Chapter 23 Penthouse Shmenthouse #2
“You’re welcome.” That bashful half-smile made another appearance. He was pleased, but it made him feel uncertain.
I liked him all the more for it.
“That won’t get in the way of the other things you’ll need from me?” I wondered as I explored the huge space. It had literally everything I needed and more. An industrial mixer. Huge vats for rising dough. An entire cabinet of bannetons.
He’d already cancelled half my life because it conflicted with his. Who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?
“I can’t make commitments and leave people hanging,” I told him. “I know it’s just some bread. A few hundred dollars at stake, not millions or billions. But it matters to me.”
Something like regret flickered through Brendan’s dark eyes.
“I know it does. And I shouldn’t have…I thought about it today, and I understand why these things are important.
Our work—what we do—it’s what makes us who we are.
I don’t want to take that from you, Simone.
Especially when you’re doing so much to help me protect what’s mine. ”
And what is that? I wanted to ask. What, exactly, defined him the way my passion for baking defined me? It wasn’t taking care of birds in his spare time. Or drinking in a lounge while his father was in the hospital.
He spent his days at the top of that big, scary building, managing an empire on behalf of his father and the rest of his big, scary family.
And yet, other than the driving obligation that had him asking me to pretend to be his betrothed, I still couldn’t see exactly how that made Brendan Black, this increasingly complicated man, who he was.
I wondered if he even knew himself.
Unable to stop myself, I quickly crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his big shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said. Then again, more quietly: “Thank you.”
He stiffened, then sank into my touch, slipping his hands around my waist, then up my back to hold me close.
We stood there, rocking slightly in each other’s arms. His breath warmed the skin behind my ear where my hair was pulled back, and I could hear the solid thump of his heartbeat where my other ear rested on his broad chest.
For the first time since entering this odd agreement, something felt indelibly right. The bakery, the bird sanctuary…all of it seemed like it had been leading to this moment.
And yet, I didn’t want to think about why I felt this way in this man’s arms. The very place I shouldn’t get too comfortable.
Brendan seemed to have the same feeling because he gently unwound my arms from around his neck and stepped away. I barely silenced the mewl of disappointment in the back of my throat.
More, my body seemed to cry. Come back.
Brendan shoved a hand through his hair and massaged his neck. “I, ah, should show you your room.”
“You mean my floor?”
One side of his mouth twitched. “I suppose. My bedroom is upstairs, and there is a kitchenette up there too. If you want to keep things separate, the only time you’ll have to see me is when I get the elevator.”
He almost looked sad. Like some kind of hope had been dashed.
“Brendan, no. I was joking. This place is palatial, and there is plenty of room for us both on both floors, obviously.” I looked around the kitchen. “Besides, I’ll need someone to eat the practice recipes. Don’t you want to taste the fruits of what you’ve installed here?”
That full mouth quirked again. Maybe the bashful smile might make a comeback one more time.
“I might. This way.”
I followed him back to the entrance, where he grabbed my suitcase.
On the other side of the elevator, a hallway led to other rooms blocked from the rest of the airy apartment: a gym, an office he said was the “spare”, a sauna, a miniature movie theater, a library, and three guestrooms—one of which had apparently been designated mine.
Brendan stopped outside the last door. “There’s a bathroom en suite. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “You don’t want to come in here with me? Are there plush bathrobes or cupcake-shaped pillows that are going to make me cry again?”
“You…want me in your bedroom?”
Yet again, the levity disappeared, replaced by something much more potent.
I didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like this was Victorian England and a man coming into my bedroom would cause some terrible scandal.
Still, just the suggestion caused all sorts of visions to skip through my head.
One of those large hands slipping around my waist again, pushing me backward into the room.
Brendan’s lips on mine as we tumbled onto a bed.
My skirt, pushed up my thighs as he stepped between them…
“I…”
That forested gaze met mine with such intensity, I backed into the door as if he had pushed me.
“I suppose not,” I breathed.
He examined me for one moment. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned in to feather a kiss across my cheek. His stubble scraped next to my ear. “Good night, Simone.”
I shivered. “Good night, Brendan.”
I had edged inside, half hoping he might snatch me back out and devour me the way I’d just been imagining.
He didn’t, but when I closed the door, the remnants of his shadow pooled from underneath it.
I watched that shadow for a solid minute before it finally receded.
Then I turned and discovered the last surprise of the night.
It wasn’t the furnishings or the view, though both were as gorgeous as the rest of the apartment. Nor was it the king-sized bed or the bathroom a girl could host a party in.
No, it was the way the suite was completely and utterly…mine.
All my things were here. Photo albums, well-worn books, the few pieces of art I had on my walls. Even a jewelry box, full of my mom’s old pieces that would never fit in with Brendan’s crowd, sat on the bureau next to the maple-shaped necklace tree from which my mother’s pearl necklace hung.
My clothes were here too. Every last piece Ruth had deemed so unworthy was hanging in the closet.
I’d told him to leave it all in Jamaica Plain. Instead, he’d gone ahead and made (or had one of his “people” make) this place my home as much as it could be, understanding even better than I did how much I would need it to face the months ahead.
Yet again, I was overwhelmed—this time, with gratitude.
That is, until another question occurred to me.
Was it possible that after less than a day in each other’s company, Brendan Black somehow knew me better than I knew myself?
Was that something that should make me feel comforted in this scheme?
Or even more worried about what The Black Prince might do with that knowledge once he had it?