Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) Page 2

  Lifting her glass, she tossed back the remainder of her drink then plopped the empty glass onto the tray of a passing waiter. She fought the urge to stomp her stiletto-clad foot as she watched her mother bathe Brian in the spotlight of her attentions. Then he blinked and gave his head a bewildered shake. Emmaline’s eyes narrowed a millimeter, and the side-to-side wag morphed into a weak nod.

  Her mother out-sparkled the chandelier above their heads. Familial pride rippled through Brooke. A woman wearing a blue and green plaid kilt pressed a glass of stout into Brian’s limp hand. Emmaline patted his arm, marking the end of negotiations. The man’s befuddled expression confirmed a direct hit.

  “Damn, she’s good,” a deep voice drawled.

  Blatant admiration dripped from each word. Brooke didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know her father was standing behind her. “The best.”

  Henry Hastings pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek, an indulgent smile creasing his time-worn, but still handsome, face. Seizing the chance for escape, Laney murmured her excuses and headed straight for the bar and Harley Cade.

  A speculative gleam lit her father’s forest green eyes. “How much do you think she got him for?”

  Brooke let a shoulder rise and fall before she returned her father’s conspiratorial grin. “Five?”

  Her father snorted and rocked back on his heels as he wet his lips with what was surely very good bourbon. “Chump change. She got at least ten large out of that boy.”

  She couldn’t help but smile when her daddy smacked his lips, clearly savoring the splash of eau de banned booze that lingered there. Emmaline only allowed him one drink a night these days. Henry made certain it was exceptional and nursed it through the entirety of whatever social event he was forced to endure that week. Her father would have happily ponied up ten grand to get out of the room, but after three decades of marriage he knew better than to try.

  Her parents had what genteel society might call an understanding. He was allowed to shoot, stuff and mount as many woodland creatures as he desired as long as the trophies remained in his garage or the hunting cabin his granddaddy built. She could buy as many pretty party dresses and accept as many invitations as she pleased, but her husband would serve as an accessory no more than once a week.

  Her father was far more approachable. Affable and indulgent, he masked his sharp intellect with a smooth Southern gentleman veneer. As dark as her mother was light, the two of them were a striking and formidable pair. The tartan plaid of his tie might have been a concession to the occasion, but the effect played up the roguish features of his Scots-Irish heritage.

  Brooke chuckled. “What was I thinking? Of course she got ten.”

  Her reward was a kiss on the cheek and a one-armed squeeze. “You look awful pretty, pumpkin.”

  The familiar scent of her daddy’s aftershave was all she needed to reinforce the steel in her backbone. Henry Hastings was her biggest fan and staunchest defender. They were a unit, a team, a mutual admiration society made for two.

  Lifting the glass of rationed mash, he toasted her. “Thank you for comin’. You made your mama very happy, and you saved me from utter and complete boredom.”

  “It’s the least I could do. After all, you allowed me to get a top notch education without having to resort to smearing Preparation H under my eyes.”

  “Now, now. Don’t mock your mama’s scholarship programs,” he warned, a smile quirking his lips.

  Knowing they’d arrived at an impasse, she reached for two of her most effective weapons—distraction and deflection. “What’s this I hear about you buying a new boat?”

  His answering huff confirmed a direct hit. Her parents’ latest struggle for marital control revolved around a news magazine article on funding retirement and what her mother considered an excess of unnecessary discretionary spending. His.

  “It’s a johnboat, for Christ’s sake, not a cabin cruiser.”

  Squeezing her father’s arm, Brooke darted a glance around the room, checking to be certain none of St. Pat’s few remaining nuns stood nearby to hear her father blaspheme. “Hush, Daddy. I was teasing you.”

  Henry took a hasty gulp of his beloved bourbon. “It’s not funny. I tell you it’s a crying shame when a man who works as hard as I do wants to buy himself one little toy and he ends up getting nothing but a bellyful of guff.”

  “Damn straight.”

  The words were soft-spoken but heartfelt enough to break into the conversation. Brooke jumped and whirled, but the butterflies in the pit of her stomach identified the owner a heartbeat before their gazes met.

  A smug smile played at the corners of Brian’s mouth. The same one he wore when she missed the Advanced Chemistry review due to an impacted wisdom tooth. He’d refused to lend her his notes, the bastard. For months after that graduation day kiss she stewed and simmered, wondering if whatever precious data he captured in his Mead three-subject spiral cost her the chance of giving the Valedictory address.

  “Hello, Brooke.”

  Chapter 2

  “Sir, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Brian Dalton.” He offered Brooke’s father his hand and she found herself riveted by the sight of it. “Brooke and I were in the same class at St. Pat’s.”

  Though she bristled at his phrasing, Brooke had to give the man props. He didn’t squirm or fidget under her daddy’s most potent lawyer stare. Nearly a half-minute passed before her father took his hand and gave it a slow shake. “I remember you, son. I do believe you were named class valedictorian, weren’t you?”

  Brian withdrew with a nod that might have looked deferential coming from anyone else, but it didn’t fool her for a moment. That was his victory nod. A precise incline of his head that meant he’d proved his point and any agreement was simply a formality. “Yes, sir. I’m told I barely edged your daughter out for the honor.”

  Henry straightened his shoulders and smiled the smile that struck fear into the hearts of prosecuting attorneys across the great state of Alabama. With his glass held aloft in mock salute, he gave Brian a shrewd once-over. “Too bad you wouldn’t share those chemistry notes. It mighta been interesting to see how you would have fared on a level playing field.” Warmth coursed through her when he moved in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you Sunday for supper, Sugar Bear.”

  Grateful for his unflagging support, she leaned into him. “See you Sunday, Daddy.”

  Brooke watched her father dive into the throng, his sights set squarely on her mother. She ignored the knots forming in her belly as Brian shifted beside her. She didn’t want to glance his way. Not yet. She wanted him to squirm.

  The alumni committee might consider Brian Dalton the conquering hero, but this was her turf. She was the hometown girl who made good. Not by splashing around in a neoprene wetsuit on TV, but with her brains and heart and hard work. Good manners or not, she wouldn’t share her notes on polite conversation with him. He’d sought her out. Let him speak first.

  “Your mother looks incredible.”

  As opening gambits went, it was weak. Anyone who had the slightest clue what it was like to grow up with Emmaline Hastings as a mother would have warned him off. But nuance was a concept Brian never grasped. Brooke squashed the spark of sympathy his faux pas ignited and hit him dead-center in his awkward spot.

  “Me, Brian.”

  He blinked first. “Excuse me?” A puzzled frown bisected his brow. “Last time I checked, I’m Brian and you’re Brooke.”

  The confusion written all over his face was a balm to her bruised ego. The uncertainty shadowing his eyes gave her the impetus to forge ahead. She could deal with rich, successful, good-looking Brian as long as she could see the gears turning in his head. Outsmarting him had never been her problem. A girl only had to know what buttons to push.

  The social graces were young Mr. Dalton’s weakest subject in high school. A failing that can be nearly fatal when one is raised in the South.

  Using the skills honed in her campaign for
Homecoming Queen she beamed up at him and waded into the paternal side of her gene pool. Straight for the jugular—no sugarcoating. The same tactics got her elected Student Body President in a society where brains and beauty were not supposed to be compatible.

  “Me. Compliment me.” She softened her voice to convey the same patience she’d use with a slightly addled prizefighter. “As a rule, it’s good form to compliment the woman to whom you are speaking.”

  To his credit, Brian recovered quickly. His eyes narrowed. Cocking his head, he studied her like she was one of his elusive microorganisms swimming under a microscope. “I don’t bother much with rules. It’s too hard to remember them all.”

  “Sad to see your cognitive skills haven’t improved.” She shot him a sidelong glance.

  His smile turned rakish. She’d be damned if his eyes didn’t twinkle when he faced her dead-on. “No, but I’m still an ace when it comes to chemistry.”

  She had to laugh. Her traitorous heart also took the opportunity to pop off a back flip. Shaking her head, she did her best to banish her body’s instinctive response to him. “Welcome home, Brian.”

  “Good to be home. You look beautiful, Brooke.”

  Sincerity infused what should have been a polite compliment. Twinkle and rakishness aside, his answering grin radiated warmth. The full, soft lips that once branded her with adolescent humiliation now tempted her. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about that.

  Not now.

  She had bigger fish to fry, an important story to be told, and the cocky, arrogant man standing in front of her was the mouthpiece she needed to make big things happen.

  Drawing a steadying breath, she locked eyes with her former classmate. “So, Brian, since you’re back I was wondering—”

  The smile he wore intensified. “Yes, I’m happy to see you.”

  “—if I could get an interview.”

  His smile faded and the light in his dark eyes dulled. “All requests for interviews should go through my agent.” Those lush lips thinned into a line of disappointment so familiar her stomach dropped. He inclined his head in that stiff, formal way of his, but this time she couldn’t find any warmth in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep, gruff, and edged with enough hurt to make her feel about two inches tall. “Nice to see you again, Brooke.”

  Before she could process what had happened, he turned and melted into the crowd.

  * * * *

  “Brian, wait!”

  She called after him, the honeyed alto of her voice undercutting the squeaks and squeals of the raucous Irish jig bleating from the speakers, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d have to look at her again. Listen to her pitch. Run the risk of giving in.

  The temptation to give in to Brooke had dogged him since he was fifteen years old, but he’d resisted. Always resisted. It wasn’t easy and it sure as hell wasn’t what he wanted to do, but some base instinct told him it was absolutely necessary to his survival.

  “Brian!”

  He nodded to a cluster of women gathered near an ice sculpture. The blatant invitation in the redhead’s smile made his gut twist, but he honed in on them nonetheless. Any port in a storm, right?

  “Brian, please.”

  He grimaced as a hand hooked the crook of his elbow. The moment of hesitation had cost him. Steeling himself, he turned his head enough to catch sight of Brooke staring up at him, her eyes wide and pleading.

  “It’s not what you think.” Her fingertips pressed into his arm, rumpling the sleeve of his jacket with the force of her assertion.

  “Seemed simple enough. You’re a member of the press. You want an interview, contact my agent.”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “And making that dream come true is what earns my agent her fifteen percent,” he countered.

  “I meant I want to talk to you as a friend.”

  He stiffened but kept his expression as neutral as possible. “We’re friends?”

  She blinked but didn’t back down. “We used to be. Sort of.”

  A smirk twisted his lips. “Well, there’s a compelling argument.”

  “Please. It’s important.”

  The assertion plucked the last thread of his patience. “Look, let’s cut to the chase, okay?” Shaking his arm from her grasp, he tugged at his sleeve in a vain attempt to erase the marks she’d left on him. “Boxer briefs, ocean-blue, and my favorite word is still algae.”

  “I need your help.”

  The request for assistance didn’t shock him as much as the word ‘need’. The Brooke he knew was always careful about what she said to people. Since she’d become a journalist, he had to assume word choice was still every bit as important to her now. And how was he supposed to turn his back on her if she actually did need him? As if sensing his inner turmoil, she plunged ahead.

  “I’m working on a story. A big story. Big as in important. Not that your choice in underwear isn’t—”

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  Brooke stiffened as a hand encircled her waist. Brian had to glance down to confirm it wasn’t his own hand. It wasn’t. He jerked his head up, prepared to glare at the fool who dared to interrupt this moment. Surprise, surprise. Jack Tucker.

  As oblivious as he’d always been to anyone but himself, the jackass pulled Brooke a little closer to his side. “Miss Emmaline said she thought you might make an appearance, and I couldn’t miss my chance. You are one tricky lady to pin down.”

  Watching them together, Brian found it hard to believe the overblown frat boy was still a variable. The guy was clinging to Brooke like the creeping kudzu Brian’s mama battled in her garden. And like those persistent vines, the man was insidious. Thankfully, the brittle smile frozen on Brooke’s pretty face told him she felt the same way.

  “Didn’t you ever get your cell phone replaced, Sugar?”

  Brian bit back the urge to take notes when the flash of annoyance flittered across Brooke’s beautiful features. The girl who once ruled his daydreams had lost the ability to mask her true feelings, and that was a discovery worth witnessing.

  “Oh. Uh….”

  She darted a glance in Brian’s direction and wet her lips. If she’d looked at him like that in tenth grade biology, his knees would have gone weak and his palms sweaty. Today, he managed to stand his ground. Barely. He wasn’t a nervous, awkward boy anymore. He was a man. A highly educated and accomplished man. And a celebrity. Of sorts. Women wanted him. Men wished to be him. At least, some men did. And as for the women… Funny, he was still most intrigued by a woman he’d known almost all his life.

  Her sharp green eyes and the killer curves poured into a slinky black dress were the bow on a potent package. A pearly pink blush stained Brooke’s cheeks. He knew her well enough to recognize it as the glow of anger and frustration, not embarrassment. As a teenager, she was far too bright and ambitious to fit the mold everyone wanted her to squeeze into. Everyone around her wanted her to be less than she was.

  All he ever wanted was for her to be more. To herself and to him.

  Brian once prided himself on pushing her. Looking back on their friendship, he could see he clearly hadn’t been fair to her either. With the perspective of time and distance, he saw he was as guilty as the rest of them. He hadn’t allowed Brooke to simply be.

  Seeing her now, it was obvious she was still the paragon she’d always been, but more imperfectly perfect. He wanted her more than ever. If that was possible.

  “I did, but they gave me a new number.”

  “Well, what is it?” Jack’s tone was colored with enough indulgent amusement to make Brian grind his teeth, but Brooke handled it with her usual grace.

  “I can never remember it.”

  Her airy reply startled Brian from his reverie. He stared at her, incredulous. Any idiot could see the annoyance and impatience simmering beneath peach-colored skin. Well, any idiot but Jack Tucker. Brian stifled a snort, but failed at hiding his grin. Nothing more amusing than watchi
ng an intelligent woman try to play dumb.

  “You were never a technical girl.”

  The moron actually chuckled when he said it. His too jovial, too condescending, too-stupid-to-be-believed laugh made Brooke’s nostrils flare. The tension in Brian’s shoulders and back uncoiled. Jack Tucker would never have any luck with this new and improved Brooke.

  “Hand it over and I’ll put my number in for you.”

  Brooke’s eyes narrowed when Jack waggled his fingers. Brian was surprised she didn’t try to bite them off. She proved she was still the same girl who ruled the cheerleading squad and the student government with equal aplomb when she fixed the fool with a brilliant smile. “I left it in my coat pocket.”

  “And you wonder how your phones end up stolen, Sugar.”

  Brian wanted to deck the supercilious asswipe. It rankled that a man who graduated in the bottom third of their class thought he could talk to like she was the one challenged by complex sentences. He took a half step forward, but Brooke halted him by threatening the toe of his shoe with her stiletto.

  “You know, you’re probably right. You’re so smart, Jack.”

  Brian choked on a laugh but quickly covered by raising his glass. Focusing all his attention on his new best friend, Johnnie Walker, he pretended not to be affected when the girl who fueled his teenage fantasies took his arm and pulled him closer.

  “You remember Brian Dalton, don’t you?”

  She squeezed Brian’s bicep as if she was testing him for ripeness, and a part of him hoped she would. If he could get rid of the big blond dickweed, he’d show her a man at the peak of his prime.

  Washed-up Ken barely spared him a look. “How’s it going?”