The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family) Page 13

  …

  Brooke was halfway to dreamland, images of her and Eli in a variety of increasingly interesting sexual positions flickering behind her closed eyes like a hard-core porn highlight reel, when a knock so soft she almost didn’t hear it interrupted the movie in her mind. She sat up and listened again.

  Three knocks. Louder this time.

  She threw off her blankets, padded across the loft in her thick, fuzzy socks, and peered through the peephole. Eli stood on the other side, wearing the same clothes he’d rushed off in hours earlier.

  “So now you knock?” she joked, opening the door and stepping back to let him in.

  “See?” He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, simultaneously kicking the door shut and bringing her mouth level with his. “They were wrong. You can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  She breathed in the scent of him, warm and soapy, with a hint of his citrusy cologne. Her fingers tangled in the silky, dark hair at the nape of his neck. “Is everything okay?”

  “It is now.” He crushed his lips to hers and took possession, his free hand coming up to hold her head in place for a deep, brutal kiss. She was sinking, drowning in him. Seemingly of their own volition, her legs circled his waist, pulling him imperceptibly closer.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice husky with lust when he finally let her up for air.

  “Talk about what?”

  “Whatever you’re avoiding talking about by kissing me.”

  “Can’t I kiss you for the sake of kissing you?” As if to prove his point, he lowered his mouth to the hollow where her neck met the curve of her shoulder, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along her collarbone.

  “Of course.” She arched away from him, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “But I can tell the difference between a kiss for the sake of kissing and a kiss for the sake of avoiding.”

  “We’ll talk later.” His eyes drifted downward, lingering on her vintage Rainbow Brite T-shirt and hot-pink flannel pajama pants. “First I want to get you out of these and under me.”

  “You don’t approve of my taste in sleepwear?”

  “You could be wearing a gunnysack and granny panties, and I’d still want you.”

  Okay, so he didn’t want to talk. Talking was overrated anyway, and they had all night for that.

  In two long strides, he crossed the floor to the bed. All Brooke could do was hold on for dear life until he laid her down and stretched out beside her. His fingers latched onto the waistband of her sleep pants, and she instinctively lifted her hips so he could slide them off. Her shirt went next, landing next to her pants on the floor beside the bed.

  She reached up to grab the lapels of his overcoat, which he hadn’t bothered to remove in his haste to get her in the sack. “Why don’t you take your coat off and stay a while?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  He rolled away from her and stood, shedding not only his coat but the rest of his clothes and rejoining her on the bed before she had a chance to miss his warmth. He didn’t waste any time getting back to business, either, zeroing in on her breasts with his hands, teasing her nipples into hard little points.

  Only when they were practically screaming for more did his mouth get in on the action. He latched on to one stiff peak and suckled, then licked, then bit, each new sensation made all the more delicious by the sensual scraping of his beard against her sensitive skin.

  One hand snaked down to the wet, pulsing heat between her thighs. “Open.”

  She obeyed—like there was really any question—and let her legs fall apart. One gentle probe with his finger told him she was slick and ready for him. Within seconds, he was inside her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, solid and good and right. There was nothing patient or gentle or careful about this pairing. It was raw, primal, end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it sex. The universe narrowed to him, her, the place where their bodies were joined, and the heavenly friction between her thighs.

  She spurred him on, her nails digging little half-moons in his shoulders and back. Her body was like a rocket on the launchpad, primed and ready to shoot off. It didn’t take much to send her into orbit. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, triggering Eli’s release.

  He collapsed beside her, their bodies still fused together. They lay there in silence, satisfied and sweaty, the only noises the sound of their breathing and the distant rumble of cars and voices from the street below. Her thoughts spun in circles. Each time she and Eli were together was more powerfully mind-numbing than the last. Each time she gave a little more of herself. More of her trust. More of her heart. More of her soul.

  Had she done the unimaginable? Had she given herself over completely to him?

  She shifted, pulling them apart.

  Eli looked down and his muscles tensed. The fingers of one hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically. “Shit.”

  Her eyes followed his gaze to where they’d been joined. It wasn’t what she saw there but what she didn’t see that made her understand his strange reaction.

  No condom.

  “Shit,” he repeated. His hand balled into a fist, and he punched the mattress. “I can’t believe I forgot to suit up.”

  “I can. You were like a man possessed.” He hit the mattress again, harder this time. She took his face in her hands, tilting it upward so he was forced to look her in the eyes, and smoothed a stray lock of hair off his brow. “It’s okay. We both got carried away. Besides, I’m on the pill. And I haven’t been with anyone else in… Well, let’s just say it’s been a while.”

  The tension leaked from his body like air from a punctured tire. “Same here. I mean, I’m clean.”

  “Then we’re good?” She drew back to study him.

  His deep, masculine chuckle warmed her from her toes up. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  He rolled onto his back and gathered her close, throwing one leg across her hips to make sure they stayed that way. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  The dreaded we-have-to-talk. Brooke’s heart squeezed into a knot, and her stomach plummeted what seemed like twenty stories. She fought to keep her tone light and her thoughts positive. “That sounds ominous. Do you have a wife and kids stashed somewhere? Are you on the FBI’s most wanted list?”

  He laughed softly and kissed her nose. “Nothing that dire. I’ve got to go away for a couple of days. Business.”

  “Is that all?” Relief coursed through her like a sugar rush. “We’re not joined at the hip, you know.”

  “Could have fooled me.” His leg pressed into the small of her back, pulling her tight to him. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, but I should be back sometime Sunday afternoon.”

  “As luck would have it, I won’t be here this weekend, either.” She made a face. “Family stuff.”

  “You don’t seem too excited.”

  “I’m not.” Going to some hoity-toity fundraiser at the Worthington wasn’t exactly her idea of a rockin’ good time. “But I promised my sister I’d be there. I owe her for helping with the wedding.”

  “Do you think you can manage two whole days without me?” His breath was hot against her ear, making her shiver.

  “It’ll be hard, but I’ll try.”

  He ground his hips against her, rubbing his already stiffening cock against her thigh. “Oh, it’ll be hard all right.”

  Her traitorous body responded, her nipples hardening and a tingling sensation vibrating between her legs. “Is that all you think about?”

  “When you’re lying in my arms naked?” He took one finger and drew a sensuous line from her neck to the valley between her breasts. “Hell, yes. It’s pretty much impossible to think about anything else.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She had the same problem where he was concerned.

  “I’m flattered.” She shuddered as she sucked in a breath
. “I think.”

  “What do you say?” His wandering finger found her nipple. “One more round to tide us over until Sunday?”

  She closed her eyes and surrendered to the waves of pleasure that took hold of her body whenever Eli touched her. “At least.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The ballroom at the Park Avenue Worthington was just about the last place Brooke wanted to be on a Saturday night—or any night, for that matter—but she had to admit the staff had gone all out. The room was ringed with long, black-skirted tables. More tables formed a square at the center of the room. Each one held an array of items from bottles of wine to Yankees tickets to gift certificates for some of Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurants, all up for bid. Rumor had it a walk-on part in a Broadway play was up for grabs.

  Smartly dressed waitstaff circulated among the growing crowd with trays of mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne and sparkling water. At the far end of the room, a stage was set up with a podium and microphone. Balloon bouquets and floral arrangements dotted the room, adding pops of color.

  “Wow.” She turned to her sister, who looked stunning in a black sleeveless Valentino cocktail dress and matching patent leather Louboutins. Brooke felt dowdy in comparison in the tomato-red fit-and-flare number she’d pulled off the clearance rack at Neiman Marcus. She smoothed down the skirt, wishing she were home in her yoga pants and an extra-large T-shirt. Or better yet, buck naked in bed with Eli. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

  Mallory waved off the compliment with a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m the chef. I’m only responsible for the food.”

  “You can’t fool me.” Brooke snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “This thing has your fingerprints all over it.”

  “Well, I did collaborate with the event planner,” Mallory confessed, blushing and taking a sip of her sparkling water. Her sister had never been very good at accepting praise.

  Brooke decided to let her off the hook and change the subject. “Dare I ask about the whereabouts of dear old Mom and Dad?”

  “They’re around here somewhere.” A man in a white coat flagged Mallory down from across the room. She acknowledged him with a nod and handed Brooke her glass. “That’s my sous chef. Must be some minor emergency in the kitchen. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Brooke spent the next half hour meandering around the ballroom, making small talk with strangers and family friends she barely remembered and checking out all the items up for auction. Signed sports memorabilia. Exotic vacations. Golf lessons. She was scrawling her signature on one of the bid sheets when her mother’s piercing, judgmental voice stopped her pen midstroke.

  “A hot air balloon ride, Brooke? Really? Do you think that’s practical?”

  “No, Mom, I don’t.” Brooke finished signing with a flourish and turned to face her mother. No surprise, she was decked out to the nines in a floor-length beaded gown, her makeup flawless, not a frosted white-blond hair out of place. “But I think it sounds like fun. And it’s for a good cause.”

  She assumed. To be honest, she hadn’t paid much attention to the cause célèbre du jour. If memory served, the signs at the entrance to the ballroom said something about girls and science. A refreshing change from saving whales or building houses or fighting disease. Not that there was anything wrong with saving whales or building houses or fighting disease.

  “Where’s your young man?” her mother asked, one plucked eyebrow inching upward.

  “Not here.” Brooke didn’t volunteer more.

  Her mother’s eyebrow rose higher, disappearing beneath her frosted bangs, but she didn’t press. “Well, at least you made it.”

  “Brooke.” Her father joined them, putting an arm around his wife, whether for show or because there was still some real affection between them Brooke was never sure. “You look lovely.”

  “Yes.” Her mother looked her up and down, her expression shockingly more supportive than scornful. “That color suits you.”

  “Um, thanks.” Compliments were so rare from her parents, Brooke didn’t quite know how to react. Fortunately, a tall, blond-haired man who was a close second to Eli in the heart-stoppingly gorgeous department stepped onto the stage and tapped the microphone, diverting their attention.

  “Hello and welcome. I’m Simon Adler, and on behalf of the board of directors of Geek Girls, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight.”

  The crowd applauded politely, and he continued. “I hope you brought your checkbooks because we’ve got all sorts of great items up for auction. So remember, bid often and bid high.”

  Laughter. When it died down, Simon went on with his speech. “In a few minutes, you’ll be hearing from our board president, who’ll let you in on some exciting things we have planned for this year, but until then eat, drink, and of course, bid.”

  The crowd applauded again, a little more enthusiastically this time, and Simon left the stage. Gradually, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glassware resurged, filling the ballroom.

  “Richard.” Never Rich. And certainly not Dick. Her mother was nothing if not predictable. She laid a bony, ringed hand on her husband’s arm and with the other gestured to a couple on the other side of the room. “I think I see the Garrisons. We should say hello.”

  “Yes.” Her father nodded to Brooke as his wife dragged him away. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

  Not if I see you first. “Sure thing.”

  Brooke hijacked another waiter, handed off Mallory’s half-full sparkling water and exchanged her now empty champagne glass for a fresh one. She sipped and scanned the ballroom for her sister, coming up empty. The emergency in the kitchen must be proving more major than minor.

  Just when she was about to give up hope and hit the bar for something stronger than champagne, Mallory showed up.

  “Everything okay?” Brooke asked.

  “It is now.” Her sister stopped a waitress, took a canapé from the tray she was bearing, and bit into it. “Tell Hector it needs more mascarpone.”

  The waitress nodded and hurried off.

  “Did you find Mom and Dad?” Mallory popped the rest of the canapé into her mouth.

  “More like they found me,” Brooke grumbled.

  “Let me guess. Mom wanted to know why your young man isn’t here,” Mallory said, putting air quotes around “young man.”

  Brooke let out an unladylike snort. “How did you know?”

  “She grilled me about Hunter.”

  “Where is the boy wonder tonight?”

  “He’s on call.” Mallory’s ever-present smile slipped a little. “And I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

  A pang of guilt sucker-punched Brooke in the gut. She’d been so busy with Eli and the wedding she’d never had a chance to talk to her sister about Hunter. More like never made the time, she scolded herself, remembering how she’d canceled their lunch date after the wedding.

  The guilt doubled, then tripled.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure Hunter’s a great guy.” Brooke tried her hardest to sound convincing. “It’s just…”

  The lights flickered, and Mallory put a finger to her lips. “Shh. They’re about to start.”

  Simon Adler returned to the stage, this time accompanied by a slightly taller man with cerulean-blue eyes and dark hair that curled over the collar of his tuxedo.

  Eyes that had seen every inch of Brooke’s body. Hair her fingers knew the silky feel of almost as well as her own.

  Mallory clutched her sister’s arm in a death grip. “Isn’t that…”

  “Yes,” Brooke ground out between clenched teeth. “It is.”

  “I take it you didn’t know he’d be here.”

  “No.” Brooke watched him step up to the podium, a vein pulsing in her temple. “I have no clue what he’s doing here or why.”

  “Good evening.” He flashed the crowd a disarming smile she was more than well acquainted with. “I’m Eli Wa
rd, president of the Geek Girls board of directors and co-founder of Momentum Development, the sponsor of this evening’s event.”

  What. The actual. Fuck.

  Anger warred with heartbreak as Brooke tried to process what she was seeing. Her Eli Ward was the Eli Ward, the one her parents had talked about at brunch. Billionaire real estate developer. One of Fortune’s most influential businesspeople under forty, or some crap like that.

  If he’d ever been hers at all.

  She considered turning tail and running. Almost as quickly as the thought popped into her head, she rejected it. She’d always been more of a fight than flight kind of gal. And her need to know why Eli had been lying to her all this time trumped her desire to bury her sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Brooke repeated, shaking off her sister’s hand and lowering her voice to a hard, cold whisper. “But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

  …

  The night was going perfectly according to plan. Beautiful ballroom. Good food. Free-flowing alcohol. And tons of eager bidders. By Eli’s estimate, Geek Girls should have an additional hundred grand, minimum, in its coffers by the end of the evening.

  He’d finished his speech and was barely off the stage when his sister intercepted him, steering him into a corner away from the tables of auction merchandise. “Houston, we have a problem.”

  Great. More mess.

  Eli glanced around the room. Still nothing but happy campers as far as he could see. “What’s wrong? Seems like everything is going great.”

  “Pissed-off brunette at eleven o’clock,” Paige hissed. “Says she needs to talk to you and only you.”

  He frowned. “Why me? What does she want?”

  “Who knows? She didn’t say.” Paige looked over her shoulder and swore under her breath. “I was hoping to hustle you out of here, but she’s on her way over. I hope you can diffuse this without creating a scene.”

  “Trust me. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of…”

  The words curled up in his throat and died when he caught site of the woman storming her way across the room. In other circumstances, he’d be admiring her long legs in her open-toed stilettos, the way her fire-engine-red dress clung to her breasts and hugged her tiny waist before flaring out at her hips. Now all he could focus on was the murderous glint in her eyes and the steam practically coming out of her ears.