Chapter Thirteen
Dana
I was exhausted, emotionally and mentally anyway. My eyes felt dry and scratchy. I wasn’t usually up this late. It was just after midnight, and we had left the reception or the get-together, whatever the hell it was, just a little while ago. We had returned to Brady’s penthouse suite in his Jeep Renegade—not at all what I expected—and he had just given me the official tour of his suite. I’d be sleeping in the master bedroom and he took the guest room, figuring that I would appreciate being able to use the bathtub in the master.
I nodded, so tired that I didn’t really care where I slept.
“Let me change the sheets on the bed—”
“Not necessary,” I said, so tired I could hardly think straight. “I can do it in the morning. Right now, all I want to do is sleep.”
He nodded. “You can stock the fridge with any food you like, and tomorrow I’ll give you a credit card that you can use for anything you need…”
In addition to my overwhelming weariness, more than likely caused by the emotional distress of the evening, I couldn’t get that damned kiss out of my mind. I had done it spur of the moment because I noticed that his father was eyeing us from across the room. But I had to admit that, that kiss had been wonderful. He’d been surprised for a second, but then… his lips were soft, and he kissed with assurance, not too hard, but enough to let me know he was genuinely responding. Maybe not to me, but I had felt his response in his dick as well, my leg so close to his, the pressure of his hard-on against my thigh unmistakable. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He smelled good, damn that Old Spice, and he had a great body. Beneath the tux everything was solid muscle.
Regardless of how I felt about the kiss, I resolved that on his part that he hadn’t been particularly impressed. He hadn’t said anything about it. A guy like him probably got kissed all the time. Earlier today when Cassie and I had gone shopping, she had given me a bit of background about Brady. How he never did relationships. How he was a playboy, or used to be anyway. She didn’t know anything about our deal, I gathered that. Was she trying to give me a head’s up? A warning not to allow myself to get too close? She didn’t have to worry about that. I had no intention of allowing myself to become emotionally vulnerable to a guy like Brady Shaw.
I glanced around his suite again, thinking that I should have insisted he take me back to my studio. I wasn’t ready for this. In the car, he told me that from now on, we had to play the part. He would cancel the lease on my studio and have my things brought over. It wasn’t that I wanted to live in my crappy studio, but everything was moving so fast now.
I would have to leave a message with Charlie so he wouldn’t be surprised if he came over and discovered that I had moved out. I would have to tell him that I was engaged. Living in a penthouse suite in downtown Dallas. What would he say?
“You okay?”
While he seemed fully awake and alert, I needed to crash, and I told him so. He nodded and bid me goodnight. I turned down the hallway, only now realizing that I didn’t have anything to sleep in. I sighed as I entered the master bedroom and closed the door. I flipped the light switch and leaned my back against the door. What a crazy turn my life had taken. I just hoped that I wasn’t making one of the biggest mistakes I had ever made.
I glanced around the master bedroom, thinking I probably could’ve fit four of my studio apartments into the place, including the walk-in closet and the full bath. A huge four-poster bed with an expensive looking bedspread. At least six pillows, all neat and wrinkle-free, plumped even. A large oak dresser stood against one wall, and I stepped toward it, hesitated briefly, then opened the drawers until I found a stack of T-shirts. I had to sleep in something, didn’t I?
I quickly disrobed, laying the dress carefully over the back of a chair in the corner of the room, my fingers lingering on the fabric. That dress cost more than I could make in five months.
Still, it wasn’t really me. In fact, I was quite relieved to don the T-shirt which smelled like Downey. I quickly stepped into the bathroom, took care of business, and without showering, moved in a daze to the bed and pulled back the bedspread. The bed was higher off the floor than the one in my studio apartment, so I actually had to climb into it, but the moment I did I nearly moaned with pleasure at the exquisite softness of the sheets. I wiggled my way into the center of the bed and lowered my head on the pillow, a hint of Old Spice reminding me of Brady. This was heaven. Absolute heaven…
*
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but the next thing I knew I was kissing Brady again, and his hand was between my thighs, rubbing against my mound. I throbbed with desire, wet with anticipation. His other hand cupped my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple into a hard nub. I groaned, felt my hips move of their own accord, heading toward an orgasm—
The noise startled me.
I opened my eyes, at first not sure where I was. Then I remembered. Brady’s room. My groin throbbed from the dream I’d been enjoying, the sensations still so strong I lowered my hand to bring myself some relief.
Until my brain recognized the wonderful aroma sifting into the room. Bacon.
I quickly rose, brushed my hair back with my fingers, and opened the door. I was appropriately covered, his T-shirt so large that the sleeves hung down nearly to my elbows and the bottom of the shirt just about touched my knees. I saw him in the kitchen, his back to me. Cooking. I heard the sizzling bacon, smelled the eggs, and heard the toaster as it popped up two perfectly browned pieces of toast. Wearing a tight fitted T-shirt and boxer shorts. Once again, my groin started to throb. Crap. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I had thought.
“And he cooks too!”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, smiling, his eyes skimming every part of me, from my mussed hair, lingering on my breasts, apparently offering less covering than I had imagined, and down to my toes, before skimming back up again.
He laughed, “Don’t get too used to it, because breakfast is the only meal I can cook.” He gestured with his chin. “Sit down. We can talk while we eat.”
I sat down, and as we ate a breakfast of perfectly scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, he asked me some personal questions. About school, what I planned to do with my life, about my brother. I hesitated to answer many of them other than two or three-word answers. Superficial. I wasn’t sure how much to say. After all, this was our first real conversation.
I had plenty of questions for him too, but not yet. I tried to focus on his questions, but I was finding it difficult to concentrate. My gaze kept skimming over his bulging biceps, and the way those veins traveled down his forearms to his hands. Strong fingers. Capable hands. Every time he lifted his fork to his mouth, those biceps bunched and strands of muscle in his forearm twitched. He had such a nice profile and—
“So what are you going to do?” he asked, popping the last bite of bacon into his mouth as he gazed down at me.
His question jarred me back to awareness. I had been telling him about my schooling. “Well, I have to transfer to another college after this semester is over in a couple of weeks. The school lost funding so I lost my scholarship…” I glanced at him, embarrassed. “That’s another of the reasons why I accepted your offer.”
“I can help pay for your tuition,” he said.
I glanced at him in surprise. “You’ve already offered to pay me, Brady. You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
I stared at him a moment, thinking that it was a nice gesture. When Cassie had told me he was a playboy and wasn’t into relationships, I figured he was shallow, arrogant, and more than a little spoiled. Then again, look at this crazy deal we had made.
But maybe there was more to Brady Shaw than that. He hadn’t even asked me why my brother needed the fifty thousand dollars. He just wanted to know more about me. But then I put the brakes on my imagination. Brady had his own motives for this crazy plan of his. So did I, I realized, my appetite suddenly gone. Just because I had accepted the terms of our agreement didn’t mean that the agreement itself was noble. Don’t even think about getting attached to him.
Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was filthy rich, so much so that apparently he could throw money around as if there was no tomorrow. That didn’t make him a good person.