Page 47 of Words of Love
Chapter 12
Brooke curled up in the blanket fort, still feeling the press of Sam’s mouth against hers. She’d meant it when she’d said there was a big difference between kissing a stranger and kissing someone you love. But she hadn’t known the difference would be like…this.
She’d once enjoyed kissing Michael, and they’d had a satisfying physical relationship, but his kisses had never made her feel so sparkly and shiny, like sun-drenched glitter. She’d never actuallyexperiencedall the things she’d dreamed about and imagined—her thoughts dissolving into a swell of pleasure, her knees weakening, her body humming like a plucked violin string.
She had now.
And though she’d always been aware of her physical attraction to Sam, not until the past twenty-four hours had she realized how much she liked him. She liked his dry sense of humor, his resourcefulness, his intelligence, and his willingness to go along with her ideas, even if he wouldn’t have chosen them himself. She liked the way he listened. She really liked the way he kissed.
With a soft groan, she hugged her unicorn pillow and told herself not to get carried away on flights of fancy.
Aside from her crash-and-burn two years ago, she’d never had much of a struggle between her practical journalist side and her romance-loving, optimist side. Most of the time, they’d coexisted peacefully, ready to be called upon when the situation warranted.
But there was nothing remotely practical about her increasingly intense feelings for Sam—who, truth be told, was far from a “stranger.” He wasn’t “someone she loved” either, but he was…what the heck was he? Had these enforced circumstances turned them into friends, or was she letting her imagination get the best of her?
“Friends” didn’t kiss each other with such passion, though. She hadn’t wanted him to stop. She’d wanted him to keep kissing her, to slide his tongue deeper into her mouth, to tilt her head back and—
A rapping noise came from outside the fort.
“Yes?” she called.
“I’m requesting permission to enter,” Sam said.
A touch of nervousness tightened her belly. “Permission granted.”
The blankets parted, and he crawled in—his hair a disheveled mess, and that stubble giving his strong features a sexy, dangerous look.
Had she really once thought of him asunkempt? He was by no means a tailored suit and silk tie kind of man, but his rumpled look was so…Sam. Familiar and real.
“I’m sorry.” Regret glittered in his eyes. “You’re trying to help, and I’m being an ass.”
“Actually, I think you’re scared.” Brooke moved aside to make room for him.
Letting the blankets fall shut behind him, he flopped against the pillows. “I don’t get scared.”
“You don’tknowyou’re scared.” A little lightbulb went off in her head. “You’re like John Kane. Tough, alone, self-sufficient, hard-working, and used to being that way. But deep down inside, you’re scared of changing who you are. I’m not saying that to be mean. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be scared.”
He brushed his fingers across herCouragebracelet. “Is that why you got this?”
She nodded. “I want to be brave this year. I have to be. And honestly, I do understand why you’re having trouble with John and Patricia’s story. You have a process, a vision of your characters, and you’re trying to wrench in a storyline that doesn’t feel natural to you. You don’t even believe in love. It’s not much of a surprise that you’re fighting it tooth and nail.”
A heavy sigh escaped him. “Obviously that’s not going to get the job done.”
“Fighting love is often a futile endeavor.” She poked him with her foot. “Just ask Romeo and Juliet.”
“What’s the alternative?” He slipped his hand down to her bare foot, his warm fingers settling on her toes. “Surrender?”
“I don’t think we should surrender to love.” Brooke pulled her knees up to her chest, her breath escaping as he ran his forefinger over her big toe. “Surrendering is like giving up. Throwing in the towel. We shouldwinlove. Achieve it. We should fall in love with being in love.”
He smiled faintly and wrapped his hand around the top of her foot. “I’ll confess that I’ve always liked you. But I didn’t know before this weekend that I also admire you.”
Despite a little internalsqueeat the acknowledgement that he liked her, Brooke kept her voice controlled as she asked, “Admire? Really?”
“Yeah.” He spread his hand out as if he wanted to encompass everything she was. “You have this resiliency…not just with your optimism, but the way you hold on to what you believe in. Even though that asshole messed with you, you still have this perfect vision of love and romance.”
“It’s not just a vision.” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s the truth.”
“Your truth.”