be6907edb134)

Chapter 3 (#ua5ca88af-600e-5975-9858-5d1a401a9a62)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


“THIRTY-FIVE YEARS of marriage. Are you as impressed as I am?”

The deep, masculine baritone murmuring into her ear from over her shoulder caused Brooke Jamison to shiver. She turned and faced the owner of that sexy voice—her former brother-in-law, Marc Jamison. She met warm gray eyes framed in sooty lashes, and a mouth tipped in a lazy, sexy smile that was as natural as his gregarious personality. His thick, black hair, looking as soft and enticing as midnight, had been tousled by the slight breeze cooling the early August evening. In an attempt to maintain an executive image for his electrical contracting company, he wore his hair short, but the ends that curled over the collar of his sports jacket bespoke the rebel he was.

Startled by the unexpected flutter of awareness that tickled her belly, Brooke focused on his question and her answer. “Your parents’ marriage is amazing, and inspiring.”

Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his chocolate-colored trousers, Marc looked briefly to the guests gathered in his parents’ lavishly decorated backyard to celebrate Kathleen and Doug’s thirty-fifth anniversary. “So, are you having a good time?”

“Yeah, I am,” she admitted, glad that she’d accepted his mother’s invitation to join the celebration. She’d been hesitant at first, considering her and Eric’s divorce had been finalized two weeks before, but Kathleen and the rest of the Jamison family had made her feel welcome, including her ex-husband. Despite the inevitable end to their marriage, she and Eric still maintained an amicable relationship, rare among divorced couples. Still, Kathleen’s invitation had initially taken her off guard.

“I have to confess I’m surprised your family wanted me here, considering I’m technically not part of the family anymore.”

A small frown pulled at his dark brows, her admission obviously causing him concern. “Hey, once you’re a Jamison, you’re part of the family forever, didn’t you know that?”

Brooke smiled, liking the way that sounded. Unfortunately, in her experience families divided when couples split up. The dissension and emotional upheaval her own father had caused when he’d ended his marriage to her mother had been monumental. Without compunction, he’d shattered fragile family ties, forcing Brooke to mature beyond her thirteen years and leaving his other daughter hurt and disillusioned.

“That’s not usually the way a divorce works,” she returned, taking a sip of her drink.

“You divorced Eric, not the rest of us,” he countered easily. “My parents adore you, my mother thinks of you as the daughter she never had, and I think you’re pretty special, too.”

His complimentary words were simple and sincere, yet she was suddenly, inexplicably entranced by the warm glow in his gaze. Ignoring the odd racing of her pulse, she looked away and found her ex-husband trapped in a steady stream of one-sided dialogue with his uncle George, a boisterous man who reveled in dominating the conversation. The beefy hand resting on Eric’s shoulder guaranteed he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Eric’s hazel eyes met hers over Uncle George’s balding head and silently pleaded, “Have mercy on me, please.” He flashed her one of the endearing smiles that had won her over when she’d first met him, but now failed to elicit any stirring of desire or the inclination to help him out of his predicament.

Marc followed her line of vision to his brother and groaned. “Eric looks miserable, and we both know how long-winded, and boring, my uncle can be. Think we ought to go save him?”

An amused smile tipped the corner of her mouth as she considered Marc’s question for all of two seconds before breaking eye contact with Eric and leaving him in his uncle’s clutches. “No, I don’t believe I will,” she said without a hint of remorse. “It’s no longer my job to rescue Eric, or play the doting wife.” He was on his own, as she was. And she was pleased to discover she was fine with that.

Marc studied her expression intently. “You’re doing okay, then?”

“More than okay,” she verified, nodding. “Though after a two-year marriage, it seems strange to be single and available again.”

“I’m sure that status won’t last long.” He leaned toward her, so close she caught the faint scent of mint on his breath. “Between you and me, Eric never knew a good thing when he saw one. I was really hoping you’d be ‘The One.”’

She blinked up at him, not quite understanding what he meant. “‘The One’?”

“Yeah, the one woman who could make Eric settle down.”

Now it was her turn to frown. There was something in the depth of Marc’s eyes she couldn’t quite decipher. A hint of disappointment, she realized, but didn’t understand its source.

“I’m only one woman,” she said. “And that obviously wasn’t enough for Eric.”

Eric had tried to conform to their wedding vows, but ultimately he’d realized and admitted that he was a man who couldn’t commit to any one woman. A genetic flaw, he’d told her, passed on from father to sons. Except Eric’s father, Doug, had chosen to make his marriage work after his one indiscretion. Judging by the closeness Doug and Kathleen now seemed to share, their relationship had endured.

Resignation flickered across Marc’s lean features. “If that’s the case, it doesn’t leave much hope for me.”

His words held a longing she found curious. In the years that she’d known Marc she’d discovered that he steadfastly avoided serious relationships, didn’t commit himself to any one woman and preferred to play the field. He embraced bachelorhood.

So why, then, did she get the impression that he wished differently?

Placing her empty glass on the corner of the rented bar, she decided that talk of anniversaries and marriage was getting the best of her and making her come to absurd conclusions about her brother-in-law. Making her feel things she had no business feeling.

She called up a smile. “It’s getting late. I’d better say my goodbyes and be on my way.”

He nodded, his charming grin lightening the moment. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Half an hour later, after an endless round of hugs and farewells from the entire Jamison clan, Marc escorted her to the foyer. He rested his hand lightly at the base of Brooke’s spine, the heat of his fingers penetrating through the black linen pants she wore. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder how a simple touch from Marc could evoke such a startling response.

She stepped away from him as inconspicuously as possible when they reached the carved front doors, effectively dislodging that overwhelming contact that had her body tingling. Granted, she’d been without a man for a year, and Marc was extremely attractive, but she’d never thought of him as anything more than her husband’s brother.

Until now…

His gaze found hers, and the muted sounds of the party faded into the background, making Brooke aware that they were very much alone.

A smile eased across his lips, but his expression was more serious than she’d ever seen it before. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Tamping a sudden rush of emotion, she whispered, “Okay.”

He gathered her into a warm hug she hadn’t even known she needed until she was enveloped by his hard body. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of warm spice and male heat. Greedily, she leaned into him and absorbed his comforting embrace, reluctant to let the moment go.

As much as she was over Eric, the past year had been difficult, and at times, lonely. She’d moved into her sister’s apartment after her separation, and though Jessica provided female companionship, it wasn’t enough. With Marc’s arms around her, his hands stroking her back, Brooke realized how much she missed something as simple as a man’s embrace, a man’s touch. Eric had never been very demonstrative in their marriage, believing it wasn’t masculine to exhibit tender feelings. Marc had always been one to openly express his affection.

Too soon he pulled back, and she lifted up on her feet to place a chaste kiss on his cheek—the same time he turned his head. Their lips met, momentarily startling them both. Over the past four years she’d shared many platonic kisses with her flirtatious brother-in-law, and this one started as innocently as any, his mouth brushing hers lightly…except somewhere along the way the tenor of the kiss changed, for both of them.

This time his lips lingered a little longer, and his mouth gradually, instinctively, exerted a gentle pressure that surpassed those chaste kisses they’d shared in the past. To her shock, a soft, unexpected moan of pleasure tickled her throat, and his tongue stroked along her bottom lip in tentative exploration.

Her mind spun, her senses reeled, and she struggled to keep her perspective on the situation. Desires and denials clashed, confusing her. Nerve endings that had lain dormant for too long sizzled and came alive. And then she did something incredibly shameless—she touched her tongue to his.

She heard him groan deep in his chest, felt Marc’s large hands on her hips guide her backward…until her spine pressed against the wall, and the two of them were shrouded in a shadowy corner. The heat surrounding her was incendiary. She caught a quick glimpse of the sensual hunger glimmering in his eyes and shivered at the thought of being the recipient of all that wild, frenzied electricity.

She didn’t protest when he framed her face in his large, callused hands, didn’t object or struggle when he lowered his mouth to hers once again. Without preamble, he parted her lips with his, glided his tongue into forbidden territory, and seduced her with one of the hottest, most shockingly intimate kisses she’d ever tasted.

And she let him.

His fingers threaded through her hair, and his thumbs caressed her jaw. Her body swelled, and for a brief moment she felt reckless and wild. The feeling was liberating, exciting…until her conscience rudely reminded her who she was kissing—her bad boy, live-for-the-moment ex-brother-in-law.

Panic edged out pleasure, and she jerked her head back, effectively ending the rapacious kiss, but there was nothing she could do about the slow throb pulsing through her body, making her ache for primitive, erotic things she’d never, ever contemplated with Eric. Unfortunately, her ex-husband had never inspired such consuming lust, such excruciating need.

And that knowledge frightened her most of all.

Frantically, she pushed Marc away, and he immediately stepped back. They were both breathing raggedly, and judging by his bewildered expression, he was just as stunned as she was by the instantaneous flare of desire that had leapt between them. And intrigued—she recognized the thrill of a challenge in his quicksilver eyes.

Knowing that the dangerous, frivolous kind of interest she saw there could only cause trouble to her heart and emotions, she moved around him in a frenzied blur of motion and fled from the house. She sucked cool night air into her lungs, berating herself for a fool.

“Brooke, wait,” she heard his voice, then his clipped steps as he followed her down the brick walkway.

Shaken by what she’d allowed to happen, and refusing to engage in a conversation about her brazen response, she nearly ran to her car. Disengaging her alarm, she slid behind the wheel of her Toyota Four Runner, wincing as his low, exasperated curses reached her. Slamming the door shut, she started the engine, drowning out his voice, then left him standing at the curb with his hands jammed on his hips and his features creased with frustration.

She experienced a twinge of guilt for her abrupt departure, but knew her actions spoke louder than any words possibly could. No matter how much she might want Marc, she wasn’t interested in falling for another Jamison.




1


Three months later

“HERE’S TO YOUR NEW single status, Brooke.” Stacey Sumner lifted her strawberry margarita in a toast to mark the beginning of their weeklong “girls’ retreat” in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

Brooke grinned at her best friend and co-worker. Clinking her glass with Stacey’s and then her sister’s, she took a drink of the frothy beverage. “How about a toast to seven days of skiing, soaking in the hot tub, girl talk and eating everything we shouldn’t?” At the grocery store on the way up to the time-share cabin she still maintained with Eric, they’d bought enough to satisfy every craving they might have—junk food had definitely been on their agenda.

“Oh, yeah,” Jessica agreed, her pale blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Sounds like heaven.”

Stacey reclined on the matching love seat cornering the sofa and crossed her long legs. “Seven days of doing what we want, when we want. Spontaneity is the word for the week.”

“And relaxation,” Brooke interjected, thinking of all the novels she’d been wanting to read for the past six months and had brought along to curl up with at night.

“Aw, Brooke, you’re no fun,” Stacey lightly chastised. “This week was supposed to be about spontaneity and shedding inhibitions in celebration of being single again, remember?”

Averting her gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth, Brooke took another drink of her potent margarita. Yeah, she remembered the lecture Stacey had imparted on the drive up to Quail Valley for their ski vacation. But Brooke had always been the quintessential good girl—responsible, dependable and virtuous—thinking long and hard about consequences before acting. She’d even accepted her job as an accountant for Blythe Paints because the position was staid and reliable.

Being reckless wasn’t in her psyche…unless she counted that very spontaneous, uninhibited kiss with Marc three months before. Try as she might to forget about that impetuous embrace, the incident, and the man, invaded her thoughts on a daily basis. And at night, well, she’d never had such erotic dreams, had never woken up so on edge. It might have been her own ministrations that had brought her the release her body sought, but it had been Marc who’d starred in the forbidden fantasies she’d woven.

Dismissing the kiss should have been relatively easy, considering she hadn’t heard from Marc since that night. It was the way of the Jamison men, to seize the moment, then move on before the situation got too complicated. In this case, it was probably for the best.

Ignoring the heat flushing her skin—from the combined effects of tequila, the warmth of the fire and her sensual memories of Marc—she met Stacey’s gaze. “You’re the impulsive one, not me,” she retorted.

Stacey made a sound of mock disgust. “You’re just too exciting for words, Brooke.”

She shrugged unapologetically, casually studying her nails. The pale pink polish was chipped and in need of a fresh coat—she planned on treating herself to a manicure and pedicure sometime this week. That’s about how exciting her life got. Predictable…and boring, she realized.

“Let’s try something different, in the way of girl talk,” Stacey suggested. “If you could create the perfect, ideal male to be stranded up here with, what qualities would he have and what would he look like? Use your imagination. Fantasize a little.”

Unbidden, Brooke’s imagination conjured up thick black hair rumpled deliciously, a hard male body made for sin and pleasure, and eyes that darkened from silver to charcoal with a kiss. The fantasies that crowded her mind were something she refused to share with anyone.

Curling her legs beneath her on the sofa cushion, she shoved Marc from her mind and decided to give her ideal male her best shot. “Looks don’t really matter,” she said honestly, “as long as he’s intelligent, warm and humorous.”

Stacey braced her elbow on the armrest of the love seat and propped her chin in her hand, giving Brooke and her description of her exemplary mate her undivided attention. “And sexy?”

“In an understated way. Nothing presumptuous or arrogant.” She finished off her margarita and thought about one of the things that her own marriage had lacked, and that she had often wished for. “His sole focus would be on me and my needs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stacey said in a throaty purr.

Brooke caught her friend’s drift right away. “And I don’t mean just sexually.”

Stacey wriggled her brows suggestively. “Though being focused on sexual needs doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m talking about emotional needs.” She sounded practical and dull, but didn’t care. After witnessing what her mother had gone through with her father, and her own experience with Eric, those qualities were important to her. “He’d be a good listener, and not afraid to show his feelings. He’d be secure in his masculinity so he didn’t need other women to stroke his ego. And that goes hand in hand with him being monogamous. That’s an absolute must.”

Which certainly left love-’em-and-leave-’em Marc out of the competition.

“That’s very sweet,” Jessica said, a bit of awe in her voice. “Do you think men like that actually exist?”

Brooke glanced at her sister, regretting that Jessica’s illusions about men had been shattered at such an early age by their father’s actions. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly, knowing at the same time that it was only her fantasy.

“You’re so serious about men.” Stacey drained the last of her drink and set her glass on the coffee table in front of her. “Ever thought of just going out and having a wild, mindless affair? Finding some guy that turns you on and having your way with him?”

Brooke imagined ripping Marc’s shirt off, buttons flying. She imagined dragging those tight jeans he wore down his hips, pushing him onto his back and straddling his thighs, then seducing him…

Swallowing a groan, she tried to force those erotic images right out of her head, but she couldn’t ignore that she had wondered a time or two what it would be like to be as sexually liberated as Stacey. To enjoy a man’s attentions without pouring a lot of emotion into the relationship. To just lose herself in mutual pleasure with no expectations, no strings, and without the risk of investing that deep, significant part of herself she could never recover once it was offered.

Men did it all the time. Her ex-husband had been guilty of playing that game, but then again, Eric hadn’t invested the same emotions that she had into their relationship. She’d learned, belatedly, that he’d been incapable of doing so. She’d discovered, belatedly, that she’d been little more than a challenge for her husband, one he’d conquered, claimed, and quickly grown bored with. She’d determined, belatedly, that commitment wasn’t an attribute the men in the Jamison family took seriously.

She knew that, so why was she allowing a bad boy like Marc to get under her skin and consume her thoughts?

“I don’t think Brooke is that kind of girl,” Jessica said when Brooke didn’t answer Stacey’s question.

The corner of Stacey’s mouth tipped up in a lazy, confident smile. “Everyone has a wild side. It’s just a matter of whether or not they tap into it.”

“Very enlightening,” Jessica said with a giggle. “And on that note, I think I’ll go blend the next batch of margaritas.”

Once she’d disappeared into the kitchen, Stacey glanced at Brooke, purpose glimmering in the depths of her eyes. “Ever looked at a guy and thought, I wonder if he’s any good in bed?”

Brooke kept her thoughts centered and focused. “No.”

Stacey considered that for a moment. “Ever looked at a guy’s hands and wondered what they’d feel like sliding over your body?”

Marc had nice hands, large, callused, hot. Her body thrummed at the thought of those palms stroking over her flesh, touching her in sensitive places. “Never.”

“Ever looked at a guy’s lips and imagined the slow, deep kisses he could give…or maybe the different ways he might use his mouth?”

“No, never.” Liar, liar, liar, a voice inside Brooke’s head chanted.

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘just do it’?”

Brooke shrugged. “Yeah.”

“It was meant for people like you.”

Brooke frowned. “People like me?”

“Yeah, people who are too serious and self-controlled. You need to loosen up so you can get in touch with your feminine needs. ‘Just do it’ needs to be your new motto—at least for this next week. Then when we return to civilization you can resume looking for that fantasy man of yours.”

“Just do it, huh?” Brooke repeated, testing out the words, not sure she could be so unreserved and direct—not when she’d spent her life being responsible and sensible in her approach.

Stacey grinned, looking pleased with herself. “Yeah, whenever you’re unsure of something, but you want it really bad, repeat those words. Just do it.”

“Just do what?” Jessica asked, returning with a fresh pitcher of strawberry margaritas.

“Anything that strikes your sister’s fancy this week,” Stacey said, holding up her glass as Jessica refilled it with the slushy liquid. “Especially when it comes to men.”

“Brooke is going man-hunting?” Jessica asked, intrigue infusing her voice.

Brooke winced. “That sounds so…reckless.”

“Impetuous is a better word, I think.” Stacey took a sip of her drink, her eyes bright with sensual knowledge. “You just kind of have to go with the feeling and not analyze the situation from every angle like you do those columns of numbers you work with. If it feels right, just do it.”

Brooke chewed on her bottom lip and pondered her friend’s suggestion. When it came to men, she’d always been cautious and selective, even analytical. Even her marriage to Eric had been based on practicality rather than uncontrollable passion—on both their parts, she now knew. They’d both had different expectations of their relationship, and each other, and in the end those individual needs had driven them apart emotionally and physically.

Ultimately, she wanted passionate love, a marriage based on mutual respect, and the kind of solid family unit she’d grown up without. She wasn’t like Stacey, who dated a slew of men, enjoyed the moment while it lasted, and didn’t think about the future. Brooke wanted a future with a man.

One week. Which wasn’t a whole lot when she thought of it in terms of the rest of her life stretching ahead of her.

Brooke took a gulp of her margarita, her mind spinning. Could she shed her inhibitions and have a hot, wild, unemotional fling with a stranger before returning to her stable life and dependable job?

“Tell you what,” Stacey said easily, as if sensing her doubts, “starting tomorrow, we’ll check out the prospects on the slopes and see what’s out there. If sparks happen, then go for it. If they don’t, no loss.”

Sparks, like the kind Marc generated. She shivered at the thought.

“Since I don’t ski, you two are on your own,” Jessica said, settling back on the couch. “I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet in the cabin and get caught up on my medical transcripts.”

“Then it’s you and me, Brooke.” Stacey grinned, lifting her glass in another toast. “And a mountain full of men to choose from.”

Brooke groaned as three glasses clinked together, trying to keep an open mind about Stacey’s man-hunting plan and her new motto for the week.

Just do it.

“JUST DO IT,” Brooke murmured to herself, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice as she wiped the coffee table of the remnants of their afternoon margarita-fest while Stacey and Jessica cleaned the kitchen. The words sounded flat and dull, too much like her personal life.

She snorted in disgust. For the past year she’d buried herself in her work, grasping on to the monotony of her job to counterbalance the stress and disappointment of her divorce. And now here she was, starting a new phase in her life…and still clinging to the safe and familiar.

Dull. Boring. Too damned predictable.

She sighed and straightened the sofa cushions. What Stacey was suggesting went against her grain and all those good-girl qualities she’d lived with her entire life, but much to her own surprise, she was gradually warming to the idea of finding a guy who turned her on and indulging in a sexy interlude. And she hoped in the process she’d finally banish Marc from her mind and ease the sexual frustration he’d caused her for the past three months.

Yeah, that particular idea definitely had merit. And maybe she’d return to Denver with a new attitude and a new outlook on her future.

A beam of headlights slashed through the windows facing the front of the small cabin, cutting through the shadows of twilight. She heard the crunch of snow beneath tires, an engine rumbling as it idled, then everything went quiet.

Curious, she headed toward the window next to the front door and pushed aside the curtain to peer outside. Even bathed in early November dusk, she immediately recognized the vehicle parked next to her Four Runner, a black Suburban with the Jamison Electrical logo emblazoned on the door in bold, white print.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as the object of her lustful fantasies slid from the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another male figure emerged from the passenger side, and finally, a third stepped from the back door, his boots crunching on the snow. Marc said something to the two other men, and while the duo moved toward the back of the utility vehicle, Marc started for the cabin’s front porch.

Brooke’s pulse tripped all over itself. Abruptly, she dropped the curtain and groaned, unable to believe her private refuge was about to be invaded by roughly six hundred pounds of gorgeous male testosterone, two hundred of which was trouble with a capital T.

Of all the possible ironies!

Knowing it was inevitable she face him, she opened the door before he had a chance to insert his key into the lock. His hand stopped midair, and their gazes met. A slow, intimate smile claimed his mouth, and his gaze drifted down the length of her with a slow, natural ease that came from years of assessing a woman in a single glance.

Not only did he assess her, he seemed to brand her with a breathless heat wherever his gaze roamed—and it covered plenty of territory in an amazingly short span of time. She found his bold perusal unnerving; the fluttering deep in her belly was equally disconcerting. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something that was distinctly male, a trifle dangerous and a whole lot predatory.

Her skin tightened, and to her dismay her breasts responded to his visual caress. They swelled within the lacy cups of her bra in a purely feminine way, pushing her taut nipples against the soft cotton of her University of Colorado sweatshirt. Even her thighs and legs seemed to become sensitized to the soft, faded denim of her jeans.

She blamed her body’s response on the cold, brisk air filtering into the cabin, but had no such excuse for the contrasting heat warming her in more intimate places—a feverlike flush generated by a pair of smoky-gray eyes. That gaze radiated a sexy, unmistakable kind of message that told her the kiss they’d shared three months ago was a prelude to a deeper kind of magic.

“Hello, Brooke,” he greeted her warmly. His voice was deep, rich, and sent a delicious shiver shimmering through her. Good grief, one kiss and now his voice had the ability to seduce her senses and make her weak in the knees.

She struggled to shake the awareness that had her in its grip. “What are you doing here?” she asked, part demand, part curiosity.

Marc lifted black brows over amused eyes. “I should be asking you the same thing. We’re here because we borrowed the cabin from Eric until next Tuesday to go skiing. Business is slow right now, so we thought we’d take advantage of the prime skiing conditions.”

One glance at the top of his Suburban revealed three pairs of skis strapped to a rack. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “The cabin is ours for the week.”

He tipped his head and a dark, unruly lock of hair slipped over his forehead. “Did you tell Eric you were coming up?”

A sigh unraveled out of her, fringed with frustration. “Of course I did.”

“That’s odd.” He absently rubbed his thumb along his jaw. “I asked him just this morning if the cabin was free, and he said since he hadn’t heard from you, that it must be.”

Unease slithered through Brooke, settling in her stomach like a rock. “I left a specific message with his secretary three days ago that I was taking the cabin for the week.”

Marc’s broad shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug. “He obviously didn’t get it, Brooke. His secretary is new and, well, she’s more beauty than brains, if you get my drift. You know Eric wouldn’t deliberately sabotage your plans if he knew you’d be here.”

Brooke knew Marc spoke the truth. For all her exhusband’s faults, he wasn’t one to do something so underhanded.

Marc’s two friends climbed the porch stairs, duffel bags in hand and congenial smiles in place. They flanked Marc and waited for her to invite them into the warmth of the cabin.

She stood guard at the door, certain once the trio invaded the cozy, two-bedroom time-share her chance at a relaxing vacation would vanish. “You can’t stay here.”

“We don’t really have a choice,” Marc replied easily. “I called all the resorts in the area, and because of the recent snowfall, everything is completely booked up this weekend. That’s why I asked Eric if I could borrow the cabin.”

His argument was solid, and believable. Still, Brooke didn’t budge.

“Who’s here, Brooke?”

The sound of Jessica’s curious voice loosened some of the tension building within Brooke. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as her sister exited the kitchen, followed by Stacey.

“Men,” Brooke said, the word escaping like the curse it was.

Marc’s deep, familiar chuckle strummed down her spine like caressing fingers. Shaking off her reaction, Brooke turned back to the trio, her gaze locking on Marc’s. “I don’t know what you find so amusing, Jamison, considering you and your friends might be camping in your Suburban for the weekend.”

That earned her a sexy grin that made her stomach dip and her toes curl. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

He sounded too sure of himself. And her.

Before she could issue a retort, Stacey moved to her side, too much enthusiasm glimmering in her eyes. “Aw, come on, Brooke. These guys have obviously been on the road for a few hours, the least we can do is let them rest before sending them on their way.” Her friend extended her hand and introduced herself, beating out any argument Brooke could have issued. “By the way, I’m Stacey Sumner. I work with Brooke at Blythe Paints.”

Marc slipped his hand into Stacey’s. “Marc Jamison,” he said, nodding in acknowledgment.

Stacey flashed a grin. “Ahh, the ex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ex-brother-in-law,” Stacey clarified.

A smile quirked his too-sensual mouth as his gaze slid back to Brooke. “I’d like to think I’m still a friend.”

Friends don’t kiss friends the way you kissed me. Squashing the frisson of heat spiraling toward her belly, despite the chill filling the room from outside, Brooke gave him a tight smile in return. “You’re currently a pain in the ass,” she muttered.

One of the men standing beside Marc grinned in amusement, and the other coughed to cover up a laugh.

Marc blinked, not the least bit offended. “But a darn loveable one.”

“That’s debatable,” she countered swiftly, refusing to let his compelling charm soften her.

“That’s exactly what Brooke needs these days. A good debate.” Stacey grabbed Marc’s arm and tugged him across the threshold. “Come on in, so we can continue this conversation without the threat of frostbite.”

Before Brooke could protest, the cabin was filled with three overwhelmingly masculine bodies, and the small living room seemed to shrink in size.

Marc shrugged out of his jacket and went about introducing his friends, mostly for Stacey’s and Jessica’s benefit. “This is Shane Hendricks, who works for my company as an electrical engineer,” he said of the blond-haired guy who’d seemingly captured Stacey’s attention, then nodded toward the other dark-haired man. “And this is Ryan Matthews, a divorce attorney for Haywood and Irwin.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Stacey said gregariously.

Jessica greeted Shane politely, then turned to Ryan. “An attorney, huh?” A sly smile curved her mouth as Ryan confirmed her question with a nod. “What’s black and brown and looks good on a lawyer?” Before he could respond to her odd, unexpected question, she offered the punch line. “A Doberman pinscher.”

Brooke groaned, Marc chuckled, and Ryan stared at Jessica in bafflement, taken aback.

Then he shook his head and laughed, too. “Nice greeting. I have to admit I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Oh, I have one for just about every occasion.” With a jaunty spring to her step, Jessica went to the coffee table, picked up her laptop computer and glanced at Brooke. “I’ll be up in the loft working on my transcripts until you get everything settled with Marc and his friends.”

Interest gleamed in Ryan’s gaze as he watched Jessica climb the stairs to the cabin’s only second-story bedroom. Once she was out of his line of vision, he looked back at Brooke, a grin quirking his mouth. “Was it something I said?”

Brooke rubbed the slow throb beginning in her temple, and offered the man a reassuring smile. “It’s not you, personally. Lawyer jokes are Jessica’s specialty. She finds them…amusing.” But Brooke knew where Jessica’s comments came from. Ryan’s profession made him an easy target for the pent-up emotions Jessica had kept deeply buried since their childhood.

As for her own emotions, they were currently under siege, as well. She thought about her forbidden attraction to Marc, her sister’s arsenal of lawyer jokes, and Stacey’s preoccupation with Shane as he helped her rekindle the fire in the hearth. Combining all that volatile sexual energy and masculine appeal and cramming it into one tiny cabin was not conducive to the rest and leisure she’d envisioned. No, it was more suited to insanity.

Desperate to see the trio on their way, she turned back to the leader of the pack. “Can I talk to you, Marc, alone?” Before he could refuse her, she headed purposefully toward the kitchen, the only room that would provide them a modicum of privacy.

She was determined that, within the next hour, Marc and his friends would be gone and her relaxing, week-long ski retreat would resume as planned.




2


MARC RELEASED a low, deep breath and watched Brooke head toward the kitchen. His gaze was unerringly drawn to the subtle sway of her slim hips, and the way her soft, faded jeans contoured to her curved bottom…which, admittedly, was his favorite part of the female anatomy—long, slender legs taking a close second. But her deeper, less superficial qualities were what tied him up in knots and had his conscience warning him to put her, and the spontaneous kiss they’d shared, out of his mind.

Intensely loyal and infinitely giving, Brooke was exactly the kind of woman he steadfastly avoided. She was so completely opposite from the enjoy-the-moment-while-it-lasts kind of woman he usually dated. Granted, he was very particular about whom he pursued, but his motto was always the same—no strings attached. The women knew up front what to expect, and he always bailed before the relationship turned demanding. One fateful night had proved he wasn’t cut out for commitment and forever promises, and he wasn’t willing to risk a woman’s emotional stability to give any kind of long-term relationship a try.

Nope, if his own brother hadn’t been able to find contentment with the one woman who embodied the perfect wife, then Marc had little hope for himself.

“Well, buddy,” Ryan said, slapping him good-naturedly on the back and cutting into his thoughts. “I know finding your sister-in-law here puts a glitch in our personal plans, but we’re depending on you to pull this off.”

Marc lifted a brow at his friend. “After Jessica’s odd brand of humor, you don’t mind sharing the cabin?”

Ryan’s gaze drifted toward the loft. “No doubt I’ll be dodging a barrage of lawyer jokes, but I figure we’ll be spending more time on the slopes than here. And if I don’t find an enticing ski bunny to hook up with, I figure it’s a place to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve crashed on the floor.”

Marc glanced at Shane, who was currently flirting with Stacey as they knelt in front of the fireplace. It seemed the other man didn’t have any objections to the cramped quarters, either. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He headed into the kitchen and found Brooke standing across the small room, near the oak table with six matching chairs—a convenient number given the current occupants of the cabin. He doubted Brooke would appreciate him using that fact as part of his argument for letting them stay.

Their gazes met, held, melded.

She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, showing him the more stubborn side to her personality. Her thick, shoulder-length hair swayed with the movement, prompting him to remember the feel of his fingers tangling in those rich, luxurious, honey-blond strands as he’d angled Brooke’s head for a deeper kiss. Wispy bangs touched her forehead and set off her expressive eyes, currently an intense shade of blue.

Despite her determined demeanor, her gaze revealed the wariness and caution she was really feeling. He knew those emotions were present because of the boundaries he’d unintentionally overstepped at his parents’ house that night of their anniversary party.

Unfortunately, the three months that had passed since he’d last seen Brooke had done nothing to diminish the deep, sensual craving he’d developed for her. He’d tried to tell himself that moment had been instigated out of flirtatious fun, but he now had to admit that the soft, warm feel of her lips under his had seduced him, had forced him to acknowledge that flawed part of him that had coveted his brother’s wife. Sweet, hot desire had gripped him, and he’d done the unthinkable and stolen a sample of what he knew would never be his—oneness, stability, eternity.

The discovery of what forever tasted like had shaken up every rule and restriction he lived by. He’d thought, he’d hoped, that time and distance would put their relationship back on track, as friends. He’d spent the past three months trying to get Brooke out of his mind, knowing she wasn’t his kind of woman, knowing he was the last kind of man she’d go for, especially after what she’d endured with his brother. Especially when his own past track record was less than sterling.

Their time apart had only intensified their awareness of one another.

“I’m sorry, Marc,” she said with an adamant shake of her head. “But having you and your friends here just isn’t going to work.”

He entered the room at a leisurely pace, closing the distance between them. “All of us have taken time off work until Tuesday, and there are no other lodgings available. I’m hoping we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“Eric needs to hire himself a competent secretary,” she muttered, more serious than joking. “We were here first, and this place isn’t big enough for six. My sister and I are sharing the loft, and Stacey is taking the only other room downstairs.”

“The sofa pulls out into a sleeper,” he countered, stopping a safe distance away from her—for both their sakes.

She smirked, the first hint of humor dancing in her eyes. “And you and your buddies will sleep on it together?”

He visibly winced. “Uh, no. Two of us can take the floor.”

“There’s only one bathroom.”

“That’s not important to the male species,” he said with a grin. “Besides, we’ll be up and gone before anyone wakes up in the morning.”

She released a sigh brimming with uncertainties, which he knew had to do with the subtle shift in their relationship. “Marc—”

He cut her off before she could issue an argument. “Look, Shane, Ryan and I came up here to hit the slopes, and for the most part, that’s where we’ll be. Or at the lodge. We just need a place to sleep at night. We’ll do our own thing, and you can do yours. If you or your friends need your own time, I’m certain we can find something to do to occupy our time. In fact, we were planning on grabbing dinner at the lodge. The place will be yours tonight until nine, at least.”

The determination in her gaze wavered, but then held strong, fueled by convictions only he understood. If it was anyone but him, he knew he wouldn’t be reduced to groveling.

“C’mon, Brooke,” he cajoled in his best persuasive tone. “I’ll talk Eric into giving you the next week that the cabin is free to make up for this fiasco.”

Before she could respond, Stacey entered the kitchen. Shane followed close behind, appearing well on his way to harmony with the raven-haired beauty in front of him.

“Well?” Stacey asked impatiently. “Has the head-mistress given her approval for you to stay?”

Three pairs of eyes stared at Brooke expectantly, and Marc watched her shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine, you can stay.” Her tone was hardly gracious. Neither was her gaze as she leveled a pointed looked at Marc. “But no extra guests allowed. You guys are on your own for any extracurricular activities.”

“Fair enough.” He stifled a grin at her militant attitude. “I promise, you won’t even know we’re here.”

BETWEEN THE HARD, carpeted floor, the chilled living room, and the erotic thoughts of the woman sleeping in the upstairs loft filtering through his mind, Marc couldn’t sleep worth a damn.

Rolling to his back, he stretched his stiff muscles and cursed Ryan for drawing the longest toothpick at the Quail Valley Lodge last night, thus giving his friend the pull-out sofa bed for the night. It had been the fairest way to claim the only mattress left in the cabin, but for him and Shane who were in sleeping bags on the floor, it was hell.

Sighing, he stacked his hands beneath his head and stared up at the high-vaulted ceiling. Gradually, the first shades of dawn crept through the curtainless window, throwing shadows along the wall. He heard a rustling sound from the loft’s bed, a sleepy sigh, and his gut tightened at the thought of Brooke lying in that bed, all warm and soft and sensual.

Just like she’d been when he’d kissed her. An eternity ago, it seemed, yet he could still remember every nuance of her body’s response as she’d melted against him, every silky glide of their tongues, the revealing and very sexy moan that had escaped her when he’d delved even deeper, wanting more of her.

The memory prompted a slow, aching throb through his body.

He’d convinced himself that the embrace had been a fluke, a flirtatious encounter that had accidentally escalated from the kind of platonic kiss they’d shared for three years, into a swift, indulgent seduction of senses. He’d convinced himself he’d only imagined the heat and incredible need that had flared between them. He’d believed it, until he’d seen her yesterday and experienced the urge to kiss her again, to see if what they’d shared had been as explosive as he remembered.

Dangerous, crazy, insane thoughts.

He’d deliberately stayed at the lodge until after midnight, but he’d known he was in deep trouble when he couldn’t summon the slightest bit of interest in the women who’d approached him, and there had been a bevy of them to choose from. While Shane and Ryan had enjoyed dancing and flirting with the female population, Marc had found himself comparing those women to Brooke…and found them all sorely lacking. Physically, any one of them could have sufficed. Mentally, none had stimulated him beyond a token smile.

He wanted to taste Brooke again. Badly. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. Knew he was completely wrong for her. And that she was completely wrong for him.

Somewhere along the way, those issues had ceased to matter.

And that’s when he knew he was in big, deep trouble. The kind that tripped a guy up inside. The kind that defied logic. The kind that overruled common sense and rational judgment.

The kind that made a usually sensible, intelligent man make incredibly stupid decisions.

Ever since a relationship with a woman during his senior year in college had turned disastrous, and made Marc realize he was too much like his own father, he’d never allowed another woman to get too close emotionally—for both their sakes. The guilt that had plagued him after that incident had been excruciating. But beyond the remorse, his actions had cemented in his mind his greatest fear, that he didn’t have what it took to sustain a lasting commitment—that fidelity was a chromosome missing from his family’s gene pool.

For the past eight years he’d devoted his time and energy to his electrical business, and dated women who didn’t make demands he knew he’d never be able to satisfy or fulfill. He’d never allowed his relationships to turn serious, and ended them before something deep and emotional developed.

One kiss, and he felt emotionally connected to Brooke—a revelation he found both scary, and exhilarating.

Not with her, his mind chided.

Listening to the voice of reason in his head, he determined that sooner or later they needed to discuss that kiss, to put things between them back on track, and into proper perspective. They’d always been friends, and maintaining that easy, casual relationship they’d shared during her marriage to his brother was of the utmost importance to him.

With that plan firmly in mind, he unzipped his sleeping bag, got up, and made his way to the bathroom. Closing the door, he flipped on the light, and decided he’d get his shower out of the way before the women woke up and the men lost their chance at any hot water.

Half an hour later, feeling more refreshed and his aching muscles more relaxed, he slipped on a pair of long thermal underwear and shirt, and overlaid that protective warmth with jeans and a flannel shirt. Quietly exiting the bathroom, he grabbed his ski jacket and made his way to the kitchen. He found the keys for the outdoor shed on the peg by the back door.

Since it appeared his friends were sleeping off a night of too much fun, he had plenty of time to take one of the two snowmobiles parked in the shed and enjoy the light snowfall that had coated the ground during the night.

He suddenly craved something sweet. Since Brooke was out of the question, he’d just have to head down to Quail Village to the quaint bakery there and settle for confections of the pastry kind.

WHEN MARC RETURNED an hour later, the other snow-mobile was gone, the lights in the cabin were on, and the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Tugging off his gloves, he stepped into the warm kitchen and closed the door to the mudroom behind him.

Brooke and Jessica turned from the counter to face him, and he smiled. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, setting the pink box of pastries on the oak table.

“Morning,” Brooke replied in her normal, good ol’ sister-in-law tone, then turned her attention back to pouring the steaming brew into the two mugs on the counter.

Ryan walked into the kitchen, and Jessica instantly honed in on the other man. “What could be good about waking up to a lawyer trying to negotiate time in the bathroom?” she asked, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee.

A lazy smile creased Ryan’s lips, and he lifted a brow over a dark brown eye glimmering with amusement. “I did not try and negotiate time in the bathroom.”

“What was I thinking? You’re absolutely right,” Jessica conceded humorously. “Divorce attorneys don’t know how to negotiate, they trounce their opponents, which is exactly what you did to me.” Wandering over to the table, she peeked into the pastry box and selected a bear claw. “And just to set the record straight, Mr. Matthews, your ‘I’ll only be a minute’ turned into twenty.”

Marc met Brooke’s gaze, and they both suppressed a grin at the obvious undercurrents between the sparring couple.

Retrieving a cup from the cupboard, Ryan filled the mug with coffee. “I didn’t take that long,” he countered mildly.

Jessica crossed the room and stopped beside Ryan. “How can you tell when a lawyer is lying?” she asked sweetly, then replied before Ryan could. “His lips are moving.”

With that victorious remark hanging in the air, she left the kitchen.

Marc chuckled and shook his head, feeling a twinge of sympathy for his good friend who was more used to women sweet-talking rather than mocking him.

Ryan joined him with his own deep laughter. “She’s not much of a morning person, is she?”

Brooke grimaced in apology. “No, she’s not.”

Picking a jelly-filled doughnut from the bakery box, he took a big bite, chewing contemplatively. “You know, as crazy as it sounds, I find her very stimulating.” On that note, he headed back into the living room, a grin curving his mouth and a challenging light sparking in his eyes.

As soon as Marc was alone with Brooke, silence, and a slow building awareness, settled between them. He still stood across the room, near the table, and she leaned against the far counter, looking at him over the rim of her mug as she casually sipped her coffee, but the charged energy that arced between them was unmistakable.

The instantaneous, intimate connection still startled him on an emotional level. Physically, he wasn’t so surprised at his reaction. He’d always thought of Brooke as beautiful, and sensual in an understated way—her marriage to his brother hadn’t blinded him to her allure. He was first and foremost a man who liked and appreciated women, and as such it was difficult not to notice the curves that made her intrinsically female—especially now, when the turtle-neck sweater she wore clung to firm breasts, and black leggings molded to the swell of her hips and those long, slender legs that had consumed too much of his thoughts lately.

But it was the warmth in her blue eyes that made his heart beat faster and caused a riot of emotions to clamor within him—wants and needs he’d denied himself for eight long years. Wants and needs he had no business contemplating now, or ever, not when he’d resigned himself to the kind of life-style that didn’t include the kind of commitment a woman like Brooke demanded…and deserved.

But those sensible thoughts did nothing to douse the undeniable desire that had taken up residence in him since that kiss they’d shared. While Brooke currently displayed admirable restraint and nonchalance regarding their situation, Marc experienced a contrary surge of recklessness that battled his willpower to resist her.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Marc laid it over the back of the chair, and turned to direct his gaze at Brooke. “Got enough coffee left for me to have a cup?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, a bit breathless, he suspected, from the rippling heat they’d generated in the short span of time they’d been alone.

He watched her retrieve another mug from the cupboard and pour in the last of the coffee, her hand trembling ever-so-slightly while she tried to regain her composure. Crossing the small space that separated them, he pushed his fingers through his tousled hair and away from his face, the strands still chilled from his morning ride to the village.

She turned back around, startled to find him standing beside her. With a remarkable recovery, she handed him the cup, her gaze holding his.

“You lied,” she said, the accusation low and husky.

The mug stopped halfway to his lips. The very notion that he might have deceived her about something unsettled him. For all of his faults, he valued honesty, demanded it, in himself and others. It was a personal trait he’d insisted upon after that crisis in his life eight years ago.

“I did?” His confusion was evident in his voice.

“Yep.” She nodded slowly, seriously, though there was a twinkle in her blue eyes that softened her complaint. “I thought you said you and your friends would be gone before we got up.”

Relief coursed through him, and he grinned. “My intentions were honorable, I swear. But we got in after midnight, and I had no idea that the guys would be slow-moving in the morning.”

She strolled over to the table and surveyed the baked goods, selecting the chocolate French cruller he’d picked specifically for her. “Wild evening at the lodge?”

“We had a good time.” He took a long swallow of coffee, then shrugged, knowing he could have had a better time, if he’d been in the right frame of mind. If his mind hadn’t been on Brooke. “Dinner was decent, and they’ve got a great band in the bar. What did you girls do last night?”

“Talked and relaxed,” she said vaguely, then took a bite of her doughnut. Her eyes closed for a brief moment. Sheer enjoyment etched her features, and a tiny moan curled up from her throat.

Her tongue darted out to catch the chocolate at the side of her mouth, and he experienced an overwhelming urge to lick the icing off himself and nibble at the smear on her bottom lip.

Marc’s gut clenched tight, his reserve of willpower quickly dwindling. She had no idea just how erotic she made eating a French cruller seem, and her lack of self-consciousness or inhibition made him wonder about her response in bed, beneath him, with him sliding deep inside her—

Whoa. He cut off those intimate, forbidden thoughts, but the image lingered vividly in his mind.

On a satisfied sigh, she blinked her lashes open, saw him staring at her, and a becoming shade of pink colored her cheeks.

He leaned a hip against the counter, his gaze lingering on her damp lips. “It looks good.” He had first-hand knowledge that her lips, and the heated depths of her mouth, tasted equally sweet.

“It’s wonderful,” she admitted. “You remembered that I liked French crullers.”

Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he allowed a rogue grin to grace his lips. “How can a man forget something that brings a woman such pleasure?”

The twist in his words wasn’t lost on her. Her eyes widened at his sexy innuendo, but surprisingly, she made no attempt to counter his brazen comment. Finally, she drew a deep breath and looked away, breaking that irresistible, tantalizing pull.

He was flirting, crossing that invisible line he knew he ought to respect even though she was no longer married to his brother. They were both bound to get tangled up in the sensual web he was spinning if he didn’t stop this madness. He tried like hell to rein himself back, to dismiss the attraction that intrigued and enticed him beyond reason or his better judgment.

He took a sip of his coffee. “You plan on skiing today?” he asked, striving for innocuous conversation.

She smiled, seemingly grateful for the change in subject. “Stacey and I are heading to the slopes in about an hour. Jessica doesn’t ski, so she’ll stay here.” She took another bite of her doughnut, this time careful not to display her enjoyment of the pastry.

“I could give her a few basic lessons.” Pushing off the counter, he slowly crossed the small space separating them. “She’d be skiing in no time.”

Wariness reflected on her face as he approached, and she smoothly slipped around him and went to the sink to wash the sticky icing from her fingers. “Thanks, but I think Jessica prefers to just hang out in the cabin.”

Lifting the lid on the bakery box, he grabbed a glazed buttermilk and bit into it, contemplating Brooke’s sudden skittishness. “I noticed that the other snowmobile was gone. Who’s using it?”

“Shane and Stacey went out for a morning ride.”

“They’ve seemed to hit it off well,” he said, guessing from the various comments Shane had made the previous night that he wouldn’t mind pursuing something with the other woman. “In fact, I think my friend likes your friend.”

“What’s not to like?” Brooke asked, rinsing her coffee cup. “She’s got a great personality, a perfect body, and she’s naturally sensual.”

He tilted his head, and let his gaze take stock of her attributes. “You’ve got a great personality, a perfect body, and you’re very sensual.”

She rolled her eyes at that, clearly disbelieving him.

Obviously, his brother hadn’t appreciated what an enticing wife he’d had. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.” He finished off his doughnut, and sucked the glaze from his fingers, then shrugged. “I happen to think you’re very sexy. Always have.”

A wry grin quirked the corner of her mouth. “Interesting, considering my packaging didn’t hold your brother’s attention for long.”

And judging by the guarded look in her eyes, she believed she couldn’t hold his attention for long, either. Though his short-lived relationships verified her unspoken opinion, he found himself unjustifiably annoyed that she’d lump him into the same category as his brother.

He started toward her, and she automatically skirted to the side again, away from him and back toward the table. He turned to face her, and jammed his hands on his hips, his exasperation mounting. “You’re acting as though you’re afraid I’m going to pounce on you…or kiss you again.”

There, he’d said it, finally brought the forbidden kiss out into the open so they could discuss it, and move on.

She seemed just as relieved to be offered an opportunity to talk about what had so obviously caused tension between them. “About that kiss—”

“Something happened between us, didn’t it?” he asked, stepping toward her from the side, so she couldn’t bolt around him.

“Yes, but I think it’s best if we chalk it up as a mistake.” Her chin lifted as he neared. “A casual kiss that accidentally flared out of control.”

Like wildfire. “No, I don’t think it was a mistake or an accident,” he refuted, trapping her against the solid oak table so that her bottom hit the edge. His body crowded her from the front, but didn’t touch her…yet. “I think we both knew what we were doing, but then you panicked.”

“I came to my senses,” she argued, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him from coming any closer. One more inch and they’d be more intimate than he’d been with a woman in too many months to count. One more inch and she’d discover just how badly he wanted her, despite the dozen reasons why he shouldn’t.

“Marc, this is all so complicated.” She shook her head, confusion clashing with the wanting in her gaze. “If it was anyone but you…”

The honorable intentions he’d vowed earlier, to leave her alone, dissolved in that moment. Suddenly, he had a point to prove.

She gasped as his hands clasped her hips, then lifted her a fraction so her bottom slid onto the flat surface of the table. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

She frowned at him and his bold move, but the arousing shade of her eyes contradicted her prim attitude and countered the silent reprimand in her gaze. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment, or an insult. It’s the truth.”

He grinned lazily and flattened his palms on her slender thighs. She sucked in a swift, shocked breath, and before she could guess his next intent, he pushed her legs apart and moved in between so her knees bracketed his hips, leaving her no possible escape.

Incredible heat shimmered between them. The initial panic touching her expression was quickly eclipsed by a thrilling rush of excitement that flowed hot and molten through Marc’s veins, as well, spiraling straight toward his groin. His erection strained against thermal and denim, full and hot and heavy.

No doubt, she felt his desire and hunger for her. She swallowed convulsively. “You’re my brother-in-law,” she attempted.

“Ex,” he breathed, dipping his head near her ear, squashing her paltry argument. Before she could issue a more obvious objection, that he was a Jamison, he distracted her by sliding his lips against the silken skin of her neck. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since that kiss.”

A tiny moan caught in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the table with her fingers, seemingly trying desperately to resist him. “Me, either,” she admitted, sounding miserable.

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, curling his fingers just beneath the French braid she’d twisted her hair into. He touched his lips to her jaw, dragged them to the corner of her mouth, which was parted and trembling. He lifted his head, just enough to look into her soft blue eyes, brimming with anticipation, despite her protests.

That was the only assurance he needed to take this encounter to the next level. “You’re curious,” he murmured huskily, “I’m tempted, we both want it, so let’s try another kiss and see what’s really there.”

She shuddered, resisting, her body stiff with tension. He waited for her to give him the permission he sought, because this time he wasn’t about to take something she wasn’t willing to give.

This time, he wanted no regrets, no excuses.

Through half-mast lashes, he watched her struggle with her conscience, and prepared to let her and this fleeting moment go—probably the smartest thing for him to do.

He started to step back, but she suddenly reached out and gripped his flannel shirt in her hands, pulling him back—close. Determination fired her blue eyes, and she drew a deep, fortifying breath.

“Just do it,” she ordered.




3


MARC BLINKED, surprise registering in his gaze at Brooke’s ardent demand. “Excuse me?”

Brooke dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, and her entire body was charged with a nervousness she couldn’t deny. “Just do it!” Before I change my mind, she thought desperately.

He tilted his head, a curious smile canting the corner of that sensual mouth she knew was capable of giving her great pleasure. “Demanding thing, aren’t you?” he murmured.

He had no idea. Right now, she didn’t want to think about what she was about to do, or her reckless, irresponsible behavior, or the excitement spiraling low in her belly. She had a point to demonstrate, to him and herself…that she could just do it.

Forcing herself to be the aggressor, she released her grip on his flannel shirt and slid her palm around to the nape of his neck. Her fingers glided through the silky length of his black-as-midnight hair. The strands were cool, contrasting with the fevered heat radiating from his body and the smoldering intensity darkening his eyes.

She shivered, and before she came to her senses, she pulled his mouth toward hers. His head dipped willingly, without hesitation, and his soft, warm lips settled over hers with a gentleness that threw her plan for a mindless seduction off-kilter. She’d wanted, expected, fast, wild and unemotional. He gave her slow, lazy and tantalizing, catering to her doubts and uncertainties…and the tension thrumming through her.

His large hands stroked down her back, encouraging her closer, making her spine arch until her breasts brushed his wide, hard chest. The delicious friction caused her nipples to tighten and ache. He gripped her hips and slowly pulled her bottom to the very edge of the table, spreading her legs wider and pressing against her until the only thing separating them was heavy denim and cotton leggings.

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbled on the soft flesh with his teeth, and a moan slipped past her throat before she could catch it. Her mind spun, and her thighs clenched against his lean hips.

“You need to relax,” he murmured against her mouth. She felt her lips gradually soften and part for him. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, then exerted a more provocative pressure with his mouth. “Now give me your tongue…”

Shivering at the husky, rich tone of his voice, she did as he ordered. Completely meshing their lips, she slid her tongue into his mouth and instantly tangled with his, silky slow and lush with promise. The flavor of hot male and honey glaze from the doughnut he’d eaten overwhelmed her, excited her, and made her melt and relax against him.

Three months ago the kiss they’d shared had been a thrill ride neither one of them had expected, giving them little time to explore and enjoy taste and textures. This time, he was entirely too thorough, incredibly indulgent, and generous in catering to her pleasure.

This languorous kiss, as titillating as it was, suddenly wasn’t enough. The need to be a little bit wild and a whole lot uninhibited swept through her. Framing his jaw in her hands, she opened her mouth wider beneath his and took control before she came to her reliable, responsible senses. The pace of their kiss immediately quickened, grew wetter and deeper and shockingly suggestive as their tongues entwined and stroked and mated.

Amazed that she could feel so physically needy, so intensely aroused so quickly, she gave into the sensations lapping at her feminine nerves, screaming for a more sexually charged contact. Locking her calves at the back of Marc’s muscular thighs, she pulled him even closer, welcoming the heat and pressure of him against her newly aroused, swollen flesh.

Marc groaned deep in his throat, the sound reverberating against her lips, her breasts, her belly, between her thighs. Unable to help herself, she tilted her hips and deliberately rubbed against the hard ridge straining the fly of his jeans. She rubbed sinuously again and gasped as he instinctively pushed back, a slow, purposeful stroke that seemed as intimate as him being inside her.

That shameless friction triggered a rush of dampness, a deep clenching of her body, and stole her breath. Their hot, openmouthed kiss turned ravenous and urgent, and he did it again, sliding rhythmically against her, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Desire rippled through her, coiling tight in her belly. An explosive, wondrous climax beckoned, and she whimpered, struggling between holding on and letting go of those restrictions and good-girl tendencies that had ruled her life for so many years.

And just like the first time they’d kissed, she came to her senses and panicked. Physically, he thrilled her, turning her on faster than any man ever had. But it was the complex emotions he evoked that threw off her balance.

The sound of the snowmobiles approaching the cabin escalated Brooke’s alarm. Wedging her hands between them, she pushed her palms against his shoulders frantically, and he immediately came to his senses and pulled away.

Stumbling back, Marc plopped down in the nearest chair, looking dazed and undeniably aroused. “Wow,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “That was incredible.”

Scrambling down from the table, Brooke pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks, unable to deny his claim. Her body buzzed with unfulfilled desire, throbbing for the climax that had been so, so close. She’d been so primed he could have taken her on the table—and how would she have explained her torrid embrace to her sister, who was only a room away? No doubt Jessica would call her a fool for getting involved with another Jamison, for allowing hormones to reduce her to a mass of nerves and sensations with only a need for ultimate satisfaction on her mind.

What made her believe she could indulge in a mind-blowing kiss with him and not want more?

She shook her head, afraid to think of what might happen with all that volatile passion if they ever made love. Not that she was contemplating getting naked with him! “Marc, we can’t do this.”

“I know,” he agreed, his voice tight and strained. He shifted in his chair to find a more comfortable position. Clearly unable to accommodate the bulge straining the zipper of his jeans, he instead clasped his hands strategically in his lap.

She straightened her sweater with a yank, and nearly groaned as the rasping sensation tantalized her sensitive nipples. “Well, don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

His gaze narrowed perceptively, a spark of Jamison challenge glimmering in his eyes, as if she’d issued him a dare. “You don’t think so?”

“I know so,” she said adamantly.

The sound of Shane’s deep voice and Stacey’s flirtatious laughter drifted from just outside the kitchen door leading to the back area of the cabin. Brooke willed the couple inside, fervently hoping they’d interrupt what had become a very awkward conversation.

Marc glanced at the door, then back at her, knowing his time was limited. “Brooke, two people don’t kiss like that unless there’s a certain chemistry and a strong attraction between them.”

One she couldn’t afford to explore further. Not with him. “Call it a release of sexual frustration. It’s been a long, celibate year for me.”

Irritation creased his expression at her flippant tone. “So you’re insinuating that you would have responded to any man the same way?”

No, she thought miserably, knowing that a faceless stranger wouldn’t have evoked such a startling heat, hunger and need. But that was part of the problem with Marc. She’d never responded so shamelessly, so eagerly to a man in her entire life. Neither Eric nor her one sexual encounter in college had prepared her for this. Marc’s magnetism and appeal seemed to strip away every proper, responsible characteristic she’d honed since the age of thirteen, reducing her to a sensual creature who couldn’t get enough of that blend of excitement and ecstasy Marc’s kisses promised.

She shrugged indifferently, letting the gesture speak for itself, since she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him.

His lips at first pursed, then he opened his mouth to argue—just as the back door opened and Stacey and Shane entered the kitchen, thankfully intercepting his rebuttal.

“That morning ride was incredibly exhilarating!” Stacey said, sounding like a giddy schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush.

Ignoring the extra occupants in the room, Marc swallowed back whatever words he’d been about to impart, but boldly held Brooke’s gaze. Indeed, she couldn’t look away. Through the slight haze of frustration and confusion, his eyes conveyed a startling message—they weren’t finished with this particular issue. And he wasn’t finished with her.

The silent claim he staked caused Brooke’s internal temperature to spike, despite the gust of cool air Shane and Stacey’s arrival had invited into the room. Her traitorous pulse fluttered, stoking the desire simmering just beneath the surface. Did she even stand a chance if Marc followed through with that sexy threat to pursue her?

“Umm, are we interrupting something?” Stacey asked, too much interest infusing her voice.

The last thing Brooke wanted was Stacey speculating over her relationship with Marc, and coming to conclusions she didn’t want to discuss with a woman who had a fearless, fabulous sex life.

Before she could formulate a response, Marc stood, the evidence of what had transpired between them earlier not nearly as obvious now that his body and libido had time to cool. “You’re not interrupting anything that Brooke and I can’t resolve at another time.” Though he answered Stacey, his gaze never wavered from Brooke’s.

In her opinion, there was nothing left for them to resolve. Of course the rogue knew she wouldn’t oppose him with an audience listening in on their debate.

Finally, he glanced at Shane. “You ready to head over to the lodge for the day?”

Shane exchanged a reluctant look with Stacey that made it clear they would have preferred to spend the day together. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Stacey winked at Shane as she casually pulled off her lined gloves. “I’ll catch up with you on the slopes later,” she promised.

The two men left the kitchen, and an unnerving silence settled over the room.

Stacey unwrapped the colorful scarf from her neck, a knowing smile curving lips stung red from the cold. “Well, well, well,” she murmured.

Brooke knew exactly what those three simple words meant, knew precisely what was tumbling through Stacey’s mind. She held up a hand to ward off her friend’s interrogation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right,” Stacey conceded, but her gaze sparkled with mischief and a wicked provocation. “You ready to put last night’s plan into action?”

No. Without the buzz of the margarita giving her courage and with the taste of Marc still lingering on her tongue, going out on a man-hunt held little appeal. But she desperately needed the distraction, and there was always the possibility that flirting with another man, and enjoying his attentions, would make her forget about Marc and that luscious, earth-shattering kiss they shared.

Pulling in a deep breath, she fabricated an optimistic smile. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

STACEY NUDGED BROOKE with her elbow and gestured to a good-looking blond-haired guy making his way to the end of the line for the ski lift, where the two of them were waiting their turn.

“What do you think of him?” Stacey asked out of the corner of her mouth. “He has a great body, and a nice smile.”

Brooke tried to regard her friend’s newest quarry objectively, and like every other man Stacey had singled out, she found herself comparing him to Marc, whose body proved to be a perfect fit for hers, and who owned a lazy smile that seemed to stroke her senses as intimately as a caress. This guy’s physique didn’t spark even a glimmer of interest, and his smile was a shade too cocky for her liking. And she was coming to realize that she preferred dark hair over light.




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