Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (11 page)

Brooke envisioned her looking up at Elliott,
eyelashes batting away alongside that sex kitten mewl. What was he
doing giving Brooke anything romantic if he was already
involved?

Oh, God. What if he hadn’t meant those books
as a romantic gesture at all? A cold sweat broke across her neck.
What if she’d somehow blown the entire thing out of proportion? Her
chest grew tight. She shouldn’t have come here.

“Michelle, please, this is my job. I need to
finish my meeting.” His voice was louder now.

“I’ll be waiting.” The unmistakable smack of
stilettos clicked away.

A moment passed before Elliott came back in.
Composing himself? Likely. The girl was probably running hands
through his hair the entire time. Through his hair, down his chest,
along his abs. Brooke bit down. She didn’t care. She didn’t even
care about her grade anymore or whatever challenge she’d thought
she’d seen. She stood to go as he returned to the desk.

“Don’t go,” he said.

Brooke turned, ready to cut him with an icy
remark. She fell short, her lips parted. He’d taken his glasses
off. Her breath caught, seeing his undisguised attraction. The word
smoldering came to mind. She’d never felt a man look at her the way
he was looking at her.

He came around the desk. He shut the door.
Locked it.

Her heart thumped up her throat.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Brooke said,
amazed her voice didn’t crack. “I think I have to go.”

“Don’t go,” he said again, stepping
close.

His words enveloped her. Had she thought his
glasses made him irresistible? She’d been wrong. His lashes set off
depths so blue, so intense, they might penetrate her soul.

Slowly, he reached up, pushed a lock of hair
from her face. His finger ran along her cheek, to her lobe, down
her neck and up to her chin. With gentle pressure, he tipped her
chin up. Brooke’s hands shook. Her mouth watered. Her mind searched
for words and found two: don’t go.

How could she?

His gaze captivated hers. He lowered his
head. She closed her eyes. The tremble in her hands spread up her
arms, down her legs.
Yes. God, yes.
Let him kiss her. Let
her taste his lips on hers, his breath, his mouth.

“Stay,” he whispered against her lips.

She failed to shake her head, no, she
wouldn’t go. He began at her chin, a graze, and in slow succession,
breathed and kissed and wet her skin. Kisses. Tantalizing, sensual,
tickling. Around her mouth, teasing her. Away again, torture.

Her knees turned to water. She almost
whimpered. His mouth found her hungry lips.

Brooke gasped. His hands raked into her hair.
He kissed her lower lip, moved to the side, never quite meeting her
fully. Brooke moaned, awash with a full body shiver. Musk and
sandalwood intoxicated her senses. Mint, sweet on her tongue. She
swayed her weight toward his body. He slid his hand over her lower
back, steadying her.

Her lips parted, begging entry. He took it.
His tongue carefully delved, explored as her lips, suckled and
pressed. Brooke returned each caress, mindless of all but each
sensation coming over her mouth, washing her body.

Her hands rose to his chest. His roamed over
her back, ever lower, inch-by-inch to her hips. He broke the kiss
and pulled away.

Brooke opened her eyes. She could hardly
think.

He swallowed. “I want you.”

A small ache jolted to life between her legs.
She wanted him, too. Bad. Shamelessly. The realization sent her a
step back. She couldn’t.

Elliott’s hands tugged at her hips. He shook
his head. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry. But, please, don’t go. Not like
this.”

The ramifications of what she’d just done, of
what she allowed him to do, of where they were and who he was,
rammed through her mind, penetrating her haze.

Brooke put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t
do this.”

“No,” Elliott said. “Don’t say that. Just
close your eyes. I promise. I won’t ask anything of you.” He moved
closer, his eyes charming the fear snaking through her. “Stay.”

He leaned in and his scent, his heat, teased
her senses. He made her thirst for more. One more taste. A small
interior voice urged her to try it. What harm could a little bit
more really cause? When had a man ever made her knees go weak? She
deserved weak knees. Wet, hot kisses.

She needed them.

Brooke let him tug her closer. She shut her
eyes. Elliott’s mouth met hers, sweet at first, then urgent, and
pleading. Her hands dug into his clothes, her hips sought his. He
felt so good. So hard, muscular. So good.

Her mind designed the flesh beneath her hands
as she traced his contours. Not enough. She needed skin. She tugged
at the hem of his shirt. Elliott groaned.

“God,” he whispered. His tongue licked magic
over her collarbone. His hands cradled her waist, her neck. “You
taste so good.”

Brooke whimpered. Her nipples peaked, aching
for touch. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her. She wrapped
her legs around him as he positioned their bodies onto a nest of
papers. Her need thrummed harder. Moisture sprang between her
thighs.

Elliott cupped her face. His body stilled
above hers, inches from answering what her limbs begged for. His
touch. “We have to stop,” he said.

Heaviness gathered back into her chest.
“Stop?”

Elliott nodded. Emotion shone in his eyes. “I
want you. Make no mistake about that.”

Then why stop? She couldn’t ask, though. She
wouldn’t make more of a fool of herself over him. Not when she knew
how rash she was being even coming to this office, let alone
clawing his body like a sex kitten.

Her surroundings slipped back into focus.
Elliott helped her to her feet. She ignored how wobbly her legs
were. Had she been ready to give herself to him right there on
Shope’s desk?

She should be thanking him, really. Good
sturdy common sense had plainly exited her brain. If not for his
clear head, they might be naked, limbs entangled for anyone to walk
in on. No, wait, he had locked the door.

Still. “I should go.”

He took her hand, kissed it. “When can I see
you?”

The weight in her chest lifted. “I don’t
think you can. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

He cocked his head. “Yes you are.”

She opened her mouth to protest. He brought
her wrist to his lips and licked the sensitive flesh there,
effectively shutting her up. She didn’t know what she could have
said. An unstoppable prayer formed inside of her. Please, it said.
Him, this, yes. Please. His lips caressed her skin, his fingers
entwined hers.

“If I give you my number, will you call
me?”

Brooke jogged her chin up and down, willing
her eyes not to close. His breath tickled.

“When?” he asked.

She half shrugged.

His mouth left her wrist. He pulled her to
him. “You deserve better than a desk. Unrushed.”

“Tonight?” A twinge flipped her belly.

The click of high heels approached. Elliott
swiftly moved for the door, unlocking it. He opened it in time for
Michelle to arrive, petulant frown and all.

A stiff farewell was all they had left,
leaving Brooke feeling more than a bit befuddled on her drive home.
Over and again she asked herself, had she fantasized it all?

Another glance at seven digits scribbled on a
scrap of paper was all the pinch she needed. He was real. It was
real. Now, all she had to do was get the nerve to call him.

Chapter Nine

Kiki had had cupboards bigger than this
place. All five windows of Millie’s two bedroom furnished apartment
stood open. She slid the glass door wider to the sorry excuse for a
balcony. How did people live like this? Even with it all opened,
the walls were closing in on her. Centimeter by centimeter. The
melting snow saturated every sound. Wet dripping. Wet leaves on
trees. Incessant chirping from happy little flipping birds. It all
made her teeth grind.

The front door lock clucked open.

“Oh, thank Jesus you’re back,” she said to AJ
before the door hit closed behind him. “I have never been so happy
to see your face.”

“Thanks. I think.” He set a large box down by
his bedroom door, the vault, she’d come to call it. He gestured at
the windows. “What’s going on?”

“I’m getting a little whiggety.” She wasn’t
sure how much to tell him. Or how to start.

“About?”

If she didn’t stop chewing her nails, they’d
bleed. “I think I’ve screwed myself.”

“Alright.” He came around the faux tweed
sofa. “How?”

She couldn’t be sure he was taking her
seriously. He looked like it. Though his movements were a little on
the give-the-patient-another-tranquilizer side, he wasn’t laughing.
Yet.

“Brooke might be bent over a desk, getting
nailed by a strapping young history scholar, as we speak.”

His lips curved. “And this is a bad
thing?”

“Yes.” Millie sucked on a fingertip. Yep,
blood. “You see, when I said the other night that I had a
plan?”

“The foolproof one? The no chemistry lessons
required one?”

Ouch. “That one. Well, it appears I’m an
idiot, again. Either that or the unluckiest cupid to ever get stuck
in this—.”

“Alright. Slow down.” AJ put up placating
hands. “I need specifics if you want me to understand. I assume you
do because it’s the only way I can help. You do want my help, don’t
you?”

Yes. No. “When we broke into Brooke’s and I
found that picture, and after seeing Jason’s file—thank you, by the
way, for getting it—I decided he was my best option.”

“Right. So. Is the ex-husband still the best
option?”

Millie shook her head.

“I see. I suppose that helps explain why you
insisted you didn’t need any of my—what was the word you used
again?”

Playing dumb. Couldn’t make this easy on her,
could he? “Mojo training and I
didn’t
think I would need
any. I thought them having a past would be enough.” She thought she
needed to be big girl. Besides, she didn’t always think straight
around him. “You’d already done enough with the reservation.”

“I hate to point out the obvious again but,
if it were meant to be, wouldn’t they still be married?”

“Not necessarily. Something else could have
come between them. Family. Finances.” Who knew? She wasn’t about to
argue the point now, though. “In any case, I’m positive my plan
would have worked. Perfectly, too, but this guy popped into the
picture and mucked everything all up.”

AJ’s smile fell. He plopped onto the sofa.
“Are you saying you picked the wrong guy?”

Millie pressed her lips together. “No, I’m
definitely not saying that.” Elliott was not love stuff. “I’m
saying someone showed up on the scene and screwed up my strategy. I
know, maybe this is a test. You know, the angels throwing me a
curve, make me work to keep you kind of thing?”

He shrugged. “Why make you work for something
you don’t even need? I know you hate hearing this, but we could be
a team. They put us together for a reason.”

Yeah. To make the sentence harder. But, leave
it to AJ to point out the obvious. What did he expect from her?
Depend on him so much that when she failed yet again, when they
took her, her withdrawals from him were that much worse? Not just a
few shakes but all out cramps and nausea?

“Look. I’m just trying to get it right this
time. I thought by doing it myself, by taking on the
responsibility, I’d be doing what they wanted.” What she wanted was
a freaking retrial. A do-over. “I never have to help you with your
matches.” She should sit down. But she couldn’t. “I was wrong.
Okay?”

“I’m in this with you, Millie. And my goals
will never be at odds with yours. We’re meant to be a team. But you
have to start trusting me for this to work. If not me….”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone else.” The idea sickened
her. Some unknown, new roommate/cellmate. Hairy, sweaty and fat
came to mind. Back throat bile, anyone?

Why did she hate the thought so much? Face
it, she was more attached to AJ than a lost dog. Her tail whapped
the floor whenever he was near. How could she not be? He’d been the
only one to help her muddle through this hell and had done so with
kindness and patience she wasn’t sure she deserved. Not to mention
charm.

“I’ll work on it.” Millie air-crossed her
heart. “I’ll start now, in fact. Right now, I need you.”

He got to his feet and prowled her direction.
“I’m all ears.”

Eyes, too. Millie ignored the suggestive
gleam in them. “Can you get me a file on Elliott Jovovich?”

“Sure thing. Is he the strapping buck or what
popped up?”

“Both.” His proximity vibrated through
her.

AJ tsked. “Seducing your target, is he?”

“Don’t remind me.” And don’t stand so close.
“Just pray Brooke comes to her senses and this ends up helping us
instead of kicking my dismal ass.”

“And a fine ass it is,” he said and left to
his room.

Millie sighed, feeling far better than she
could have hoped. AJ’s lusty grin hadn’t even tripped her brain up.
If anything, her mind began working better, new possibilities
hatching. Able to breathe again, she shut the windows and found
Jason Munkle’s file. With his, Brooke’s and Elliott’s all in front
of her, surely something would crystallize.

Like salvation.

~

“My car won’t start,” Michelle pouted,
leaning against the office doorframe. “Can you give me a jump?”

Elliott rubbed his tired eyes. He had more
couth than to call her a liar. “Where are you parked?”

She probably spent the last twenty minutes
figuring out how to unhook the cables. Once the lights dimmed and
she confirmed the engine wouldn’t turn over, she’d likely sprinted
back here to interrupt him and Brooke. Two minutes sooner and she
might have.