Chapter 9
Gracyn
I don’t bother with much makeup. Powder, blush, and mascara with some gloss, and I’m a new person. At least I don’t look like a thrown-out rag doll next to the ungodly attractive man in the other room.
Or a woman with a guy who aimed his load poorly .
My lips twitch when I find him in the kitchen, a hand towel draped over his broad, bare shoulder, cooking something on the stove. The living room boasts a wall of windows, with a sprawling view of the Hudson River. It’s obvious he hired a six-year-old decorator, stuffed animals adorning almost every surface. In one corner, there’s an artwork station, filled with crayons, paints, chalks, and every shade of rainbow paper. I wonder how he keeps his light-gray couch so clean.
That reminds me. I clear my throat, and he turns around. “Where’s Presley?”
“She stayed at her friend’s house last night,” he replies, taking a sip out of a mug. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you, not a fan.”
The corners of his lips curl up. “Is that right?”
I press mine together, attempting to hide my smile and walk back to the windows. Holy shit. The terrace is amazing. I kind of want to go outside and check it out.
His sweeping footsteps from bare feet on wood floors draw closer.
“This is a crazy view,” I say.
“Let’s not change the subject.”
I turn to tell him I saved him from the bitter coffee but then freeze. “Don’t you dare,” I warn, holding up my hands, as he has the towel that was on his shoulder in his grip.
He rolls his wrist to twist it up.
“I mean it.”
He laughs, still stalking me. “I can’t believe you’re a coffee thief who doesn’t even like coffee.”
I fumble over a pink dinosaur as I’m backing up, but I catch myself. Reaching down, I pick up the dinosaur and throw it, hitting him in the chest, and then run around his couch. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have any physical activity after being drugged last night.”
He halts his advance, lifts a brow as if he’s really wondering if that might be true. I have no clue. I’ll say anything to avoid the sting of the end of the towel. “The doctor didn’t say anything about that.”
Doctor? I stand up straight, all joking aside, and my brows pinch together. “You took me to a hospital?”
He shakes his head, tossing the towel back over his shoulder. “I have a good friend in the building that’s an ER doc that came and checked you out. I debated taking you, and if Greg would’ve told me to, I would’ve,” he adds, reading my unease.
Truthfully, the whole thing is a little unnerving. “Thanks. You saved me thousands of dollars. I need to stop drinking.” It’s done nothing but get me in trouble this month. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“My pleasure.”
Every time those words come out of his mouth, dirty, dirty thoughts come to mind. This time, I have memories to back up the pleasures he can provide. Specifically with his fingers and tongue. And his…
“Okay,” I say, flustered, heading to the kitchen to get his cock out of my head. Again . Why do I keep focusing on that? Because it was one of a kind . Not that my subconscious needs to remind me, but it was scream out loud extraordinary.
I clear the knot of lust from my throat, peeking under a lid on the stove. “What’d you cook?”
“Your typical breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and I just have to finish the pancakes.”
Does this man have any flaws?
“I’m impressed,” I say, looking at the crisp hash browns. “You did not have to do this all for me.”
He picks up the spatula. “Who said it was for you? I’m hungry,” he teases, bumping me out of the way with his hips.
I step to the side and watch him turn on the griddle and stir the batter. A man that cooks is second on my list, after dancing.
“Truthfully, the doctor said you needed to eat this morning. So, I figured I’d make you some of everything, and you could pick whatever you like.”
“I like it all.”
“My kind of woman,” he says.
“I’d hope so, you married her,” I joke, walking to the kitchen table and sitting down. I watch him until he finishes with the pancakes.
“How’d you figure out we were married? If you couldn’t remember anything?” How he says the last part, he suspects I’m lying. Well, to his credit, I am .
“All right,” I say, caving. “I remember the sex. Or at least some of it ?”
“It’s good to know I’m unforgettable, even with drunk Gray . It sucks you don’t want to bring her back. I really liked her.” He places two plates full of eggs, bacon, and potatoes down on the table, grabs the plateful of pancakes, and sits down in the chair next to me.
I scoff. “Of course you did. She did anything you asked, obviously.”
A wicked smile plays across his lips. “Yes, she did.”
I kick him under the table. “This is so not fair. It’s like you cheated on me with me. Tell me what she did.” I regret the words as soon as they fall from my lips. “No, wait, don’t tell me.” What if there’s a sex demon living inside me and it came out with her ? I’m not vanilla, but I’m not a sexual deviant either.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have a golden-shower fetish,” he jokes.
I slap the palm of my hand to my forehead. “Please tell me she doesn’t either.”
His boisterous laugh echoes throughout the room of windows. Charli would love this conversation. She always talks about her sexcapades, none of which include peeing on each other, but it’s always a lot more adventurous than me.
Sounds like she’d be proud of drunk Gray .
“She did not,” he says with a laugh. Thank God. I almost needed another shower imagining it. “Tell me what else you remember.”
“Things are spotty and out of order, I think. We were at the Aria, but then remember going to the Bellagio. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the hospital. I’ve since got a snippet of a memory running after you, but that’s it.” He chews a big bite of food, so I continue. “Oh, yeah … how I learned we were married. This is a good story.”
He swallows, sits back, and gives me his full attention.
“My dad is the chief judge at the courthouse, and he told me.”
“Your dad’s a judge?”
I nod, picking up a piece of bacon. “I made him proud that day.”
Whatever’s on his mind, he keeps it to himself and shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Everything about this feels wrong, sitting and having a casual breakfast in the home of a man that I barely know after a night of being drugged, yet could legally share a last name with.
A blanket of embarrassment engulfs me. “I’m so sorry, Brooks. I should’ve left in that taxi.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“You say that, but our complicated situation got more complicated.”
He has a nonchalant attitude about all of this. “Just call it our wedded chaos.”
Confidence has always been my forte, and I’ve prided myself on being a woman who is in control of her life. Growing up with a judge, an attorney, and a dangerous powerhouse in Vegas as parents, I had to maintain a sense of control. Everyone watched me, with huge expectations weighing me down. There was an invisible line, a boundary that I could never cross.
But that line went poof when I met Brooks. Gone. Disappeared. As if it was never there.
Now, my life is in wedded chaos .
Awesome.
I lift a brow and cross my arms. “For a man who has a lot to lose in this game, you’re being very blasé about it.” After a quick internet search, I found out he was worth a billion dollars—and after picking myself off the floor—I expected a lot more pushback. I expected an attorney pounding on my door the next day screaming for me to sign an NDA. Neither happened. What I didn’t expect was to find out he had a daughter. I’m kind of surprised that info wasn’t anywhere I looked. Like I said, it was a quick search, but nothing ever mentioned his daughter.
He stuffs another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“You want this annulment, right?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and my eyes bug out in surprise. We can’t stay married.
“Yes. But there’s this weird feeling of ownership of a woman that I never imagined I’d like as much as I do.”
I blink. How caveman of him. I puff out a scoff, holding a hand over my heart. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” I reply with the most sarcasm I can muster. Because, wow. “Just so you know, you do not own me, by the way .”
“Would you take my last name?”
“Brooks!” I exclaim. Is he serious?
His laugh is lighthearted. It’s a cute, boyish laugh behind a rugged man. “I mean, when you marry a man, would you take his last name?”
I nod. “I would. But not because I’m giving him ownership of me,” I add quickly.
He twists his lips. “You know that’s what it means, traditionally.”
“Well, times have changed, and traditions have evolved. Taking a last name doesn’t mean the same to everyone these days.”
“What’s it mean to you?”
“It means I’m entering a partnership where we’re both equals , commitment, and unity. It’s about sharing a life together, not me giving up my identity or independence.” I doubt he can grasp my perspective, given his wealth. How could a woman ever be his equal? He’d probably hold his financial power over her head like a carrot, giving her an allowance, or something else degrading like having someone else dress her. The mere idea enrages me. “Thank you for everything, Brooks. But I should head out.” I place my napkin on the table, and he grabs my hand.
“Hold up. Why are you mad all of a sudden?”
I move my hand out from under his, irritation getting the best of me. “You wouldn’t understand. We live different lives.”
“You don’t think I want those same things?”
I scoff. “Clearly, you want to own a woman.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Geez, woman. I was kidding. I want those things. Everything you said. Which is probably why I’m not married, because all the women I meet want to be owned.”
In fairness, I’d second-guess everyone’s intentions if I were in his position. I know plenty of women who would jump at the chance to be with Brooks, not out of a genuine connection but for his status. It’s rather disturbing.
“Yeah, women can be vicious.”
“I’ve learned,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder what type of women Brooks has fallen for. Has he ever been in love? “But Presley is my number one, and always will be, so it adds another layer of difficulty finding someone who will accept that. They think they’re competing with her.”
First of all, swoon . I keep expecting something about him will come to light that I’ll hate, and I thought I figured it out. I was wrong! Second, competing? What women is he dating? It’s not a race for his love. What woman wouldn’t want her man to be an incredible father? That’s a character trait I’d love to figure out before marrying someone.
I contemplate asking about Presley’s mom, but after hearing about her tragic fate, I decide against it. It’s none of my business. We’re getting too personal as it is.
Hazel orbs stare at me over the rim of his coffee cup as an awkward silence falls between us.
“I really should get going.”
“What time is your flight?”
“Five.”
He twists his wrist to glance at his watch. “It’s only ten.”
I stand up and collect both our plates. “I’ve never been to New York, so I planned to be a tourist for a couple of hours.”
He follows me to the kitchen, taking the plates out of my hand, and puts them in the sink. “Care for company?”
“I’m slightly afraid of what part of my brain you’ll erase next if I stay with you.” I move around him, grabbing the rest of the stuff left on the table. “I swear you have one of those memory zappers from Men in Black .”
“Pshh,” he says, washing the plates off. “None of the lapses in memories has been caused by me.”
I narrow my eyes in disagreement.
“I did not push you in front of that car.”
“No. Instead, you married me and then left me,” I joke, poking him in the side. “I had no other choice than to chase down my husband.” I gasp, realizing this is turning into a habit.
Chasing Brooks.