23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He was a motherfucking coward, and he knew it. He shoved his fingers into his hair as he stood in the shower, allowing the slightly too hot water to sluice down his back.

This was the third time he'd shut down and shut Brooke out when things got hard.

But in all fairness, this was all he knew.

This was how he and Jacqueline operated. Whenever there was a problem, she refused to talk about it and just shut down and shut him out. So it became his MO as well. Then they floated around each other like two pieces of driftwood in the surf, never speaking. Just coexisting until they just started speaking again like nothing had happened. Sometimes it was hours, other times days, sometimes a week or more.

He hated the pattern with Jacqueline, and he hated it even more now that he was perpetuating it with Brooke. But he also had no idea how to get out of it. It was a well-worn rut, and he was stuck.

He was also incredibly conflicted.

He wanted Brooke.

More than he wanted anything or anyone in possibly forever.

But he didn't want her life. He didn't want the busyness or the fame. Talia didn't deserve to have her entire life documented by the press, and neither did Clint. His daughter had already been through enough losing her mother. Their dirty laundry and day-to-day didn't need to be candidly shot and captioned for millions around the world.

So like a moron, unsure what to do, he pulled away.

He pulled away, but longed for her with every cell of his body.

He pulled away to protect his way of life, to protect his child, but the process was breaking his heart. And quite possibly Brooke's as well.

She returned to the guest room, and he hated it. He hated not having her body to curl around at night, waking up next to her, and seeing her blonde hair fanned across the pillow like spun gold.

It wasn't even about the lack of sex anymore. He'd gone over five years without it. He could abstain and be fine. But it was the lack of intimacy. The lack of touch and how he knew without any doubt that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He'd never felt that kind of reciprocation from someone before. Never felt that wanted. That craved or needed.

Not even from Jacqueline when they'd been at their best.

Opening his eyes, but keeping his head down, he stared at his thickening cock. Just thinking about Brooke made him hard.

She was everything he'd ever wanted in a partner. Sweet, but also spicy. Kind, fun, generous and easygoing. She had no problem just kicking back and watching television with a beer, or walking the beach, climbing the hillside to pick wildflowers or baking cookies with his daughter. She'd only been restless when she was injured and couldn't walk.

All of it ached like fresh cuts, anguish and heavy shame on his soul.

He took himself in his palm and gave his cock a couple of long strokes, closing his eyes and imagining it was her hand, or her mouth taking him, pleasuring him.

He worked himself into a frenzy. Then, because of the way he'd treated her, he denied himself. He shut off the water and opened the foggy door. His balls throbbing and his cock a heavy weight between his legs as it bobbed up and down.

He reached for the towel and wrapped it low on his waist. But there was definitely a tent there. With the towel on his hips and a painful erection, he stood in front of the mirror, glaring at himself.

"Stupid motherfucker," he muttered, shaking his head. "You deserve for your balls to fall off."

Talia had gone to bed around eight-thirty, then Brooke went to bed shortly after. Rocco only stayed up a bit later, but that was because he was busy finalizing his flight plans. Then it was just Clint awake, rattling around the house by himself.

Rocco wasn't an idiot. He knew what was going on—or better yet, not going on—between Brooke and Clint anymore. But he kept quiet. He didn't pry, and he still spoke to Clint with kindness, even though Clint could tell Rocco was frustrated with him.

Clint was frustrated with himself, so he didn't begrudge Rocco.

Rocco's flight left later the next day, so Jagger would drive him to the ferry where he'd walk on, then have a taxi take him to the airport. Clint did offer to drive him all the way to Sea-Tac, but Rocco declined.

A gentle knock at his door had Clint in a sudden panic. If it was Talia and she had a bad dream, the last thing she needed was to be further traumatized by her father's boner.

Fuck.

"Clint?" came Brooke's voice.

He exhaled in minor relief, but then a new wave of panic took over. He didn't want her to see his erection, either. Yes, it was slightly better that Brooke saw it than Talia, but still, it wasn't right.

Not given the current state of their relationship.

"Just a sec," he said, grabbing a thick, navy-blue robe from his closet, ditching the towel and sliding into the robe. His boner started to deflate, but not fast enough.

Hopefully, she looked him in the face and not the crotch.

He opened the door. "Hey," he greeted, offering her a smile that looked probably as awkward as it felt.

"Hey," she said softly before nibbling on her lip. "I uh ... I just wanted to tell you in person that I've arranged for Inez to come get me tomorrow. She's already chartered the plane and booked the car. She'll be here around four. So, less than twenty-four hours and I will be out of your hair for good. No more paparazzi in the bushes or intrusive knocks on the door at night." She threw in a brittle laugh at the end, but that just made her news worse. It drove that stake deeper into his chest.

"You don't have to go," he started to say .

"But I do. Talia got hurt because of me. Or at least because I'm here. I appreciate everything you've done for me and I will absolutely pay you back for the clothes and stuff. I have the receipt for the online order, so I'll have Inez transfer you the money. But nobody else needs to get hurt." Her slender throat moved hard on a swallow, and her eyes turned glassy. She sounded just as broken as he felt. "Sergeant Fox is right. I'm safer now than I was before. It might be a good idea to have around the clock security and bodyguards at my house and with me at all times for a little while. These are people who know what they're signing up for." Her expression turned grim. "Unlike good Samaritans who think they're just rescuing a person from drowning only to end up on the news and on the cover of a tabloid magazine."

Yeah, he saw that, too.

He'd gone to the store yesterday and saw a photo of him, with Talia in his arms, after she was struck by the SUV. Brooke was there, so were his brothers. A fucking family affair. You couldn't see Talia's face, thank God, but you could see Clint's and Brooke's. And it'd been one of the several photos on the cover of a trash magazine on the rack at the checkout.

His insides roiled when he saw it. This thing was everywhere.

Sure, there was a small ray of sunshine to this new publicity—if that's what you wanted to call it: the pub was busier than ever, and their beer flew off the shelves all over the place.

But sales and business had never been bad. Nothing to complain about, anyway.

Now, they'd reached nearly an unsustainable level. If things stayed this way all summer, they'd have to hire more bar and kitchen staff. He'd have to consider upping production in the brewery and possibly hiring another person in there with him, too.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. Jagger said he'd take Rocco to the ferry at noon, then Inez will be here at four, so by dinner time your life should be back to normal. No more house guests, no more media." Her smile was fake and sad. Nothing but hurt and confusion simmered in her eyes. Hurt and confusion that Clint had caused. She swallowed again. "Thank you, Clint. For everything." She took a hesitant step forward, and he pulled in a deep breath.

Her hands found his shoulders, and she lifted onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry things couldn't work out differently."

She turned to go, her hands leaving hot prints on his shoulders, but she hadn't even taken a full step away before he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back into his embrace. His arms banded around her waist as she gazed up at him with lustful shock. Her lips parted just enough that he could feel her puffs of breath on his chin.

"I'm sorry," he said, his heart in his throat. "I ... Jacqueline and I were terrible communicators. She just shut down when she was mad. So that's what I learned to do, too. But it's not right. It's not fair to you. I guess I never really learned how to properly communicate in a relationship."

Her brows hiked a little. "Is that what this is ... was?"

The word was stung more than he expected it to.

"It's the start of something ... I thought."

"You've shut down on me three times, Clint. I can't do it anymore. You've got a lot of guilt and other issues to work through." She cupped his cheek, her green gaze softening. "And that's okay. But it might be better if you didn't also have the stress that I've brought with me, adding to your woes."

"You didn't bring any—"

"I did," she said with a nod. Her words, brave and vulnerable. Watery but unwavering. "We both know that. The press has been here endlessly. The gate is just barely keeping them at bay from coming up here. None of you need that. None of you deserve that. This is my monster, and the sooner I lead it somewhere else, the better. The safer you will all be."

His grip on her elbow remained. "I want to be better at communicating."

Even though her smile was small, he could tell it was real. Her eyes got that whimsical sparkle to them again that he loved so much. "That's the first step, right? Wanting to be better. Wanting to change."

"Don't go," he whispered, tugging her back into him by her elbow, until they were chest to chest.

She wore those cute little pajama shorts and tank top—but no bra.

"Stay." He swallowed. "Please." His heart pounded. Hers had to be pounding, too. Fuck. But as they breathed together, everything softened and turned so goddamn tender. He never wanted to let her go. He dropped his mouth to hers, and she opened for him, willingly.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to her.

Everything was still tender.

Slow and deliberate.

Like they were trying to prolong their time together by whatever means necessary.

Her hot little tongue speared into his mouth, and she ground herself against him.

His brain threatened to short circuit.

Didn't she come to tell him she was leaving?

He pulled his mouth away, both of them out of breath, and stared down at her.

Her smile was coy and sweet. "Closure?" She shrugged before reaching down to the hem of her tank top and pulling it over her head.

His throat bobbed hard.

He didn't want closure. He wanted fucking forever.

She went for the tie of his robe and let it fall open, revealing his once again growing erection. He didn't even have a chance to stop her before she dropped to her knees and pulled him into her mouth.

"Fuck," he growled, hinging forward over her enough to close and lock the door.

She deep-throated him almost instantly. His fingers wove into her hair, and he gripped on tight, just the way he knew she liked. Slowly, he guided her back and forth over his length. If all they had was tonight, then he was going to watch. He wanted to make sure he never forgot a single second of this.

He needed to send her home with unforgettable memories of him, too.

She bottomed out twice more, taking him all the way to the back of her tonsils and making him see stars, before he gently helped her to her feet and guided her over to the bed, pulling her shorts off as she reclined.

He sank to his knees and elbowed her thighs apart, pressing kisses up from her calves to her glistening pussy. Her scent encircled him, made him light-headed and his cock drip.

He needed her on his tongue.

On his lips and chin.

He needed her everywhere.

Always.

But ... they only had tonight.

She didn't want to be here anymore.

Her life was in California.

His life was here. With Talia. Peaceful and unassuming.

After he kissed up one side of her leg, he blazed the same trail on the other side. Peppering warm, wet kisses from her ankle to her mound. To where she was wet for him. To where her pussy pulsed and dripped, aching for his mouth.

He nuzzled her mound, inhaled her deep into his lungs, and held that breath for a count of twelve. Because that's how long he'd known Brooke for. Twelve fucking days.

And yet, it felt like a lifetime.

And made him want a lifetime.

Her hips lifted off the edge of the bed, begging for more. "Clint ..."

He smiled and flicked the tip of her clit with his tongue.

She sucked in a breath.

He did it again.

She sucked in another breath.

Then he dove in up to his ears, pulling her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucking on it hard. Until her hands drove into his hair and she held him there and bucked up, fucking his face like a good girl. Taking what she wanted from him. Getting her closure.

For him, though, this simply opened up wounds that hadn't even started to heal. The bleeding had merely stopped, but tonight was tearing open fresh holes and scratching at old ones until everything bled. Until everything hurt.

And he deserved it.

He'd hurt her, so he deserved to hurt.

If this was what she wanted, then he'd give it to her. He'd give Brooke the fucking world if he could.

Pushing one, then two fingers into her channel, he curled and pumped, scissored and played.

She churned her hips, squeezing her pussy around him as her hair thrashed on the bedspread.

With his free hand, he pressed on her lower abdomen and slightly pulled up, to reveal more of her clit to his mouth, while also feeling his fingers inside her. He located that special little button deep on the interior wall. Spongy and soft and shaped like an almond. He pressed it once, and her left leg twitched.

He pressed it again, and her right butt cheek spasmed.

He pressed it a third time, and she moaned loud enough Rocco probably stirred downstairs if he wasn't wearing earplugs. "Oh God ..."

She reached for a pillow and slammed it over her face.

Normally, he wouldn't want her to censor or silence herself. He'd want her to rattle the rafters and wake the squirrels, but with Talia down the hall, Rocco downstairs, and their future together having a very imminent expiration date, maybe it was better if she was quieter.

Didn't mean he was going to be any less attentive, though.

His fingers picked up speed inside her, rubbing faster and harder, always on the anterior wall. He made sure to widen them when he pulled out, stretch her, then press up when he reached the G-spot.

Her clit swelled between his lips as he continued to suck, and her arousal dripped like a constant stream over his fingers.

She was close.

Her head thrashed more beneath the pillow, and her lower half kept tightening and releasing.

He gave her clit one final hard suck, keeping it locked in a tight grip against his tongue, pressed up hard on her G-spot and she exploded.

And squirted.

He pulled his fingers free when he figured the time was right, but kept his mouth locked on her clit, the pressure of the suction still there, as she squirmed and wriggled on the bed. Pants and cries of pleasure were muffled under the pillow, but he didn't need to hear her to know how much she enjoyed it. He simply had to look between her legs. Watch her pussy gush.

It was beautifully pink and shiny, swollen and so fucking perfect. He moved his mouth down and fucked her with his tongue as she continued to ride the wave of her climax.

She still breathed heavily, still quivered against his mouth when he stood up, grabbed her from behind the knees, notched himself at her center and was about to drive home when she threw the pillow off her face and called for him to stop.

Twin flags of pinks stained her cheeks as she gazed up at him with lustful, hooded eyes.

"Slow. Tender," she said, reaching for him. "Make love to me, Clint ... please." Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, and she swallowed. "I want to remember this night forever."

He wanted that, too.

More than anything.

Nodding, he released her legs, and she crawled up the bed and beneath the covers. He joined her and covered her, sliding between her slick thighs, where she welcomed him with warmth.

Emotion scraped the back of his throat, creating a debilitating lump he struggled to swallow past. The backs of his eyes burned. But he pressed on.

This was what she wanted. This was what she needed.

He needed it, too.

He wanted forever with this woman, but they both realized that was impossible.

Tonight was all they had.

Fully seated inside her now, he started to move.

At first, her arms were around his neck, but she moved them beside her head and gripped the headboard as he drove into her with slow, deliberate thrusts.

Every draw and every plunge pushed him closer to his own release. Pushed him closer to shattering. Heart, soul and everything fucking else.

"Clint," she whispered, her mouth next to his ear.

He found her hands on the headboard and threaded their fingers together, seeking out that extra bit of touch. Of connection.

He was inside her. On top of her. But still, it wasn't enough.

Rising up a little, he gazed down at her. Her cheeks still held a sexy flush and a thin layer of perspiration beaded along her chest. Her eyes were bright and looked at him with so much fucking love, so much fucking understanding, his rhythm faltered for a moment. Then he stopped completely.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't fucking deserve this woman.

This incredible, giving, understanding saint of a woman.

And yet, she wanted him. She chose him.

"Clint ...?" She untangled one of their hands and cupped his cheek. "You okay?"

Opening his eyes, he leaned into her touch. "I love you."

She smiled. It was a sad smile. One that made his eyes sting even more, and that knot in his throat tripled in size. He couldn't let her leave without telling her. Without letting her know that she had changed him and made him better in so many fucking ways.

"I love you, too," she said, bringing his mouth down to hers.

He started to move again, and she met him thrust for thrust until they were both panting and moaning. His balls cinched up hard against his taint, his lower belly heated, and when Brooke finally let go for a second time, Clint found his own release.

She held onto him. Clung to him. Wrapped her legs around his waist, arms around his back and let him stay there. Safe inside her, even soft.

This was home, to both of them, home to each other.

But some things just weren't in the cards.

They led different lives in different worlds.

He needed to let her go more than he craved that final release.

At some point, he eventually rolled off her. The reality of the situation punctuated what just happened between them more than the climax did. They made their trips to the bathroom as separate as their lives would soon be. Then, without hesitation, she crawled back into his bed, into his arms, and promptly fell asleep.

And Clint did everything in his power not to think about tomorrow.