Just Give In… (6 page)

Brooke finished her slice and downed her beer, and then watched as Dog wheeled the dishes to the sink.

“He’s very helpful,” she commented, watching as the tray was shuttled from floor to sink with the help of a pair of grips attached to a robot arm.

The Captain watched the arm extend, frowning when one fork got caught in the grip. The arm pushed, contracted, pushed, contracted, and eventually the fork fell in the sink. “I don’t use it a lot,” he explained, and she knew that by tomorrow morning, it would be fixed.

“Why don’t you patent any of this?”

Long legs stretched out in front of him, and he shook his head, his hair still tangled by her hands. “That’s too much work.”

She supposed that living alone, the Captain was accustomed to being nude. Since Brooke had grown up with communal bedrooms and bathrooms, had always had a roommate, privacy was a luxury that she couldn’t afford, and it was never wise to be nude when living in a car. Most of her life had been spent in pajamas. Until now.

She yawned, watched his eyes lock onto her breasts and smiled.

Yes, nudity was nice.

His cock stirred and, well, she found herself fascinated by the chain of action and reaction.

The Captain noticed. “You haven’t been in a lot of relationships, have you?”

“More than enough,” she answered truthfully. Although she’d had sex several times, she’d never been in a relationship. Charlene Hart had set a poor example and Brooke had met too many men who didn’t understand the word
no.
She had learned very quickly and very painfully that a woman with little money, traveling alone, was a target for predatory men.

“How well do you know Austen?” he asked.

“He and Tyler were in New York last year.” She winced at the memory. “The meeting didn’t go over as well as I’d planned, but this time, I think I have it. A more independent, less needy approach.”

He reached out, touched her hair. “Take your time. Get your house in order. Did you have enough to eat? There’s some frozen dinners in there, too. I could heat one up.”

“No, and next time, we’ll have real food. I’ll cook,” she offered. It was obvious that the Captain didn’t.

“No need,” he said and once again his gaze tracked over her, lingering and then sliding away. The Captain stood, picked up the clothes scattered about, and pulled on his jeans.

“I’ll be in the shed. Use the shower. Yell if you need anything.”

And yes, they were back to the sleeping arrangements. Brooke rose, artfully stretching like a cat. “A shower would be great.” She pulled up her hair, rolled her neck and then winced.

Instantly he was at her side. “Are you okay?”

“I must have some kinks to work out. You have some sort of massager gizmo, do you? I would love that—” she told him, reaching around and kneading one shoulder, then the other “—right here.” She thrust her chest out, a flagrant cry for attention that a woman would have recognized immediately. Then she put her palms on her rear. “And here.”

The Captain looked pained. “I don’t think I have anything that can help.”

There was an instant when Brooke considered abandoning her quest, but she couldn’t in good conscience kick him out of his bed, and besides, she wanted him to hold her again. It was for these reasons that she launched into a series of stretching positions designed solely to make him see things from her point of view.

When she flexed her arms, he licked his lip.

At her toe touches, he actually groaned.

Yet still, the man resisted.

Finally she stalked over, put his hands firmly on her ass and sighed. “These are killing me. Can you just rub a little? And put some muscle in it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The Captain removed his hands, grabbed her and pulled her toward the shower. “It’s easier this way. Trust me.”

T
HE
C
APTAIN HAD BUCKETS
and buckets of hot water and she was glad he had no massaging gadgets, because his hands, his mouth and his cock worked best of all.

He rubbed her muscles until she wept and then he stood behind her, entered her and made her weep again.

When she was sure there would be no more arguments about where he would sleep, he dried her off, put on his jeans, grabbed a pillow and headed for the front door.

Furious and naked, Brooke raced after him, and dragged him inside. “Do not think I have used all the weapons at my disposal.”

At first, she thought she’d lost, but then the Captain tapped his chin and his mouth twisted into a magical smile. “Really?”

This time he didn’t argue, and she pulled him under the covers, curled up a decent one foot away from him and waited. Eventually his arms crept around her, and Brooke fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

J
ASON WOKE WITH
Brooke’s hair in his face, her thigh on his cock, and one full breast branding his arm. No matter how much he needed to, he couldn’t move. The softness of a woman’s skin, the fresh smell of her hair. It’d been a long time.

Brooke sighed in her sleep and Jason frowned. He had questions about her past, her family, all the things that he didn’t understand, but he knew better than to ask. Maybe the answers would scare him, maybe the questions would send her away, or maybe the questions would bind her to him tighter.

So instead he lay there, watching her sleep, her body wrapped about his like a vine. He knew her body, he’d used her body, but it was her face that he tried to avoid. Seeing with one eye didn’t make him blind. She was wary, she was innocent and she trusted him completely.

It was the Stockholm syndrome with the kidnapping part. Now what was he supposed to do with her? He had yet to tell her that Austen was living with the Sheriff, and Jason had heard rumors the two would be married soon. The last thing the Sheriff would want was her soon-to-be-husband’s former-weekend-fling staying with them—even if she didn’t have a place to live. Nobody could be that understanding. And since Austen wasn’t an option, Jason couldn’t send her away. Nor could he keep her.

She stretched, her thigh rubbing him, and her lips pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

While his brain wondered what he was supposed to do with her, her fingers closed over him and began to move.

She shifted over him, giving him a full-bodied good-morning kiss that had him instantly awake. Her body rose high, she pushed back the dark curtain of her hair, and he didn’t understand why this goddess was in his bed.

Not that he was complaining.

As if they had all the time in the world, she arched in the sunrise, the light skimming her breasts, and he wanted to touch her, but his hands stayed firm at his sides.

Then she smiled at him in the way that only she could, and he fisted his hands. She leaned over him, kissing his torso, his chest, continuing lower until her vulnerable mouth closed over him. Jason shut his one good eye because this way, he could be blind. For the moment at least, he was blind to everything but her.

T
HE NEXT DAY TURNED
as hot as the one before, but while she worked out in the yard, Brooke was getting to like the feel of the sun on her skin. The West Texas landscape was so flat that it seemed to stretch forever. The trees were stubby and squat and, in the distance, she could see oil wells pumping steadily. It was only day two, but already she’d left her mark. The old milk crates she found were much more suitable than the small mountains the Captain had created. And more portable. He had argued that he needed the crates for another project.

“All fifty-three of them?” she asked, with only a hint of sarcasm.

One of the things she liked best about the Captain was that beneath the trappings, he was a very practical man. “Leave me three,” he told her, and so she counted out his three and then moved the rest to her work area near the porch.

By late afternoon, the milk crates were filled, the parts inventoried, and her new blue shirt was cool, crisp and holding up nicely.

“You need to eat,” the Captain told her just as she was putting a stack of copper tubing away.

Once inside, the Captain poured her a glass of water and pushed back her hair, looking concerned, his usual expression. “You’re red. I don’t have any sunscreen. I should have thought about that.”

Brooke put a hand to her warm cheeks. “I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head. “Stay inside for a while. I need to get some things from town. I’ll be back.”

She scanned the room, with its lack of standard living room accoutrements and it’s odd hodge-podge order. Some might have called it haphazard, but by now she had seen into the Captain’s hodge-podge brain, and there was never any haphazard at all. “What am I supposed to do here?”

“Lay down. Watch television.”

None of which sounded appealing, so she nodded in agreement, watched him drive away and then immediately started to clean. Oh, sure, the sink was spic and span, the stove had never been used. Instead of dishes, the cabinets were lined with jars of nuts—and not the eating kind, either. There were rows and rows of Mason jars filled with screws and wires and tiny unidentified plastic pieces that, according to Google, were transistors.

With a heavy sigh, Brooke shut the cabinet doors. This was the Captain’s home, and yes, it wasn’t the way she would accessorize her home, but she respected his space.

Needing to do something, she decided to tackle the bedroom next, but the white cotton covers were straightened with military precision. There were no pictures, no books, an absolutely sterile environment—except for the metal sculpture in the corner. The piece was nearly two feet high, an assortment of rounded metal spheres, with two pipes on the sides, plastic tubing streaming from the top. She studied the placement of the screws, and eventually she knew what it was.

A female.

Oh.

For a long time she held the piece, the metal cold in her hands, but these weren’t her things. Carefully she put the piece back where she found it, and turned to find the Captain had returned.

“I made it for Max,” he volunteered before she could ask. “He was an old army buddy. It was a birthday present. A joke.” He came over, pressed a small button she had overlooked and twin light beams shot from the two rounded spheres on the top.

“Oh,” was all Brooke could say.

“It’s an army thing.”

“Very creative.”

The Captain took the sculpture and put it in a box, setting it next to the doorway. “I should have mailed it a long time ago.”

His face was missing the openness of before, and she missed it. “You don’t have to hide this because of me,” she said, pulling the sculpture back from the box, and then pressing the button, watching the twin red lights shoot from the woman’s bosom. Smiling, she pressed the button again. “Did you name her?”

“No, she really is for Max.”

And yes, she believed he had made the sculpture for Max, but… “When’s his birthday?”

“Last month.” The Captain shrugged, completely missing the obvious. “I’ve been busy.”

Brooke put the sculpture in the box, suspecting that the Captain would mail it off tomorrow. “He’ll be the only person in town who has one.”

The Captain folded the lid, putting the sculpture firmly out of sight. “Anyway.”

Curious, she sat on the bed and wiped her cheeks as if she was tired. “Didn’t you ever make one for you?”

“I have Dog.”

Hearing his name, Dog whirred into the room. “You could get a real dog,” she suggested.

Soullessly he stared at her through his one good eye. “Why?”

“I’ve always wanted a dog, a fluffy puppy, probably three, and lots and lots of cats.”

He sat down next to her. “You didn’t have any growing up?”

“No. You?”

“We had one dog for…I don’t know. It seemed like forever.”

“What was his name?”

“Dog.”

Brooke laughed and he smiled back. Then, with an absent shake of the head he stood. “Maybe I’ll get another one. When I’m ready.”

Realizing the moment had passed, Brooke stood, too, following him out of the room. “You know, I’ve been thinking about the hardware in the kitchen. Now, before you start to argue, hear me out…”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Brooke woke up alone. Outside, she could hear the Captain whistling, the intermittent sound of a drill and birdsong. For a few minutes, she allowed herself to be lazy, to twist up in the sheets and bury her head in the Captain’s pillow.

Here, in his bed, the scent of him surrounded her and comforted her. This was Texas, this was home. This odd combination of dusty land and fresh-cut wood and welded metal and burned scrambled eggs.

She hugged the pillow closer, breathing deeply of the other scent, the musky smell of sex.

Once again last night he had tried to sleep in the shed. Unfortunately, her face had gotten sunburned yesterday and she needed help applying cream to the afflicted areas. When she remembered his capable hands on her, her fingers skimmed over her breasts, and while there was the standard biological response, she didn’t experience the same kick. The burning heat of his skin was missing, the earnest magic of his mouth. No matter how hard she closed her eyes, the bed was cold without him.

In Brooke’s experience, nothing ever lasted very long and good memories should be stored away carefully, trotted out at bus stations or all-night diners, or when your employer decided that rubbing himself against you was romantic. There weren’t many good memories in Brooke’s life, and being with the Captain was the most decadent memory she’d ever kept.

Men usually didn’t try to be good, but the Captain sure did. Every time he fought against his attraction, she only wanted him more. The hungry way he kissed her, as if he could never have enough. The way he touched her between the legs, the way his gaze grew so heavy as he watched her come. She slipped a finger inside herself, surprised by the throb, surprised by the ache. A void.

Hidden beneath the sheets she touched herself, pleasured herself, temporarily feeling a void she never knew she had. Faster and faster she stroked, finding a mechanical rhythm without hunger and life. Eventually the bubble inside her burst and her muscles shuddered and then relaxed.