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I both hated and appreciated how observant he was. It was refreshing to have someone look beyond the surface—and incredibly dangerous.
I looked away, giving him a layer of truth. “There’ve been … rumors regarding Albrecht. He doesn’t always think societal laws apply to him. He’s not the only rich man to take what he wants, regardless of the opinions and desires of others. But he’s certainly one minefield I don’t want to navigate any more than needed.”
“You mean rape,” he said flatly. Rape was the least of it, but I couldn’t divulge any more than I already had, so I stayed silent. Brody swore. “And you want to visit the man?” He got up from his seat, leaning both hands against the counter to level an incredulous look at me. Seeing I was serious, he swore again.
“You realize how crazy that sounds? Like certifiable crazy, right?”
He had no idea.
“Since you’ve already seen some really grand examples of my mental state, I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. In the last week, I’ve signed my brother up for every dating service, prostitute, and phone sex operator I could find, poured out close to twenty thousand dollars of alcohol, and dosed Boone with something that probably required him to sleep on the toilet, cleaned Royce’s fountain in the most public way possible, replaced his condoms with suckers, and powdered Keene’s underwear, sheets, and towel with itching powder and stole his coffee supply. I think we both know I’m not exactly normal.”
He looked at me like I had grown two heads. “Why did you replace Royce’s condoms with—you know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.”
I got up, wincing as my feet touched the floor. “You don’t know him well enough, but Royce is a bit of a manwhore. He thinks I don’t know about it because he tries to keep it low-key when I’m in town. And I’m not discussing Karl with you anymore. I’m trying to give you a heads-up for tomorrow because I’m sure he’s going to put me in a position where I can’t say no. But I’m counting on you to have my back, and having an engagement in Monte Carlo will give me the excuse I need to keep it short. The private plane will give me an opportunity to get ready. The party there should only take a few hours, and we have our flight back home at seven the next morning.”
“What about your feet?” he asked, looking down at them even as he walked around the counter to extend a hand to me, ever the Southern gentleman.
“I’ll wear flats when I’m able, but unfortunately, heels are part of the uniform,” I joked. “Seriously, though, they aren’t that bad. I have a few cuts, but mainly it’s just bruising. They’ll be tender but nothing more than a minor irritation.” I changed the subject. “Are you really planning on helping me in and out of the tub?”
“As long as you wear a bathing suit,” he said as if it was no big deal. His grip was firm around my waist, his arm easily taking most of my weight even as I walked down the hall. His strength was impressive. I might be thin, but I wasn’t a lightweight. I had little in the way of fat, but muscle weighed more.
He left me in the bathroom, starting the water and even getting a bathing suit from my bag, so I didn’t have to move. The bikini wasn’t my most revealing, but it still left little to the imagination. The wine-colored material made my eyes pop and complemented my skin tone to perfection. After changing, I pinned my hair up, not wanting to bother with drying it.
“Come in,” I called when he knocked. He carried several bags and a roll of tape in his hand.
“I thought—” His words cut off as he looked at me, sitting on the counter as I waited for the tub to fill.
“You thought?” I prompted when he didn’t continue. I raised an eyebrow and crossed my legs. The move was practiced. I knew what I was doing, drawing his eyes to my legs.
His gaze heated as it traveled down my long, tanned skin, but I’d forgotten about my bandaged feet. He frowned. His desire changed to concern. “Are you sure your feet are all right?”
I blew out a breath, exasperated. Did he have to be so darn honorable? “If I promise to let you play doctor, will you stop asking?” There I was, practically naked in front of him, and all he could think about was my damn feet.
He grunted, setting the tape aside to use both hands to open the small trash bags. Touching me as little as possible, he secured my feet inside the plastic and taped the top all the way around to seal my injured flesh from the water. He had kneeled to attend to my feet, placing him at just the right height to be eye level with the juncture of my thighs. I knew I should have squeezed my legs together at the knee, but modesty was never one of my attributes. Glancing up, he was about to speak, but his eyes caught on the strip of burgundy material that lay between him and a part of me that hadn’t quite gotten the memo about Brody’s obvious attempt at keeping it as professional as possible.
The wicked part of me wanted to egg him on and jump his bones. My sore feet weren’t the only thing throbbing, and a quick fling would certainly fix whatever was askew with my body chemistry. But the clearer voice in my head reminded me that not only was he Keene’s friend, but he was someone I needed to keep at arm’s length. Girlfriend material I was not, and Brody didn’t strike me as someone who would be satisfied with one night in my bed.
Sighing, I gently pulled my foot from his grasp and closed my legs to wrap one plastic-encased foot around the other equally encased ankle. Brody followed my cue and rose to his feet, spinning away from me to turn off the tap before pouring a small, complementary packet of bath salts into the water and swirling it around with his hand. Steam rose from the water, quickly filling the small room with the smell of lavender. I inhaled deeply, grateful that he hadn’t chosen the rose one—contrary to Oliver’s belief, I hated roses with a passion.
“So, what’s the plan here?” I asked, relaxing against the mirror behind me.
“Simple,” he replied, placing two rolled-up towels on either end of the tub. “I’ll pick you up and put you in, then take you out when you’re ready. You keep your feet out of the water, relax your muscles, and I get a chance to show off my manly strength, so it’s a win-win.”
I liked his teasing side. He let it come out every so often, but he seemed more comfortable with me now that we knew each other better. “You’re going to get soaked,” I pointed out.
Giving me a wicked look, he pulled his shirt up over his shoulders and head, revealing a lean torso, his six-pack highlighted by a scattering of hair. I swallowed hard. I was surrounded by male bodies, mostly naked, tanned, and living, breathing Adonises. Hell, I’d done shoots that practically required me to use them as my personal jungle gym. None of them had ever affected me the way he did. Heat flooded my body, setting my nerve endings alight. I tried to make my brain engage, to say something witty, but I couldn’t hold a thought.
His smirk grew as he saw my expression, and he walked toward me without pause. He picked me up, swinging me into his arms like every trashy romance novel I’d ever read. Before I could decide if I was pissed, embarrassed, or girlishly pleased at the high-handed gesture, he plunked me down into the hot water.
“There.” He certainly looked satisfied with his handiwork as I sputtered around the water that splashed onto my face with his not-so-smooth move. “I’ll let you get to relaxing. Just call out when you’re ready for me to extradite you.” With that, he whirled around and left, leaving me speechless.
I stayed in the hot water until my muscles were practically a pile of goo. The extreme positions I had to maintain for the shoot had my back, thighs, and calves screaming at me even hours later. No one ever looked at pictures they saw in magazines and actually thought about how their own body would feel holding the same stances we did for even a few minutes, let alone an hour or more at a time, with very few breaks in between.
The exhaustion from the day fell over me like a wave. It was always like that for me … Full tilt until I hit a wall. I snuggled back into the makeshift headrest, closing my eyes as I let myself doze. I never slept well when I wasn’t in Texas, could never let myself drop my guard. Like my military brothers, I could sleep so lightly that I could practically hear a leaf drop outside of my window, but unlike them, the deep, unfettered, any-time, anywhere coma they could put themselves in at the drop of a hat was not something I could afford anywhere else but the safety of my own home. I drifted, letting my mind center and calm, spending long minutes doing nothing but listening to my own soft breathing.
A quick turn of the door handle had me lurching upright, reaching for the knife that I didn’t have because Brody-the-white-knight was now stuck on my ass. “Don’t you know how to knock?” I asked, catching myself just in time from springing to my feet in a fighting stance.
“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly not in much of a better mood than I was. “I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping since I hadn’t heard much in here in a while and didn’t want to wake you.”
