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“Nobody speaks to you that way,” I snarl then catch the reflection of my gaze in the side mirror and realize my eyes are glowing yellow. I draw in a deep breath to calm myself.
“You’ll just make it worse. I don’t need you to defend me. I’m fine.”
“Talk to me, Madi. Why did you leave the party?”
“It’s just been…a day. You know?” Her voice catches, and she turns to me.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “Yeah. I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
I hate how immediate and final her response is. I hate everything about the way this night is going. Instead of dropping her off at her apartment, I drive around the block to find a place to park.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she says when I miraculously nab a spot a half a block away.
“Invite me up.”
“To my apartment?” She lets out an incredulous laugh. “No.”
“Then come to my place.”
That seems to unnerve her, like sleeping in my bed is far too intimate an act. “Not happening.” She flicks open the handle and uses her elbow to push the door open.
I climb out of my side and walk around. “Invite me up.”
“I have a roommate–Aubrey, remember?”
“Do you share a bed?”
Another shocked laugh tumbles from her full lips. “Brick…”
I take her hand and walk her to the apartment. “The weather sucks. I don’t want to drive back to Central Park.”
“You want to spend the night in my apartment.” She says it with a note of disbelief, like the mere idea of me staying in Brooklyn is shocking.
Maybe it is. My friends would certainly think I’d lost my mind. This is going far beyond sex with my assistant. We’re entering uncharted territory.
But the idea of letting Madi go to sleep alone tonight doesn’t sit right with me. I sense the wobble in her world, and I need to hold her through it. Do whatever I can to get her back to her beautiful center. Besides, if she’s having a melt-down around money and social status, proving I can sleep in Brooklyn without a fuss might help erase whatever beliefs she might have about the rich being assholes who step on the backs of the poor to stay on top.
She stops in front of the door and searches my face as if trying to understand. “We already had sex twice today.”
I take her keys from her hand and open the door. “I’m spending the night, Madi,” I say firmly, rather than get into a discussion about whether I do or don’t want to feast between her legs and make her scream my name all night long.
Of course, I want that. But I can keep my dick put away if that’s not what she needs.
I see the flicker of vulnerability she shows when her armor cracks, and I know I’ve won.
“It smells like paint,” she warns me. “Aubrey is painting a mural in our living room.”
“Come on,” I coax, nudging her inside and following. “Take me upstairs.”
Chapter Eleven
Madi
It’s all too much.
Not the sex–the sex is amazing. But the implications of Brick being in my apartment.
