“Jillian,” was all he said.
And his voice was so deep and so cold, it made Brooke’s stomach quiver. It made her hope she and Keaton never reached a point in their relationship or their friendship where he ever used that tone with her. Even the possibility stabbed at her heart.
But Jillian didn’t seem to notice the antagonism. She swayed toward him like she moved toward everything she thought she owned, and Brooke’s muscles tightened, preparing to witness them kiss.
But Keaton caught hold of her biceps when her lips were still inches from his. And Brooke stood several feet away in the most impossible, most awkward position of her life. If there were ever a moment she wished the earth would open up and swallow her, this would be that time.
“What…do you think…you’re doing?” Keaton’s voice was private, but filled with who-the-fuck-do-you-think-you-are menace.
Before Brooke could excuse herself, Jillian performed the perfect backpedaling, smooth-it-over routine. “I was just saying hello, of course. We are old friends after all.” She pulled out of his grip but kept her voice light and adoring. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard morning.”
Keaton’s jaw pulsed, but when Jillian didn’t make another aggressive move, he shook out his T-shirt and tossed it over his head. Brooke’s gaze slid down his torso on the way to the floor again, pausing on red marks. Red…scratches.
Her face bloomed with heat. Her sex followed. She hadn’t seen those in the shower this morning. But she sure remembered making them last night. And good God, now she couldn’t think of anything else.
Straddling his lap, his knees spread so wide, her hip joints ached, he thrust with all the strength in his butt and thighs. Unrelenting, consistent strokes that hit their mark and hammered whimpers of desire and cries of pleasure and screams of ecstasy from her.
With one arm wrapped around his neck, the other at his ribs, she’d been digging into him because, one—he’d been so sweaty, her grip kept slipping, and two—she’d needed the grip against the force of his thrust, and three—she’d needed the leverage to pull herself back into him so his next stroke would hit the same out-of-this-fucking-world spot inside her again.
“Come for me, Brooke,” he’d demanded against her neck, even as she was just recovering from her last orgasm. “Come again. So good. Love the feel of you coming around me. Come on, baby. Give it to me. Ah, yeah. That’s it. Mmm, so good. Come on, baby. No limit. Give me another one.”
She shivered. Curled her fingers around the edges of her iPad until they numbed.
“Since we’ll be working together…” Jillian’s voice refocused her. “I certainly don’t want to start out on the wrong foot. Brooke, this is Keaton Holt,” she said, her tone light and charming and—dare she even think…sweet? “The only man who’s ever truly stolen my heart. Keaton, this is my assistant, Brooke—”
“Yeah, I—” he started.
“Dempsey,” Brooke cut in forcefully. She pried her hand from the computer and offered it to him. “Brooke Dempsey. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Holt.” She pulled her hand from Keaton’s overly hard grip and smiled at Jillian. “Mr. Holt and I met briefly in Los Angeles about a year ago. A friend of a friend.”
He stared at her, lips parted as if he’d stopped before the words had come out. His dark eyes sharpened, flicked to Jillian, then returned to Brooke. And they were hard. He closed his mouth and rolled his shoulders back. Now he looked just as displeased with her as he had with Jillian. And yeah, she knew she deserved it, but shit… The way he closed off made it impossible to read his expression, and it hurt. Hurt like hell. She felt like she’d already lost part of him.
“Miss Dempsey,” was all he said. Brooke could only thank God his voice didn’t hold the same frigid ring as it had when he’d said Jillian’s name.
She gave Keaton a nod and hoped he could read the gratitude in her eyes, but she’d never seen him look so miserable. Which seemed like the mood of the day.
Except for Jillian. The emotional undercurrents were lost on the narcissist. “Keaton, since I have time now, I thought we could block out the first stunt scene we’re in together.”
He planted his hands at his hips. “We’re not in any scenes together.”
“Oh, Copalli didn’t tell you?” Jillian asked.
“What?” Brooke asked, frowning at Jillian, but her boss ignored her, and by the purse of Jillian’s lips and the jut to her chin, Brooke knew Jillian was going to color outside those lines again.
“Told me what, Jillian?” Keaton asked with an I-know-what-you’re-gonna-say-and-it’s-going-to-start-a-fight tone. “Because if you think you’re going to do your own stunts, I can tell you right now, that’s not going to fly past risk assessment.”
Jillian laughed softly, clearly happy with the fact that she’d ticked Keaton off. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”
Brooke was ready to climb out of her skin. She couldn’t watch these two together anymore. She couldn’t look at Keaton anymore, knowing the plans they’d had for tonight, for any night in the future, were history.
The day suddenly seemed to stretch out in front of her as ten, twelve, sixteen…long, hot, sticky hours of misery.
She cleared her tight throat and told Jillian, “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go check in with the production assistants now.” Without waiting for her answer, she reminded Keaton of her need for their relationship to remain secret with, “It was good to meet you again, Mr. Holt.”
6
Keaton didn’t know where the hell Brooke was or when she was going to come back to the hotel. And he felt like the biggest fucking loser on the planet waiting outside her room. The only reason the Four Seasons security hadn’t called Austin Police on him was because Jax, the Renegade who was a Four Season’s frequent-flier, had called and personally vouched for Keaton.
Which meant if he did anything to get into trouble, he’d get his ass royally kicked by Jax. And the only Renegade who was as good a fighter as Keaton was Jax.