The Way You Look Tonight
Page 47
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It wasn’t until he pulled away from her that she realized he must have taken out a condom before he’d dropped his jeans on the kitchen floor. She’d never been careless in bed with a man before, had never truly lost control before Rafe, had never trusted anyone as much as she trusted him.
Yet again, he’d taken care of them both, just as she’d always known he would.
He lifted her from the counter and carried her into the bathroom, holding her tightly in his arms as he climbed into the tub and let the water pour in to wash the chocolate from both of them.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "You’re right. We don’t need any props to be wild." She turned her face to his with a smile on her lips, but he wasn’t smiling back. "You’re not feeling guilty for debauching me again, are you?"
Clearly, he was surprised she’d figured him out so well. "I could have hurt you up on that hard granite."
"You could never hurt me."
She felt him stiffen behind her. Come to think of it, hadn’t he looked a little twisted up about something when he walked into the kitchen? But she’d been so wrapped up in her own emotions that she hadn’t stopped to ask if he was okay.
"Rafe?" She immediately twisted around in the tub so that she was straddling his hips, her hands linked around his neck. "We’re not just lovers, we’re friends, too. You can say anything to me. You know that, don’t you?"
"I’ve never been friends with a lover before."
She caressed his cheek. "Me either, but I think we’re doing pretty good so far."
So good that she knew she couldn’t expect him to be honest with her about what was on his mind if she wasn’t honest with him, too. She could have avoided his earlier question again, the same way she had just minutes before. Especially when he was already hard again. Just the slightest shift of her hips and she could have both of them forgetting for a little while longer.
But for them to truly be more than lovers, even more than friends, meant talking not only about the cute things, the sexy things...but about the difficult things, too.
"You asked what happened when you walked into the kitchen." She sighed. "My parents called."
He slid a chocolate-covered strand of hair away from her forehead. "What did they say to upset you?"
"They still think I’m a little girl who needs their guidance, their protection, their wisdom. I’m not saying I don’t sometimes or that their learned wisdom isn’t valuable, but—" She sighed, the water in the tub shifting beneath the slight movement of her body over his. "All these years I’ve been so sure that one day they’ll open their eyes and see me. The real me, the woman I’ve become, not just a teenager who made a big mistake when she was sixteen. I can understand that they were terrified when I ended up in a car crash, but—"
"Wait a minute, what happened when you were sixteen?"
"I couldn’t stand feeling like a prisoner in my bedroom another second, so when my friend suggested we sneak out to go to a party a couple of streets over, instead of saying no like always, I said yes. But I had so little experience with regular teen stuff that when someone gave me a glass of punch, I drank all of it. And then another, until the next thing I knew, everything was a little fuzzy."
"There was Everclear in that punch, wasn’t there? A hundred and ninety-proof alcohol with no taste, no smell."
She nodded. "I think so. But I probably would have been okay and made it back to my bedroom without my parents ever finding out if I hadn’t gotten into a car with a boy I had a crush on." She winced. "He’d been drinking the punch, too, thus the crash into a tree in someone’s front yard. The air bags caught me and I was fine, but—" She shook her head, feeling foolish about it even all these years later. "Pretty stupid, huh?"
"Yes, it was stupid," he agreed, and her heart started to sink just as he added, "but every teenager is stupid. Stupid is what teenagers do."
"Why can’t my parents see that? Why can’t they see me for who I am now? For who I’ve become?"
"I wish I could promise you that they’d come around," Rafe said softly, "but since I can’t, all I can do is tell you what I see every time I look at you." His eyes were full of much more than desire as he caressed her cheek. "I see incredible beauty." He brushed the back of one hand down the curve of her body from breast to hip. "I see sensuality that shocks the hell out of me every single time we make love." He kept moving his hand down into the water until he’d picked up one of her hands. "I see the talent to make the best damned truffles in the world." He laid both of their hands between her br**sts. "I see a heart that’s big enough to take in my family showing up unannounced on your doorstep." He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. "But most of all, I see a woman who is so damned smart that she’s done something few people will ever even realize they need to fight for: You’ve built your life exactly the way you want it, doing what you love, in the place you want to be. You don’t need to prove one damned thing to anyone, Brooke. You already have."
With just a handful of the most beautiful sentences she’d ever heard, he’d answered every question she had left about falling in love with her next-door neighbor and friend, and had erased every last doubt.
All Brooke had ever wanted was for someone to actually see her—and to love her—for who she really was. Finally, she’d found him. The first boy she’d ever loved would also be the last.
"Remember how I said that if you ever gave up being a P.I., you should consider short-order cooking?"
He cocked his head at her strange response to his incredibly sweet words. "You’ve got a hankering for eggs all of a sudden?"
"No, but I want you to know I’ve changed my mind. Plenty of people can make great scrambled eggs, but so few can be a poet."
"I’m no poet, Brooke."
"To me," she said as she laid her head against his shoulder, "you are."
Chapter Twenty-one
Rafe wanted to do anything he could to strip away the lingering pain in Brooke’s eyes from her phone call with her parents. But since more lovemaking would only put her more behind on her truffle-making schedule, he offered his two hands in whatever way she could use them to finish getting the rest of her orders made. She took him up on it with a big, happy smile that had him wasting a few more minutes of her tight deadline in his arms despite his best intentions to keep his hands off her until her work was done.
Yet again, he’d taken care of them both, just as she’d always known he would.
He lifted her from the counter and carried her into the bathroom, holding her tightly in his arms as he climbed into the tub and let the water pour in to wash the chocolate from both of them.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "You’re right. We don’t need any props to be wild." She turned her face to his with a smile on her lips, but he wasn’t smiling back. "You’re not feeling guilty for debauching me again, are you?"
Clearly, he was surprised she’d figured him out so well. "I could have hurt you up on that hard granite."
"You could never hurt me."
She felt him stiffen behind her. Come to think of it, hadn’t he looked a little twisted up about something when he walked into the kitchen? But she’d been so wrapped up in her own emotions that she hadn’t stopped to ask if he was okay.
"Rafe?" She immediately twisted around in the tub so that she was straddling his hips, her hands linked around his neck. "We’re not just lovers, we’re friends, too. You can say anything to me. You know that, don’t you?"
"I’ve never been friends with a lover before."
She caressed his cheek. "Me either, but I think we’re doing pretty good so far."
So good that she knew she couldn’t expect him to be honest with her about what was on his mind if she wasn’t honest with him, too. She could have avoided his earlier question again, the same way she had just minutes before. Especially when he was already hard again. Just the slightest shift of her hips and she could have both of them forgetting for a little while longer.
But for them to truly be more than lovers, even more than friends, meant talking not only about the cute things, the sexy things...but about the difficult things, too.
"You asked what happened when you walked into the kitchen." She sighed. "My parents called."
He slid a chocolate-covered strand of hair away from her forehead. "What did they say to upset you?"
"They still think I’m a little girl who needs their guidance, their protection, their wisdom. I’m not saying I don’t sometimes or that their learned wisdom isn’t valuable, but—" She sighed, the water in the tub shifting beneath the slight movement of her body over his. "All these years I’ve been so sure that one day they’ll open their eyes and see me. The real me, the woman I’ve become, not just a teenager who made a big mistake when she was sixteen. I can understand that they were terrified when I ended up in a car crash, but—"
"Wait a minute, what happened when you were sixteen?"
"I couldn’t stand feeling like a prisoner in my bedroom another second, so when my friend suggested we sneak out to go to a party a couple of streets over, instead of saying no like always, I said yes. But I had so little experience with regular teen stuff that when someone gave me a glass of punch, I drank all of it. And then another, until the next thing I knew, everything was a little fuzzy."
"There was Everclear in that punch, wasn’t there? A hundred and ninety-proof alcohol with no taste, no smell."
She nodded. "I think so. But I probably would have been okay and made it back to my bedroom without my parents ever finding out if I hadn’t gotten into a car with a boy I had a crush on." She winced. "He’d been drinking the punch, too, thus the crash into a tree in someone’s front yard. The air bags caught me and I was fine, but—" She shook her head, feeling foolish about it even all these years later. "Pretty stupid, huh?"
"Yes, it was stupid," he agreed, and her heart started to sink just as he added, "but every teenager is stupid. Stupid is what teenagers do."
"Why can’t my parents see that? Why can’t they see me for who I am now? For who I’ve become?"
"I wish I could promise you that they’d come around," Rafe said softly, "but since I can’t, all I can do is tell you what I see every time I look at you." His eyes were full of much more than desire as he caressed her cheek. "I see incredible beauty." He brushed the back of one hand down the curve of her body from breast to hip. "I see sensuality that shocks the hell out of me every single time we make love." He kept moving his hand down into the water until he’d picked up one of her hands. "I see the talent to make the best damned truffles in the world." He laid both of their hands between her br**sts. "I see a heart that’s big enough to take in my family showing up unannounced on your doorstep." He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. "But most of all, I see a woman who is so damned smart that she’s done something few people will ever even realize they need to fight for: You’ve built your life exactly the way you want it, doing what you love, in the place you want to be. You don’t need to prove one damned thing to anyone, Brooke. You already have."
With just a handful of the most beautiful sentences she’d ever heard, he’d answered every question she had left about falling in love with her next-door neighbor and friend, and had erased every last doubt.
All Brooke had ever wanted was for someone to actually see her—and to love her—for who she really was. Finally, she’d found him. The first boy she’d ever loved would also be the last.
"Remember how I said that if you ever gave up being a P.I., you should consider short-order cooking?"
He cocked his head at her strange response to his incredibly sweet words. "You’ve got a hankering for eggs all of a sudden?"
"No, but I want you to know I’ve changed my mind. Plenty of people can make great scrambled eggs, but so few can be a poet."
"I’m no poet, Brooke."
"To me," she said as she laid her head against his shoulder, "you are."
Chapter Twenty-one
Rafe wanted to do anything he could to strip away the lingering pain in Brooke’s eyes from her phone call with her parents. But since more lovemaking would only put her more behind on her truffle-making schedule, he offered his two hands in whatever way she could use them to finish getting the rest of her orders made. She took him up on it with a big, happy smile that had him wasting a few more minutes of her tight deadline in his arms despite his best intentions to keep his hands off her until her work was done.
