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Charlotte actually looks like a real city from up here. A small one, sure. But between the lights and cars and tiny people making their way down sidewalks and over bridges, it’s got this energy. This vibe of possibility and excitement.
Or maybe that’s just how I feel because I’m standing in Brooks Huntley’s bedroom, exhausted but excited from a day so full I’ve barely been able to check my texts.
It’s dark and moody in the bedroom, and I love it. The low-slung king-size bed is neatly made, nary a wrinkle in the white linens. There’s a glass of water on the bedside table, alongside a stack of books that run the gamut from investigative journalism to a Daniel Silva thriller.
I set down my bag on the upholstered bench at the bottom of the bed. It’s getting dark, so I turn on the lamps, illuminating a little hallway that leads to the biggest, sexiest bathroom I’ve ever seen. Dark tile, sleek fixtures, and a shower the size of a semi-truck give it a Vegas-y feeling.
A shiver darts up my spine when I see there are two shower heads.
Running my fingertips along the cool, matte surface of the marble countertop, the thought runs through my head for the thousandth time: I can’t believe I’m here. After asking my employees to step up today, no less!
I can’t believe things are actually working out the way I want them to.
I can’t believe the guy who lives in this condo wants anything to do with me.
I can’t believe he might actually be mine. I am so out of my depth it’s not even funny.
When Brooks dropped the keys to his place in my hand this morning, part of me thought it was a joke. What the joke would be, I don’t know. It was such a grand gesture—done with such utter nonchalance—I couldn’t believe it at first.
Sure, I’d spent half the night fantasizing Brooks would ask me to dinner. Maybe swing by my place on his way home for a quickie.
Never in a million years did I think I’d have the key to his condo in my hand before 7a.m.
The best part of it all? He seemed so certain. Entirely sold on me. Awareness prickles between my legs when I remember the look in his eyes when he said my doorman is expecting you. Nathaniel, said doorman, did indeed greet me as I breezed through the building’s glass doors.
The fact that Brooks needed less than twelve hours to come to the conclusion that he’s all in . . .
I put a hand over my fluttering heart. First Hannah and Dustin agree to help me with my workload on a more permanent basis. And now this?
Today might be the best day ever.
The alarm chirps. I hear footsteps, followed by a gruffly delivered, “Greer?”
“In here!” I shout, and literally leap out of the bathroom. I fly through the bedroom and find myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, where Brooks is putting down his brief case.
Our eyes meet. I see everything I’m feeling written on his face. Exhaustion. Excitement. Relief.
Hunger.
My stomach drops. Awareness in my core swells. He looks handsome in his grey slacks and white collared shirt. Sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned.
He rakes his gaze down the length of my body. He makes this growly sound that pulls my nipples to hardened points.
“Get the fuck over here,” he says.
I step forward at the same moment he grabs me. He loops one arm around my waist and yanks me against him, our hips flush. Then he cups the back of my neck and brings his mouth down on mine, hard.
We kiss until I’m a throbbing, breathless mess. I reach for the buckle on his belt but he grabs my wrist.
“Food first,” he murmurs against my lips. “Then I finally get to fuck you.”
“You’re good at this,” I say, polishing off the last bite of lobster temaki. There’s some kind of salty, herby aioli in the hand roll that complements the seaweed wrap and plump lobster perfectly.
Brooks, perched on the sleek, dark blue sofa beside me, sits up and sets his plate on the metal coffee table. “Good at what? Besides complimenting you on kicking ass at work. I’m proud of you for asking for more help.”
I twirl my chopsticks in front of me in a tiny bow. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting Dustin and Hannah to jump on board so quickly, but it was a nice surprise.”
“A surprise you’re able to afford because you are, once again, kicking ass.”
I grin. “I am. But I was talking about how good you are at feeding me the best food ever.”
He wipes his hands. “I like feeding you. You appreciate good food.”
“I do love to eat.”
I wait for him to crack a pervy joke about what he loves to eat, but he doesn’t say a word. I frown. Brooks has been a little quieter than usual tonight. There’s a furrow in his brow that’s been there since he got home, like he’s lost in thought.
