Page 53 of Words of Love
“Which parent did you live with?” she asked.
“Both of them.” He gave a humorless laugh. “My brother and I were shuttled back and forth all the time…well, when my brother was twelve or thirteen, my father wanted to take him in full-time. Which upset my mother. They got into a massive fight, my father won, and my brother went to live with him. But after that, neither of my parents would let me live with the other. So I still ended up with whoever was around. Or rather, whoever wasn’t around.”
“Is that why you were alone a lot?”
“Yeah.” He let out his breath. “Neither of them was home much, if at all, so I fended for myself. It was easier when my brother was there, even though he and I never got along. After he went to live with our father, it was just me. I’m sure a psychologist would say I started acting out for attention. They’d probably be right.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “I could’ve had it a lot worse. My parents had money, and plenty of it, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t have any food or shelter. Most of the time.”
Brooke blinked. “Mostof the time?”
He patted her hip. “That’s another story.”
Another secret.
If she’d been in her reporter mindset, she’d have searched for a new angle or a question to convince him to keep talking. But her mindset was entirely focused on him. She wanted to know more about him—almost painfully so—but she wouldn’t try and force the information out of him. She wanted him to talk to her becausehewanted to.
Because he liked her as much as she liked him.
Because he wasfeelingthings for her that he hadn’t expected, as she was for him.
She stroked his stubble-coated jaw with her fingertip. “How often do you shave?”
“Whenever I remember.” He ran his knuckles over his neck. “If I shaved as often as I should, I’d be doing it twice a day.”
“Hmm. Twice a day is pretty sexy.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me?”
“Maybe.” An irrational jealousy nudged her. “That must happen a lot to a big, famous author like you.”
“Sometimes, yeah, but not because I’m an author.” He moved his hand in slow circles over her hip. “Only a few people know I write as Sam Harris, so any action I get isn’t based on fame or whatever.”
Brooke twisted her mouth. “Can we not talk about you gettingaction?”
A distinct male satisfaction rose to his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
“While I pride myself on being charitable and gracious toward people…or at least, trying to be…the idea of you with other women makes me feel like a hissing cat.” She groaned and put her hand on her forehead. “Not to sound like a stalker or anything.”
“I thought I was the one acting stalkerish.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t noticed how I always stare at you whenever you walk by?”
“You stare at me?”
“All the time…well, whenever I see you.” He smiled wryly. “It’s how I know you bring coffee toThe Gazetteoffices every morning and buy daisies every Friday afternoon. You also might be part of the reason I go to all those damned festivals.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He stroked his hands up her back. “I know you’re going to be there, running around taking pictures, talking to people, smiling at everyone. I like seeing you.”
“Aw.” Her whole body softened with tenderness and warmth. “I was wrong. Youaresweet.”
A scowl creased his forehead. “Don’t tell anyone.”