Brady shook his head. “We didn’t eat much.”
“In that case, I could eat.”
“Would you like to shower while I cook?”
Reilly moved closer to him. “I was thinkin’ maybe we could shower together.”
Oh, how she loved the way his dark brown eyes heated.
“You never did tell me what Donovan said,” she mentioned as he led the way up the stairs to the loft.
Brady stopped as soon as he was at the top and turned to look at her. “He said it’s about time.”
Her eyebrows practically shot into her hairline. “Are you kidding?”
“No.” He laughed, a gruff sound of disbelief. “He did add that if I hurt you, he’ll break both my legs.”
Reilly didn’t start walking when he did. She was still trying to process that. Not the breaking legs part. She’d expected no less.
Brady appeared again. “You comin’?”
“Did Donovan expect you and me to…” She threw up her hands. “I mean, why would he say that?”
Brady helped her by grabbing her wrist and tugging her up the last two stairs and into the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the house, Brady had designed it to be mostly private, although there wasn’t a door, only a wall that separated it from the bedroom. The toilet was in its own little closet, so at least there was that. The exterior walls of the space were made of white opaque glass, which was a relief. She wasn’t sure she was ready to test the theory as to whether someone could see in or not.
“There’s a chance I didn’t hide it as well as I thought,” Brady said, releasing her hand and walking over to the shower to turn on the water.
“Hide what?”
“My interest in you.”
He said it as though it wasn’t new.
Reilly cocked her head. “How long have you been interested in me, Mr. McCord?”
His smirk was slow and wicked.
Her gaze shifted to his chest when he began pulling his shirt off. Oh, man. The man’s body could’ve been cast in stone and placed with Greek god statues. He was impressively built. So much so her mouth watered just looking at him.
“A while,” he said, and it took a moment for her to realize what he meant.
“You’ve been interested in me for a while?”
He nodded.
“But you never said anything?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She moved closer. “How about, hey, Reilly, would you like to go out sometime?”
Color rose in his cheeks. Was he blushing?
“Did it have somethin’ to do with the age difference?”
Brady unbuttoned his jeans but then walked over to her. As she waited for him to respond, he pulled her sweatshirt over her head. When it was off, she grabbed the bottom edge of her sports bra with both hands and tugged it up and over her head. As usual, she got stuck—stupid sports bras—but luckily, Brady was there to help her along. When she was free, she lowered her arms slowly, enjoying the way he admired her breasts.
“Fuck,” he whispered, stepping forward and cupping both with his big hands.
