Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) Page 8

  “I’m all wet. Put me down before you get soaked, too,” she said.

  Scorching hazel eyes on hers had her replaying her words.

  “That wasn’t an innuendo,” she muttered.

  Those eyes narrowed, and she realized that the heat in his gaze wasn’t remotely sexual. No, instead, it was fury. Pissed-off, intense anger.

  “I never expected it to be,” he snapped.

  “Why are you mad?” she asked, putting aside her request to be put down.

  He bent down and snagged her purse. “I hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  His eyes flashed to hers again, and as he started carrying her back down the trail, she placed her hand on his chest.

  “I swear, Brad. I’m not hurt.” Her groin might be a little tetchy from the slip-slide—she must have been attempting to do the splits while falling down that ridiculously tiny hill—but she was fine.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Her mouth fell. “What?”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I can’t be bl—”

  He stopped, spinning them, and in a heartbeat, he had her pinned between his chest and a tree trunk, her purse crammed into her abdomen. One hand lifted, brushed lightly against the top of her cheek. He held it up so she could see the bright red painting his fingertips. “You’re bleeding.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Just a little.”

  Eyes flashing again. He was fierce, glaring down at her, with the setting sun gathering in the trees, shafts of sunlight highlighting motes of dust in the air, the wind lightly rustling through the leaves. “A. Little?”

  The last was said so dangerously that she shivered, heat trickling down her torso, gathering in her stomach, making her thighs tremble.

  In a second, his expression shifted. “You’re cold.” He shifted again, straightening and cradling her against his chest, and starting to walk along the path again. “I need to get you inside and warm.”

  Heidi found herself without words.

  She’d not expected him to be like this, to be so intense, so ferocious in his protection of her.

  It was . . . not numbing exactly, but she was suddenly having an out-of-body experience as he carried her along her little trail, his legs eating up the space in hardly any time at all. What had taken her fifteen minutes of meandering, took him just a handful, and when he was walking up the stairs to her door, holding her like she weighed no more than a feather, she still hadn’t found her voice.

  All she could think was . . . she hadn’t expected this.

  Probably, that said bad things about her and her intelligence—that being held by this man had fried her brain—but she was still struggling to reconcile the normally easy-going, funny man with this one in front of her.

  Though, he had gotten all protective about her phone.

  “Keys,” he said, stopping in front of her door.

  She blinked. “What?”

  His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in the hard line, tempting her with a desire to taste that little pulsing spot, to soothe away the tension. But she didn’t have a chance. He wedged her against the door, dug her keys out of her purse, then somehow managed to finagle them into the lock to open it.

  A moment later, they were inside.

  He kicked it shut and carried her down the hall, dumping her onto her bed. “Stay,” he growled and then disappeared out of the room.

  She stood up, not wanting to get her blankets wet, and moved to her dresser, opening the top drawer to pull out some pajamas.

  Which was the moment Brad came back into the bedroom.

  His eyes met hers in the mirror. “What part of stay don’t you understand?”

  Fresh pair of underwear in her grip, she dropped her hands to her side. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  His expression turned mulish.

  “What part of stay don’t I understand?” She spun to face him, crossing the room and prodding him the chest with her finger. “Stay? Fucking stay?”

  He captured her finger. “You’re bleeding. You’re limping. I reserve the right to go a little crazy.”

  “You don’t have any rights. Reserved or not. Bleeding and limping or not.” Even if her cheek was starting to burn, and her groin, along with her ankle, were feeling a bit sore. She whirled around, took a step—

  And stumbled.

  Brad caught her. “Woman,” he muttered.

  Then she was in his arms again, pressed against his chest, his heat surrounding her, his scent in her nose. He marched into the bathroom, set her on the counter, and then turned to crank on the shower.

  Her breath hitched when she saw the look on his face, fury written into every line, but his fingers were gentle when he reached for the hem of her T-shirt and tugged it over her head, when he unfastened the button on her jeans and slid down the zipper before hefting her again and working the damp material down her legs. He started to set her down then hesitated, reaching for a towel and tucking it beneath her before setting her on the marble surface.

  The small act of kindness, the bit of care without a word undid her.

  “Brad,” she whispered.

  His eyes came to hers, filled with an emotion that made her lose her breath all over again. “I can’t hurt you again,” he whispered. “I did it once. I can’t be responsible for doing it again.”

  Her heart rolled over in her chest. “I’m not hurt.”

  He didn’t answer, instead reaching for a small towel, dampening it in the sink, and bringing it up to her cheek, dabbing lightly at the cut.

  She inhaled sharply, the sting taking her by surprise.

  “You’re hurt,” he whispered.

  She covered her hand with his. “It’s just a little cut.”

  He set the towel aside, stepped away to check the shower temperature. Then he stripped off his shirt, shoved his pants down, and scooped her up again.

  “What are you—?”

  He stepped into the shower with her.

  Hot water sluiced over her skin, soaking into her bra and underwear, slicking their skin, and suddenly, she didn’t feel the cut, or her aching groin, or the slight throb in her ankle. She could only feel Brad. Just the wide breadth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the abrasion of the damp lace of her bra against her nipples, the cotton growing hot and wet between her thighs.

  “Better?” he asked.

  And she had to remember how to speak again.

  Because this was a hell of a lot better. It was fucking incredible and not enough. It was intoxicating, and she was desperate for more. It was—

  “Put me down,” she whispered.

  His gaze met hers, and whatever he saw there must have been intense enough that he actually listened to her, setting her carefully on her feet.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice barely above a murmur.

  His eyes slid closed, opened slowly, then his hand came up, cupping her uninjured cheek gently. “I’ve spent the last months hating myself for leaving that night.” His shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “Because it was more.”

  More. More. More.

  The word echoed through her mind.

  “I didn’t know what I felt that night—” A sharp shake of his head. “No, that’s a fucking lie, and I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you, not after I’d seen what it did to you when I treated you like that.” His fingers convulsed slightly. “You’re a fucking keeper, Heidi. You’re the real deal—smart, beautiful, funny, kind—and I wanted to keep you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He slid his hand to her nape. “Then we made love. Then I got to hold and touch you, to be inside you . . . and I knew I’d give up everything for a shot with you.”

  Her heart thudded against her ribs—a rapid whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh. Water streamed down her skin, warm rivulets that slid down her back, her legs, dripped forward and over her breasts.

  “But you knew you couldn’t actually give
everything up,” she whispered.

  His face sobered. “No, I couldn’t.” A moment of quiet as she felt like she’d been stabbed in the gut.

  Pretty words.

  Nice compliments.

  But he still hadn’t wanted to stay.

  God, here she was wanting him so much that she was almost willing to sacrifice her beliefs, to ignore everything she’d promised to jump into bed with him again. “I need you to go,” she whispered.

  “Heidi.”

  “You need to go,” she repeated. “You need to go.”

  “I—”

  “You need to go!”

  He retreated a step then his face clouded. “No,” he said. “Not until you understand. Yes, I fucking panicked. Yes, I ran off that night because you made me feel things I have never felt with anyone. Yes, I left because it was too fucking much!” She flinched. “But I’ve thought about you every fucking day since then. I dreamed about you. I imagined what it would be like to have you with me.”

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse danced a speedy tattoo in her veins. She couldn’t summon any words, but it didn’t matter.

  Because he kept talking.

  “Yes, I ran, but I’ve regretted it every day since.” He closed the distance between them. “All I’ve wanted to do, all I want to do is make it up to you.”

  Her air stuttered out. “Brad.”

  His hand came up to her uninjured cheek again. “So, maybe I’m fucking this up. Maybe it’s all too fast, too much. But I need you to know that I’m not leaving. I’m not running again. I’ve seen how wonderful you are, and I’m going to prove to you that I’m not some jackass.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because you are special and wonderful, and I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

  What could she possibly say to that?

  How could she possibly respond to something so wonderful?

  How could she possibly not panic about something so terrifying?

  Because his words were . . .

  Everything. Too much. Frightening. Terrifying. Everything.

  “I know it’s a lot to spring on you, a lot for you to believe when I just left you without a word. But . . .” His warm breath skated over her skin. His voice was soft, gentle. “Let me take care of you.”

  “I—”

  “Please, just for tonight. Let me stay. Let me help you. Let me prove to you that I mean everything I said.”

  Heidi should have told him to go, for self-preservation, to keep her self-respect, to make certain she could keep her heart safe. But . . . she couldn’t make herself form the words to tell him to leave.

  Instead, she just gave in to the need in her heart, her soul.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Eleven

  Brad

  One word that made everything inside him settle.

  His heart had been thudding in his chest, filling him with terror, thinking again about all the ways he wasn’t smooth and charming. God, how was it possible to have bungled this more, to have not explained properly, making her think he’d say all those things but then just toss her aside . . .

  Add in scaring her into falling down a fucking hill and making her injure herself and—

  She shivered.

  Fucking hell.

  Still fucking up.

  He grabbed a towel from the rack just outside the curtain, turned off the stream of water, and wrapped it around her. Snagging one for himself so he didn’t drip on her floor, he wrapped it around his hips then carefully lifted her out of the shower.

  “Why didn’t you take off my underwear?” she whispered into his chest.

  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to get you naked.”

  She snorted. “You mean, you’re not trying to get me naked?”

  Something inside him relaxed, and he shifted so he could meet her eyes. “I’m always trying to get you naked.”

  A quirk of that luscious mouth as he set her on the counter.

  “I’ll grab you some pajamas.”

  “I’m guessing they’re somewhere in the middle of my floor, considering I was doing just that went you went all caveman on me.”

  He lifted a brow but couldn’t deny she was right. Instead, he just went into the bedroom, spied the pajamas, along with some underwear that reminded him of the ass-hugging pair she was wearing, made even huggier—was that a word? Probably not—by the water. Regardless, they were plastered to her honey gold skin in a way that had made his cock stand at rigid attention.

  Not unusual, since this woman seemed to do that to him just by breathing.

  Add in tight fabric and see-through lace, and he was a goner.

  She’d slipped off her bra by the time he returned, had spread it on the towel next to her.

  “Here,” he said, handing her the pajamas and looking away.

  Not leaving though, and also not stopping himself from glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, from seeing the pink tip of her nipple, the swaying globe of her breast.

  Pervert?

  Yup.

  But he had to make sure she didn’t fall.

  That was the only reason he stayed. Simply for safety purposes.

  When she went to slip off the counter, after she’d tugged the pajama top over her head, he stepped forward, lifted her down.

  Her lips parted, a hot, damp exhale coating his skin.

  But she didn’t push him away, not even when he reached for the waistband of her underwear and worked the wet material down her thighs, bending further to bring it past her knees, lifting one foot then the other to slip it off.

  She released another shaking exhale, but it wasn’t like his breathing wasn’t steady either.

  Still, he backed up a pace, handing her the dry underwear and pajama bottoms, and turning away.

  Movement behind him, the soft sound of fabric sliding over naked skin. Then a warm palm on his back. “I have some clothes that should fit you in my closet.”

  “I’m fine,” he told her.

  “How are those wet boxer briefs feeling about now?”

  Not great.

  They weren’t feeling great, but she had bigger things to worry about other than his chafing issues.

  “Fine.”

  “Brad,” she warned.

  “How’s your ankle?” He moved to lift her up again, readying to carry her to the bed.

  “Fine,” she said, brushing past him.

  Well, limping past him.

  “Heidi.” It was his turn to warn.

  “Not so fun, is it?” she muttered, making her way through a door that was attached to the bathroom.

  He did some muttering of his own. “No, it isn’t.” Following her, he saw it was walk-in-sized, and one look around the space told him that Heidi had a lot of clothes—though they seemed to only come in the T-shirts and jeans variety.

  “You have an extensive collection of graphic tees,” he pointed out as she hobbled toward the far side and stood on tiptoe.

  She turned one on a hanger, showing him that it had the words This T-shirt is the color of my soul. It was black and had him fighting back a smile. “That’s because they express me better than I can express me.” A shrug. “Plus, I don’t have to wear adult clothes very often. I love my tees. And my pajamas. Half my dresser is filled with them, and I can honestly say that I’ve probably spent more on them than anything else in my wardrobe, combined.”

  He ran a finger over the silk sleeve of her pajama top. It was soft and cut high to expose a large portion of her arm. “I like them.”

  She glared over her shoulder, wavering to the side so much that he had to catch her shoulder to steady her. “Because you’ve seen the underwear I have on beneath them?”

  “That is a plus,” he said, finally realizing what she was reaching for, and nudging her to the side so he could snag the large plastic tub before she forgot she was hurt and started scrambling up the shelves.

  “Where do you want this?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “Open it up, help yourself to the clothes inside.” A shrug. “My exes won’t care. I promise.”

  Like it had burned him, he dropped the box on the floor.

  Heidi laughed. “I’m kidding,” she said, opening the lid. “My dad left these behind when he stayed over a while back. They’re clean and free from any ex cooties.” She tugged out a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and a T-shirt, handing them over. “No underwear, I’m afraid, but I’m guessing you don’t want to wear another man’s boxer briefs.”

  “No.”

  She snorted. “You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

  “Maybe just a lime,” he muttered, freezing when she snagged the shirt from his hands and tugged it over his head.

  A pat to his chest, her lips curved into a smirk, but there were deep lines etched into the space around her mouth.

  “You should lie down,” he said.

  For once, she didn’t argue, just nodded. “I think you’re right. I’m actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.”

  He dropped the clothes, snagged her arm when she wavered. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” He’d seen the cut on her cheek, knew it had looked worse than it was. After he’d cleaned it, he’d realized it was just a scratch. He could also see that her ankle was bothering her, and maybe her hip. But he didn’t think she’d hit her head. Still, she’d fallen so fast he couldn’t be sure.

  “No,” she said. “I think it’s just the adrenaline coming down.” She pulled her arm free. “Well, that and the fact that I didn’t eat lunch.”

  God save him from this woman.

  He bit back a snarl, wanting to yell at her for not taking care of herself. Yes, he knew her particular predicament was his fault. But that didn’t give her an excuse to not fuel her body. First the cell phone, now skipping lunch.

  A pat to his jaw. “More lemon-swallowing.” She turned and made her way carefully out of the closet, shuffling across the bedroom to her bed. “Stop hovering,” she muttered. “I can make it five feet to the bed. If you really want to make yourself useful, why don’t you go get me a bag of ice?”

  That was an excellent point.

  But he still made sure she’d made it into bed.