Lately, about the only privacy she and Spencer had was in the bedroom, and she wouldn't be at all surprised if Molly and Adam, their producers, insisted that the ghosts live quietly in the corner. After all, nothing spelled ratings better than S.E.X.
"You ready, Brooke?" A recent graduate from the theater department at the University of Texas, Taylor D'Angelo had stage managed the calendar guy contest last year at The Fix on Sixth. She and Brooke had gotten to know each other pretty well, and when the contest had wrapped, Taylor had approached Brooke about working on their new reality show. One thing had led to another, and now Taylor was working as Mansion Makeover's Second Assistant Director.
The show was designed in such a way that part of it was "fly on the wall," with the camera simply recording the work and conversations between Brooke, Spencer, and their renovation crew. The rest consisted of demonstrations of specific projects or skills, and in those segments Brooke or Spencer--often the two of them together--would demonstrate the process and talk to the camera at the same time.
Today, Brooke was doing a demonstration while Spencer ran to Home Depot to get a few more supplies. Specifically, Brooke was tiling the sunroom, which had been prepped down to the concrete a few episodes ago.
"Ready when you are," she said to Taylor after the crew had done a quick touchup of her makeup. They didn't call "Action" since this was reality TV and the producers wanted the footage to feel as raw and real as semi-staged television could feel. Which meant that Brooke could jump in whenever she wanted, which she did now by smiling at the camera.
"As you can see by the boxes, we're going to be working on tiling the sunroom today." She started toward the corner, where a stack of tile waited. "The first question you face in a room like this is what type of flooring to go with. In this case, we wanted to stick as close to the original as possible, which is why we're going to be redoing the flooring of the sunroom in--shit!"
The curse came a split second after the stumble, and Brooke found herself on hands and knees on the rough concrete subfloor, her jeans ripped, and her ego bruised. "Dammit!" And then, as Casper took a step closer, his camera aimed right at her, she snapped, "Turn that thing off!"
His eyes widened. She felt like a jerk and a klutz and a loser all rolled together into one big, completely stressed-out ball.
And then, without warning, she burst into tears.
"Brooke!" Taylor's concerned voice cut through the thrum of emotion in her head. But it wasn't until she heard the familiar tread hurrying toward her that she felt her body relax, finally going slack when Spencer knelt behind her and wrapped her in his arms.
"Brooke? Brooke, baby, what's going on?"
She felt him lift his hand off of her arm, and she opened her eyes in time to see Taylor nod at some signal Spencer had given her. Then Taylor ushered everyone out.
"They're gone, Angel," Spencer said, releasing her. He stood, then moved in front of her, and she looked up into his warm, dark eyes. How often had she looked deep into him? How many times had his strong hands caressed and soothed her? How many times had his beard scratched her when he held her close and kissed her with such passion it made her knees go weak?
Spencer Dean knew her better than anyone in the world, and in that moment, she knew that she didn't have to explain. He got it. More important, he got her.
He reached down and she put her hands in his, relishing the comfort of their connection as he tugged her gently to her feet. "They're gone," he repeated. "At least for now. And I'm so, so sorry."
It was that apology that finally got her mind humming again. That, and the simple fact that having him beside her had sent relief coursing through her with so much power that she didn't have any room left inside her for the irritation and frustration.
"You don't have anything to apologize for," she said. "I'm the one who lost it." She released his hands and dragged her fingers through her long, blond hair. "I tripped over my own damn feet and everything inside me just exploded, but it's not your fault."
"Isn't it?" He cocked his head toward the den, then pressed his palm gently against her back and steered her off the sunporch and into the house proper. She sat on the sofa they'd picked out two episodes ago. This was the first room to be fully finished, and as she settled back against the thick, comfortable cushions, she looked up at the high, tiled ceiling and the restored period molding. Not a detail had been ignored, and the room was a showplace now. And she and Spencer owed that to the television program as much to their own hard work and planning.
She drew in a long breath, then released it again. "No," she said firmly. "It's not your fault."
"I'm the one who pushed for Mansion Makeover. I'm the one who made this show happen." He sat down next to her, his thigh hard against hers. Then took her hand and twined their fingers together. She squeezed, relishing this connection to him. The man she loved. The man she'd lost once, but had miraculously regained.
"I want it, too," she said. "I love this place." The historic mansion had been stunning even in its dilapidated state, and slowly but surely they were bringing it back to life. It was work she loved with a man she loved. There was just that one little hitch. "It's only...it's just...I mean, I guess I finally reached my limit of being under the microscope. I don't normally mind--I really don't. I knew what I signed on for when I agreed to do the show with you. But they're here all the time. And tomorrow--our engagement party? Except it isn't even really our party because it was their idea. Molly and Adam's."
She sucked in another breath and leaned against him. "I know I sound whiney and ungrateful con
sidering that once it's over we're going to have this incredible home. It's just that every time I turn around it feels like someone from the production is behind me."
"I get it," he said, brushing his thumb along the curve of her jaw, the contact sending shivers through her. "I really do."
Slowly, he kissed her. His mouth firm against hers. Tender at first, then with rising heat, until the ache inside her consumed her, so that she gasped with love and longing when he pulled away, his eyes shining with need.
"And Angel," he said, "they're not here now."
Spencer had never felt more powerless in his life. More than that, despite her protests, he knew damn well that he was the source of her frustration. Not him, but his plan to finance the renovation by pimping them both out to the show. He'd gotten them into this, she was hating it, and by default, she should probably hate him.
She didn't, though.
If he didn't already know how much she loved him--and that was one of the most incredible truths of his life--he would have been able to tell simply from the expression of love and joy that colored her face right now. Not to mention the slow, sexy grin that touched her lips as she processed his words.
"You're right," she said, her voice husky. "They really are gone." She reached for the collar of his T-shirt, then fisted her hand in it as she pulled him closer, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "Make love to me, Spencer. Right here on this couch, because for the first time in a long time, there isn't a single damn camera in this room."