Rendezvous (Renegades 5)

His smile was wide and warm. “I’m all yours.”

Hers. Keaton Holt, all hers.

In her dreams.

Literally.

He lowered her feet to the floor, and Brooke soaked in every delicious inch of his body rubbing against hers. Especially the generous swell in the range of his zipper.

She slid her hands down his solid arms, curved her fingers around his, and stepped back, taking her first quick but full glance over him. Hunger stirred instantly. All the chemistry they’d built up in LA rushed back as if no time separated them.

She released him and turned toward the table, but Keaton grabbed one of her hands back and pulled her close again. “I’m not letting you go too far.” He wrapped her close by his side before he moved forward. “You’re like a leprechaun, disappearing just when I think I’m going to catch you.”

That was an interesting choice of words, but she wasn’t going to dig into them now. Not when she could slide her arms around his waist and press her head to his shoulder. “I’m certainly not going to argue.”

He gave her a squeeze as they reached the table, then released her so she could slide into the booth. But when she expected him to take the seat across from her, he sat next to her instead. Angling to face her, he bent one knee, resting it on the cushioned bench, and laid his arm across the back of the seat.

Brooke was a little overwhelmed by his complete and focused attention. She hadn’t had anyone this interested in her since…well, since him. She’d tried dating a couple of times in Florida, but between work, her sister, and her nephew, she just couldn’t balance. And the men hadn’t warranted enough interest to try.

Keaton inspired enough interest to get Brooke to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

She didn’t even think about reaching out to touch him, she just did, laying her hand on his bent thigh. “So talk. Tell me everything I’ve missed. What movie are you working on? Who are you doubling? How long are you here? What’s new? How is everyone?” She laughed at his growing smile. “I want it all. I have all night.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she heard their double meaning. But she didn’t backtrack, because both translations were true.

Before Keaton could answer, movement at the edge of the table drew Brooke’s gaze.

Lashonda, the sassy and utterly sweet waitress Brooke had been joking with earlier, paused at the table, and her dark gaze slid between her and Keaton. “Well, this is an interesting choice of company, Miss Brooke.” To Keaton, she used a dry, deadpan tone to tell him, “I hope your sense of humor is as good as Brooke’s, ’cause if it’s not, you’re gonna have to leave.”

Instead of taking offense, Keaton started laughing, and the rich sound shivered through Brooke. He covered the hand she’d laid on his leg with his own and twisted toward Lashonda, turning on the charm he seemed to save for special occasions. “Now, why are you so nice to Brooke and so surly to me? I saw you through the window. I know how big that beautiful smile of yours can get.”

A spark of surprise cut through Lashonda’s dark eyes, and a reluctant grin tugged at her mouth. Keaton’s intense exterior caused a lot of people to step back from him. He was a big guy and built like granite. And unless he was laughing or smiling, his expressions were serious, bordering on pissed off, when in reality, he was just thinking. On a lot of levels, Keaton Holt was one of the deepest men Brooke had ever met—and she’d met a lot of men in her time on the road with Ellie.

While Keaton tried to charm Lashonda out of her suspicion, Brooke’s gaze drifted to the sight of her hand swallowed in Keaton’s. His was big and scarred and tanned. He had a complex heritage of Japanese and Italian in his background with a smattering of European and Irish. She’d first set eyes on him at one of Ellie’s mixers in Las Vegas. He’d been with his Renegade buddies at the time, and a little on the drunk side too. And with all his defenses down, the man was devilishly charismatic.

His olive complexion was already darker than Brooke’s fair Irish skin, but his work outdoors made it that much richer and more golden. The contrast was striking.

“Brooke’s been in for a couple of days, now,” Lashonda told Keaton. “But I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m sincerely sorry about that, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen in the future.” He offered his free hand to shake the waitress’s. “I’m Keaton. An old friend of Brooke’s.”

“Lashonda, and I like your manners.” She shook his hand with the apples of her cheeks rounding as her smile grew. “Since Brooke seems to like you too, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.” She took her hand back. “Would you like a menu, Keaton?”

“No, thank you, but water would be great.” His gaze settled on the mush that had once been a beautiful pie a la mode that Brooke had been looking forward to all day. Now, she didn’t want anything but time with the man sitting beside her. “And how about a new…whatever that was before I interrupted Brooke?”

“Oh no.” Brooke quickly dismissed it. “That’s okay. I wasn’t going to be able to eat it anyway.”

It was a damn good thing she didn’t have a wooden nose. She’d been so depressed before Keaton had walked in, she’d planned on eating the whole damn thing. In fact, she’d been threatening to buy out the restaurant so she could bring it back to her hotel room and bathe in their homemade apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream.

“I can,” Keaton said. “It looks amazing. And I bet I can sweet-talk a few bites into you too.”

Lashonda gave Keaton her full, approving grin and used her order pad to point at him. “It’s official—I like you, boy.”

He gave her that movie-star grin, complete with a knee-melting dose of charm. “Well, I like you too, Lashonda.”

Their waitress broke into laughter and wandered toward the kitchen, muttering something about Keaton being a character.

He turned his attention on Brooke with a sigh. “Damn, I wish I’d found this place four months ago.”