Sweet in Love (4 page)

And the apartment complex definitely needed better security. Amandine had once lived there, and Pete knew the management didn’t put much priority on anything beyond providing the bare minimum. A lone red light on the security camera blinked steadily. Pete would have bet a hundred bucks that it wasn’t really hooked up to anything.

They reached the ninth floor and walked through a hall that was as underlit and dingy as the lobby. Brooke unlocked her door…and let him in to an entirely different world.

He blinked at the profusion of colors. Bright rugs completely covered the floor, and interesting posters and prints hung on the walls, each lit with a small spotlight mounted on ceiling tracks. Somehow, none of it clashed. The whole effect was to make the humble apartment vibrant and welcoming…and seem to be worth a lot more than the rent advertised outside on the vacancy sign.

“You have to take off your shoes,” she said, unwrapping the sandal straps from around her calves.

“I do?”

“House rule. My grandma on my Mom’s side made us do it when we were growing up, and it’s kind of a tradition now.”

Pete slipped off his wingtips and followed her inside, the rugs thick and springy under his toes. Brooke was already in the kitchen.

He rested his arms on a small, two-person counter that separated the kitchen and the dining room. “I would never have pegged you as the writerly type. You don’t have a single book in here.” There were, however, tons of magazines with colorful photos.

“Well.” She shrugged and ground some coffee beans. When the grinder stopped, she said, “I got a degree in English, and I thought maybe it was something I could try. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll end up writing the next
Harry Potter
or
Fifty Shades
.”

Pete hadn’t read the latter book, but knew it by reputation. Things were starting to look interesting. “Is that what you want to do? Become a writer?”

“It’s something to do with my free time. And it doesn’t cost a lot to become one,” Brooke said. “It’s not like I have any talent for music or art.”

But she didn’t have the dreamy tone that people got when they spoke of their aspirations. And her eyes were definitely not sparkling. She’d looked at her dinner with more enthusiasm. “And it’s safe enough, I guess. Except for the occasional weirdo stalker.”

She rolled her eyes. “We have to read and critique each other’s work in the workshop. I thought what he wrote was pretentious, self-indulgent crap. Seriously, does he really think anyone wants to read thirty whining pages about how nobody understands him and how the world is rigged and how women are bitches who don’t appreciate him as the Beacon of Honesty and Other Masculine Virtues?” she said, using an index finger to make the capital letters in the air. “Does he really think that’s what literature’s about? No. That’s what you pay therapists for.” She poured water into her coffee machine and hit the switch.

“You said all that to his face?”

“Of course not. I was very diplomatic.”

Pete smiled to himself, imagining what her version of “diplomatic” might have been. “What did you write for the workshop?”

“About a woman who won the lottery but didn’t know what to do with the money.”

“A woman who doesn’t know how to spend lottery money? How about pay off her debts? Maybe go traveling or something?”

“But that’s the thing. She doesn’t know what she wants to do. So she’s stuck, paralyzed because she can’t even tell herself she doesn’t have enough money to do what she wants to do, so there’s no point in figuring it out.”

“That’s a sad little story.” If Pete had played the lottery—he didn’t, of course, with those odds—and won the big jackpot…he could think of several things he’d do with the money after having a long discussion with his lawyer and accountant.

“A lot of people in my class liked it,” she said, her tone a little defensive. She poured him a cup. “Here. I ran out of cream.”

“Black’s fine.” They both took a sip and he saw her wince over the rim of his mug. “What would you do if you won the lottery?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a pause. “Maybe save the money.”

“That’s it?”

“Pay for a couple of nice trips to Italy and Korea for Dad. He’s never been, and I know he wants to go.”

“Why not?” He was certain the small business Brooke’s family owned was doing okay.

“He has a bad back. It’s difficult for him to sit in a cramped seat for a long time. So maybe a luxury cruise would be easier than flying. Sit on a deck chair all the way over, drinking margaritas.”

“That’s a nice image. But what about you? Nothing for yourself?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She put her coffee down. “I guess I’d pay off my college loans, credit cards…and the car. Maybe buy a house. But that’s about it.”

Pete’s bullshit detector beeped. She knew, but she didn’t want to tell him.

Well, they hadn’t kept in touch for eight years, and she probably still thought of him as her best friend’s little brother. He planned to change that.

* * *

Brooke gave up on the coffee. Who was she kidding? She could never drink it black. If there was an apocalypse that wiped out cream, she’d have to go without coffee.

Pete watched her, his eyes clear and too intelligent. She’d expected him to accept her impromptu list, but he seemed to see through her. An odd experience since most men she’d dated hadn’t been interested in probing. At least, not the psychological kind.

“Got any white wine?” he asked.

“Yeah, but you sure? It’s nowhere near as good as the one we had at La Mer.” That was putting it kindly.

“So long as the proof is right.”

She handed him a chilled bottle of chardonnay from the fridge plus a glass for him. He poured some and pushed it to her. “Here.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“I saw you with the coffee. Try this.”

“Okay.” She accepted it and took a long swallow. The crisp vintage erased the bitter aftertaste of black coffee in her mouth. “Huh. That works pretty well.”

Pete just smiled. During the next half an hour, he kept pouring more wine. When he finished his coffee, she brought out another glass and started giving him some too.

“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” he asked.

“I thought that’s what
you
were doing.”

“Believe it or not, I actually don’t have to do that to get laid. I was trying to get you to tell me all your dark secrets.”

She chortled and finished another glass. Poor Pete. He had no idea she could drink like a sailor.

By the time they’d killed their second bottle, Pete was done in. He seemed a lot like his sister in that regard. Amandine couldn’t drink more than two glasses of wine before passing out.

Brooke pulled him to the couch. His head lolled; his eyes closed. He moaned softly. “Gently, Brooke.”

“I
am
gentle, you drunken boy.” She sat and put his head in her lap. “A man’s gotta know his limitations. Why did you drink so much?”

“Can’t lose to a girl.”

She snorted. “I’m older than you. And more experienced in things, like out-drinking idiot guys.”

“’Kay. No need t’ be nassy.”

She caressed his head. His dark hair slid between her fingers like strands of silk.

“I don’ do the lottery, but if I do and, and if I win, I’m unna hire you,” he murmured.

“To do what?”

“Touch my hair.”

The content look on his face squeezed her heart. She chuckled to bury the tenderness welling inside her. “I’m very expensive.”

“’Sokay.”

His breathing slowed. Maybe he was falling asleep. Should she get him a cab? He probably couldn’t even give directions to the cab driver, and she had no idea where he lived. Amandine would know, but calling her wasn’t an option.
Sorry
,
got your baby brother drunk
.

Besides, she liked having him here like this. He seemed so sweet, though his rugged handsomeness hadn’t decreased one bit.

“If I won the lottery,” she whispered. “I’d open an interior decorating agency. Well, after several years working as an interior decorator first. That’s what I want to do.” Her fingers continued to massage his temples gently. She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It was a dream she’d never told anyone, not even Amandine.

“Buy a ticket?” he asked, his voice soft and slurred.

She looked down at him. “It’s just a dream, Pete. It’s not going to happen.” She didn’t have the right training or money to open one. But if for some reason she ever did buy a winning ticket, maybe she could use the money to fund her dream. Maybe.

If she had the guts to do it.

She pushed the thought away. There were better things to do…like seducing her best friend’s younger brother.

But was it fair to do that when he wouldn’t remember a thing? He was a man; he’d react like a man. But it seemed vaguely wrong, like she was taking advantage.

She sighed. It seemed what they’d started eight years was going to remain unfinished a little longer.

PETE OPENED HIS EYES and blinked. The early morning sun filtering through the thin curtains illuminated a cheery colorful living room. He was on an unfamiliar couch, and Brooke’s warm thigh was still underneath his head. She breathed softly above him. He relaxed as peace and rightness seeped to his bones.

His head was completely clear, his mind alert. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on her couch, but being with her had felt so perfect he’d just slipped off.

Interior decorator, huh?

He could help with that, though he wouldn’t give her the money to fund the business. She’d slap him and refuse to see him ever again.

But there were other things he could do.

It was an enormous effort to get up, leave the comfort of Brooke’s lap, but he did it. He rooted around and found some paper and a pen, then wrote her a short note.

Sorry I have to go
—
gotta get to work
.
I’ll call you tonight
.

P

As he placed the piece of paper on the coffee table, Brooke curled up sideways, her hair covering her forehead and temples. She looked so adorable and sexy.

Instead of the note, maybe he should just seduce her now. But he wasn’t sure how she’d react to that. Best not to risk it. He’d waited eight years. A few more days wouldn’t kill him.

He gazed at her for a few moments there on the couch.
Actually
,
it might
.

He closed his eyes and sighed, then slipped out of the apartment. He needed to go to his office to shower, change and check up on a few things before making a phone call to Amandine.

* * *

“I can’t call until
ten?
” Pete said.

“She gets grouchy when she doesn’t get enough sleep,” Gavin warned.

“Yeah, but…
ten?
” Apparently Amandine had become a sloth since she’d gotten pregnant.

“Hey.” Gavin raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “At this point, she does what she wants. I’m not going to argue.”

Of course not. Given how Gavin and Amandine had come so close to divorcing, he probably wasn’t going to make a big deal about what time Amandine got up.

Pete wouldn’t either, normally. But he needed to talk to her when Brooke wasn’t around to overhear the conversation. He waited until five after ten—counting each of the three hundred seconds—then dialed Amandine’s number.

“Hello?” came Amandine’s soft voice over the phone.

“Morning! Were you still sleeping?”

“No. I got up about half an hour ago.”

Grr. Gavin had been mistaken. “I don’t know how you can sleep so late.”

“Blame your soon-to-be-nephew.” She yawned. “He kept me up last night, kicking me in the ribs.”

“Sounds painful. So listen… You there by yourself?”

“No. Luna’s here.”

Luna was the housekeeper. “What about Brooke?”

“She’s out getting some art supplies. Why?”

“You’re converting one of the guest rooms into the baby’s nursery, right?”

“Yup. I have Brooke’s sister Sandy coming in this week for the flooring.”

“Have you already hired an interior decorator?”

“Not yet. I’m not happy with anything I’ve seen so far.”

Perfect. “Why don’t you ask Brooke?”

“I already did. She said she didn’t know anybody good.”

“No, I mean ask her to do it.”

A short pause. “You mean have Brooke be my interior decorator?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think she’d be interested.”

Was she serious? All this time, his sister, Brooke’s best friend, had no idea? “Trust me, she’s gonna be totally one hundred percent interested. Just ask her. Do it today.”

“You think?” She sighed. “It’s just hard to make decisions. I keep changing my mind.”

Pregnancy hormones. Poor Gavin. “If you don’t like it, you can just redo it later. But I think Brooke will do a great job. You’ve seen what she did with her apartment, right?”

“That’s true.” He could tell she was thinking about it. “Maybe I will ask her.”

“Do that. By the way, I’m sending another crateful of baby stuff.”

“Pete! You really shouldn’t.”

“But I want to. This is my first nephew. I plan to spoil him rotten.”

There was a smile in her voice when she said, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

Brooke deposited the paint and brushes in the studio before going to see Amandine in the study. A Mozart piano sonata played on the stereo system.

“You really think the baby can hear that?” she asked.

“I know he can.” Amandine rested her hands on her belly. “He gets all quiet. But if I have Rammstein playing, look out.”

“You do
not
play Rammstein in this house.”

“Why not? They’re German.” Amandine smiled. “By the way… Well, don’t feel like you have to say yes, I know you’re busy and all. But…”

Brooke gave her a wary look. “What?”

“If you’re okay with it, I’d like you to decorate the baby’s nursery.”

“You would?”

“I know it’s sort of sudden and random, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to bother.”