Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) Read online

  Apparently he hit the magic button because at last she replied.

  Al Gore is NOT sexy.

  But no matter how clever and witty he tried to be, Brooke reverted to radio silence after that brief response. As far as interview tactics went, it was insanely effective. Between midnight and the birds chirping, he’d divulged his favorite color, choice of pie, and the shows he considered must-see TV. Standing alone in the echoing space of his master bedroom, he felt compelled to try one last time.

  Q: What now? A: I don’t know. I’m just happy to be home.

  Staring at the screen, he pressed send and felt the whoosh of the sent message in the strum of his heart.

  The sun rose as he applied the first coat of paint, and burned high in the sky by the time he heard his phone chirp, but he didn’t allow himself a peek. Surveying the expanse of wall ahead of him, he told himself he couldn’t check until he finished. Of course, he finished in record time.

  White paint cracked where it dried in his knuckles. It smoothed his fingertips, filling in the whorls and erasing his individuality. By the time his screen lit, he was another anonymous guy hoping for a sign from the girl who eluded him.

  His heart turned over in his chest when he saw the icon proclaiming a message from Brooke had been received. He fumbled the phone in his haste to prove his opposable thumbs worked. When the window opened he saw three words. Tomorrow. When? Where?

  Cursing the minutes he let pass in the name of pride, he quickly tapped out his answer. Yes, noon. Slip #22 Dauphin Island Marina.

  He held his breath, staring out the windows while he waited, afraid he’d mojo the whole damn thing if he glanced at the phone. Thankfully it buzzed within seconds.

  OK.

  He never knew two little letters could make such a difference, but they did. Grabbing his roller, he stalked back to the paint pan and peered down into the pale flatness of the eggshell, unable to suppress his smile. For the first time in months, his future was filled with promise rather than questions.

  He wanted to see Brooke here in his place. His bed. His space. Turning in a slow circle, he allowed himself to visualize it all. Shades of pink, purple, and red from the setting sun streaking the ceiling. The golden spill of Brooke’s hair spread across the pillow. He stared at the bank of west-facing windows, picturing the sun sinking into the sea as he held her close to him. Turning back to the room, he scowled at the too-white walls, hating their blankness.

  Disgusted by his cowardice, he dropped the roller into the pan and stalked from the room. It was time to hit the home improvement superstore again.

  * * * *

  Brian worked through the day, through the sound of a car door slamming, through the blare of Flaming Lips coming from the wired-in speaker system, and through the pepperoni pizza and a six-pack of beer his astrophysicist brother called dinner. Wandering into the kitchen, Brian was oblivious to the rainbow of colors now smeared on his jeans, but all too aware of the rumbling in his belly.

  “Hey.” He jerked his chin in Jake’s direction. “How long have you been here?”

  His brother glanced at his watch then turned back to the rails he was installing in the cabinetry. “About an hour. Didn’t you hear the music?”

  “Is that what you call that noise?”

  Jake smirked. “I swear you’re really an eighty-year-old woman in disguise.”

  He shot back with the best retort his Brooke-addled brain could concoct. “Maybe an eighty-year-old lesbian.”

  The last syllable had barely faded, but Brian tasted the all-too-familiar ash of regret on his tongue. Lame comeback. His brother’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth twisted into a smirk. Somehow, he always got like this around Jake. Tongue-tied and stupid. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever outgrow the nerdy little brother phase. Rather than risk another dose of idiocy, he grabbed a slice of lukewarm pizza from the box and shoved it into his mouth.

  Jake turned back to the cabinet. With a slight squeeze of the trigger, the drill whirred to life. “Mom wants you to come for supper on Sunday.”

  He chewed slowly, weighing the pros and cons of a Dalton family dinner. On the plus side the prospect of a full meal—meat, vegetables, dessert, napkins, and all—was damn tempting. But on the other hand, the fact that an invitation had actually been issued meant his mother was gearing up to do some smothering.

  The beer trickled down his throat, icy-cold and refreshing. He tried not to look too closely at the half-petrified slice as he took another too-big bite. “Why?”

  Asking and answering questions with cheeks full of food was one of the little pleasures only two brothers out from under their mother’s thumb could enjoy. Jake snatched the decimated slice from his hand and took a big bite of his own before deigning to answer, but it didn’t help. His brother still had their mother’s penetrating blue eyes.

  “I imagine she heard you were dancing on the lawn with Brooke Hastings.” Jake gulped audibly then reached for his own bottle of beer. “I believe the invitations have been ordered,” he added with a lazy grin.

  Brian groaned and tossed the scrap of pizza into the open box. “Seriously?”

  “Making out with a girl at the Saints Preserve Us is not the way to conduct a clandestine affair.”

  He wiped his fingers on his jeans then shoved away from the counter. “We weren’t making out, and I wasn’t trying to conduct a clandestine affair.”

  Jake nodded as he peered at the drill bit appraisingly. “Good, because you really kind of suck at it.”

  Rolling his eyes, he started for the door. “Well, maybe you can give me some lessons or draw me a blueprint or something.”

  “Bri?” The note of warning in his brother’s voice came through loud and clear. He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn. “She’s a nice girl.”

  The assertion surprised him as much as its source. If a guy as self-contained as Jake had noticed, much less felt the need to verbalize his observation, something had certainly registered on his big brother’s radar. The thought of Jake looking at Brooke made his made his territorial hackles rise.

  He pivoted to catch his brother’s gaze, but saw genuine worry reflected back at him. “I know she is.” Still, tension sizzling and popping in his veins. “But how do you know?”

  The soft snort soothed him a little. He knew that exasperated huff of breath. His brother was a man of few words. So few Brian used to wonder if Jake believed he’d been allotted a finite number of syllables at birth and felt compelled to make up the difference with a variety of noises. But right now, he knew the derisive snort was an order to stand down.

  “Mom makes me go to those things sometimes, too, you know,” Jake said at last. He fished a screw from the plastic tray and aligned the head with the magnetic drill bit. “We’ve talked a little.”

  Brian couldn’t suppress a smile. It didn’t take a heaping helping of imagination to picture his laconic elder brother trapped in conversation with the inquisitive Ms. Hastings.

  “She’s a hometown girl. Not the type to go running off to Hollywood or wherever.”

  The terseness in Jake’s tone wiped the smile right off Brian’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, if you don’t plan on sticking around, you might want to look into getting back on Jennifer Aniston’s good side.”

  Incredulous, he glared at his brother. “Why would I be doing all this work if I didn’t plan on sticking around?”

  Jake let one shoulder rise and fall. “Investment property.”

  “I’m sticking.”

  “Just making sure. I’d hate to see a great girl like Brooke get hurt, is all.”

  Brian bristled, annoyed by the latent chivalrous streak he’d uncovered in his brother. “I hate to point this out, but I think you’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Are we picking sides already?”

  The bait flashed like a shiny new hook embedded in feathery camouflage and he couldn’t resist rising to snatch it. “We’
re not picking sides. I’m here to stay, I have no intention of hurting Brooke Hastings. And you can tell Mama I want a fresh-baked pie if I’m going to be interrogated.”

  Jake shot another screw home with three quick bursts of power. “Will do, but I get to choose the flavor. Messenger service, you know.”

  “Anything but rhubarb.” He made it two steps before he turned back once again. “I never actually met Jennifer Aniston, you know.”

  Jake gave his head a slow shake. “Huh. Guess you really can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  Chapter 6

  Brooke regretted her wardrobe choices the second she stepped foot on the dock. The sun-splashed aluminum shifted and swayed. Her pencil skirt was too tight for ease of movement but it was sexy as sin. The faux Ferragamos on her feet were meant to boost her confidence and add a bit of stature. After being blunt with Brian—and sharing a smoldering dance in the dark—she figured she needed as much fashion-inspired poise as she could muster.

  She hadn’t counted on navigating a funhouse ride to get to him, though. Tiptoeing along the center run, she smirked at the clever names of the boats she passed. She spotted one called Sea Duced undulating in its slip.

  “It’s all in the motion of the ocean,” she murmured as she scanned the numbers affixed to the dock.

  The sun beat down on the water. A humid breeze stirred her hair. Spring was moving out and summer creeping in. The silky blouse she wore clung to her back. Brooke thanked the good Lord she’d decided against pantyhose.

  Her steps slowed as she neared the end of the dock. His directions specified slip twenty-two, but old suspicions died hard. Brian hadn’t wanted to grant her an interview. In fairness, he didn’t want to give interviews to anyone at all. She understood and played her hand accordingly. Given their skirmishes in the past, and the dick swinging at the restaurant, and the fact that she’d been outright avoiding him before giving in to his text assault, she wouldn’t put it past him to drag her all the way out to Dauphin Island just to lead her on a wild goose chase.

  The thought made her sad. She’d had fun with Brian. More fun than she ever imagined. He was easy to talk to and was surprisingly supportive when she’d talked about her dream of going freelance. She hoped it had been sincere. Back in the days when their birthday parties were arranged by mothers armed with a class list and enough invitations to be sure no child was left behind, they’d been friends. Or friendly. Brian had simply always been around. Like the given at the beginning of every geometry proof.

  Her early memories of him were sketchy at best. As the two brightest kids in the class, they shared a love of reading and learning that predated jealousy and competition. They’d been assigned seats next to each other in third grade, but all she could remember was he was very neat. He never colored outside the lines and his multiplication table was laminated. One day he broke the lead on his yellow number two and she loaned him one of her pink Barbie pencils, but otherwise she had dim recollections of shaggy hair and serious brown eyes.

  She tottered when the dock shifted and rocked on the gentle wake. Gripping the rail, she let the memories wash over her as she caught her balance. She could see teenage Brian perfectly. A tall, reedy adolescent weighted down under armloads of textbooks or stooping over to peer into a microscope. The derisive teenager who dismissed her as easily as the rest of their classmates snubbed him.

  It wasn’t until her internal playback reached the moment when he lowered his lips to hers that she recalled he rarely smiled in high school. In that heartbeat, fueled by passion and impulse, his mouth had been stretched into a thin line of determination. Oddly enough, it seemed all she did was smile in those days. She’d curve her lips and her friends wouldn’t notice she’d checked out of their inane conversations. A flash of teeth and they’d vote her Homecoming Queen. She’d managed to smile through Brian’s triumphant Valedictory speech despite her desire to kick him. Hard. And after he’d left her on the commencement stage, shaken and stirred, she smiled so no one would guess how much his hard, humbling kiss had affected her.

  Now, standing on the swaying dock, she realized she’d seen Brian smile more in the brief time they’d spent together than in all the years she’d known him. He’d grinned that wicked grin when he kissed her behind Putnam House. He’d smiled with eager anticipation when she’d slid into the booth across from him at The Pit, and with confidence as he let Jack know he was no longer the big man on campus. The warmth of his attentions made her feel all warm and melty. The memory of his hot, hungry kisses and those unexpected smiles were what made it so hard to resist his advances.

  But there were other memories and another kiss. If she were smart, she’d hang tight to those. It would certainly be easier to relive old hurts than to leave herself open to new ones.

  Brian wasn’t smiling the night Principal Hollings pinned the blue ribbon from the St. Paul’s Academy Eighth Grade Science Fair to her uniform jacket instead of his, that was for sure. Brian hadn’t been at all pleased with honorable mention and Brooke didn’t blame him.

  But she did blame him for letting one blue ribbon ruin the connection she had with the one person with whom she didn’t have to fake it to impress. A silly science fair project spawned a fierce competition lasting four long years. It also generated an unforgettable kiss and a decade-long string of what-ifs.

  She stopped and stared at the sleek watercraft moored in slip number twenty-two. It was a flashy fantasy of a boat too flamboyant to suit the sober, brooding boy she knew. Blinking away the glare of disbelief, she squinted to read the tiny sign hanging above the slip. The boat’s name was Reefer Madness. Maybe the name explained the unexpected departure in style.

  “Hello?” She picked her way along the slip. “Brian? It’s Brooke.”

  The hollow echoes from her tip-tapping heels bounced off the water beneath the dock. Water lapped at the boat’s cherry-red hull. Rich teak accents offset the sun-bleached deck. The vessel gleamed in the bright morning light, but the door to the cabin remained shut. She gave the idea of pulling a cut and run some consideration but then remembered she had more than an interview by-line riding on this meeting.

  “You said to come by at noon,” she called out. Annoyed by the resulting silence, she planted one hand on her hip and turned in a slow circle. The decks of the surrounding boats were empty. Not one hotshot marine biologist in sight. Apparently, he hadn’t outgrown his need to jerk her chain. “Hello?”

  Waves of disappointment licked at her anger, wearing away the sharp edges like surf washing sand. She’d spent the entire trip out from Mobile refusing to think about how badly she wanted to see him again. The slow, deep kiss they’d shared behind Putnam House played on a continuous loop in her mind. Brian kissed the way she expected him to—thorough and single-mindedly. The slant of his mouth conveyed all the same urgency and possession he’d displayed on graduation day, but this one tasted like much more than a simple kiss. In those brief, heart-hammering moments she understood the truth about Brian she’d never grasped before.

  He’d made her his quest.

  How was she supposed to resist? But she had to resist. She needed him more than she wanted him. Okay, maybe not much more, but more all the same. The work she was doing was important. Not only did her career depend on it, others were depending on her to bring their story to life. The story had to be bigger than this…whatever it was between her and Brian.

  Aside from the ogling and the interview and her research, there was one important bit of information she needed from Brian Dalton. She had to know what possessed him to kiss the bejesus out of her and walk away. Determination renewed, she gripped the rail and lifted one foot, preparing to board with or without permission.

  She nearly lost her footing when a sudden rush of water startled her. Brian’s head popped up over the rear of the boat and her equilibrium went overboard. Water cascaded off his body as he hauled himself up the ladder, steady streams of riveting rivulets trailed over his chest and abs.
A pair of virulent green board shorts hung low on his hips. Teetering on one spiked heel, she pinwheeled her arms when the dock shifted.

  “Grab the rail,” he barked.

  She responded instinctively to the gruff command, snagging the rail and hanging on tight as he swung a leg over the edge of the boat. With both feet planted under her once again, she took the opportunity to gawk. He’d always been tall, but he was nowhere near as powerful as he was now. His shoulders were wide and heavily muscled. The cuts in his biceps and triceps shone, sharply defined and mouthwatering.

  When her editor shoved the interview assignment down her throat, she immediately went back to her desk to look for an angle to spin a question and answer session into the leverage she needed. She clicked on a link leading to a photo of Brian with a neoprene wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips and all research came to a screeching halt. Their copy editor quickly dubbed him Hots Cousteau, though it galled Brooke to admit the geek she’d known had grown up well, Brian had both the looks and the smarts to live up to the standard set by Monsieur Cousteau’s legacy.

  Facing those same ripples and muscles live and in person, Brooke was forced to agree the nickname suited him to perfection. The man was ripped. For a moment, she wondered if he’d been bitten by a radioactive spider. It would be too perfect. She was, after all, a girl reporter itching to talk to him.