Jimmy gave a low whistle across from us in the limo. “That was one hell of a shoot, you two.”
Brooks rubbed his mouth. “Good to know.”
“I mean, the chemistry was, like, off the charts. You’ve gotten good at selling it, Hannah.” Jimmy winked in my direction as he settled the camera gear beside him on the seat. Conrad had decided to upgrade the camera gear a few weeks ago—you know, for added production value. “You too, Brooks. I wouldn’t have thought the stone-cold reality guy could be so . . .”
“Not stone cold?” Brooks suggested.
Jimmy shook his head. “Romantic. Didn’t think you had it in you, North.”
I had to bite my tongue and look out the window to keep from laughing. Our public dates had been different ever since that night in my apartment, and even though we both tried to keep what happened off-camera from trickling on-screen, it was impossible.
“Either Conrad forced you two to take some acting lessons or he’s pumping aphrodisiacs into your coffee, because seriously.” Jimmy’s finger waved between Brooks and me keeping a measured distance between one another in the back of the limousine. “That was scorchin’.”
“Good to know we figured it out a day before the three months is over.” Brooks’s head turned to look out the other window, trying to ignore me like I was trying to ignore him. I wondered if we were at all convincing, or if it only made it more obvious that something was going on behind the Romance Versus Reality façade.
“So tomorrow night.” Jimmy clapped. “We’ll pick you both up at seven sharp, but you’ll be riding in separate cars to the venue. Conrad is having some formalwear delivered tomorrow morning for you to wear.”
“Why can’t we wear something we already own?” I asked. A.k.a. something comfortable.
“Because this is the final night. Conrad wants to make it big. Fireworks. Twelve-person ensemble. Designer gown and tux. The whole bit.”
Brooks and I blinked at Jimmy.
“It’s the last night of a social experiment, not a presidential inauguration,” Brooks said.
“Maybe. But almost as many people will be tuning in tomorrow night as do during the actual presidential inauguration.”
My palms, sweaty from thinking about what was in store tomorrow night, rubbed down my jeans. Brooks and I had become pros at skirting around our positions as public guinea pigs for romance. Our unsaid motto was to take things one hour at a time and to ignore the elephant looming between the two of us.
“Any other spoilers you can share about tomorrow night?” I asked.
Jimmy wrestled two beers out of the mini fridge, holding the extra out toward Brooks and me. When we both declined, he swung it in the direction of the two bodyguards sitting ramrod-straight in their seats, laser-focused on their “clients.”
“Sorry, that’s right. On duty.” Jimmy set the extra beer back inside the fridge and twisted the cap off his. “Let’s see. Spoilers, spoilers.” He took a pull of his beer. “It’s going to be like the final rose ceremony meets The Hunger Games.” He grinned, looking proud of his analogy. He noticed me gaping and held out his arms. “You both can’t win, you know?”
Brooks shifted in his seat, getting back to staring out the window.
“Oh, and Conrad decided to let the viewers decide who wins tomorrow night.”
Jimmy had said it so quickly, in such a straightforward tone, it took me a minute to catch up to what had been said.
“Wait—”
“What?” Brooks cut in, looking angry instead of distraught like myself.
Jimmy kicked his feet up on the seat across from him. “After the finale, voting lines will be open for viewers to call in with their vote as to which one of you two love-slash-anti-love birds comes out the champion. I think each number can vote five times. Or maybe it’s ten. I don’t remember.”
“That wasn’t part of the original agreement,” the words tumbled from my mouth.
“The agreement you all had written up, notarized, and signed in blood?” Jimmy clucked his tongue. “Come on. We all know Conrad is an asshole who’s going to do whatever he thinks is best for the company, screw the employees working for it.”
Brooks’s hand brushed mine, as though he’d been about to take my hand and caught himself at the last moment. “This isn’t fair,” he said.
“Hey, man, you’re the one who quoted that letting fairness be the guiding compass for life is for the suckers.” Jimmy took a swig of his beer. “It sucks man, I’m with you on that, but that’s what’s going down tomorrow night. Might as well make the best of it.”
Inside, a thousand protests were rising, but I stifled them all, knowing, as Jimmy did, nothing would change Conrad’s mind on this. The viewers would decide who won tomorrow night—Brooks or me—and a part of me already knew the final result. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Conrad has done everything in his power to make this a bigger spectacle whenever the opportunity presented itself.” I blew out a slow breath. “It doesn’t matter. A person would have to possess the emotional intelligence of a grasshopper to believe I’ve actually fallen in love with Brooks North.”
Beside me, Brooks huffed.
“Daaamn. Ice cold.” Jimmy chuckled. “I love it.”
“Miss Arden.” The security guard, Dean, who had been assigned to me a few weeks ago when getting to work without being mob-rushed had become a challenge, said as he reached for the limo door.
My apartment building was outside, and Dean was scanning the sidewalk like he was protecting a foreign diplomat in a hostile country.
“I’m going to hop out here too.”
As Brooks moved, his security guard, Sven, got up to follow. Brooks shook his head, and Sven instantly fell back into his seat. I didn’t know where the paper had gotten these security guards from, but my guess was that they were half machine from the way they behaved.
“Dude. Your place is miles from here,” Jimmy said.
“I’m meeting some friends at a bar down the street.”
“You’ve got friends? People that actually like you and seek out your company?”
Brooks grunted. “Hilarious, camera boy.”
“You should bring Sven though.” Jimmy scanned out the windows. “You’re going to get lady-mobbed if you step foot in a public place.”
Brooks laughed. “I’m the guy trying to prove love is a fallacy. The mob slings pitchforks at me, not bras.”
“Pretty sure those pitchforks can do more damage than lacy bras,” Jimmy called as Brooks climbed out of the limo behind me.
“I’ve got a thick skin.”
I glanced back at Brooks. “Try an impenetrable shell.”
“Good to know I’ve fooled some.” His blue eyes found mine, holding longer than they should have.
“Well. Good night, Brooks.” My posture straightened, attempting to sell how formal I felt where Brooks was concerned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Something sparked in his eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clutching my purse, I turned to head into my apartment building. From the corner of my eye, I watched him meander down the sidewalk. God, were we fooling anyone? It seemed so obvious to me, as though we were holding billboard-sized signs proclaiming our secret relationship.
Dean stayed at my side, swinging the door open and checking the lobby before indicating it was safe for me to enter. Half the time, I thought Dean forgot he was protecting me and not T Swift.
Once we made it to my apartment, he took his position outside my door, hands clasped in front of himself. The paper had insisted on the security detail, Conrad no doubt behind that decision. Not because he was concerned for my well-being in the sense of human decency, but because I was an investment he couldn’t afford to have out of commission.
His social experiment had achieved everything he’d hoped it would, and more. Millions of viewers tuned into every episode of Romance Versus Reality, and the paper was capitalizing on it in every way imaginable. From random trivia about Brooks’ and my lives, to posting exclusive extra questions Jimmy asked us leading into each date, the World Times had secured the crown of hybrid news conglomerate. Half People magazine, half New York Times, everyone from CEOs to stay-at-home moms found some reason to make the World Times their premier news source.
Dean wasn’t here to keep Hannah Arden safe. He was here to protect the asset labeled Ms. Romance.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked him the same question I asked every night before slipping into my jammies.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he answered, his exact reply every time.
“If you change your mind, just knock down my door or something. That seems well within your skillset.” I paused to gauge his reaction. Nothing. Not a muscle movement, no eyelid flicker. Okay, he was more like ninety-percent machine.
Once I was inside, I flew into my bedroom, ripping off my shirt as I went. After tearing through my closet, I changed into a come-hither dress and slid into a fresh pair of underwear that were not cotton solids. Then I lit some candles and turned down the lights. All in under five minutes. I kicked on the pair of heels still lingering at the doorway from yesterday and pulled the door open. Dean did not blink, his gaze still aimed forward.
“I just remembered I’m out of creamer. Need that for my morning coffee unless all of New York wants to experience the female version of King Kong.”
Dean’s face didn’t register an emotion even close to the amusement scale. “I’ll grab some for you,” he announced, already marching down the hallway. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Lock the door and don’t answer it for anyone.”
“Maybe the mayor?” I teased.
No response as he jogged down the stairs. Going through the motions, I closed my door and locked it, then leaned into the wall behind me, waiting. It wouldn’t be long, based on past experiences.
A soft trio of knocks echoed outside the door a few minutes later. My stomach knotted as I reached for the handle, both in anticipation and trepidation.
Brooks’ and my relationship was still undefined, lurking in murky waters. That wasn’t strictly because we’d dodged having that conversation with each other, but because I’d shirked having it with myself. I had feelings—I felt emotions—but if I didn’t assign them a name, I could spin whatever theory I wanted based on the outcome. Would our story wind up a fairy tale? Or a cautionary one? As long as I kept things vague, I could accept either without being crushed. Or at least, that was what I told myself.
“That was fast,” I greeted upon opening the door.
Brooks looked fine. He smelled fine. That silver glimmer in his eyes was beyond fine. “Too fast? Should I leave and come back? I don’t want you thinking that I’m overeager or anything.”
When he backed away from the doorway, I grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. “Why don’t you want me thinking that?”
“Because I don’t want you to see me as some kind of Red Zone Clinger. Even though one might lurk just below the surface where you are concerned.” The pads of his fingers brushed against mine when he moved closer.
“Red Zone Clinger? Is that a label you’re going to share with your readers?”
“No way in hell.”
“Why not?”
“The man who bites his thumb at commitment coming out of the closet as a clinger?” He shot me a look as he rolled up his sleeves. “Can you imagine the blowback?”
“Nice story.” My hands planted on his chest, shoving him into the wall behind him. “When do we skip to the part that comes next?”
His expression changed from amused to aroused. His head fell toward mine, his breath warming my cheek. “Next.”
My fingers curled into his shirt, my lips finding his. A low sound rumbled in his throat as I pressed my body into his.
“This is the kind of hello a man could get used to.” His mouth collapsed into mine for a moment. His eyes opened like he’d just remembered something. “By the way, nice dress.”
“Nice dress?”
One brow lifted. “Nice is short for a million other things I could say about this dress and what seeing you in it makes me want to do to you, but to save time . . .”
“Nice works,” I said, a smile pulling at my mouth. “Instead of saying what it makes you want to do to me, why don’t you just show me?”
Brooks’s arms wound behind my back; a moment later, I was lifted into the air as he carried me into the living room. “Your wish.” His voice outside my ear sent a tremble down my back. “My command.”
My ankles crossed behind his back, my arms tying at the base of his neck. His strides were purposeful, moving as though he knew exactly what he wanted and was not in the business of waiting for it. I loved that about Brooks; he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to go after it.
“I’ve got a perfectly good bedroom back that direction,” I said when he paused beside the sofa. “With one of those bed things.”
He kicked off his shoes, still holding me close. “Too much temptation.”
I fought the urge to groan. “What’s so wrong with that?”
Brooks flung us onto the sofa, him on top, me below him. My whole body throbbed with desire, the weight of him pinned against me fanning the flame.
“I thought you didn’t want to have a conversation.”
My hand slid lower, skimming beneath his shirt. “I don’t.”
The words were hardly out before his mouth returned to mine, his large hands gripping the back of my dress. I lost whatever thread of restraint I’d been clinging to as his weight settled deeper into me, the pressure building between my legs as I felt him hard against my stomach.
My breath was strained as our kisses deepened, tongues dominating then yielding. The ache had become a throb that had turned into an overpowering swell. It was my body, but at that moment, I was not in possession of it.
As my fingers scrolled further beneath his shirt, I swore his skin heated from my touch. It went from warm to scalding in a few strokes. My hand grappled with his shirt, peeling it up his back as I contemplated ripping it from him if it took longer than a few seconds to remove.
Brooks shrugged, dipping his head to make it easier. The shirt wound up in a crumpled heap at our feet. When he collapsed onto me again, the air in the room changed. Anticipation had given way to resolution. Doubt yielding certainty.
My legs fell open wider to meet him at the same time my hands lowered to his belt.
“Slow down.” His mouth left mine, his eyes sealed closed almost like he was in physical pain.
It took me a few moments to formulate a reply. “Slow down?” A few more to catch my breath. “We’ve been making out like a couple of church-going teenagers afraid of eternal damnation for weeks. How much slower can we possibly go?”
Brooks’s face twitched with amusement as he planted his hands beside my head to better hold his weight. “What’s the rush?”
I blinked at him. “What’s the hold up?”
His head tipped as a familiar expression moved into place. I knew what the hold up was, and he was waiting for me to acknowledge it.
“No proclamations, remember? No designations to whatever this is. That was part of the agreement.” Sighing, I gave his chest a shove as I adjusted my legs into a less inviting position.
His forehead pressed into mine. “What is this, Hannah?”
“Why do we have to give it a name?”
“Because tomorrow night, the world is going to force us to.”
My eyes closed when I thought about the future. The near and distant. With Brooks’ and my relationship, one hour into the future was too far to plan out. “We don’t owe the world an explanation.”
“Fine. But we owe ourselves one.” When he exhaled, his warm breath broke across my face. “So what is this? Us. Behind closed doors. Off camera. What are we?”
God. That face. It was as flawless up close as it was at a distance. What presided from the neck down was no different. But what dwelled past the surface was perhaps the sexiest component of Brooks North.
As much as I wanted to tell him how I felt—to assign a title to whatever this was—I wasn’t enough of a fool to do so before the show was over.
“No. Designations,” I enunciated slowly.
Sliding out from beneath him, I adjusted my dress back into position since he wasn’t going to be taking it off in the near future. Or maybe even the distant future. The one-night-stand man had become the wait-for-marriage type, and I’d never wanted to give irony the bird more.
“Slow down doesn’t mean stop.” His arm wrung around my stomach at the same time his teeth grazed my earlobe.
“But slow down does mean probable cranium eruption from the female equivalent of blue balls, so yeah, I’m gonna stop while I’m still breathing.” Gliding away from him took the ultimate feat of willpower.
“I bet I could give you that release you need . . .” Brooks’s hand at my stomach skimmed lower, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my dress. “Without removing a single article of clothing.”
My hands balled into fists when I felt his fingers grazing the insides of my thighs.
“Just lie back . . .” His teeth sank into my earlobe at the same time his fingers reached their destination. “And let me . . .”
In the background, I heard a noise.
It wasn’t important. It could have been a rocket launcher bursting through my kitchen wall and it wouldn’t have been more pressing than what Brooks was doing to my body at that very moment.
When the same sound echoed in the apartment again, Brooks paused. “Are you expecting anyone?”
My head shook. “Nope.”
“Someone’s knocking at your door.”
“It’s probably one of my neighbor’s doors. Definitely not mine.” My hand rested against his cheek as I made eye contact, hoping he could read that I was literally two finger strokes away from blastoff.
Then came the voices hollering outside my door, accompanied by the knocking.
“Still think it’s someone at your neighbor’s door?” Brooks gave me a cocky smirk, knowing exactly what he’d done to me in all of ten seconds.
“Yes.” I frowned even as I heard my friends shouting my name.
As he pulled away, my head banged against the back of the sofa a few times before I rose to see why my friends were surprising me with a visit at the most inopportune time possible.
“Hey. Did you forget I’m here? Shirtless on your couch and still nursing a hard-on?” Brooks’s voice followed me as I marched to the door. “Unless you’re ready to admit to your friends—”
My eyes went wide when I realized the sticky situation I was in. A half-naked enemy was lurking in my apartment after hours, not a camera in sight. My friends would not rest until they’d dragged the truth from me. “You’ve got to hide!”
“Where?” Brooks gave me a look as he reached for his shirt. “Under the table? Think they’ll see me.”
“My bedroom.” I motioned frantically for him to follow as I rushed into my room, spinning in circles as I searched for a hiding spot that would conceal one-hundred-eighty pounds of muscle and bravado. “The closet.” Grabbing his hand the moment he padded into my room, I shoved hangers to the side to make some room for him.
He broke to a stop when I tried pushing him inside. “I can’t hide in there.”
“Afraid of the dark?”
He glanced at the space I was trying to squeeze him into. “My dick wouldn’t fit in there. My flaccid dick.”
“Aren’t you the optimist?”
“Realist. Mr. Reality, remember?”
My eyes rolled as I planted my hands into his chest and shoved him into the closet. My friends’ knocks and shouts were only getting louder. “Just get in there with your giant dick already.”
He winked as he backed into the warzone that was my closet. “I appreciate your confirmation.”
“Yeah, yeah, now get in there and be quiet. I don’t need my friends finding out I’ve been clothed-screwing the enemy on the eve of the big finale.”
“It’s better than naked-screwing.” We both made a face when he said that. “Never mind. Nothing’s better than naked-screwing.”
My hand went to my hip as I slid the door closed. “Says the man who refuses to get naked with me.”
“Touché.” His voice was muffled once the sliding door was shut.
Turning off the bedroom lights and closing the door, I rushed to let my friends in before every one of my neighbors called in a noise complaint.
“You kept us waiting long enough,” were the first words out of Quinn’s mouth when I threw open the door. “Were you taking a crap or something?”
I swore I heard a muffled laugh coming from the direction of my bedroom. So much for not making a peep.
“Sorry. I was in the shower.” I stepped aside to let in the trio of friends.
“The shower?” Annie gave me a look as she passed by. “Does your hair dry instantly or something?”
“And you put on a sassy dress right after?” Sybill added.
My head shook as I reminded myself to edit my answers before verbalizing them. “I was about to get in the shower. Had to throw my clothes back on when I heard you all making a ruckus like it was New Year’s Eve in Times Square.” I shot Quinn a look, knowing she was the volume instigator. I’d heard the level this woman’s voice could achieve at sporting events, and it had to come close to tipping a world record.
Dean was just coming down the hall as I was about to close the door, the carton of cream tucked stiffly under his arm.
“Thanks,” I said as he handed it to me. “You’re a lifesaver. Figuratively and literally.”
My clever remark got nowhere with him. “I told you not to open the door for anyone.”
“Um, I didn’t. They more like pounded the door down.” I disappeared into my apartment, letting Dean settle into a stance that indicated he was ready to battle The Hulk. “Thanks again for the cream. Have a nice night.”
My friends burst into laughter once I locked the door.
“That guy is not your everyday rent-a-cop,” Annie said. “He acts like he’s working security detail for the Queen of England or something.”
Quinn set down the paper bag she was carrying and unloaded a goldmine of snack foods. “Have you seen Ms. Romance’s online following lately? Pretty sure she’s close to Buckingham Palace status.”
My nose scrunched up. “Don’t remind me. I just want a few precious hours where I can forget all of that and pretend my life is as mundane and predictable as it used to be before all of this craziness.”
Quinn ripped open the container of guac and a bag of tortilla chips. “That’s exactly what we’re here for.” She licked a glob of green goop from her thumb. “Moral support, in the form of junk food and chick flicks, on the eve of what is to be one of the highest-viewed, most-talked-about shows in modern history.”
My stomach spiraled. “Your moral support needs some work.”
“How’s this for work?” Quinn said as she launched a box of Raisinets at me.
It hit my stomach and fell to the floor.
“Sorry. Forgot you couldn’t catch a felt ball if you were covered in Velcro.”
“Moral. Support,” I grumbled as I picked up the Raisinets, my gaze traveling to my bedroom door. With the amount of snacks these chicas were strapped with, Brooks was in for a long night in the closet.
When Quinn came toward me, Annie took over the snack unpacking detail, spreading out a cavalcade of every food item I wanted included in my last supper.
“How’s this for moral support? I agreed to sit through the entire, grueling five hours and twenty-seven minutes of your favorite version of Pride and Prejudice. I’ve even promised not to pepper any snarky commentary throughout.” Quinn slung her arm behind my neck. “And you know I would rather endure the full Brazilian, cat to ass, than sit through Colin Firth P&P silently.”
“I thought you’ve never done the full one.”
“I haven’t. The basic bikini wax was enough to convince me I’m good with embracing what nature gave us down there.” Quinn winced as though she was reliving that torturous day two summers ago.
“And you really think you’d rather endure the full cat to ass instead of watching the best version of Pride and Prejudice?” I shook some Raisinets into my hand as we meandered to the sofa. Which still had the indents of Brooks’ and my bodies smashed into the cushions.
Quinn bumped her hip against mine. “It’s over quicker.”
As the other two finished prepping for the snack apocalypse, Quinn selected a familiar DVD from the stack and popped it into the player. Unable to contain the sigh as she did.
“How are things going with Justin?” My eyebrows bounced at her. “Still glad you took my advice to make the first move?”
Quinn’s answer came in the form of a reddening face.
“With the pace you two were going, you might have achieved first-kiss status in eight and a half years.”
“What’s wrong with taking things slow?” she asked.
“Nothing. If you’re both intentionally taking it slow. It’s different when you’re going a snail’s pace because two human beings are scaredy-cats and second-guessing the other’s level of interest.”
“Well excuse me, Ms. Romance, for believing the guy should be the one to make the first move.” Quinn grabbed the remote and plopped down beside me on the couch. “Isn’t that kinda the definition of romance?”
“The definition of romance is defined by the two people in the relationship. That’s what romance is.”
Quinn’s head turned toward me, her mouth open. “That kind of talk sounds more like the ideology of the enemy. What are you gonna tell me next—romance is as romance does?” She huffed as she shook her head. “You’ve been spending way too much time with that douchecanoe. He’s rubbing off on you.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the irony of that sentiment. If only my dear friend knew what he’d been rubbing off on me, on the very place she was seated, minutes ago, she would probably start looking into ways to have me involuntarily committed.
“Don’t start it until we’re in there!” Annie warned as she wrangled a couple bags of chips and a package of assorted licorice that was big enough to put us all into sugar comas.
“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Quinn mumbled. “It’s not like you haven’t all seen it so many times you could recite every line in your sleep.”
Annie dropped the licorice bag in my lap, knowing my weakness, before sprinkling the remaining items around on the coffee table in front of us. Once she and Sybill were settled in their seats, snacks in hand, Quinn punched Play with a dramatic flair.
Other than our usual spots we ooohed in, and the same spots Quinn usually stuck a finger in her mouth at, we passed the time in silence. At least other than the couple bags of chips we crunched through. When we were an hour in and I had yet to consume a single piece of licorice, Quinn called me out on it and I dutifully nibbled a few pieces.
I was too stressed to think about food, even my all-time favs. Brooks was one room away, stuffed in my closet, while three of my closest friends were here to provide moral support over the three months of torture I’d been exposed to at the very hand of the man in my closet. If they found out . . . if they knew Brooks was more to me than some annoying obstacle in the path of my dream job . . . what would they say? What would they do?
Would they stand by me, supporting me as they had through it all? Or would they label me a hypocrite, as I guessed the rest of the world would if they found out I’d fallen for the very man whose whole objective was getting me to fall for him?
When it was time to put in the second disc, I lifted my arms above my head and let out an overdone yawn. “I have to get some rest. We’ll finish the second half the next time we get together. Thank you all so much for doing this. It was exactly what I needed tonight.” When the three of them started to clean up the snack mess, I waved them off. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. You’ve all done more than enough, and it’s way past all of our bedtimes.”
Quinn wasn’t the only one to give me a suspicious look. She knew something was going on, that I was keeping something from her, but lord knew even her most unlikely guesses weren’t half as bad as what it really was.
“You sure?” Annie asked.
“So sure,” I answered, smiling at her as I started toward the door.
They took a minute to grab their bags and slip on their shoes, all meeting me at the door with expressions that suggested they were visiting me in an ICU.
“You’ve got this, Hannah.” Sybill pulled me into a hug, holding me a couple beats longer than was standard. “We’re all rooting for you.”
“That department head title is going to look oh so fine below your name.” Annie stepped in next, another embrace that hinted at goodbye. The eternal kind.
Quinn elected for a different kind of farewell. Clamping her hands over my shoulders, she dropped her face in front of mine. “Twenty-four hours, and this is all over. You never have to see that piece of camel dung ever again.” Her fingers kneaded my shoulder muscles like she was sending me into the ring for round seven. “Tomorrow night, you show the world what you’ve been telling them for the past eight years.”
I worked up the most convincing smile I had in my arsenal as I swung open the door. “I’ve got the best friends a girl could ever ask for.”
“Eh, yeah.” Annie waved at me as they passed through the doorway. “Obviously.”
Sybill jumped when she passed Dean, her hand moving to her chest. “I forgot he was here. He’s like a ninja with a high-and-tight.”
Of course that would be the one comment that would garner an amused reaction from my stonewall of a bodyguard.
“You’re going to be out of a job with Hannah here soon.” Sybill wagged a finger at Dean. “Whose door will you stand guard at next?”
Was that an actual facial expression? A brow lifting, a maybe twinkle in his eyes?
“Maybe yours, Miss Sybill.”
She looked as surprised as I was that he’d responded, in words and everything. It took her a moment to realize he’d called her by her name. “How do you know my name?”
Dean’s hands clasped in front of him seemed to relax. “I make it my business to know the names of people who come within two feet of my client.”
“So when Hannah is no longer your client, I’ll be back to another no-name face?” Sybill’s head tipped as she waited for his answer.
Dean had no problem holding eye contact. Unblinking, penetrating fixation. “When Hannah’s no longer my client, I’ll call you Sybill.”
“Why?”
One side of his mouth crept higher. “Because I also make it my business to call a beautiful woman by her name.”
Once Sybill realized what he was getting at, her eyes went wide. Beside her, Quinn and Annie fought smiles as they wound their arms through hers to steer her down the hall.
“She’s single, you know.” I clucked my tongue at Dean as I watched them round the corner.
“Of course I know.” Dean morphed back into high-and-tight ninja.
“That’s right. It’s your business to know.” I lightly tapped his arm before stepping into the apartment. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
My fingers flinched on the lock. It was the first time he’d ever said anything to me when I offered a good night or a goodbye or hello. We were making progress—on one of our last nights together.
I couldn’t help thinking of how that sentiment applied to another man tucked away inside my apartment. We’d made so much progress, but now we were at the end. And progress, without a resolution or goal in mind, was nothing but wasted effort.
Charging into my room, I threw open the closet door, having no idea what kind of mood I’d find Brooks in.
He was standing in practically the same position I’d left him, the look on his face more playful than anything.
“Sorry about that,” I breathed, stepping aside so he could break free of the two-by-six cell I’d jailed him in the past few hours.
Instead of coming out, his arms crossed and his brows raised. “You. Owe. Me.”
“I know.”
“Like, really owe me.” If it wasn’t the way he said it, his expression had me picking up right where we’d left off earlier.
“Did you have anything in mind particularly?” My hand dropped to his belt, encouraging him closer. “I never like to be in anyone’s debt for long.”
Brooks let me pull him from the closet, his smile making my chest tight. “I have something in mind.”
“Care to share that something with me?”
A gleam flashed in his eyes as his hands wound behind my elbows. “I’d try explaining it, but I think I’d get my point across better with a live demonstration.”
When my calves bumped into the edge of my bed, my throat ran dry. Maybe I should have tried locking him up in a closet weeks ago.
Before I knew it, Brooks had me on my back, his mouth covering mine as his body pressed me into the swells of my comforter. “How’s this?”
My legs braided around his, my bare feet dragging down his pants. “I love live demonstrations.”
“Too steep a price to ask for a few hours hiding in a closet?” Even as he asked it, his hand sank into my backside, lifting it until my hips locked against his.
An uneven breath escaped us both at the same time.
“Ask for more,” I panted, letting my body find a rhythm that suggested we were making love had it not been for the folds of material keeping us apart.
Brooks’s hand in mine balled into a fist as my hips rose and fell against his, his face indicating he was being tormented in the best kind of way.
“If you say . . .” His voice was so deep, it rattled my chest. “After being locked in a small cell with heaps of clothes, I’ve got a bit of an aversion to them now.” His mouth dropped to my collarbone, sucking at the tender flesh as his fingers slipped beneath the shoulder of my cardigan.
Finally. Sweet baby Buddha. After all of this waiting and heavy making out, we were going to have sex. Never in a hundred million years would I have guessed the one guy I’d shared a one-night stand with would turn out to be such a pussy-tease the second time around.
When my fingers worked the top buttons of my dress undone, Brooks stiffened. One of his hands enveloped both of mine, tying them above my head as he stared at me. “Just the sweater for now.”
As he worked the cardigan down my arms, I stared at the ceiling with confusion. Once he’d tossed it aside, before he got back to kissing me, I interrupted him.
“Next?” I slipped my dress straps off my shoulders, giving him the chance to take care of the rest.
He exhaled. “Hannah . . .”
My head fell back. “Seriously, Brooks. What is going on?” I didn’t pause long enough for him to respond because I needed a good, long rant. “We’ve been dating for weeks now, and the farthest we’ve gone is one shirt and now one sweater removed. I mean, damn, I might understand the hold up if we hadn’t already had sex, but we have.” My eyes had to close in order for me to concentrate on what I was saying, instead of getting distracted by what I was feeling. “I guess I just don’t get this whole reverse order thing. I’m ready—I’ve been ready for a while now. And you’re not exactly the guy who’s waiting for his wedding night, so can you help me understand what it is I’m missing? What part of this I’m not realizing?”
Brooks was quiet, waiting for me to spew whatever else I needed to get out. But for now, I was good.
He rolled off to the side, staying close but not so close it made critical thinking difficult. “You’re right. I’m not waiting for marriage. If that night in Chicago didn’t make that clear.” His throat moved when his eyes found mine. “I’m waiting for you.”
I felt my eyebrows knit together. “I just said I’m ready—”
His head shook. “Not for that.”
“Then for what?” I asked, sitting up on my elbows.
His mouth opened, but a sigh came out of it instead of words. “That night, I didn’t really know you. Or I guess you could say I knew enough to realize I wanted to get into bed with you, but I didn’t know you. The real Hannah Arden I’ve spent the last three months learning about.” He shifted on the bed, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “That girl I was content to share a night with, no expectations, no conditions, no commitment—but the girl beside me now, I want more from. I need more from.”
My leg slid out from beneath his. “What more do you want?” My voice was cool, encroaching on cold, as I digested what he was implying.
“I want you to know exactly how I feel about you,” he said, his eyes reading a rare innocent. “And I want to know exactly how you feel about me too.”
“I care for you. But you already know that.”
“The woman I met in Chicago deserved more than a one-night stand from some guy afraid of commitment. That woman deserves everything a man can give her.” His forehead creased. “I need you to know that while I care for you, I feel so much more, Hannah. The word catches in my throat every time I try to say it, but you know what that word it is. You know how I feel about you.”
When his hand reached for mine, I couldn’t move to accept or reject it. Instead, my hand rested limply in his, as though the bone and muscle had dissolved from inside.
“And even though I might not deserve it, I need to know if you feel the same.” The words stuck in his throat, his eyes closing in an attempt to free them.
“Don’t, Brooks. Don’t say it.”
I didn’t know if he heard me as he finished. “I need to know if you love me.”
A bolt of ice shot down my spine. That word.
In every other context, the L word was my purveyor of hope and happiness, the pillar of my profession, but coming from him . . . on this night . . .
“I told you not to bring that up. I made you promise you wouldn’t pressure me with such a loaded word.” My hand came back to life, yanking out of his as I shot up from the bed.
“Wait.” He blinked as he sat up on the bed. “You think this is still about some stupid job? That everything I’ve done, everything I’ve just said, is part of some master scheme to score a promotion?” With the look he was giving me, it was as though I’d just sentenced him to death by a million paper cuts.
But truly, how could he not consider I’d arrive at that conclusion if he brought up the love word? Brooks was neither dumb nor naïve. Not to mention, I’d warned him no fewer than a dozen times never to push me to confess certain feelings or to assign designations to our relationship; not until this whole Romance Versus Reality circus was behind us.
“Last I checked, you hadn’t bowed out of the running for the job.”
“Look around you. There are no cameras. No spectators to prove anything to. It’s just you and me and the moment when it’s time to define exactly what this is.” His finger circled the room as his voice grew. “I’m able to put into words how I feel—I just damn well did. Now it’s your turn.”
My feet carried me farther from him, not sure if I wanted to throw a bottle of perfume at his face or myself at him. He was saying everything I wanted to hear . . . at precisely the worst possible time.
“No cameras?!” A burst of air exploded from my mouth. “Maybe not tonight, but there sure as hell will be cameras tomorrow. Cameras catching every moment of our last date together, and on the other end, millions of viewers will be ready to cast their vote as to who proved their point.”
He inhaled slowly, as though he were taking his time to gather his thoughts. “This, us”—his finger motioned between us—“has nothing to do what any of that.”
“No, Brooks, this has everything to do with that.” My arms crossed when my vision blurred. “You’re here because of the job and the show and because you’re Mr. Reality trying to prove to the world that you’re right.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s what brought me here, but that’s not what’s kept me here.” His hands clasped as he stared up at me. “You. You’re what’s kept me here. My feelings for you are what’s kept me here.”
“Kind of convenient this is all coming to light the evening before the show’s finale, isn’t it?”
His brows lifted. “I thought it was a better time than bringing it up tomorrow night.”
“Unbelievable. You promised you wouldn’t do this to me. You swore—”
“Do you love me?” he cut in. “It’s my turn to ask a question, and this is the one I’m asking. You know the rules—be honest, no bullshit.” His neck rolled as he searched my eyes. “Do you love me?”
Tears burned in my eyes as I backed away. “Veto.” When his head fell, a heavy breath falling from his lips, I added, “I knew you’d save the worst question for last.”
“The worst for last? Is that really what you think of me confessing that I love you and wanting to know if you feel anything close to the same for me?” His voice broke toward the end, the pain carved into his face so real it almost convinced me.
But I remembered he was playing a part, an actor reading a script. This wasn’t real. The man I’d fallen for wasn’t real. His professed love wasn’t real. Not even the ball in his throat was.
But my broken heart, my tears, were very real.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” My head shook as I started for the door, grabbing my sweater. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think you actually cared for me in a way that extended past your career ambitions.”
“Hannah!” He shot up from the bed, coming after me, but he stopped when I gave him a warning look. “I don’t give a fuck about the job or proving my point or whatever else you think this is about. I care about you. I love you.”
The words rebounded off of me, feeling cheap and hollow. “Liar.”
“What am I lying about?”
“Loving me.” I forced myself to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fair. A man shouldn’t be able to appear so convincing when he was lying. “You don’t believe in love, remember?”
I didn’t wait for whatever his reply might have been, because as soon as I slid into my shoes, I was out the door, Dean falling into place a step behind me. As I noticed quiet tears creeping down my face, I felt this unfamiliar sensation deep in my chest. As though something inside was being torn apart, a little at a time.
Maybe love really was a big sham. A façade only the naïve fell victim to. What the hell did I know? I was the woman who’d gone and fallen for the very last man on the planet I should have.