Love Irresistibly

  “It didn’t come up,” he said with a casual shrug. He saw that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer and conceded. “It’s nice, sometimes, not to have it be the first thing people ask about.”

  She supposed she could understand that. Her eyes traveled over him, easily able to picture him in a football uniform, especially given the way his T-shirt showed off his toned chest and defined, seemingly very strong arm muscles.

  She gently touched her hand to his right shoulder. “Was it this shoulder?”

  “Yes.”

  Brooke looked up and saw the undisguised warmth in his eyes from her touch. When she moved her hand to the railing, he covered it with his own, lightly brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

  “How many innings do we have to stay before grabbing that dinner?” he asked.

  She felt sparks of excitement in her stomach at the husky tone to his voice. “Leave the Crosstown Classic early?” she said teasingly. “Never.”

  “So that’s how it’s going to be tonight, is it?” His eyes held hers boldly. “Good.”

  Fifteen

  “I REALIZED SOMETHING,” Brooke said, in between bites of the chocolate chip cookie she’d snagged off the dessert cart. “I’ve seen you play football.”

  After the game had ended, they’d hung out in the skybox with the other guys while waiting for the crowd to dissipate. Cade had suggested the two of them walk to a casual sushi lounge just around the corner from his apartment—a restaurant not owned by Sterling where, as he put it, “no one would be hopping around like jackrabbits on crack trying to keep Brooke Parker happy.”

  She thought that sounded perfect.

  It was a warm July evening, the air filled with the scent of backyard barbeques. Reveling in the Cubs’ victory over the Sox—a bigger cause for celebration on the north side of the city than the Fourth of July—people sat outside on front porches, balconies, and back decks, and played cornhole on the sidewalks and in the alleys while drinking wine, beer, and mixed drinks from plastic cups.

  A far cry from the Gold Coast neighborhood she lived in. Brooke smiled, thinking about the likelihood of her Prada-clad neighbors ever getting together to drink beer and a play a round of cornhole on the rooftop deck of their high-rise building. Although, in fairness, they probably thought the exact same thing about her.

  “Must’ve been a televised game,” Cade said. “Since we never played the University of Chicago.”

  During their dinner at Bar Nessuno, Brooke had mentioned where she’d gone to undergrad and law school. “Nope. I saw you live and in the flesh. I was at that Northwestern/Illinois game Tucker mentioned earlier. Ford had invited me down that weekend for the homecoming festivities.”

  Cade flashed her a confident grin. “And of course you now remember how impressed you were with my utterly brilliant performance.”

  “Actually, I barely looked at the field. I was too busy flirting with this hot guy in Ford’s fraternity.” She smiled innocently when Cade’s grin turned to a frown. “You asked.”

  They maneuvered their way through a crowd of people waiting on the sidewalk in front of an ice-cream shop. “I take it you’ve known Ford for a long time, then?” he asked.

  “Since the fourth grade. We were neighbors,” Brooke said.

  “Where did you grow up?”

  She paused momentarily. “Glenwood.”

  “I see.”

  Brooke had heard that tone before, and knew exactly what Cade meant by that. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Glenwood was an extremely affluent suburb. In fact, Forbes had recently rated her hometown the ninth-richest neighborhood in the United States, something that had been repeated ad nauseam in all the Chicagoland newspapers.

  “I know what you think you see,” she told him, as they turned a corner onto a residential street.

  “Really?” He regarded her mock-archly. “And what do I think I see, Ms. Parker?”

  “You see the pricey U of C education, the high-rise apartment off of Michigan Avenue, and then you hear that I grew up in Glenwood—”

  “—Don’t forget those fancy red high-heeled shoes. As long as we’re generalizing.”

  “—and you think you see somebody who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth.” She raised an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

  He cocked his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, maybe I was thinking something along those lines. Tell me, then—what should I see instead?”

  “Someone who has worked very hard to get where she’s at,” Brooke said, with no small amount of pride. That being all she needed to say about the subject, she kept walking, taking a few steps before she realized that Cade was no longer alongside her. She looked back and saw him waiting on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

  “Just waiting for the rest of the story,” he said.

  “The rest of what story?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re used to throwing out some tiny little nugget about yourself, one small comment about your background that you can use to get your point across before moving on, but that’s not going to cut it with me.” He folded his arms across his chest expectantly, looking every bit the prosecutor despite his gray T-shirt and cargo shorts. “Tell me more about what I should see.”

  She gestured to their surroundings. “Right here?”

  He shrugged. “You opened the door to this line of questioning.”

  Darn litigators, she thought crankily. They acted like the whole world was their courtroom. And he wasn’t going to back down; she could tell.

  Fine. Whatever. She could answer his question, no problem. “For starters, you should see somebody who grew up in the one part of Glenwood that Forbes magazine wasn’t talking about. Someone who never could’ve afforded to go to a school like U of C if her undergrad tuition hadn’t been covered almost entirely by merit scholarships and financial aid.”

  She saw a flash of something in Cade’s eyes she couldn’t read. But he said nothing, just began taking steps toward her.

  “Someone who lived off campus for three years with an aunt who had a apartment in the city, so that she could save money on rent and be able to afford her textbooks. Someone who . . . just kept chugging away, always trying to stay one step ahead of the pack, and probably didn’t stop worrying that she might do something to screw it all up until she got her first paycheck as a lawyer. And truly, I have no idea why I’m telling you this stuff,” Brooke finished, not having meant to ramble on like that.

  She waited for Cade to say something. Anything. Instead, he was just standing there, looking at her. She squirmed, feeling very . . . exposed. “Stop staring at me like that. I’m not one of your witnesses, Morgan.”

  He moved even closer, still not saying a word, and then she realized that he was waiting for her to look at him. So she did. Peered defiantly right up into those amazing blue eyes of his. “Don’t make me break out the tough-girl routine again,” she warned him.

  Cade touched her chin. “You don’t scare me, Brooke Parker. Not even with the tough-girl routine.”

  Maybe it was because of the fact that she’d just oddly shared more about her background than she had in her last three relationships. But right then, as he peered down into her eyes, she felt as though he was truly seeing her, not the high-powered general counsel of Sterling wearing a suit and expensive high heels who handled whatever came her way without batting an eyelash. Just plain old Brooke.

  She tilted her head up and kissed him.

  Without hesitation, as if he’d been waiting for just this, his lips slowly moved over hers as his fingers fanned out to cup her face. He was such a good kisser—sexy and playful, and yet very much in charge.

  Brooke wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled closer, and she felt his other hand move to the small of her back, pressing her against him. Her breath caught at the feel of his long, lean body against hers, his mouth hot and demanding, until he pulled back and peered down at her.

  His eyes were dark. “Brooke.”

  S
he knew what he was asking. “Yes.”

  Immediately, Cade took her hand and led her—quite briskly—along the sidewalk.

  “Thank God I’m not wearing the red high heels today,” she said.

  “In two minutes you’ll be wearing nothing,” he said in a low voice.

  Well, then.

  About halfway down the block, he led her through a wrought-iron gate and up the steps of an elegant gray stone building. From the mailboxes outside the front door, there appeared to be six units, including one for unit 3B, labeled “Morgan.”

  Cade unlocked the front door and pulled her inside. He led her up two flights of stairs, then they got caught up kissing against the door to his apartment. She sunk her fingers into his hair as her tongue clashed with his, while he simultaneously slid his keys into the lock and let them into the apartment.

  She took a quick peek as the door shut behind them, curious to check out Maison de Morgan, and saw a nicely decorated place that was clearly a bachelor pad. A large black leather sectional and matching oversized ottoman took up most of the living room, facing a large plasma television mounted over a fireplace. She saw a small dining room, and a staircase beyond that, and was just wondering where the stairs led when Cade picked her up in a fluid, effortless move and carried her . . . somewhere.

  “Your shoulder,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  “Oh, crap.” He dropped her a few inches, making her gasp, and then winked when he caught her. “Kidding. I’ll be okay.”

  Brooke smiled, not sure she’d ever before met someone who could simultaneously make her laugh while inspiring some very naughty thoughts. In response, she adjusted her position, deliberately settling his thick, hard erection between her legs.

  Heat flashed in his eyes. “Actually, more than okay.” He set her down on something cool—a glass table in the dining room—and quickly relieved her of her ponytail, tossing the band to the side and watching as her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders.

  “I’ll be needing that hair tie later,” she told him.

  “Much later.” Cade lowered his head and kissed her neck, his lips trailing an erotic path along her skin.

  Brooke inhaled unsteadily, her head falling back. Oh, God, that felt incredible.

  “There are two ways we can do this,” he said. “Being a gentleman, I’ll let you decide. Option A is nice and slow and fancy, and then there’s Option B.”

  “What’s Option B?”

  He stepped back and yanked his T-shirt over his head.

  Whoa, Nelly.

  “I like Option B so far,” Brooke said, awestruck as he stood before her.

  Delights abounded everywhere she looked—smooth, summer-bronzed skin, toned chest muscles, broad, strong shoulders and arms, and a hard, flat stomach. She’d never been a woman who’d gone crazy over athletes before, or ex-athletes, but it was almost obnoxious how incredible he looked without his shirt.

  She made a mental note to be aggravated about this later. Much later.

  “Option B, it is.” Seemingly pleased with this decision, Cade reached for her, and within seconds her shirt lay on the ground next to his. Then her jean shorts, too. He paused then, and took in the sight of her, nearly naked before him on his dining table.

  She expected him to say something teasing and coy. Par for the course with them.

  He reached out and ran his thumb over her lower lip. “I love the way you look when I kiss you,” he said in a husky tone. “I—”

  He stopped himself, suddenly looking uncharacteristically uncertain, then stepped forward and swept his hand in her hair. He pulled her closer, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.

  Brooke wrapped her hands around his neck, her urgency matching his. No clue what he’d been about to say, but for once there didn’t need to be any verbal dance between them. What she wanted right then was something far more primal and simple. She slid her hands over his firm chest and moaned when he pressed the steely ridge of his erection between her legs.

  Yes. That. “Cade . . .” she said, her voice thick with need.

  He moved against her in a slow, teasing motion. “Is this what you want?”

  Since the day you walked into my office. “Yes.”

  He glided one hand down to her underwear and under the lace. He spread her open, then slid a finger inside. “Christ, you’re like silk,” he said in a guttural voice. “You’re going to feel amazing wrapped around me.”

  She felt a throbbing heat between her legs and arched her hips. “If we ever get to that part.”

  “Sassy as ever.” He yanked her panties off, and then undid the fly of his shorts with his gaze on her the entire time. “Last chance for Option A,” he warned.

  She reached up and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor in answer.

  Cade’s jaw tensed, and then he was on her again, kissing her hotly as he reached inside his shorts. She felt his erection against her leg, hard and thick, and heard a rustling as he pulled out his wallet and removed a condom. There was the rip of a wrapper, both of them breathing heavily as their mouths battled, and then Brooke spread her legs—so, so ready—as he slid one hand underneath her bottom and angled her up.

  He thrust into her with one hard stroke.

  She cried out against his mouth with pleasure. Oh, God, he was big . . . everywhere.

  He stayed still, giving her body a chance to get used to him, as his free hand tangled in her hair. He gently pulled back, forcing her to meet his gaze as he began to slide in and out of her.

  “Have you thought about this?” he rasped. His eyes, dark with desire, held hers as he thrust.

  “Yes.” No games right then. “I want it hard,” she breathed. It had been a long time since she’d felt this sexy and hot and good.

  From the flash in his eyes, he seemed to be just fine with that idea.

  “Put your legs around my waist,” he told her.

  She did so, and he eased her down onto the table, the glass cool against her back. He took both of her hands in his and pinned them to the table over her head.

  His blue eyes burned so hot into hers she was surprised the table didn’t melt beneath them.

  He thrust hard into her and she moaned.

  He thrust again. Then faster and deeper, making her breasts bounce as he took her against the table. She closed her eyes, then whimpered when he lowered his head and sucked the tip of one of her breasts into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the peaked nipple.

  “That feels so good,” she moaned, moving her hips to meet each of his thrusts.

  “Good. Because I plan to fuck you like this all night.” He reached down between her legs and teased her clit expertly.

  He had her hands trapped against the table, and her lower body was pinned by his thick shaft as he took her hard. She opened her eyes and watched the bunch and flex of his arms, shoulders, and chest, and it felt so damn incredible to just surrender, for that moment, to him, to the strong, powerful body giving her so much pleasure.

  “Cade,” she said urgently.

  He thrust against her, deep, possessive strokes. “You are so fucking sweet,” he growled. He slid his hand underneath her bottom, tilting her hips up and holding her steady against his strokes.

  That did it. Two more thrusts, and Brooke shattered. She cried out, her body trembling as wave after wave of her orgasm hit her. Cade released her wrists and flattened his palm against the glass, flexing his hips and pumping hard until he groaned deep in his chest. He rocked against her, his body shuddering against hers again and again, until he collapsed on top of her and buried his face in her hair.

  Brooke felt his heart beating against her chest as they lay there, boneless. For two people who preferred to speak in quips and sarcasm, that had been unexpectedly . . . intense.

  She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

  Then Cade spoke.

  “I think this is the first time I’ve ever used this table,” he said against her neck.


  Brooke began to laugh. My God, he was still inside her and she was already giggling. “I take it you don’t do a lot of formal entertaining.”

  He pulled back, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “Were you not entertained, Ms. Parker?”

  It was something about the playful way he said it, the affectionate way he gazed at her right then. Suddenly, she felt the urge to wrap her arms around him and never let go.

  Careful, girl.

  Easy and fun—that’s all this was.

  No problem.

  Sixteen

  CADE BLINKED WHEN he opened his eyes, not expecting his bedroom to be so bright with midmorning sun. Then again, it had been a really long night.

  In every hot, hope-the-neighbors-didn’t-hear-but-damn-that-was-some-great-sex sense of the word.

  He looked over at Brooke, sleeping on her side next to him with her dark blond hair spilling over her bare shoulders. The sight brought a smile to his face, thinking how sweet and angelic she looked right then.

  She’d probably skin him alive if she knew he was thinking that.

  He’d begun to suspect that there was a softer, vulnerable side of Brooke Parker. She tried hard to conceal it underneath her dry-humored, nothing-gets-to-me exterior, but he’d seen a few glimpses of it here and there.

  He got it. Lots of people—possibly everyone he knew—would describe him the same way.

  It’s all right here on the surface, he’d told his last ex-girlfriend. What you see is what you get.

  But as he peered down at Brooke, wrapped cozily in his bed, part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted more than just tiny glimpses of her softer, vulnerable side. He wondered what it would be like if she truly let him in. And if he was being honest with himself, that same small part would have to admit that he’d been feeling a little jealous ever since he’d met her friend Ford. Not because he thought there was anything going on between the two of them, but because Ford was clearly in the circle of trust while Cade—despite being the man who’d slept with her—was still standing on the outside, looking in.