Only one way to find out.
I put it on quickly and look outside. Still some distance to the ground, although not much. Time to see how much Lady Luck loves me.
Grabbing my cheetahs, I jump. Then land on my side so hard, my whole body jars with the impact. Ow.
I wince, then blink at the feel of smooth hardwood floor against my cheek and torso. What the hell?
Slowly, my senses take in my whereabouts. Cool airconditioned air without any dust. A faint scent of pine my housekeepers used to clean the mansion.Damn it.I push myself up. Sheets are tangled on the mattress, like a coil of twisting snakes.
I huff, then flop back on the bed. I slept like crap, which is unusual. I make it a rule to sleep well because to be healthy and happy a man needs three things—sleep, food and sex—and I strive to ensure I’m at least generally healthy if not always happy.
Perhaps I’m not sleeping well because I haven’t had sex in a while. Not since that last time with Bobbi. Which might explain my strong reaction to Lorcan now that I think about it. And my strong desire to modify and enhance her vision board because she doesn’t need some random dweeb she found in a magazine when she can have me.
She’s even more beautiful than I remembered. The height and the strong frame and lean muscle. The long golden hair that cascades down her shoulders and back. The confident tilt of her head, those slightly slanted, dark caramel eyes and those lips I could kiss for an eternity. Her breasts aren’t huge, but I don’t need anything larger than my palm. What’s important is sensitivity, and in that respect Bobbi’s are the gold standard. I’ve made her come just by sucking on her tits.
And she had no idea the kind of filthy thoughts that went through my head when she burst through the bedroom door. I wanted to gobble her up the way I did her apple pie. I might’ve tried to kiss her if I was one hundred percent certain she wouldn’t shoot me with that nice Glock of hers. Bobbi has a temper—gloriously fiery. And I love her even more for it.
Last night, though… The disappointment was crushing because I was waiting for her call. I was sure she wouldn’t be able to put me out of her mind like she did a year ago. I expected her to ream me out. Call me names for stealing her food, altering her vision board or crashing her ridiculous date with Joey. If I wasn’t worth a call, I figured she’d at least text. I’m open to any name—asshole, dickhead, thief, jerkface.
But no. I haven’t even merited a text.What a letdown.
Still, she was beautiful in that skirt, which Joey The Sycophant doesn’t deserve to see her in. I wondered who the date was when I saw her note under the vision board—and didn’t plan to let her see some loser, but it was worse than anything I could’ve imagined. Why is she scraping the bottom of the barrel? She could do so much better than the Lorcan Duncans and Joeys of the world.
Likeme. I’m back. I’m available and more than willing.
I stare at the ceiling, wishing I didn’t have to get up. But the catering people are coming soon to set up Saturday brunch with my brothers. I volunteered to host since Griffin wasn’t in any condition. His triplets have been keeping him and his wife up round the clock for six days in a row. They might grow up to be the best interrogators this nation has ever seen. Enough sleep-deprivation and people will say and do anything you want them to.
At least it’s just us seven guys, so the food can be kept simple—lots of eggs, ham, sausages and bacon and a mountain of bread and pastries. The wives don’t join in—they call our monthly brunches and dinners “the boys’ time.” Instead, they get together and do their own thing, mostly spas or tennis or reading while gobbling up chocolate fondue.
Look at the bright side, I tell myself as I drag my ass out of bed. A bag of Bobbi’s croissants is waiting in the kitchen. She was always a fabulous baker, and she’s even better now. I was never that picky about bread or desserts until I met her.
Starchy carbs aren’t the only things I’ve become selective about after Bobbi. My life is divided into pre-Bobbi and post-Bobbi. And I’ve becomeveryparticular about women. Nobody else measures up. They aren’t as beautiful, or capable or sexy. Not that I’d say that out loud any time soon because I don’t want my married brothers to give me shit. Love has blinded each one of them into thinking their particular wife is the best.
After a quick shower, I change into a blue T-shirt and black shorts and make my way downstairs. The catering people text that they’re at the gates, and I let them in as I head to the kitchen.
The Bobbi’s Sweet Things bag is sitting on the counter just as I left it. The logo is pastel blue and purple, just as lovely as the woman herself. Anticipation curling in my belly, I take a pastry out and note the buttercream. Hmm. Does she sell buttercream-filled croissants? I don’t remember seeing any in the store. But who cares? Maybe she stuffed them specifically for herself. Crème de la Bobbi, mmm-hmm. If they taste fantastic—I’m sure they will—I’ll ask the catering team to add buttercream croissants to the menu.
I start to bite into it as the catering team comes in and starts setting up. A thought pops into my head.Bobbi could’ve lost her phone in the last twelve months—and thus my number.So even if she wanted to call or text and call me an asshole, she couldn’t.
I have her number memorized, of course, but she probably doesn’t have mine. After all, not everyone has a photographic memory. I partied all night and got straight As in school. My brothers wanted to know what magical ass-kissing I did but I’ve always hidden that particular talent.
I chew on the croissant.Delicious. All that perfect flaky goodness. The buttercream is light and sweet, but not overly so. The texture is great. No wonder Bobbi’s bakery has become such a success—
Wait. What was that?
I run my tongue over my teeth to get the weird thing out. But it isn’t enough. I spit into the sink, but that doesn’t work either.
Sonya, one of the catering people, looks over from setting up the brunch spread. “You okay?”
Shaking my head, I grab a glass of water and rinse my mouth. Little bits of hair remain in the sink. What the fuck?
Sonya walks up, stares at the hair, then at me. Her eyes are wide with alarm, probably wondering if the hair came from the food her team has brought.
“It’s not you,” I say before grabbing another croissant. Again, buttercream filled. But is it untampered with?
This time, I scoop up a generous glob using a finger and rub it with my thumb. Sure enough, there’s hair hidden in the cream.
No need to check the other two. Bobbi wouldn’t have done this if she’d planned to have them herself. And she didn’t know Lorcan would show up to be her fake fiancé. So that means she did this afterward, specifically for me.
