Page 52 of Words of Love

Chapter 13

Despite the soporific effects of carnal pleasure, a blanket fort, and Sam’s body heat, Brooke woke from a light doze a short time later. The fire had died down, but inside the fort, all was warm and cozy. She was pressed seamlessly against him from head to toe. They were both still naked, which was a little nerve-wracking and a lot mind-blowing.

Sam.

And her.

Like…this.

A hot blush fired her cheeks. She lifted her head to look at him. Her heart jumped. He was watching her, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft.

She swallowed. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He moved his fingers almost absently up and down her side in a gentle caress.

“Did you sleep?”

He shook his head. “I don’t sleep much.”

Odd, considering he was physically a model of incredible health and strength. She ran her finger over his wrist, across the sinews of his forearm, and up to his biceps. “How does a thriller author get muscles like this?”

“Boxing.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Boxing?”

“I’ve been doing it for years.” He stroked the underside of her breast. “I train at a gym over in Glendale.”

“Are you a pro?”

“No. Amateur bouts sometimes, but mostly I just spar.”

“Is that another reason you open the bookstore whenever you want?” Brooke’s pulse accelerated as he skimmed his hand back down to her hip. “Because you’re sparring?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Mostly because I’m writing, though.”

“How did you start boxing?” She cupped his bicep, smiling slightly when he twitched in reaction.

“A police officer suggested it to my father when I was twelve.”

She stilled. “A police officer?”

“Yeah.” He opened his eyes, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “I wasn’t a good kid. I was atroublemaker, actually. I’d been ditching school, vandalizing, committing petty theft… Once, after I was caught stealing, the police officer said boxing might give me a constructive outlet or whatever. So my father signed me up for training. I wasn’t interested at first, but two lessons in, I was hooked.”

“So was the police officer right? Did it become a constructive outlet for you?”

“For a while.” He grasped her waist and pulled her on top of him, fitting their bodies together. “At least I trained in the gym instead of getting into fights at school. Well. I got into fights less often.”

Though the sensation of lying on top of him had her arousal fluttering to life again, Brooke disliked the picture of the lonely, troubled boy that was forming in her mind.

“Why were you an angry kid?” She propped her chin on her hand.

“I wasn’t lucky enough to have a family like yours.” His expression grew pensive. “But there was nothing about my life that makes me special or different. Like countless other people, I just had shitty parents.”

She couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to. “Where did you grow up?”

“New York.” He slid his hands down to cup her rear. “My parents weren’t married…which wouldn’t have been a big deal if they hadn’t had a fucked-up relationship. Nothing romantic there, believe me. They couldn’t stand to be together, but they couldn’t split up either. They lived in separate apartments, which was a nightmare because sometimes my father would stay at my mother’s or vice versa, and other times there was a revolving door with random people coming in and out whenever they wanted. But no one knew who was going to be where, so my father would come to stay the night and find out my mother had a man over…and then all hell would break loose.”

God. No wonder he had a hard time with the idea of love and romance, if that had been his childhood model.