Page 68 of Lucky Puck

Feeling unsettled, I grab my coat and leave. I survive the drive home by listening to a romance audiobook to keep my mind occupied. It’s the only thing that works to keep me de-stressed. Although multiple orgasms courtesy of Brody worked like a miracle last night.

Stop it. No more wild sex. This is business. I can’t let it get personal—or any more personal than it already is.

As I pull into the garage at Brody’s condo, I remember I was supposed to go shopping. I’ll have to find a shop in walking distance. As I tap my credit card, the the parking garage card reader flashes red, telling me the credit card is no good. Shit.

Tears threaten until I remember I have permission to use the agency card for clothes. I smile and find a parking spot on the street near a shop where I’ve always wanted to buy something.

This is my chance while I still have my job. A small pinch of guilt stops me on the sidewalk, but damn it. I’ve earned this, haven’t I? Besides, I’m only following Jett’s instructions.

When he fires me, at least I’ll finally be well-dressed if homeless, jobless, and penniless.

As expected, this is one of those clothes shops where the clerks look better than I do, and they know everything there is to know about looking good.

“Hi, I’m Giselle. I’d love to help you find whatever you need.”

Letting out a breath, I hand myself over to the young, impeccable woman, and she finds me a suit—I limit myself to one because what if I don’t get fired for messing up this world-class publicity stunt—somehow?—and a dress to wear out, plus I let her talk me into one more outfit, the kind I would never dare to wear. Giselle is very convincing when she insists it looks exceptional, that it gives me the wow factor, the kind of head-turning appeal that catches everyone in the room’s attention. The three-piece top, pants, and skirt combo is jewel green wool jersey and flows magically around me, the monochrome coloring making me look taller. To finish the look, Giselle gives me a discount on a matching pair of green suede heeled boots that go over my knees.

The bubble of shopping bliss lasts all the way back to Brody’s condo until I unlock the door and walk in.

Brody is not sleeping. He’s standing in the living room—with a woman draped around him, kissing him. I drop my bags.

“Bianca.” I recognize his sister’s alarmed voice coming from the kitchen as she rushes toward me.

The woman holding onto Brody as if she's climbing a pole turns in my direction.

She’s stunning, with cat-green eyes and long silky auburn hair cascading around her shoulders and down her back. It’s a little messy, but that does nothing to detract from her beauty. In fact, it makes her look sexy. The bitch.

I stop myself from touching my messy bun—which I’m sure is the opposite of sexy—but I can’t help taking off my glasses—possibly because what I’m seeing makes my stomach toss around the salad I had for lunch. More likely, it's because I want to make myself more attractive in this woman's shiny presence, or at least less studiously plain.

The foolish urge to compete with her—as if I could—or more precisely, the urge to claw her eyes out for touching him, rises to an unbearable strain on my common sense.

Am I really feeling like the jealous wronged wife here? My reaction should be laughable. Because I’m not really Brody’s wife, wronged or otherwise. Brody isn’t mine, and he's allowed to grope whoever he wants, right?

Except I notice he’s not groping her. He’s removing himself from the woman’s hold and walking towards me with a worried smile.

“Honey pants, I’m glad you’re home. You met my sister.” He gestures in Kara's direction without taking his eyes off me and stops when he reaches me. Leaning down, he slowly wraps his arms around me while I stand paralyzed and lowers his mouth to mine.

My mind screams at me to demand who the other woman is, the one who was hanging on him like she has a right to, but I’m the one with no rights. Except aren’t I supposed to be pretending I do? Shit. I’m so confused.

Before I can sort out the tangled web, the sensation of Brody’s mouth on mine infiltrates my body and takes over. I reflexively kiss him back as if I’ve been doing it forever instead of the few admittedly long and memorable days.

Wrapping my arms around him, I kiss him like I have a right, deeply, with my tongue and my teeth and all of my heart and soul. It’s a dangerous kiss—and based on Kara’s cough-laugh, totally inappropriate for an audience.

Brody lets up on his end of the kiss and his hold, flashing me a sexy dimple.

“Well, well, well,” the other woman says as she saunters over to join us. Her eyes glitter with amusement and something else, something not quite pleasant, and my body reacts to her by recoiling.

Brody holds onto me with one arm around my waist, tightening it as I try to back away from the still nameless woman.

“I’m Nora Shade,“ she says. ”I apologize for Brody’s lack of manners in not introducing us. He and I were once an item—a very hot item.” She aims a hot glance at Brody as if to prove it. “Maybe he was worried about you finding out. So sweet of him.”

“There’s nothing to find out,” Brody says flatly. “Except that you’re not above taking advantage of men.”

She laughs. “That’s rich coming from the ultimate player.” She turns to me, and her eyes have a malicious gleam, but hopefully that’s my jealousy talking.

“Did you know your Brody is a serial womanizer? That he doesn’t care who he⁠—”

“That’s enough,” Kara says. “He’s not perfect, but he’s my brother, Nora.” She sort of smiles, but her voice is steely, and I know I like her. In fact, I feel like giving her a hug right now. Except Brody’s grip tightens, and I’m not going anywhere.