12. CHAPTER TWELVE

Brooke was seriously impressed with Jagger's child wrangling skills. He might be a big kid himself, but that tactic seemed to work for the kids. They responded to his goofiness and ate their dinner, put their dishes away, had their baths, and climbed into bed with zero fuss.

Maybe he'd done it so many times that it was second nature to him now, but either way, his nieces and nephews adored him—it was easy enough to see—and gave him no grief.

Dominic and Wyatt climbed the hill to their houses at the children's bedtime, leaving the bar and kitchen to their staff for the rest of the night, so Jagger just had to stay with Bennett's daughters, since Brooke was home with Talia.

Typically, though, the dad's all tried to be home for bedtime with the kids. If one of them couldn't be there, Jagger stepped in and stayed over until the dad got home. If he needed to cover for more than one brother, it became a slumber party for the cousins.

They had a tried and true system that worked. The children were being raised in a caring, supportive and safe village, and every aspect of it warmed Brooke's heart thoroughly. All she wanted was to be part of such a beautiful village. Full of people who looked after each other and stepped up even when things got really hard. She wanted to raise her own children someday among caring relatives and similar-aged cousins. It was a pipe dream at this point, but she could still hope. She couldn't let go of hope.

More waves of nostalgia bombarded Brooke when the little blue-eyed girl came downstairs with an armload of Brooke's beloved childhood stories. She loved The Berenstain Bears growing up. She'd even dressed up as Sister Bear one year for Halloween. Talia struggled to keep her eyes open as she leaned against Brooke on the couch while Brooke read to her, reconnecting with a part of her childhood the actor could stomach.

Taking turns choosing what to read, they were on their fourth book—The Trouble with Grownups —when the front door opened and Clint walked in.

Talia's head jerked up from Brooke's shoulder. "Daddy, you're home."

"I am. And shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked, amusement in his eyes as his gaze scanned the volume of books spread out on the coffee table.

"Brooke loves The Berenstain Bears, too," Talia said before yawning. "I was doing this for her."

Brooke snorted and smiled down at the precocious eight-year-old. "All right, then. Sure, let's go with that."

Talia's eyes grew more hooded as she was made to stand up. "Can you carry me, Dad?"

Clint rolled his eyes, but nodded, stepping into the living room and picking up his daughter in a front piggyback style.

"Goodnight, Brooke," Talia said. "Thanks for reading to me."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Brooke replied. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams for you, too. I hope you don't have any more nightmares."

Then Clint disappeared up the stairs with his daughter. Brooke wore his socks over her bandaged feet and didn't feel too much pain when she put her feet on the floor and leaned forward to tidy up all the books on the coffee table. Two of her favorite titles would always be Forget their Manners and The In-Crowd. She couldn't put her finger on why those were her favorites, but they just were.

Talia chose Bad Habit and Bad Dream. Then she wanted to talk a bit more about Brooke's nightmare and if Brooke thought she was going to have another one. She also spoke about some of her own nightmares and how she had one that kept coming back—it was about a person in a red shirt trying to push someone off a cliff. She said that it wasn't her that was going to be pushed off, but that Talia was watching it and kept yelling at the people to stop, but they wouldn't listen. She said she woke up a few times terrified that someone she loved was going to get pushed off a cliff.

Brooke was at a loss for what to say, so she comforted the little girl as best she could with a tight hug and a reassurance that it was just a dream.

Then she quickly changed the subject, and they moved on to the next book.

It was easy enough to discern what Brooke's dream had been about, but she grabbed the tablet and did a quick Google search for what it means to dream about someone else falling off a cliff or being pushed off a cliff.

And, just as she feared, it meant that the person getting pushed was in grave danger and the dreamer was somehow supposed to help them.

Great.

Brooke had already been pushed off a boat. Was she going to be pushed off a cliff next? And how was Talia supposed to help her?

She was diving deeper into the meaning behind the dream when Clint came bounding back down the stairs. "She's out like a light."

Brooke closed the window on the tablet and set it on the coffee table, glancing up at him. "Yeah, she was tired."

"Jagger brought you dinner, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, salmon and salad. Thank you."

He wore a pinched smile.

They'd had a beautiful morning, then things went drastically south after that. He ran away right after they had sex, then shut down and ran away again when she said that she wasn't necessarily looking for this to just be a fling.

Now what?

"Uh ..." He glanced away toward the kitchen. "You thirsty?"

She shook her head and pointed to the glass of water Talia had grabbed her earlier. "I'm fine, thank you."

He nodded, shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. "Right." Then his lips pinched together tight. His very kissable, very talented lips. The man knew how to kiss, there was no denying that. She just hated that she knew he was a good kisser. That made things all the more difficult to navigate now. "Well, I'm thirsty." Then he ducked into the kitchen.

She huffed out a sigh and shook her head. This didn't have to be awkward. He was making it awkward.

Maybe because you decided to bring up the idea of a relationship after the two of you had sex ONCE!Talk about jumping in with both feet. You've known the man for two freaking days. If he hadn't already lost interest, he sure as hell has now.

He was also a widower who hadn't been with a woman or in any kind of a relationship since his wife. No wonder this was all too much for him. He was focusing on raising his daughter and running his business. Then she came into his world—literally washing up on the rocks like a beached whale—and disrupted Clint's equilibrium.

He returned to the living room with a glass of water. She tipped her gaze up to his. "I'm sorry."

His blue eyes became laser-focused as his brows narrowed. "What are you apologizing for? I'm the one who should be apologizing."

She nodded. "Well, yeah ... you should apologize for running, but I get why you did ... kind of."

He came to sit down next to her on the couch, careful to put some distance between them. "This is all really new for me," he said slowly. "I don't know how to date. Jacqueline and I didn't really date. We just ... met, and then we were together. And the way we met is really—"

"Unconventional. I washed up on shore like a whale and disrupted your world. Then I brought up the concept of a relationship and long-distance, and your eyes did the weird twitchy thing they're doing now. And I'm sorry."

He blinked a few times to stop the twitch. They both smiled.

Then he nodded and shoved his fingers into his hair. "It was a little overwhelming. But I shouldn't have run out on you. I'm sorry. That was really ... low of me."

She pressed her lips together. "It takes a lot for me to open up to people ... if you haven't noticed. I had a really terrible childhood, and there weren't a lot of people I could trust. Just Rocco, really. It still takes me a long time to trust. Inez—my assistant—helped me realize that I never really trusted Flynn. We knew each other for years, and I never told him about my past. After Rocco, Inez is the person I trust the most. My manager, Camelia—who also wasn't on the boat, she was in Cabo for a wedding—is also someone who I don't think would have it out for me."

"We can't rule out anyone," he said. "Not yet."

She exhaled and nodded. "I know. But in my heart, I know that it wasn't Inez or Camelia. It just couldn't be." She was quiet for a moment, running through her mind the short list of people she trusted. And the list of people who might have it out for her. Both lists were very short.

Rocco, Inez, Camelia and … Clint. "I trust you as much as I can right now. And for me, that's huge. I guess that's why when you brought up the fact that I'm temporary, my mind immediately jumped to the idea that I don't have to be. Because I feel safe here. I can trust here."

He reached across the couch for her hand, resting his on top of hers and giving it a squeeze. "That means a lot that you feel safe here. And I don't want to do anything to change that. I am concerned about Talia, though. She's grown attached to you."

"I know. The feeling is mutual."

He smiled and gripped her hand a little tighter.

"Her dad has also grown attached to you," he whispered.

Her smile grew. "The feeling is mutual," she repeated.

"I can't make any promises about the future. I've learned not to do that. It hurts too much. And if it's all right with you, I think it's best we keep any kind of intimate relationship that we have a secret from Talia. I don't want her getting any ideas or her hopes up. I love that you two are friends, but—"

"Oh, I get it. I don't want to hurt her ever. Discretion for sure."

"Thank you."

Her heart hurt less than it did this morning after he left, but it still beat with a tender ache deep inside.

She was temporary.

Or at least, that was how he saw her.

He welcomed her into his home, introduced her to his child—left her alone with his child—had sex with her, but she was still just temporary.

Only, she didn't have to be.

This life didn't have to be as temporary as he thought it was.

She wasn't in love with Monterey. And she knew plenty of other celebrities who didn't live in California and had successful careers. Many preferred the rural, anonymous life in some small town or on a ranch somewhere in Colorado or New Mexico. And in all honesty, it was what she wanted, anyway. She didn't want to live the rest of her life in an expensive, materialistic metropolitan of southern California.

But after only knowing this man for two days, she couldn't say such things.

Not out loud, anyway.

She'd already spooked him by suggesting they do long-distance. Which, in reality, had been a really dumb thing to say after sleeping together once and knowing each other for two days.

Her heart was just so full here. Despite the fact that there was someone out there who wanted her dead, she was happier than she'd been for a good while.

From the outside looking in , her life probably looked pretty perfect. Glamorous and wonderful with parties, a nice house, and designer clothes. But truthfully, Brooke was lonely. She just wanted someone to love her. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to know that she could trust the people around her with all her secrets—the good, the bad, and the really, really ugly.

She'd never felt so close to a life like that than she did here. With Clint and Talia on the island.

"I guess tomorrow is the day, huh?" he asked.

She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head in confusion. "Tomorrow?"

"Your online order of clothes arrives, so you don't have to wear my clothes anymore, and your brother gets here."

She perked up and nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, right." Today felt like such a long day. It was bizarre that just this morning she got the email from her brother saying that he was on his way. Her throat grew tight at the memory of his email.

"I was thinking," Clint went on, "that I could head over to the mainland and meet him at the airport. Take him to the police station and we could get the low down together. Then I could bring him here to you."

She nodded absentmindedly. "And who will you say you are when the police ask?" Because the police would ask. They'd be nosy and suspicious, and if they were anything like the cops she grew up around—dirty and useless.

He frowned in thought for a moment. "Once I pick up Rocco and tell him you're at my house, I can just say that I'm a friend of Rocco's. That won't be a lie. And that he's staying with me on the island since he needs to be with friends." His brows dipped together. "There's not going to be a media frenzy surrounding your brother, is there?"

Shaking her head, she pulled her hand free from beneath his. "No, there shouldn't be. Rocco hates the limelight and has managed to stay out of the tabloids. We also have different last names. I uh ... I actually changed my last name when I moved to L.A. He's Rocco Barber. I'm Brooke Barker. I just changed one letter, but it's made enough of a difference that nobody bothers him. He's not even in the Wikipedia article about me. Very few people know about him, and if he does surface someone on my PR team is quick to have his name removed."

"Well, that'll make things easier," Clint said. He glanced up at her, his gaze eager and heated. "I really am sorry for running—twice. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just overwhelming, and I have to think of Talia first."

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she nodded and allowed him to take her hand once more. "I understand. She's my first priority, too. I don't want that little girl to get hurt at all. She's pure magic. I hope you know how lucky you are."

"Oh, I do." He gave her hand a little tug and leaned forward, pulling her to meet him halfway until their lips met. Hesitation filled her.

He sensed her apprehension, and as his lips hovered beside hers, his warm breath hitting her mouth in soft puffs, he closed his eyes. "I'm not going to run this time. I like you. I want this, and we'll figure things out as we go, okay?" He opened his eyes, the blue of his irises darkening to an almost midnight shade. He gave her hand another gentle tug.

She blinked, but didn't move—as much as she wanted to. She was scared. She was opening up to this man, letting down her walls and trusting him. He'd already run from her twice ... and even though he said he wouldn't run again, she wasn't sure she could believe him. Every man in her life eventually ran, what made Clint different?

"Don't hurt me," she whispered.

"I won't," he whispered back. "At least I'll try not to."

She nodded and closed that last half an inch of space between them. His lips were soft and warm. His movements were slow and cautious.

They kissed like that for half a minute until the tension in her shoulders eased, and she believed he was telling the truth. That he really wasn't going to run again. That he wasn't going to hurt her.

Pulling her hand free from his, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he guided her onto his lap. The memory of her in this position on this couch earlier this morning hit her hard—and something else hit her hard as well. She rocked against his erection and shoved her fingers into his hair, tugging gently as his tongue pried her lips apart and he explored her mouth.

"Let's go to the bedroom," he murmured, breaking the kiss and brushing his lips along her jaw.

"Mhmm," she murmured, closing her eyes and letting him scoop her up and carry her upstairs. He didn't take her to the guestroom, though. He walked past that door and into his bedroom, the one with the big king-sized bed, the balcony, and the en suite bathroom. He set her down gently on the bed.

Nibbling her bottom lip, she watched as he reached behind his head and grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head.

Her eyes lasered in on the tattoo that ran from his shoulder over his chest. She swallowed and licked her lips.

His smile grew wily when he saw her involuntary reaction to his beauty, and he reached for the hem of her shirt. "Let's have a shower, hmm?"

She allowed him to undress her, then he finished undressing himself and carried her into the bathroom. Balancing her on one arm, he leaned into the rainfall steam shower and turned on the water. They spent their time waiting for the water to heat by kissing. Then he stepped inside, closing the glass door. Gooseflesh sprinted across her skin as the steam enveloped them. Gently—because he was always so gentle with her—he set her down on the bench.

Everything in the shower was tiled, and there was even a convenient ledge for shampoo bottles and body wash that ran around the entire perimeter.

Sinking to his knees as the water cascaded down over him, beading on his eyelashes and his puckered nipples, he took her left leg and carefully rested her heel on the ledge, spreading her wide. He did the same with the right foot on the other side until she was open for him.

Vulnerable.

In this position, the water droplets felt marvelous on her center. Like a continuous but also sporadic massage on her clit that had her lower belly tingling and her pussy throbbing.

She bit her lip and watched as he leaned forward and kissed each inner thigh, then rubbed the scruff of his chin along the same spot his lips had just been.

There was no controlling the groan that rumbled up from her chest, no controlling the fluttering in her belly when he trailed his tongue up the inside of her thigh, while tipping his gaze to hers, watching her reaction. Watching her unravel.

When his lips first encircled her clit, she released a deep sigh and sunk backward against the wet wall, allowing it to hold her up as her bones became mush.

He sucked.

She gasped.

He sucked harder.

She whimpered.

Her fingers found their way into his hair and she held him in place against her, just like that. What he was doing was perfect.

Or at least she thought it was perfection until the man outdid himself and pushed his tongue into her cleft and fucked her with it.

Her pussy spasmed as he plunged his tongue in and out of her like it was his cock. His nose brushed her clit and flickers of bliss sparkled out from her center and into her belly and chest.

Her hips wanted to move. She wanted to buck into his face, ride it like it was really his cock, but she also didn't want to suffocate the man.

He removed his tongue and replaced it with two fingers, gently easing them inside her and curling the tips until he found the sweet spot.

His lips reclaimed her clit, but instead of sucking, he began to rub perfect little circles around it. She couldn't stop herself anymore and bucked into his face, holding onto his hair and letting every single sensation consume her.

Hedging a glance down at him, she was shocked to see that his eyes were open, and he was watching her. The lids were hooded; the pupils were enormous, and even though his mouth was otherwise occupied, she knew the moment he smiled. And it was a devious smile. A smile born of triumph. He could tell that she was close, and he was determined to get her there.

Instinct had her wanting to tip her head back against the wall and close her eyes as the storm of the orgasm brewed inside of her. But something about Clint watching her created a foreign sensation inside her chest. One that both spooked and excited her. Even though he was the one giving her pleasure, the intimacy and vulnerability of being watched this way was surreal. He was a voyeur and yet he wasn't, because he was also part of it. She couldn't quite put her finger on all of it, but watching him watch her turned her on unlike ever before. She liked it. It was hot, and she could tell that he liked that she was making eye contact with him back.

With his free hand, he reached up into his hair and grabbed her right hand, then he swapped out his fingers for his tongue again, fucking her pussy once more, only to take his fingers and hers and put them on her clit. He started to rub it with both their fingers together, having hers guide his.

Their eyes found each other again, and his sexy smile was back as he worked his tongue in and out of her. The climax started to build at an even greater speed. Her clit swelled beneath their fingertips and throbbed like it had a pulse of its own.

Everything was slippery, and her grip on his hair tightened.

She kept closing her eyes on instinct and had to remind herself more than once to open them again.

She opened them just as the orgasm hit. It took every ounce of extra energy and brain power she had to stay focused on Clint. But she did, and it just made the climax that much stronger. Watching the flare of triumph in his blue eyes as she came undone across his tongue and in front of him. As they worked together to get her there.

Euphoria rippled out from her center, into her limbs, her chest and right down to her toes. Her nipples became tight points, and she wished she had more hands so she could tug on them, relieve the achy need and heighten her own experience with a slight snap of pain.

She was out of breath and boneless when the climax receded. Slumping against the wall, she released his hair and together, he lifted their hands from between her legs. His tongue was the last thing to move, pulling free of her pussy.

The water still fell down around them, dripping off his hair and lashes as he stood up. All the glass was fogged up now and when she looked into his eyes, still in her open posture, it was impossible not to grin like a freshly fucked idiot.

Her smile grew even bigger when she glanced down slightly to her eye level and found his cock, standing tall, hard and silky smooth, right in front of her.

Reaching for it, she pulled him—gently—forward enough so she could take him into her mouth.

He didn't put up a fight and carefully cupped the back of her head as she licked the underside of his shaft from root to tip.

Swirling her tongue around the crown, she stroked him a few times, loving how hard, yet also soft, he was in her palm. With her free hand, she reached lower and carefully cupped his testicles. They were hairless and soft. She massaged them at the same time as she pushed his cock to the back of her throat, taking as much of him as she could into her mouth.

"Fuck," he murmured above her, the hold he had on her head tightening just a little. He wasn't being aggressive, but he gave her head the slightest of pushes to see if she could take him deeper.

She liked that.

She didn't have a strong gag-reflex, so she widened her throat a little more and took him another half inch.

"Christ," rumbled out of his chest, and she smiled around his length.

She repeated this again, taking him out to the tip, stroking him, massaging his balls, then deep throating him once more.

He did the subtle head push again and tipped his hips forward. None of it was aggressive. Just assertive and letting her know he liked it. That he was into it. That what she did, she did for him.

She knew he would never push her any further than she was comfortable, but that anytime she was ready to explore or try something new that he would be ready to jump in with both feet.

The fact that he liked to watch her while he ate her out told her so much about him. That he had a kinky side. That he was reigning in his wilder instincts for her, but that when she was ready, things could get crazy.

She took a page out of his playbook and glanced up at him just as she bottomed out and took him to the back of her throat.

He stared down at her with eyes of blue fire.

Feral possession glimmered back at her. A wildness that excited her and made her pussy wake up from its catnap and demand to join the party again.

She was ready to let him finish in her mouth, but Clint had other ideas and just when his cadence of thrusting forward grew erratic, he pulled out and released her hair.

The growl that rumbled in his hard chest gave her a fascinating little shiver as he cupped her jaw, leaned down and kissed her.

His mouth tasted faintly of her release, but she didn't mind.

Water trickled between their lips, and with her eyes still closed, she reached down and gripped his cock, sliding her hand slowly along the silky, hard shaft.

Another grunt, and he broke their kiss and shook his head. "Not here. Let's get clean, then I'll take you to bed."

He reached for a small loofah and squirted some of his delicious, woodsy scented body wash onto it.

Her eyes fluttered closed of their own volition when he started to scrub her back and arms.

Nobody had ever taken such care of her like this before. Nobody had ever been so gentle or loving.

Certainly no boyfriend.

This was the kind of care and devotion you only saw in the movies or read about in romance novels. They didn't really make men like this in real life, right?

Maybe this was a dream?

Maybe she'd hit her head on a rock in the ocean or drowned in the Puget Sound and was actually in heaven.

This heaven wasn't so bad. A sexy brewmaster with a long, skilled tongue was now lovingly scrubbing her back. She could think of less captivating ways to spend eternity.

In addition to the rainfall shower in the ceiling, there was a wand nozzle on a metal stretchy hose. He used that to rinse her, then, turning the nozzle onto a special "massage" mode, he handed it to her and pointed the water directly between her legs.

Her eyes widened in surprise just as his smile turned wily. "See what happens," he said with a shrug as he lathered up the loofa again and washed his own body.

Maybe it was the shower nozzle on her clit, maybe it was Clint. Long, powerful legs dusted with soft hair. Tight muscles beneath taunt, tanned skin. Abs and muscles all soapy and glowing from the water, or maybe this was just how heaven worked, but she came again in about three minutes.

And not to be left out of the party, Clint sank back to his knees and pushed two fingers into her pussy once more as she held the nozzle on her clit and spirals of light and magic crackled and floated out of her core.

She barely remembered him turning off the water or him prying the nozzle from her hands. She was in that deep of a post-orgasm delirium.

He brought a big, warm towel into the shower, patted her dry, then scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. The bed—his bed—was already turned down, and he set her on the crisp sheet, naked and warm.

Even watching the man towel-dry himself was a turn on.

Every bunch and flex of his muscles had her lower belly fluttering. She bit her bottom lip and considered moving her hand between her legs when he tossed the towel onto a nearby wooden chair in the corner and climbed onto the bed, prowling toward her.

A tremble of excitement shot through her as she focused on his thick cock bobbing there, smacking his taut lower belly. He hovered over her, eyes hooded with lust, skin rosy from the warm water.

He smelled incredible, and all she really wanted to do was take a bite.

"You're thinking about something," he murmured, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck, right at that tender spot where it connected with her shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

She was quiet for a moment.

He lifted his head, his eyes piercing into her very soul. "Brooke?"

Slowly, a small smile curled her mouth. "How badly I want to bite you." Then she quickly glanced away in embarrassment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin. Goddammit, it was a sexy grin. A cocky grin.

"You won't see me stopping you," he said with what could only be described as a growl before he dipped his head and closed his mouth around one of her nipples.

She sucked in a sharp breath, and her hips shot off the mattress. Then, when he bit down—gently, but with purpose—fireworks exploded in her belly and between her legs.

Settling between her legs, he reached down and notched himself at her center, then lifted his gaze to her once more. "I really like you, Brooke. I'm not sure what's going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, but—"

"Right now is all that really matters," she whispered, shoving down then tightening sensation at the back of her throat. Now was not the time for inconvenient emotions, like confusion and sadness.

She'd been shoved off a boat into freezing water a few days ago. None of them knew what tomorrow would bring. Or whether any of them even had a tomorrow. So why not live in the now? Enjoy the present and let the future unfold as it was supposed to.

Hooking her arms around his neck, she pulled his lips down to hers at the same time he surged forward and sunk inside.

They groaned into each other's mouths as she accepted him into her body. The stretch was euphoric, and he must have needed a moment, too, because he just paused. Nestling his face back in her neck, he just breathed.

"Fuck ... what you do to me, Brooke ..."

She grinned and shoved her fingers into his hair.

The feeling was mutual.

Their connection was intense and scary, but even more than that, it was exciting. She'd never felt more alive, more normal or safer in all her life than she did here on the island with Clint and Talia.

It was weird, but she felt ... home.

She'd never say that to him, though.

Not yet, anyway.

Maybe future Brooke would work up the courage to articulate such a thing, but current Brooke was just living in the moment. She wasn't going to push this man by suggesting long-distance or a relationship. Instead, she was going to just enjoy her time with him and let the whatever happen. Even if that whatever resulted in her broken hearted at the end.

After a moment to compose himself, he lifted his head again, his arms bunching and tightening on either side of her as he held up his big frame over her body.

Their eyes locked and a coy smile curled her lips upward.

He mirrored her smile, then he started to move.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as he bucked up into her, pulling out nearly to the tip, only to glide smoothly back in to the hilt. Every time he seated himself fully inside her, his pubic bone grazed her clit and she saw stars.

That's when she realized she'd closed her eyes and opened them again, but Clint's eyes were closed, so she closed hers once more and just let the sensations take over. Let the stirrings in her belly and between her legs consume her as stars flickered and twinkled on the back of her eyelids.

Dipping his head, he captured the other nipple in his mouth and sucked, then bit.

She gasped and opened her eyes at the astonishing way that bit of pain raced right down to her clit, prompting a throbbing she found impossible to ignore.

His deltoid was right there. Hard and flexed and close enough to taste.

She'd always been a fan of big arms on men. Not disproportionately large, but muscular and defined. She was a butt and arms girl and had no shame in admitting that.

Flynn had neither a nice butt nor nice arms.

Really, the only redeeming quality about the man was that he had a nice smile and could be ridiculously charming—which usually landed him in hot water.

But Clint was the whole package. Nice smile, that dimple—oh, God, that dimple—beautiful eyes, great butt, amazing arms, abs that she could probably wash her laundry on, and he was a good person on top of all those other superficial things to boot. He was beautiful inside and out.

Her throat grew tight.

Crap.

She was getting emotional again.

This wouldn't do.

"I want to be on top," she breathed out, needing the change and distraction so her feelings for this man didn't take over and leave her bereft of an orgasm, and clawing for commitment.

He nodded and flipped them over before she could even blink. They didn't even separate.

"That's skill," she said, sitting up on his lap.

His grin made her pussy flutter.

His hands found her hips, and she started to lift up and down.

This was better. This position wouldn't let her get too caught up in her own head, daydreaming about a life with Clint and Talia on the island.

She needed to focus.

Focus on the now.

Focus on the orgasm that was brewing in her belly.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Clint said, gazing up at her with an awe that had the back of her eyes stinging.

Dammit.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

She started to ride him faster. Harder.

"Oh God," he grunted, his fingers tightening on her hips.

Yes. That was it.

She squeezed her pussy around him and rocked her hips forward a little more, so her clit hit his lower belly perfectly.

"Bring those tits to my mouth," he said with a demanding grunt.

She complied with eagerness and hinged forward, dropping her left breast right over his mouth.

He sucked on her nipple, then scissored his teeth.

Her pussy spasmed.

He did it again.

Her pussy tightened around his cock.

He bit harder.

She rocked harder against him. The change in angle was exquisite, and she was close to detonation.

Then he pinched the other nipple, and the orgasm hit her without warning.

She stilled over him, her nipple in his mouth as warmth spread through her lower belly and curved around the bottom of her spine in a liquid caress. Her mouth was right over his shoulder and, as if on instinct, she parted her lips and sunk her teeth into his flesh. The muscle was hard, and he seemed to flex the moment she bit down. A small grunt was the only response from him she got, but it wasn't a grunt of pain—or maybe it was. But he was a tough cookie and could take it.

Over and over, the waves of bliss radiated outward from her center, into her fingers and toes as her pussy clenched around him and her clit throbbed.

She still kept her teeth on his shoulder. Then she laved at the skin with her tongue, tasting him. He was delicious. Slightly salty from sweat, but mostly just clean and wonderful.

Clint stiffened beneath her, his mouth on her breast paused and he let out a beastly grunt just as his cock began to pulse inside her. Warm, quick puffs of air hit her breast where he breathed through his nose. She smiled around his shoulder and allowed the last remaining ribbons of pleasure to wrap around her like a protective cocoon.

Eventually, her muscles relaxed, and she released her teeth from his flesh, lifting up to sit on his lap again.

Clint's eyes were closed, but a placid, somewhat crooked smile curved his mouth.

She leaned down and kissed him, keeping her lips closed.

He smiled against her mouth, and his lips parted. She did the same, and their kiss deepened. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping and scraping.

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight band, his body beginning to shake in a laugh. "You're feral, woman," he said with a chuckle.

She sat back up and glanced at his shoulder where deep teeth indentations pressed into his muscle.

She bit her lip. "Sorry ... not sorry."

His grin made her lower belly quiver. "Never apologize for going feral on me. I like it."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. "I'll be right back."

"Oh no you won't. I'll carry you. Hang on."

She slid off his waist onto the bed, and he swung his legs over the side to stand up, then he scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom so she could pee.

They were back in bed moments later, and he tugged her tight against him in a spoon position.

"Sleep, Brooke. Tomorrow you'll have clothes of your own, and your brother will be here. Things will start to make sense again. And maybe we'll get some insight into who wants you dead."

She laced her fingers through his and clutched their combined hands to her chest just as a hot tear slid down her temple and onto the pillow.

He kissed her back. "It's all going to work out. I promise."

But as good as it felt to be in Clint's arms and to try to believe that everything would work out, she knew better. If her childhood had taught her anything, it was that fairy tales didn't exist and happily ever afters were for romance novels and Disney princesses.

And this wasn't a romance novel, and she was a shitty Disney princess. She didn't even have an animal sidekick. So she probably wasn't going to get a happily ever after.

No, in Brooke's life, if it seemed too good to be true, it usually was.