“Look,” Jackson says, shrugging a shoulder and moving even closer to me, probably so as not to be heard by the people standing around us. “If you have a spare hour or two over the next few days, I’m in Penthouse B, in tower two at Vedanta. I could use the distraction…”
He arches his eyebrows, clamping his bottom lip between histeeth as he leers down at me. And I shudder at the feel of his body pressed up against my arm, his hot breath skating over my shoulder, laced with liquor and the long-forgotten hint of an after-dinner mint.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he murmurs, purposely grazing the skin on my upper arm with the backs of the fingers as he holds his glass.
Suddenly, a big hand is on my waist, jerking me out of Jackson’s reach, my back colliding against something firm and warm. A strong arm wraps around my middle from behind, and I know immediately by the spicy scent that engulfs me, along with the way he’s practically vibrating through me with rage, that it’s Brookes. And he’s clearly pissed.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demands on a low, rumbled growl.
Jackson’s smile turns malevolent, his dark, almost black eyes dancing as he looks over my shoulder. “Hey, Brookes. I was just getting to know your…girlfriend.” He lifts his glass to his smirking lips, taking another slow swig of his drink, and the way he says the wordgirlfriend, like he doesn’t buy it one bit, makes the contents of my stomach curdle.
“Are you okay?” Brookes asks me softly, his lips so close to my ear, my skin erupts in goosebumps from his warm breath as it fans the sensitive skin at my nape.
I nod and he turns me in his arms, his eyes meeting mine and asking again, without words this time, if I really am okay. I nod again, because I am.Now. If he’d taken a second longer to intervene, I can’t be sure I wouldn’t have slogged this asshole in his stupid, smarmy face. The last thing I want is to be responsible for Brookes losing his tour card when it’s my literal job to make sure he keeps it.
The hint of a smile ghosts Brookes’ lips, and right then, his hand navigates the dip in my lower back, continuing downwards before coming to rest casually yet possessively against the curve of my ass. The look in his eyes turns dark, heavy, glintingwith something that has butterflies swarming low in my belly, and I don’t miss the foreign yet somewhat familiar throb that settles between my thighs.
My breath shudders, and my brows knit together the longer I stare into those cornflower blue eyes, because I’m not sure if it’s the lust surging through me that might be clouding my judgement but… this doesn’t feel as fake as it probably should.
Still holding me flush against him, Brookes tears his eyes from mine, his smile turning dangerous as he spears Jackson with a hard glower. “If you value your teeth,” he gruffs, shaking his head, “don’t ever fuckin’ talk to her again.”
And before Jackson can do something stupid and respond, Brookes looks down at me with a murmured “Megalodon,” and then he takes my hand in his and we walk out of the party together.
Brookes hasn’t said more than a word to me since we left the party. As soon as we got into the back of the car, he let go of my hand, and boy did I feel the loss.
As we drove from the country club back to the hotel, he avoided me completely, choosing instead to stare out the window into the darkness of the night. Even now, as we stand in the elevator, he barely acknowledges me, looking straight ahead at the brushed brass metal doors, his arms folded tightly across his chest, face devoid of any and all emotion.
When we arrive back at the suite, he holds the door open for me, and I walk inside, watching him from the corner of my eye as I unfasten the buckle on my wedged sandals. He empties his pockets, dumping his phone, wallet and keys on the table, kicks off his shoes, and then, without a word or even a casual glance in my direction, he walks directly through the living area to the glass doors and slides them open, continuing out onto the terrace, as if he can’t wait to get as far away from me as possible.
My heart sinks because every sliver of hope I’d had earlier, from the way he first looked at me when he saw me in this dress, to the feel of his hand on my ass back at the party, it was all my stupid imagination.
This is just a job.
He’s paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend.
He doesn’tlikeme like that.
And all I’m doing is getting my hopes up.
Grabbing a fourteen-dollar bottle of water from the bar, I cross the living area and head straight to the bedroom, closing the doors behind me and resting back against them with a heavy, ragged sigh.
And, in an attempt to try and knock some sense back into me, I bang my head a few times, closing my eyes and whispering under my breath, “Stop making a goddamn fool of yourself, Poppy.”
CHAPTER 28
BROOKES
For a fucking penthouse suite, this couch sure is lumpy.
I’ve been tossing for hours trying to get comfortable, but it’s impossible. I either have to bend my knees, or my legs hang over the arm, and then every time I try to turn, I almost roll right off the damn thing and onto the floor. Honestly, the floor would probably be more comfortable; at least I could stretch out down there.
Huffing a hard breath, I lie on my back, pushing my hair off my face, and stare up at the ceiling. It’s dark, but not quite dark enough, the light from the moon outside shining in through the cracks in the heavy drapes, providing a muted glow. I check the time on my watch; I have to be awake in a few hours. Fuck this couch, and fuck whatever asshole messed up my reservation.
With another hard exhale, I drag my hands down my face, considering whether or not I should just forgo sleep altogether and get up. Maybe I could hit the hotel gym. Work out some of my frustration. But who am I kidding? My frustration can’t be exhausted in any gym because it’s right here, on the other side of that goddamn wall.
Fuck, the way she looked in that dress. I was sporting a semi all night. Those tits. I swear to God, any time I saw someoneeven glance in her general direction, the need to punch my fist through a wall was almost too much. I was about ready to rip Jackson Taylor’s motherfucking head clean off when I saw him talking to her, fucking touching her. The feral beast inside me was clawing its way out as I shouldered through the crowd to get there quick enough.
Fuck. I want her. I want her so damn bad it hurts. But I can’t. I know I can’t. For her sake as well as mine. But the fact that I know she wants me? This is torture. Inhumane fucking torture.
