Taylor pretty much sprinted for the spotlight, then turned and shined it straight on Jenna, whose face glowed with so much love it made Brooke's heart hurt.
"That was the most romantic thing ever," she said when Taylor came back.
"I know, right?"
"Listen, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I need to go."
Taylor's forehead creased. "You okay?"
"Just a headache." That, of course, was a lie. Reece's words of love and devotion had only underscored what Brooke had once shared with Spencer--and what she'd lost.
And no matter what Spencer might be planning, Brooke didn't think she could handle it tonight. Not with those words in her head.
"I'll be fine," she assured Taylor, who was offering to get her some Ibuprofen from the First Aid kit. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added, then took a step toward the door.
But she didn't get that far. A perky blonde that Brooke didn't recognize told her that the man with the beard and the leather jacket wanted to see her.
Spencer.
"Tell him I'm not feeling well," she replied. "Tell him I'm going home."
"Sure," the girl said, then slipped back into the crowd as Brooke hurried the other direction, pushing through the crowd and hating herself for being a coward. But she couldn't deal. She just couldn't.
With relief, she reached the solid oak doors. She drew a breath, looked back over her shoulder to make sure Spencer wasn't there, then pushed the door open and stepped out onto Sixth Street.
And there was Spencer.
She had no idea how he'd managed to slip outside--he must have gone into the back bar and used the side entrance. But the moment she saw him with that determined expression, she felt her whole body go weak.
He stood silently as she stayed frozen in place. His brown eyes skimmed over her, his expression hard and possessive, his mouth curved into a derisive smile.
"Spencer, I--"
"No," he said, two fingers going over her lips to hush her. And then, before she could even make sense of what was happening, his mouth closed over hers, his tongue demanding entrance as his beard teased her lips and her skin.
She gasped, her body reacting immediately to this man whose touch she knew so well. He heard it and took advantage, his hand cupping her ass to pull her close so that she could feel the press of his erection against her lower belly. His other hand tight at the nape of her neck, holding her still as his tongue tasted and took, making her melt even as she wanted to cry out that it wasn't fair. She'd had no time to put up any defenses at all.
Then it was over.
He pushed away, his expression cocky, as onlookers on the street clapped and whistled. She stood perfectly still, breathing hard, not sure if she should run or slap his face.
"Come on, baby," he said, reaching for her hand. "It's time."
Chapter Ten
Spencer led her across the street to The Driskill Hotel, then up to a suite just two floors above where they'd met that afternoon.
He opened the door to reveal a dark sitting room illuminated by the glow of a single desk lamp. A champagne bucket stood next to the sofa, a bottle chilling inside. And two champagne flutes sat on the coffee table on either side of a serving tray of artfully placed cheeses.
He held the door open, ushering her inside. "Pretty, isn't it? I thought it was appropriate."
Brooke's breath caught in her throat and she forced herself to keep her voice steady. "Appropriate?"
"Don't you remember? We came to The Driskill on our third date. We had a drink at the bar, and then we got a room. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, and I had you naked mere seconds after the door closed behind us."
"Of course I remember," she snapped, her eyes cutting to him. "Do you really hate me that much?"
She thought she saw something flicker across his face. Regret or some other indefinable emotion. Then his expression hardened, and she wondered if it had been only shadows from the candlelight.