Tempting Brooke (Big Sky 2.5)

I’m an idiot. I’ve been on fire all evening, enjoying his touches and our conversation, and I wanted nothing more than for him to kiss me.

And he was just being nice.

Because he’s my friend.

And that’s all he’s ever going to be.

Chapter Four

~Brody~

I’m a fucking idiot.

I wanted to kiss her. Hell, I wanted to take her inside, strip her out of that dress, and explore every delectable inch of her tiny little body.

And if she wasn’t giving off kiss me signals, I’ll be damned to hell.

She’s absolutely on the same page. But this is Brooke. The girl I used to care about when I was a kid, and let’s not forget that I’m leaving in just a few days.

While I wouldn’t mind a romp in bed with a willing, beautiful partner, it just can’t be Brooke.

I’m not an asshole.

I pull into the hotel on the lake where I’m staying, hand my keys to the valet, and ride up the elevator to my room. I’m on the top floor, but at only four floors up, that’s not saying too much.

Cunningham Falls has always had a height restriction on buildings, only allowing them to be four stories high, and no taller.

But I’m high enough up that I have a killer view of the lake and the ski mountain. I walk out onto the balcony and sit in the fancy outdoor couch, kick my feet up, and cross my hands over my still-full belly.

I’ve come a long way. I started out as an abused kid, living not even a mile from here. And now, I’m in the biggest room the hotel has, in a thousand-dollar suit that I had the concierge find for me this afternoon.

I didn’t lie when I told Brooke that I’m an engineer.

I just didn’t tell her that I own the firm. And I did it all without one single penny from Glen.

I sigh, drag my hands down my face, and then frown when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Chabot,” I answer.

“Hey, boss,” Van, my assistant, says. “How’s Montana?”

“Hot,” I reply and grin. I wouldn’t be able to function without Van. He is way more than an assistant. He has excellent instincts, and he’s trustworthy.

That’s the most important part.

“I have a few things to go over,” Van continues, and we spend the next thirty minutes talking about current projects that several of my engineers are working on. Once he’s caught me up to speed, he takes a deep breath, and I know he’s about to start asking personal questions.

This is Van, after all.

“So, why are you still in Montana? You were supposed to be back two days ago.”

I sigh and watch as a bald eagle flies over the lake, then swoops down and plucks a fish out of the water. I’d forgotten how late it is when the sun goes down this far north.

“Good question,” I murmur. I can’t exactly tell him that I’m here because there’s a certain brunette that’s captured my attention. He’d call me seven different kinds of a moron, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

I have a business, and a life, to get back to in California.

“My father’s estate is taking longer than I thought to settle.”

It’s not a lie.

“When do you want me to arrange for you to come back?” he asks. “I’ll book the tickets tonight.”

“Next week,” I reply and can almost hear his scowl from a thousand miles away. “I can work remotely.”

“Do you need me to come there?”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll work remotely, and you can continue to call me daily with updates. If you need anything, I always have my phone on me.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you tomorrow, boss.”

He hangs up and I drop my phone in my lap. I forgot that the pace here is much slower than in San Francisco. To say it’s calmer is the understatement of the year. I don’t remember the last time I sat outside just to watch an eagle fly.

Or at all, for that matter.

I usually fall asleep on the sofa of my office, then get up the next day and do it all again. I’m a workaholic, just like the asshole who raised me. The only good thing Glen Chabot ever gave me was his work ethic.

I’ve put it to good use.

And until two days ago, I would have said that it was enough for me. That I was perfectly content.

How could Brooke change things so quickly?

* * * *

“This is a huge arrangement for someone’s table,” I comment the next afternoon as Brooke shows me how to stick stems into this green foam stuff to make it stay in place and look nice.

“It’s not going on a table. It’s going on a casket.” She smiles sadly and then walks to the other side of her work station to consult her notebook.

“Oh.” I frown, pausing in placing the sunflower in the green foam. “Who died?”