Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) by Maggie Wells Page B

but instead of holding her back, he stepped out into the sunlight with her. “I’m sorry.”
    “We’ll get it another time,” she said, attempting to sound unaffected by both his proximity and his concern.
    “Not about the interview.” He froze for one long second, then the next sentence burst from him. “When can I see you again?”
    Her heart jumped up into her throat. The intensity of his stare sliced through her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She pulled her arm from his grasp and took a step back. “I guess it depends on your agent.”
    “Brooke, please.”
    She shook her head. “Don’t make this more than it is, Brian.”
    “It is more,” he insisted. “Come to my boat. No one will bother us. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
    Wagging her head harder, she backed away. “No. I can’t.”
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    “Both,” she answered, hoping to put an end to this seduction by semantics.
    Her heels scraped the broken pavement as she shuffle-ran for the parking lot. Slipping into the seat, she caught a glimpse of Brian in her side mirror. He stood still, his hands sunk into his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. Looking like a man utterly comfortable with embracing the inevitable. She gripped the steering wheel and pressed her forehead to the backs of her hands.
    “I won’t,” she whispered, but the reinforcement didn’t take the second time either.
     

Chapter 5
    Brian was getting to Brooke. He had to believe he was, or he’d go crazy. All the signs were there. Each night as he fell asleep he catalogued the data. And his response to the stimuli. The flutter of mascaraed eyelashes made his body tighten. He’d spent a full week thinking about licking the pulse below her jaw. The memory of her pink tongue gliding over glossy lips kept him awake into the wee small hours. Frustrated and aching, he rolled from his bed before dawn Wednesday morning, left the boat, and headed for the opposite end of the island.
    He’d closed on the house within a week of moving back to Mobile. At the time, it was basically four walls and a freshly shingled roof. Of course, he didn’t mention as much to his mother as he packed his clothes and thanked her for the use of the guest room that was once his bedroom.
    The minute the plumbing and electrical passed inspection, he paid a crew to hang the drywall then kicked everyone out. Well, almost everyone. More and more often, his brother could be found installing crown molding or hanging cabinets. It was funny to see his aerospace engineer brother with a drill in his hand, but Jake claimed it helped him unwind after a long day of being a rocket scientist. Brian suspected he just liked the whir of the power tools. Still, he appreciated the help. He also appreciated Jake’s heretofore unseen talent for blackmail. In exchange for the opportunity to live out his fantasy of being Bob the Builder, Jake refrained from telling their mother her younger son had ditched her tastefully comfortable accommodations and lovingly prepared breakfasts in favor of a triangular berth on a boat.
    It wasn’t that Brian didn’t appreciate his mom’s efforts to ease his transition. He was glad she wanted him nearby. He didn’t want to be close enough to hear her tapping on his bedroom door at seven-thirty each morning as if he had a school bus to catch. He tried to tell her she didn’t need to do his laundry for him, honest he did. It wasn’t his fault she scoffed and continued separating his whites from the colors. The truth was his mom, while sweet and loving and undoubtedly still beautiful in an aging Disney princess sort of way, was terrifying in the efficient way women who’d made marriage and family a career could be. She’d managed a too-brilliant-to-tie-his-shoelaces husband and two sons with all the earmarks of becoming chips off the old block with an almost militaristic respect for routine. And a firm belief that the day started as soon as the sun