The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family) Page 16

  “Besides,” he continued, waving an arm at the crowd below, who watched the proceedings with interest. “This concerns them, too.”

  He pulled a sheet of paper from the tube and taped it up to the easel. She studied it over his shoulder, not quite believing what she was seeing. Where was the glossy high-rise? Where were the three-thousand-square-foot luxury condos?

  “What’s this?”

  “My plans for the Sunset Park Chocolate Works.”

  “What’s the Chocolate Works?” someone asked.

  “Good question,” Eli said, taking over the microphone. “First, let me introduce myself. I’m Eli Ward from Hearthstone Development, the new owner of the Sunset Park Chocolate Works, formerly Candy Court.”

  “Great, he’s changing the name,” someone grumbled from below.

  “What else are you going to change?” someone else asked, louder. Other voices joined in, and the hum of the crowd rose to a dull roar.

  Eli seemed unfazed. “I suggest we adjourn for a few minutes. Give everyone a chance to come up and have a look at the plans. Then I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

  He put his hand over the mic and turned to Brooke. “And you and I can discuss this in private.”

  She stared at him for a long, awkward moment, weighing her options. It was decision time. Open up to hurt or walk away. Finally, she pushed his hand away from the microphone and leaned in.

  “Meeting adjourned.”

  …

  Meeting adjourned.

  Funny how two little words could make his heart soar.

  Eli grabbed Brooke by the hand and dragged her off the stage before she had time to change her mind. Once in the hall, he pushed open the first door he found, which of course, turned out to be a supply closet, this time stocked with glue sticks and markers and pencils as round as his thumb.

  “What is it with you and closets?” Brooke rested her perfect ass on a shelf of spiral notebooks. “Do you have a fetish or something?”

  Eli willed himself to focus on the speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times on the way to Brooklyn. He had one shot to get this right, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Even if it meant having one of the most important conversations of his life in a closet.

  Again.

  She gave him a don’t-bullshit-me glare and crossed her arms. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Okay. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him. He couldn’t say that he blamed her.

  He braced a hand against the door. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to keep you in the dark about Candy Court.”

  She smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I thought I could wait until the sale was a lock. I didn’t want to leave anything up to chance. I’ve lost a few deals recently at the eleventh hour, and I didn’t want that to happen again.”

  “So you could make a small fortune turning our building into a haven for yuppies and elitists?”

  “At first, yes, that was the plan.” She bristled, and his heart started to pound. He couldn’t afford to lose her now, not when he was just getting to the good part. “But that changed once I moved in and got to know you. All of you.”

  “So those drawings out there…”

  “They’re the real deal,” he insisted. “The only thing that’s going to change at Candy Court is the name. Well, that and some upgrades. All in keeping with the history and character of the building, of course.”

  “No luxury condos?”

  “Studio apartments, one bedrooms, maybe a handful of two bedrooms for families. Quality, affordable housing for hard-working, middle-class people. That’s what Hearthstone is going to be all about.”

  “What about Momentum?”

  “Simon will make sure Momentum keeps doing what it does best. High-end commercial development. Hearthstone’s my baby.”

  “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this.”

  He took a step toward her, and his spirits lifted when she didn’t flinch. “Did you seriously think I could throw the Feingolds out on the street? Or Charise and her baby? And I’m not about to destroy the rooftop garden we worked so hard on. Chris and David would never speak to me again.”

  She lifted one eyebrow, a gesture that was incongruously both imperious and endearing. “Aren’t you leaving someone out?”

  “Not just someone.” He reached up to touch her face. “The one.”

  “Not so fast.” She caught his hand and brought it down. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

  His heart stuttered. “What do you think it’ll take?”

  “Well, let’s see.” She kept hold of his hand, twining her fingers with his, and his heart kick-started into high gear. “You’ve admitted you were wrong.”

  “Check.”

  “Said you were sorry.”

  “Check.”

  “Hmm.” She titled her head thoughtfully. “What else could there be?”

  Shit. The three little words.

  “I’m an idiot.” Not exactly the three words he was going for, but they were the ones that spilled out.

  “You’re not an idiot.” She let out a strangled laugh. “I take that back. You are kind of an idiot for thinking your money would color my perception of you. But it’s not like I can throw stones.”

  “Ah, yes. Brooke Worthington, heiress.”

  She winced and relaxed her hand, letting his fingers slide through hers. “You know.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t expect to see you at the auction that night. Of course, maybe if I had realized it was at your family’s hotel…”

  “I never meant to mislead you. It just never seemed important. And it’s not something I like to discuss.” She blushed and ducked her head, her dark tresses shadowing her face. “I guess we both made mistakes.”

  “Me more than you,” he admitted. “Is it too late to fix them?”

  She raised her chin and faced him head on, her green eyes clear and honest, hiding nothing. Now he understood that whole windows-to-the-soul thing. “We’ll never know until we try.”

  He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Eli Ward. I’m filthy rich, and I’m buying the building you live in, but I promise not to tear it down, kick you out, or raise your rent. Oh, and I’m truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you.”

  Slowly, carefully, like she was about to touch a live wire, she took his hand, her fingers curling into the warmth of his. “Hi. I’m Brooke Worthington. My family owns a bunch of hotels, and I was raised in the lap of luxury, but that’s not really my scene. And I’m truly, deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with you, too.”

  “Thank God.” He pulled her in and crushed her to him, relief swelling his chest. “I was hoping you meant it when you said you loved me in that closet at the Worthington. Hoping I hadn’t fucked it all up beyond repair.”

  “You came close.” She smiled against his throat. “But lucky for you, I’m a forgiving kind of gal.”

  “I can’t promise not to fuck up again.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “But I can promise not to keep anything from you. No more secrets.”

  “No more secrets,” she repeated on a shaky breath.

  His hand went around to the back of her neck, and his lips brushed hers in a soft, tender kiss that, laced with two weeks of unrequited longing, almost immediately turned passionate. Their mouths clashed as he moved against her, backing her up against the wall of shelves. No shrinking violet, Brooke demanded equal participation, her hands moving up to her shoulders, digging into his shirt and tugging him closer.

  He kissed her long and hard and deep, their breath coming hot and fast, until he heard a high-pitched, girlish giggle. When they pulled apart, Mrs. Feingold and Charise stood in the doorway, beaming at them.

  “Don’t mind us,” the older woman said, already closing the door. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Although, you might want to wrap it up and save it for later,” Charise suggested. “T
here’s a gym full of people waiting to hear about your plans for the Chocolate Works.”

  “You know,” Brooke said when the door had swung shut, her breath still coming in staccato pants, “this could be a thing for us.”

  “A thing?” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Yeah.” She reached up to stroke his hair. “All our declarations of love take place in a closet.”

  “No way.” He raised his head, needing her to see the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke. “I fully intend to tell you I love you wherever and whenever I damn well please.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “I can live with that.”

  “Good.” His lips returned to her neck. “Now, where were we?”

  She laughed and pushed him away. “Hold it right there, Mr. One Track Mind. You heard Charise. You’ve got a room full of people waiting on you.”

  “Waiting on us,” he corrected. “None of this would possible be if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Then let’s not keep them waiting.” She held out a hand to him. “The sooner we show them your brilliant ideas and convince them you’re not going to run them out of their neighborhood, the sooner we can go home and pick up where we left off.”

  Home. He had plans for that, too. Ones he’d share with Brooke when the time was right. For now, it was enough that she was his and he was hers.

  And if that wasn’t a damn good reason for him to feel like the luckiest man in the word, he didn’t know what was.

  Epilogue

  “Hey, Brooke.” David poked his head in the door of the fifth-floor apartment she shared with Eli. Without knocking, of course. “Chris needs you on the roof.”

  She finished shading a panel of her newest graphic novel, the sequel to the one her agent had finally sold, and set her pencil down against the lip of her drawing table. “It’s like thirty degrees out. What’s he doing up there?”

  “He said something about checking on the cold frames.” David held his hands palms-up in a how-the-heck-should-I-know gesture. “I think he’s worried the clematis won’t make it through another frost.”

  “He can handle that by himself. What does he need me for? Is there some sort of problem?”

  “I’m not sure, Miss Twenty Questions. All I know is if I don’t get you up there ASAP, I’m going to have one pissed-off husband on my hands. And a pissed-off husband means little Davey doesn’t get any action tonight.”

  Brooke rolled her neck and stretched her arms above her head. Maybe a little break was just what she needed. She’d been hunched over her drawing table for hours, trying to finish the chapter she was working on before Eli came home from his business trip. He’d been gone four days, and the three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath apartment he’d specially designed for them when he finished off the top floors of the Chocolate Works seemed like a tomb without him.

  She stood and stretched again, releasing her hair from the ponytail she always wore when she was drawing and shaking it out. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of little Davey’s sexual gratification. Let me grab my coat, and I’ll meet Chris up there.”

  “Fine. But don’t take too long. Little Davey…”

  “I know, I know. Little Davey needs to get some.”

  David gave her a thumbs-up and disappeared. Brooke wandered down the hall to the master bedroom to dig up a jacket, dodging unpacked bags and boxes as she went. They’d only been in the apartment a few weeks. Eli had busted his ass to get the renovations done in record time. Probably because he’d sold his penthouse and was tired of sharing a tiny bathroom with Brooke and all her bottles and tubes and jars.

  She’d told him he was nuts, but he insisted he was sick of living downtown and didn’t want to wait until the renovations were complete to start their life together. He said he’d miss waking up with her, but Brooke had a sneaking suspicion there were other things he’d miss, too. Like Mrs. Feingold’s rugelach, sampling local craft beers with David and Chris after the latter returned from his tour, and roughhousing with little Jaden, who was just starting to walk. He might not want to admit it out loud, but Eli was as much a part of the Candy Court crew as her.

  Brooke grabbed the first outer garment she could find—Eli’s leather bomber jacket—and slipped it on, pausing to bury her face in the collar and inhale the smell of the well-worn leather mixed with his cologne. Four days. That was all he’d been gone. So why did it seem like four freaking years?

  Because she’d turned into a certified, card-carrying, make-you-wanna-puke, hopeless romantic, that was why. The kind of girl who smelled her boyfriend’s jacket. Wore his shirts. Slept clutching his pillow when he out of town.

  And she’d never been happier.

  She shoved her keys in her pocket and closed the door behind her, testing the handle to make sure it was locked. She still wasn’t the greatest at the whole door-locking thing, but Eli made her promise she’d be more careful now that new tenants were starting to move into the building. The least she could do was secure the place when she left.

  “All right, Chris,” she called to her friend as she pushed her way through the door to the roof. “You got me up here. Now, what was so important that…”

  Her voice trailed off as she absorbed the scene in front of her. Eli stood under a tent like the one he’d set up for Chris and David’s wedding, complete with twinkling LEDs and two portable space heaters chugging away to ward off the winter chill. A round table just the right size for an intimate meal sat dead center, flanked by two comfortable looking wicker chairs with puffy, off-white cushions. The table was draped with a matching gauzy, off-white cloth, on top of which sat two elegant place settings and a bottle of wine chilling in a shining silver ice bucket.

  “I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.” Hello, mouth, meet foot. When your boyfriend surprised you with a romantic rooftop dinner date, you were supposed to leap into his arms and kiss him stupid, not ask him what the hell he was doing there. She still had a lot to learn about this relationship stuff. Fortunately, Eli was a patient teacher.

  “Nice to see you, too.” His broad smile took any sting out of his words. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Join me?”

  Brooke arched a brow. “What would you do if I said no?”

  “Rumor has it Mrs. Feingold is available. It’s her husband’s bowling night.”

  “Yeah, but can Mrs. Feingold do this?” She crossed to him, took his head in her hands, and pulled it to her waiting lips. After a stunned second, he reciprocated, snaking an arm around her waist to tug her body tight to his. She sighed and relaxed into him, loving the way they fit together, her soft curves yielding to his rigid angles. That was something she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of.

  When they’d finished making up for four whole days spent with half a continent between them, they drew apart. Eli gave her that lopsided, impish grin of his that even after almost a year together never failed to turn her insides to mush. “If Mrs. Feingold can do that, I sure as hell don’t want to find out.”

  Brooke returned his smile with a playful one of her own. “What’s wrong? Little old ladies not your type?”

  “You’re my type.” He gave her a swift, sizzling kiss, turned her around, and with a pat on her bottom nudged her toward the nearest chair, which he pulled out for her. “Sit.”

  She studied the picture-perfect setting Eli had clearly worked hard to create then glanced back at the man responsible, noticing for the first time his neatly pressed dress pants and cranberry V-neck cashmere sweater rolled at the sleeves, the starched, white collar and cuffs of his dress shirt peeking out from underneath. She frowned down at her frayed yoga pants and well-worn, much loved Cowboy Bebop T-shirt, partially covered by Eli’s half-zipped bomber jacket, which swallowed up her shoulders and hung past her hips. If she’d known what was in store for her, she would have taken a couple of minutes to throw on something decent and freshen up. “I feel underdressed.”

  “You look beautiful. Stop
stalling and sit down.”

  She obeyed, and he poured them each a glass of chardonnay before taking his seat across from her. Seemingly out of nowhere, David appeared at his side dressed entirely in black, the only splash of color a bright red napkin draped over one arm. “Are you ready for the first course?”

  “First course?” She blinked. “How many are there?”

  “Yes,” Eli said, directing his answer at David and ignoring Brooke. “Thank you.”

  With an exaggerated bow, David disappeared as silently as he’d come. Brooke shook her head. “Who else did you rope into this? Please tell me Mr. Feingold’s not going to show up when he’s done bowling and serenade us with his accordion.”

  “Nope. Just you, me, and our hopefully unobtrusive waiter from here on in.”

  Eli raised his glass in a toast. She lifted hers in response, and they clinked them together then sipped.

  She tilted her head and gazed at him over the rim of her glass. “What’s the special occasion?”

  He shrugged and took another sip of his chardonnay. “Who says we need one?

  “We don’t. But knowing you, there’s something I’m forgetting.”

  “All right, if you must know.” He traced the rim of his glass with his index finger. “It’s our one-year anniversary.”

  She pursed her lips. “I may not be the world’s best girlfriend, but I know we didn’t start officially dating until after the Geek Girls benefit. And that was in April, not January.”

  “Not that anniversary.” He set his glass down and reached across the table to take her hand. “The anniversary of the night we met. In the back room at Flotsam and Jetsam.”

  “We didn’t exactly meet in the back room.” She shivered as he drew slow circles with his thumb on her palm. Leave it to Eli to memorialize their one-night stand that wasn’t. The guy had a seriously secret sentimental side and a dirty mind he kept equally under wraps with everyone but her.

  “Maybe not.” One corner of his mouth curled into a naughty grin. “But it was certainly the most memorable part of the evening.”

  David reappeared, humming Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and bearing two steaming soup bowls, about as unobtrusive as an elephant in a tutu.