Tempted

“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.