Never Too Much Page 23

  Eyes glued to his chest, Brooke had reeled back two steps, flushed to the roots of her hair, and then fled without a word. It had taken her two days to work up the nerve to face him again, and even then, Kent had needed to coax her back into conversation, into meeting his gaze. She’d never mentioned her over-the-top reaction to a man’s chest, so Kent hadn’t either.

  No, he wouldn’t mention it, but no way would he ever forget it, either.

  He chuckled again just remembering.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He turned and smiled in pleasure. “Brooke. When did you get home?” He leaned on his rake and devoured the sight of her.

  Today she wore a long colorful sundress that hung straight from her bare shoulders to her trim ankles. The material was some soft, slinky stuff that draped over her breasts, her hips, her belly and thighs. She looked elegant and sexy at the same time. Kent felt himself tighten in awareness. Damn, he was too old for this. His heart couldn’t take it.

  Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, and her mouth trembled the tiniest bit as she smiled. “I just pulled in and saw your truck still in the drive. Since you weren’t out front, I came straight to the backyard.”

  Kent winked at her. “I’m in a good mood because your yard is done. Do you like it?”

  Her head turned, taking in the landscaping. “It looks incredible.”

  You look incredible. “Thanks.” Gold hoop earrings brushed her cheeks, and a slender gold watch on her wrist reflected the sunlight as she shielded her eyes.

  Kent went on admiring her profile while she gracefully strolled forward, her sandals sinking into the lush warm grass. He saw her toenails were painted a frosty pink to match her fingernails. She wore a very slender ankle bracelet. She was so feminine, so classy, everything male within him just seemed to sit up and take notice.

  He liked it that she made such a ladylike appearance. Every man saw her as proper. Kent wanted her to be improper with him. He’d have her naked, hot, straining under him with her hair and makeup mussed. Her legs would clench around his hips and her fingers would dig into his shoulders.

  He shuddered, watching her with narrow, intent concentration. Her gait remained slow and leisurely, and she stepped over a trowel, around an empty container.

  “I’ll get this stuff picked up and put away before I go.”

  She glanced sideways at him. “No rush.”

  Such a simple statement and his heart raced, his guts churned. No, once he got Brooke in bed, he wouldn’t rush. He’d take his time tasting and touching her.

  She moved beyond him and Kent stared at her heart-shaped ass beneath the dress. His palms twitched with the need to touch her. Maybe he’d take her from behind, so he could grip that lush ass, hold her tight to him. Had Brooke ever had sex doggy style? Somehow, he doubted it.

  Voice husky and low, he murmured, “You look nice today. Business?”

  She slanted him another look. Kent wished he could see her eyes.

  “Lunch.”

  He followed behind her, closing the gap. “Women’s afternoon out?”

  His attempt to subtly discover if she’d had a date was met with resistance.

  She bent to touch a soft pink azalea. “No.”

  When she stood, he was close enough that they nearly touched. “Quit teasing me, Brooke. Were you out with a man?”

  She started to step back and Kent caught her arms above her elbows. Her skin was very soft, very smooth, warmed by the bright sunshine. “Easy.” He brought her closer to his torso. “You’re about to land in the bushes.”

  Her hands fluttered, then flattened on his chest, her brows rising above her glasses. Her mouth, very kissable in shiny pink gloss, opened in a small oh.

  Kent steered her to the side and the second she was clear, she pulled away from him. He let her go, but kept close to her.

  “May I ask you something, Kent?” She stepped up to the back patio, under the shade, but didn’t sit in any of the thick padded chairs.

  Kent relaxed his stance, crossed his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”

  “Does Sierra care about my son?”

  He’d been expecting—hoping—for something entirely different. But he shouldn’t have been surprised. Several times now, Brooke had used her son to start a conversation. She acted as though she had no life except what centered around him.

  He gestured at a chair. “Mind if I sit?”

  “No, of course not. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “That’d be great.”

  She gave him her patented polite smile and slid the patio doors open to disappear inside. In her absence, Kent stewed. And plotted. He had to have her tonight. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Within minutes, she’d returned with two frosty glasses of lemonade. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect. Thanks.” He accepted the glass and downed half of it in one long gulp. Brooke sat across from him in another chair, knees together, spine straight, sipping her drink. Eyeing her, Kent asked, “Sierra and Ben, huh? That’s what you want to talk about?”

  She’d slid her glasses to the top of her head and her eyes were direct, concerned. “He’s not acting himself with her.”

  “I take it he doesn’t befriend a lot of women?”

  “Of course he does. Ben is friendly with everyone. But . . . this is different. He usually keeps those friendships less . . . involved.”

  Kent had to admit even he was surprised at how much fortitude Ben had shown. Kent could practically see Sierra falling under his spell.

  He admired Ben for a variety of reasons, but most of all because he helped Sierra smile. Kent felt better about her living alone, knowing Ben was close at hand and watchful. He had a strong suspicion that Ben would wear her down soon.

  “He strikes me as a young man used to being chased by the ladies, not the one doing the chasing.”

  Brooke smiled with a dose of indulgent mother’s love. “He’s very handsome, but he’s also very nice. I suppose it’s a potent combination.”

  “You raised him right.”

  Pride shined from her dark doe eyes, making her all the more appealing. “Thank you.”

  “He looks like his father?”

  For a single instant, Brooke went still. Casually, as if he hadn’t just thrown her, she set her glass aside and relaxed in her seat. Her long legs crossed, drawing his attention. Kent had the feeling she’d meant to do that, to distract him with her body. He smiled, enjoying her ploy.

  “I asked you a question, which you’ve answered with more questions. Is there something about Sierra that you’re hiding from me?”

  “You’re a suspicious little mother hen, aren’t you?”

  Trying to mask her impatience, she swung one foot. “Yes, and you’re evasive.”

  Kent laughed. “All right, I suppose I feel as protective of Sierra as you do of Ben. The difference is, where he was lucky enough to have you his whole life, she’s been pretty much on her own.”

  Sympathy overshadowed her annoyance. “How so?”

  “Her dad was a pious hypocrite, her ex-husband an abusive bastard.”

  Brooke looked startled by that disclosure. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized.”

  “Sierra is very private. She doesn’t tell much about herself.” Kent tilted his head, took a chance, and said, “You know, you and Sierra might have something in common.”

  “Really? Other than an affection for my son?”

  He liked it when she teased him, but God knew, she usually only did so with Ben as the topic. Her love for Ben made him a safe subject. “You were both mere children when you got involved with the wrong guy.”

  Alarmed, Brooke came to her feet in a rush. “More lemonade?”

  Slowly, Kent stood to face her, blocking her escape. “It’s great that Ben’s willing to give Sierra so much time. Do you think it’s a sign of real interest on his part?”

  As Kent had intended, his new question helped her relax. The stiffness left her shoulders, and s
he conceded the possibility with a nod. “I believe he’s in love with her.” Then, a mother to the bitter end, she added, “But I don’t want to see him hurt.”

  “The way you were hurt?”

  Her laugh was forced, humorless. “Ben is strong and confident and self-reliant. He’s not a young girl. He’s not . . .”

  Kent halted her spate of words by touching her mouth. “Not you?” Her lips were slick with the pink gloss and he wanted to lick it away, to taste her naked mouth.

  She didn’t move, but her eyes darkened, a pulse quickened in her slender throat. Kent slid his finger back and forth, tracing her bottom lip. “First things first, okay? Sierra is a total sweetheart. She’s reserved because of things that have happened to her, but she would never deliberately hurt anyone, so don’t worry about Ben. I have a gut feeling those two are going to work everything out without our interference. Probably sooner than you think.”

  She remained silent, but she did nod.

  “Now, for another thing.” He stepped closer, moving slow so he wouldn’t take her by surprise. He slipped one foot between hers, enjoying the contrast of his big boot enclosed by her slender, strappy sandals. He wrapped one arm around her waist so she couldn’t retreat.

  Lifting his finger to his mouth, he tasted her and with a small smile, said, “Cherries. You little tease.”

  She inhaled, her lips parting, and Kent bent down to take her mouth. He didn’t rush her, just moved his mouth over hers, gently, easily, parting her lips more so he could touch her teeth with his tongue, explore just inside her mouth.

  She tasted hot, tangy with the lemonade. Deliciously shy, but responsive.

  Kent leaned back an infinitesimal amount, opened his eyes, and caught her wary, smoldering gaze. “Brooke?”

  She swallowed, staring at his mouth. Her breathing was harsh. “I . . . I hardly know you.”

  Kent’s blood surged. She sounded accepting, willing. “We’ll go slow.” So slow, he’d have her begging for release.

  “You’re younger than me.”

  He grinned. She was reaching for excuses—and coming up short. “We’re both all grown up, sweetheart, and we know what we want. We can do whatever we damn well please.” His voice dropped to a growl. “And getting you under me will please me a lot.”

  She looked down at his sweaty chest, inhaled slowly, and touched him. Kent watched the progress of her soft, delicate hand with the manicured nails, against the front of his sweaty, dirty shirt. Christ, it turned him on. The contrasts of his rugged maleness against her soft femininity were strong.

  “I’m too old for silly infatuations.”

  Kent nudged his hips into hers. “You’re never too old for this, believe me.”

  “I should be smarter by now. You’d think I would have learned . . .”

  That gave him pause. “Being with me wouldn’t be smart?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced up, licked her lips. “I don’t know you.”

  “You know I want you.” Kent stroked her back, her bottom. “What else is important?”

  Confusion made her eyes darker, softer. “Everything.” Damn. He didn’t want to get into long discussions now. He made an exasperated sound.

  Brooke stiffened. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

  His dick was so hard, he hurt. “You’re doing great.”

  “I want to kiss you.” After she made that sudden admission, she stared up at him, then shook her head and added in a rush, “No, I feel like I have to kiss you. I think about it all the time. It’s making me nuts—”

  Kent hauled her close, uncaring now about the sweat or dirt, and fed off her mouth. She moaned, clung to him and when he kissed her jaw, her throat, she tipped her head back to give him better access.

  His jeans felt ready to burst.

  Brooke shivered with excitement. “I . . . I need you.”

  “Hell, yes.” She’d said wanting him wasn’t smart, but she still wanted him all the same. Later, he’d explain to her that she had no reason to be wary. “Invite me in, Brooke.”

  Indecision warred with need, but Kent saw the need win. Brooke smiled—and then they both heard the rustling of grass. Kent released her and took a hasty step back, then had to catch her when she slumped toward him. He hauled her up to his side, keeping her steady, and turned to see who had invaded their privacy.

  A little old lady drew to a regal halt and stared at him. Slowly, her gaze moved to Brooke and she scowled. “What is this awful propensity you people have for public displays?”

  Brooke jerked away from Kent, gaping at the intruder. “Oh dear.”

  Kent was slower to react, his mind still churning on the fact that Brooke had been about to ask him into the house and into her bed.

  He drew one breath, then another, before he felt ready to deal with the slender gray-headed woman piercing him with her censuring gaze.

  “Well, young man? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Young man? Annoyed at the untimely interruption, Kent demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

  Brooke touched his arm. She was wide-eyed and shaken. “She’s Ben’s grandmother.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brooke watched as Agatha thrust her nose in the air. “Exactly, not that Ben puts any stock in the association.” She narrowed her eyes at Brooke. “With that being the case, and I assure you it is, it appears I’ll need your assistance to make him see reason.”

  Brooke blinked, totally bewildered by the demand. Agatha Harper wanted her help? When she remained mute with surprise, Agatha huffed. “Yes, well, since Brooke appears somewhat tongue-tied, I suppose I’ll do the introductions.” She thrust out her thin, blue-veined hand toward Kent. “I’m Agatha Harper. And you are?”

  Very gently, Kent enfolded her fragile fingers in his own much larger paw. “Kent Monroe.”

  “You’re acquainted with my grandson, Ben?”

  She still held Kent’s hand, and he shrugged. “I know him.”

  Her attention darted back and forth between Brooke and Kent. “You met my grandson through this . . . liaison?”

  Her blatant snooping startled Brooke, but Kent didn’t appear offended. “Actually, Ben’s seeing the woman I work for. I met Brooke through Ben.”

  Agatha’s gaze turned sharp and astute. “You say you work for Sierra?”

  “That’s right. You know her?”

  She ignored Kent’s query. “Doing what, exactly?”

  Brooke had always been a bit intimidated by Agatha Harper, a reaction no doubt left over from her youth when Pierce Harper had informed her in no uncertain terms that she would never fit in with his life. He was of the elite and she was beyond common. He’d told her to do whatever she wished with the baby but not to expect him to further involve himself. She’d been a conquest, nothing more, appetizing enough for a brief diversion, but certainly nothing more.

  Whether Agatha had known about Ben all along, Brooke couldn’t say. It didn’t seem likely that Pierce would have told her, because she hadn’t been important enough for him to mention. Once Agatha had met Ben, she’d offered Brooke money as a way to hedge being sued for back child support, which Agatha claimed would have damaged the Harper name.

  Brooke had flatly refused her, partly because by then, she’d had no desperate need of the money, and partly because she didn’t want the Harper family to have any financial claim on her son. She’d also explained to Agatha that she had no intention of slandering anyone. She had her son, and in that she knew, she was far more blessed than Pierce had ever been. Pierce had died without ever realizing what an incredible young man he’d sired. Brooke had almost felt sorry for him.

  She definitely felt sorry for Agatha.

  She’d never mentioned the incident to Ben, choosing to let him draw his own conclusions. She’d been determined that his relationship with Agatha would grow or falter through no fault of her own.

  Far from being intimidated by Agatha, Kent appeared arrogantly amused. He pull
ed his hand free and smiled. “I don’t have any specific jobs I do. Depending on where we’re working, things change from day to day. Sierra can pretty much handle anything there without me, so I just pick up the slack, fill in wherever she tells me to, doing whatever needs to be done.”

  Agatha tucked in her double chin. “You’re a lackey?”

  His smile widened. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  Agatha looked him over again, from the top of his dark blond head to the tips of his big dirty work boots. Brooke thought there was a lot of man in between those points, too much man to be wasting his life on a dead-end job.

  “I see.” Agatha couldn’t quite hide the scorn in her voice. “Not much ambition, huh?”

  Brooke straightened in agitation. She might have been thinking the exact same thing, but she wouldn’t allow Agatha to insult Kent. He was her guest, at her house. “Mrs. Harper—”

  Kent silenced her with a touch on her arm. “I can’t see that my ambition is any concern of yours.”

  “Well! I certainly—”

  “Haven’t learned any manners? I can see that.” Kent slanted a tender look at Brooke. He even winked, and Brooke had the awful suspicion he’d read her mind, that he knew she’d had the same thoughts as Agatha.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when he answered. “But because Brooke might be interested, too, I can tell you that I don’t need to work. I’ve done well enough in the stock market and through investments that I could retire today and be comfortable. Working for Sierra is just for fun.”

  Shocked, Brooke blinked at him. The stock market? Working for fun?

  “I adore Sierra and I enjoy keeping busy.” He flexed his broad shoulders. “The heavier work also keeps me in shape, which sometimes works in my favor.”

  He smiled at Brooke again and she felt like melting. Oh, he was definitely in shape. She’d felt the strong, bulging muscles under her palms just moments ago. Kent Monroe was a man in his prime.

  Agatha sniffed. “Yes, well, I admire a man who disdains indolence.”

  Kent laughed at that. “Since you’ve interrupted my attempts at wooing Ms. Badwin, I suppose I should be on my way.” He turned his back on Agatha. “Brooke, will you walk me to my truck?”