Smolder, page 13
He laughs then. Dale laughs heartily, the kind of laugh I seldom hear from him.
“Seriously? You’re asking me?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know how to get a woman in my bed. That’s not what I’m asking.”
“Hell, I may not have been a womanizer in my youth like you, but I don’t know anything about wooing a woman. Ask Ashley. I was a mess. I didn’t even know how to hold her hand at first.”
I hold back a chuckle. Being laughed at is probably not what Dale needs right now. “Who would know, then? Not Donny. He was exactly like me.”
“But he sure got Callie.”
“That’s true.”
“What about your brother?” Dale asks.
“Brad? Yeah, maybe.”
“He’s been with Marie for what… Two, three years? Clearly he’s kept her happy.”
“Yeah. I’ll call him. Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll let you know what I find out from Aunt Ruby.”
Brad and I are close but not close, if that makes any sense. We’re close because we’re brothers. We love each other. We have each other’s backs at all times.
But we’re opposites in a lot of ways.
Which is why he may be able to help me. I punch in his number.
“Hey, Brock.”
“Brad, bro. How’s it going?”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“I’m shocked,” I say in mock sincerity.
“You know I love you, man,” Brad says, “but you never call me just to call me and ask how it’s going.”
“Touché. I have a question.”
“Okay. What?”
“I have a date tonight, and I want to impress her.”
“And you’re talking to me? Just do what you always do.”
“No. I don’t want to bed her. I mean, I do”—God, do I, after the day I had—“but this woman means something to me. I want to impress her. I want to…”
Brad laughs. “Seriously? My little brother? Never thought I’d see this day. At least not for another ten years or so.”
“Neither did I.”
“Who is it?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Do I know her?”
I sigh. Why not tell him? “It’s Rory. Rory Pike.”
Silence for a minute.
Then silence for two minutes.
Finally, “Wow. Rory Pike. Not only do you choose the most beautiful woman in town, but also the one where you have twice the competition of a straight woman.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Hey, I like Rory Pike. Everyone does. The Pikes are good people.”
“So tell me, then. What do I do?”
“Is it your first date?”
“Second, actually.”
“What happened on the first?”
“Well… She basically invited me into her bed, and I… I turned her down.”
Laughter then. Joyous and jovial laughter.
“I’m really glad my life is funny to you, bro.”
“What can I say? This is hilarious.”
“Thanks a lot. I can’t believe I listened to Dale. He told me to call you.”
“Hold on, hold on. So you’re totally serious?”
I don’t answer at first. What a stupid question. Of course I’m serious. Would I bare my soul like this to my only brother if I weren’t?
Brad finally speaks, after clearing his throat. “All right. First, you need to get to know her. Ask her a lot of questions about herself.”
“We talked a lot about that last time,” I say. “About how she wanted to be a professional opera singer, but she didn’t make it.”
“Good. She already knows that you’re interested in her, not just her awesome body.”
“Except she thinks I’m not interested in sleeping with her, which I totally am.”
“If she asks, explain it that way. Explain that you didn’t want to rush into bed because you really like her.”
“Man, this is so not me.”
Brad chuckles. “Tell me about it.”
“I offered to… I offered to produce a recital for her.”
Silence another moment.
“Brad?”
“Man, do you have it bad.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but nothing comes out.
“Brock,” he says. “If you really like this woman, don’t screw it up.”
“What do you think I’m calling you for? Tell me how to not screw it up.”
“Just go against all your natural instincts, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Okay, I’m kidding.” He sighs. “All right, only half kidding. You’re a great guy, Brock. Everyone loves you, but you have a reputation as a womanizer. Everyone knows that, including Rory Pike. So…you have to go against your instinct.”
“Dude, I went against my instinct last time. I didn’t hop into bed with her when I had the chance.”
“You just said you wanted this to be more.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done not to hop into Rory Pike’s bed. Have you seen her tits?”
“Everyone has seen her tits, Brock. Everyone knows she has the best rack this side of the Rockies.”
A strange feeling settles in me. My brother has noticed Rory’s tits. Hell, of course he has. He’s a heterosexual male. Even the gay men I know love her tits.
And now? I don’t want anyone looking at those amazing breasts but me.
God, what is happening to me?
“All right,” I say to my brother. “Thanks for the help.”
“Any time. Be yourself. You’re a great guy. Just don’t do what you normally do to get a woman into bed. Get to know her. Ask her about herself. Care, Brock. Just care.”
“Got it. Bye.”
Now…to plan an amazing date with Rory Pike.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rory
“This is your place,” I say.
Brock stops the car—a green BMW tonight, as opposed to the Tesla last time—in the garage to the guesthouse behind his parents’ ranch house.
“It is.”
“I thought we were going to have a date.”
“We are. I’m going to cook for you.”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. I sound like a cackling chicken, but still I laugh.
“Something funny?” Brock says.
“No. I mean… Do you cook?”
“I’m no Aunt Marjorie, but I do okay.”
“You mean you don’t have someone to do your cooking? Full time?”
“No. My parents do.”
“You seriously cook for yourself every night?”
“Not every night. About half the time I eat with my parents at the main house.”
“Okay, this is making more sense now.”
“You know, there’s more to me than just this gorgeous hunk of man you see before you.”
I laugh again. He is charming. I’ll give him that. He gets out of his car and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door for me, just like he did last time.
Yes, charming.
But I’m not unaware that this is all a perfectly scripted Brock Steel move. After all, last time he promised me the Brock Steel experience, and then he turned me down when I invited him to have his way with me. After telling me that lovemaking was an integral part of said experience.
So truly, I didn’t get the Brock Steel experience.
A beautiful dog meets us at the door.
“Hey there, Sammy,” Brock says.
Sammy looks to be some kind of German Shepherd mix with a lush brown-and-black coat and beautiful brown doggy eyes.
“Hey, gorgeous.” I kneel and give him a pet on the head. “What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a she,” Brock says. “I don’t know. Obviously some German Shepherd is in the mix. I got her at Lifeline Rescue in Grand Junction.”
“Really? That’s where I got Zach.”
“You have a dog?”
“Yeah. Callie and I went over and adopted dogs a couple of weeks ago. Zach and Dusty. They’re awesome.”
“I didn’t know you liked dogs, Rory.”
“Who doesn’t love dogs? They’re the best.”
He gives Sammy some scratches behind her ears. “They are.”
I follow Brock through the entryway around the formal living and dining room to a large country kitchen, where a vase of gorgeous red flowers sits as a centerpiece. He must see me gazing at them, because he says, “Dahlias. From Mom’s greenhouse.”
He lets Sammy out the back door, and then he turns to me. “You eat red meat, I hope.”
I’m tempted to make another meat comment like I did Monday, but that got me nowhere fast. “Of course I do. Have you forgotten that my family owns some cattle? We don’t just do wine, although that’s the major enterprise.”
Which has been shut down, but I don’t need to remind him of that.
“Good. I have two amazing cuts of filet mignon wrapped in uncured bacon. Twice-baked sweet potatoes, and curried cauliflower.”
“And you really made this all yourself?”
“Okay, okay. Grilling the filet mignon is no big deal. I can do that in my sleep. And curried cauliflower is easy. But Aunt Marjorie made the twice-baked sweet potatoes and brought them over to me. They just need to bake the second time.” He inhales. “Can you smell them? They smell amazing.”
I inhale. Sure enough, I smell their starchy sweetness. “I love sweet potatoes.”
“Good. I kind of took a guess on that. Not everyone likes them.”
“I do, especially baked. Heck, I even like that horribly cloying sweet potato marshmallow casserole everyone serves at Thanksgiving.”
He laughs then. A deep bellied masculine laugh. And he looks…so gorgeous.
Brock Steel is the spitting image of his father, only prettier. Jonah Steel is ruggedly handsome, and Brock is Jonah with slightly finer features.
All the Steels are gorgeous—men and women. Yet I’m considered the most beautiful woman in Snow Creek?
Crazy stuff.
“What can I get you to drink?” Brock asks.
“Would you think less of me if I just wanted a nice cold beer?”
He laughs. “I love a cold brew myself.” He pulls two Fat Tires out of the fridge and hands one to me.
“Thank you.” I take a long drink. “How do you know I love Fat Tire?”
“Good guess. You seem like the ale type.”
“So you know your beer,” I say. “Ale, not lager.”
“You don’t grow up on the Steel ranch and not learn everything about different kinds of alcohol. Uncle Ryan is a beer drinker, believe it or not. Wine is of course his drink of choice, but he likes a good brew.”
“Really?” I lift my eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a beer.”
“Like I said, his preferred drink is wine. But he and I have been known to drink beer together on occasion.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you,” I say.
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you too. Have you started working on your program for the recital?”
I take another sip of beer. “Yeah… About that.”
“Oh, no. You’re not backing out on me now. I already rented the cinema.”
“Who the hell is going to come, Brock?”
“The whole town, of course.”
“Snow Creek isn’t exactly an opera town.”
“Maybe not, but we talked about this last time. We’re definitely lacking in culture here. You can bring some operatic pieces, some musical theater pieces.”
“No one’s heard me sing like that since I was in high school. They hear me singing rock with Jesse.”
“Yes, they do. And this will show them how multitalented you are.”
My cheeks warm. Is it the beer? Or is it Brock Steel? Probably both.
“I’m going to get the steaks on the grill. Would you take the sweet potatoes out of the oven for me?”
“Sure thing.”
“Oven mitts are in there.” He points to a drawer.
I can’t help but watch his tight ass as he walks out onto his deck.
This man is beyond gorgeous.
Perfect genetic material…
And I am ovulating…
As much as I want to wash this thought from my mind, I can’t.
It permeated me the entire time Callie and I were searching Doc Sheraton’s house…which we had no legal right to do. Pat didn’t call the cops on us, though, and we knew he wouldn’t.
Which means…he probably still has photos of us.
Does he realize it’s illegal for him to even possess those photos of Callie?
Probably not.
We checked the main rooms of his house but didn’t check his bedroom. We did, however, check the bedroom where Brittany was staying.
And we found absolutely nothing.
Of course, we’re simply amateur sleuths. Neither of us knew exactly what we were doing, so we could’ve overlooked something important. Callie’s going to talk to Donny about it and get back to me.
I want to wipe that from my mind and enjoy tonight, but the fact remains that we did it…and while we did it, I ruminated on my ovulation cycle that’s most likely occurring right now.
An egg is descending from my ovary, through my fallopian tube, looking for fertilization.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair to get pregnant on purpose. I should talk to Brock first.
But if I do…
Then I let out a laughing scoff. How do I know he’ll even take me to bed? He didn’t the other night.
But if he does…I could tell him I’m on the pill. And clean.
That’s a lie, of course. Plus, he’s a known womanizer. How do I know he’s clean? Sure, I want a baby, but I don’t want anything else going on down there.
No. Hard no. I can’t get pregnant without him knowing.
I have to tell him first.
And Callie’s right. This isn’t the way to do it.
About ten minutes later, Brock comes back in with the two filets on a plate.
“Rare,” he says. “The only way to eat a filet.”
“Rare’s great.”
I don’t want to tell him that I’m not sure I’ve ever had a filet mignon. Beef tenderloin is the most expensive cut of steak, and we Pikes don’t save the most expensive cuts for ourselves. The best cuts of our beef production are for profit.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just sit your cute little ass down.” He nods to the kitchen table.
So we’re not eating in the formal dining room. No biggie. There’s only two of us.
Brock goes to a cupboard, pulls out two plates, and sets one in front of me and one at the empty space. He adds cloth napkins—yes, cloth napkins—steak knives, forks, and spoons. I can’t help a smile at his charming contrariness—a kitchen table that isn’t set, but cloth napkins and freshly cut dahlias. Adorable.
“Do you want wine with dinner?”
“Honestly? I’d like another beer as much as anything.”
He smiles. “Your wish is my command.” He pulls another Fat Tire out of the refrigerator and opens it for me. “Do you want a glass?”
I shake my head. “Tastes better out of the bottle.”
“You know? I think you’re right.” He pulls out another beer, opens it, and sets it next to his own plate. He places a perfectly grilled filet mignon on my plate and then one of the twice-baked sweet potatoes. He puts the cauliflower in a bowl and sets it in the middle of the table, along with a basket of rolls. “These are from Ava’s. Fresh baked.”
“I love fresh-baked bread. My mom’s an amazing baker too.” I inhale, the yeasty aroma making my stomach growl.
“You’re hungry,” Brock says, smiling.
“That I am.”
What he doesn’t know is that I’m hungry for something more than food.
I’m hungry for the man sitting right next to me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brock
Rory Pike likes to eat. I noticed that Monday on our date. She eats heartily and enjoys her food. In fact, watching her savor each bite is kind of a sexual experience.
“How do you eat like this and not gain an ounce of weight?” I ask.
“Good metabolism. All of us Pikes have it. Good genes.”
She lifts her eyebrows at the mention of her good genes.
“The best genes, I’d say. You’re a great-looking bunch.”
“As are the Steels,” she says.
“Well, don’t tell my cousins, but you’re more beautiful than any of the Steel women.”
“You think so? I think it’s only because you don’t think of your cousins that way.”
“That’s probably part of it, but surely you know you’re the most beautiful woman in Snow Creek. Everyone knows.”
“I don’t know that, and don’t call me Shirley.”
It’s an old joke, and her cheeks redden. From embarrassment or from actually knowing she’s the most beautiful woman in Snow Creek? I’m not sure.
“Would it surprise you to know that I don’t think of myself that way?” she continues.
“No. If you did, you’d probably be the most conceited woman in Snow Creek as well as the most beautiful.”
She blushes further. My God, she’s so beautiful. Everything about her. From her long flowing dark hair, her big brown eyes, her perfect cheekbones, her full pink lips. That long, slender neck that I’m dying to kiss.
I want to bite her on that neck, leave my mark.
Damn. Down, boy, I say to my cock.
Time to get my head away from her beauty. Both heads, actually. Brad said to ask a lot of questions, so here goes.
“Tell me all about yourself, Rory. What is your biggest dream?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment, which surprises me. Her biggest dream was to be an operatic mezzo, and I berate myself for asking the question because we already talked about that on Monday. The last thing I want is for her to get sad again and talk about how she didn’t make it.
I open my mouth to change the subject, when she surprises me.
“A baby,” she says. “My biggest dream is to be a mother.”
