Chapter 22 #2
Brody grins. “You will. They’re an up-and-coming Italian luxury car company, and the campaign we just shot will blow people’s minds when they see it.”
“Plus, the added exposure from our recent notoriety will make it even more effective,” I join in, catching Brody’s enthusiasm.
But when Kara raises a knowing brow, I realize my mistake.
“No—it’s not like we planned it that way—”
“Don’t worry, honeybun. Kara would never think that I staged a Vegas wedding as a publicity stunt.”
Kara snorts and lets out a long breath. “Oh my god.”
I look between them, not sure if what I think is happening is really happening. Is Brody telling his sister in not-so-many words that our so-called Vegas wedding was a publicity stunt? Maybe he is. Because then there won’t be any surprise or disappointment when we get our fake divorce.
It’s brilliant, actually, and I may have to copy that page from his book of mischief.
She wipes a hand across her brow in mock relief and splits a wide smile, showing her impossibly shiny snow-white teeth.
“You had me worried for a minute or two. But don’t worry.
I won’t spill your secret.” She looks between us.
“Although I will have to say you do a convincing job on the newlywed chemistry between you.” She waves her hand back and forth and then wiggles her eyebrows.
“It’s not—”
“I’m not judging. Why not make the most of it?
” She laughs and moves in to give me a one-armed hug.
That’s all she can manage because Brody pulls me in from the other side and gathers me close, and I feel like the insides of a warm, mushy Holden sibling sandwich.
Not a bad feeling if I’m honest. A little smothering and a lot weird since the pretext is still alive and well.
She thinks we’re married and that there’s something between us.
I wish. I mean about there being something between us—though not marriage. Of course not. But maybe a… flirtation. A real one—not the forced fake one.
But then again, the way he looked at me like he was the big bad wolf seemed real enough. And those kisses… maybe we do have some real chemistry. Maybe it wasn’t all an act on his part. Heaven knows it was no act on my part.
“Where’s your luggage?” Brody says, looking toward the entryway.
She scoffs. “You didn’t think I’d be staying with a pair of newlyweds, did you? I’m booked at the hotel next to the arena. Did you get me tickets for tomorrow night’s game?”
“Tickets? Plural?” He raises a brow. “You have a date?”
She swats his arm, and we naturally move to the kitchen, his arm still around me, still feeling protective.
“Of course not. You think I’d bring a date anywhere near you?”
“Then who?” He pours her the last of the champagne, and she takes it with a mysterious smile. I tense up, and Brody pulls me tighter. It’s like we’re communicating without speaking, without even looking at each other, and I immediately relax.
“A surprise.” She glances at me for a flicker, then shrugs. “I wanted to test the veracity of your sudden marriage, so I invited your kryptonite for a visit—none other than the seductress from your past, Nora Shade.”
The speed at which Brody’s body turns into something more resembling a block of ice than the hot-blooded man I know stuns me, and I flash my eyes to find his, alarms of all kinds setting off protective instincts that go way beyond our client-agent relationship.
Who is this woman—seductress from his past?
His face is a cold mask, and Kara looks away, waving a hand. “It’s alright, I can tell her you couldn’t get her a ticket. Sorry—”
“No. Go ahead. Bring her on. It’s about time we had closure.”
“If you’re going to be mean and treat her like shit—”
“You mean the way she treated me? No. I’m an adult now.
I know how to behave civilly. Besides,” he glances down, meeting my puzzled frown, and I don’t try to hide my concern because my internal alarms are still screaming Danger, Will Robinson!
Okay, so I’m a nerd and I’ve binge-watched Lost in Space when I’m on the road and alone.
His lips curve in a wolfish smile like he can read my mind as he adds, “I have Bianca, and I wouldn’t disrespect her by misbehaving in any way.”
That’s one loaded claim that I can read to mean that he’s not going to ravage me later. Slight disappointment accompanies that interpretation. Or I could read it to mean that he wouldn’t dream of looking at his old seductress because he has me. I like this version better.
Kara nods, wearing a circumspect expression. “Good to hear, little bro.” She turns to me. “Don’t mind the sibling drama—ignore it. We’ll have fun at the game. You, me, and Nora.” She smiles, and I’m not sure if it’s real—or maybe now she’s testing me instead of her brother.
Brody tightens his grip and nuzzles my hair, dipping his head lower. “That okay with you, honeybuns?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course. It’ll be fun.” I nod some more and go into my positive thinking training, faking it 'til I make it, willing it to be all good. I can handle it—Nora is Brody’s enemy, and I’ll protect him from any evil intent.
That’s my job, same as if she were an unsavory promoter trying to take advantage.
“Then it’s settled.” Kara lifts her glass in a one-person toast of champagne and drains her glass. “Well, I need to get going. I’m meeting Nora for dinner tonight.” She winks at Brody. “Stay out of trouble, little B.”
He gives her the finger, warmed by a sincere grin, and she leaves, the energy of her perfectly sculpted athletic grace impacting me as I watch until the door closes behind her.
“Wow.” The word pops out spontaneously, and I stop myself from apologizing, but I can’t stop the blush as heat rises to my cheeks. I need to keep control over what I say and do every minute of every day from now on—or at least for the next few weeks while we carry on this charade. Shit.
“She is something.”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend or a fiancée or—”
“Nope. Heaven help any guy who tries to—”
“Why? What are you going to do about it?”
He laughs. “Me? Sure, I’ll put the screws to him along with my two brothers and dad, work him over until he’s either ready to run or he’s hopelessly gone for her. But what the guy who wins her over is really going to need help with is her. She’s what they call a piece of work.”
I nod. “I can see that.” What I’m thinking is that Brody is an even piecey-er piece of work than his sister, and he doesn’t even realize it.
“I’m starved. How about you?”
“Yes. Food.” I love food, and I’m unreasonably happy about having the delectable excuse of eating to distract us for a big chunk of the evening—the rest of the night if I’m lucky.
There’s always dessert, right? Then I blush spontaneously because in my head I reinterpret dessert to its carnal meaning as Brody opens a drawer and takes out a stack of paper menus.
“Every take-out menu from within ten miles. Whatever you want. The choice is yours.”
“How magnanimous of you.” I want to tell him I’ll go food shopping and cook for him, but I know it’s too much. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Consoling myself with the prospect of cooking for Brody Holden in the near future because there’s no way I can live on take-out alone, I peruse the menus.
We decide on Italian, and he over-orders by a magnitude of a party of six.
Or at least that’s what I thought, but as we sit at the kitchen counter surrounded by an array of open plastic containers, mostly empty, I’m impressed with his appetite—and chagrined at mine because I couldn’t resist the temptation, not even to make a good, if false impression on Brody.
There would be no way to hide my healthy appetite—even if my plump-ish body didn’t give it away—while living with him for the next three to four weeks. Maybe even longer…
I quickly hush that whispered thought.
“I wish we ordered dessert,” he says, looking me up and down. Then his wolf-grin pops, and I’m a goner because it stimulates a Pavlovian response of excited hormones to race through me until it’s my panties that are a goner for real.
“I could make dessert if—”
He raises his brows. “We can make dessert together, honeybuns.” His lids lower, but they don’t hide the startling blue blaze of his eyes, and they sear me until I know I’m cooked and simmering, ready to eat. Shit—I mean… hell.
I need to get through the night with my self-respect intact, and I’m not sure if it’s possible. Or maybe I’m no longer sure what I’m worried about. What’s the harm in a little… fooling around?
The harm is that he’s my client and… so what? I replay the argument I made to Martino about my interests being aligned with Brody’s and wonder if it counts if we become lovers?
Only until we’re not. But then again, we’re going to break up either way, right?
My mind encounters the prospects after the breakup like it’s a dangerous black hole, like venturing to the precipice to examine it will suck me into oblivion. So my mind’s eye turns away.
“Let’s clean up,” I say for something to do as I hop from the stool and start gathering plates.
“If you insist,” he says, following me to the dishwasher.
Following me very closely. So close he’s touching me, and when I bend to put the plates inside, my butt rubs against him.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m bumping up against a very strategic and very ambitiously energetic part of him.
I jump to pull away, and he grabs onto my hips, pulling me back into him as I straighten.
“Brody…” My voice is embarrassingly breathy, not the kind of voice one uses to complain with any kind of sincerity.
“You feel good, Bianca,” he whispers close to my ear, and I shudder. “I think your ass is my favorite part of you. It’s world-class with its perfect shape and…” his fingers close in with a soft caressing squeeze. “It’s so fucking squeezable.”
“Brody,” I say more firmly this time.