The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family) Read online

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” He did the same with her other foot. “Taking your shoes off.”

  “That’s obvious. Why?”

  He lifted her stockinged feet and laid them over his lap. “No massage would be complete without a foot rub.”

  “Oh.”

  He grinned. His talented fingers had worked magic on her shoulders, neck, and back, but what they were doing now was pure heaven. Her toes curled involuntarily, and her feet arched into his hands.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  He worked his fist into the ball of her foot, and she drew in a quick breath. “God, that’s the most amazing feeling ever.”

  “Really?” He slid his hand up her leg. “The most amazing? Better than my mouth on your breast? Or my cock in your…?”

  “Stop.” She held up a hand, cutting him off, and looked pointedly at Jaden’s crib. “Don’t tempt me with what I can’t have.”

  “There’s always tonight.” His hand slid a little higher. “What time does Charise get off work?”

  “Not soon enough.”

  “Well, sex maybe be out of the immediate picture, but there’s nothing stopping us from doing this.”

  He took her legs from his lap and turned her to her side, stretching out with her and hovering over her like a panther waiting to pounce. Time seemed to stop with his hard edges molded to her soft curves, his mouth millimeters from hers, those ice-blue eyes studying her with an intensity that stole her breath and made rational thought impossible.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked, her ability to form a coherent sentence surprising her.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  She turned her head toward the bassinet. “The baby?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  They stayed that way for a minute, pressed together in a kind of torturous sexual limbo, listening to the hiss of the radiator and the steady hum of the midday traffic three floors below.

  She turned back to him. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

  “Good.”

  This time the panther pounced without waiting, latching his mouth onto hers and teasing her lips with his tongue. She tunneled her fingers through his hair and let herself get lost in the kiss. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so deliciously wicked. It was like she was a teenager again, sneaking her boyfriend over for a few stolen kisses while she was babysitting.

  He ground against her, and the evidence of his arousal pressed into her hip. Yep. Her teenage years, all over again. Except now she knew exactly what she was missing. She knew how he’d feel inside her, how he’d start off nice and easy and then pick up the pace, pumping faster and harder until…

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  She tensed and broke off the kiss. “Okay, that I heard.”

  “Open up.” David’s voice came through loud and clear from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there.”

  “David,” Eli mouthed.

  “He means we know you’re in there,” Chris corrected.

  “And Chris,” Brooke whispered.

  “We can hear you talking,” David said.

  “And moaning,” Chris added.

  “I think there was more panting than moaning.”

  One of them laughed.

  “What do you suppose they want?” Brooke asked, keeping her voice low.

  “No clue.” Eli gazed down at her and picked up where he’d left off, his body moving against hers. “But maybe if we ignore them long enough they’ll go away.”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “We’re not going away,” Chris shouted. “No matter how long you ignore us.”

  “Somebody’s got big ears,” Eli complained.

  “Come on, you guys,” David said, sounding whiny even for him. “It’s an emergency.”

  “All right, all right.” Brooke sat up, taking a reluctant Eli with her. “But quit banging. You’ll wake the baby.”

  As if on cue, Jaden whimpered.

  Eli stood and adjusted his jeans. “I’ll get the door. You get the kid.”

  “This better be good.” Brooke tugged down the skirt of her dress and went to check on the baby.

  “Oh, it is.” Chris swept into the room with David close behind him. “We’re getting married.”

  “In two weeks,” David added.

  “That’s great news.” Brooke popped a binky in Jaden’s mouth, which seemed to settle him down, then gave both men a bear hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Congratulations.” Eli slapped Chris on the back and shook David’s hand. “But what’s the rush?”

  “Chris booked a tour with the American Ballet Theatre.” David loped an affectionate arm around his fiancé’s shoulders. “He’ll be gone for six months.”

  Chris looked at David with a mix of tenderness and desire that made Brooke’s heart ache. Had Eli ever looked at her that way? Had anyone? “We want to get married before I leave.”

  “That’s where you guys come in.” David eyes bounced from Brooke to Eli then back again. “We need your help.”

  Brooke cataloged the million things they’d need to accomplish to put on a wedding in that short amount of time. Invitations, flowers, food, music… “It’s a stretch, but I think we can pull it off. The hardest part will be finding a venue.”

  “What about the rooftop garden?” Eli suggested.

  “That’s a great idea,” agreed David.

  Brooke frowned. “I don’t know. It’s coming along, but there’s still a lot of work to do.”

  “We’ll get the others to help, too,” Chris said. “If we all pitch in, we’ll have it looking fabulous in no time.”

  “It’s only March,” she pointed out. “It’ll be cold up there.”

  “We can get portable heaters. I know a guy who’ll hook us up cheap.” Eli already had his cell out, his thumbs flying over the keyboard.

  “I can see it.” David rubbed his hands together. “A string quartet. Chinese lanterns. Orange and yellow snapdragons on every table. It’ll be perfect.”

  Chris stilled David’s hands, taking them in his own. “It’ll be perfect no matter what color flowers we have. Because I’m marrying my best friend.”

  They shared a tender, lingering kiss, and Brooke’s heart cracked a little bit more. Chris was right. They were perfect together. So beautiful. They complemented each other, completed each other like two halves of a whole.

  She slid a glance in Eli’s direction. He leaned against the doorjamb, looking at David and Chris with the same reverence she imagined was in her eyes. Did he want what they had? Did she? What about her five-year plan?

  “What do you say, Brooke?” Eli asked, his voice cutting into her thoughts. “Are you in?”

  “Yeah, Brooke,” David echoed. “Are you in?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How can I say no to true love?”

  Chapter Nine

  “David asked me to bring this stuff up to you before he left.” Charise held several strings of white lights in one arm and a matching bolt of tulle under the other. “Where do you want it?”

  “Over there.” Brooke pointed to Eli, who stood on a ladder under the canopy frame he’d built from PVC pipe, where, in a couple of days, David and Chris would say their vows. He’d proved surprisingly handy for a desk jockey. When she asked him about it, he’d brushed it off, repeating his claim about flipping houses back in the day. “How’s the seating chart coming?”

  Charise wrinkled her nose. “The list of who won’t sit with who is longer than the phone book. It’s like an episode of The Young and the Restless.”

  “Let me know if you need any help.” Brooke shoveled a spade full of dirt around the base of a dwarf cypress and patted it down.

  “I can handle it,” Charise insisted. “You’re busy enough as it is. But thanks for offering.”

  She delivered the lights a
nd fabric to Eli and headed back downstairs.

  Brooke put down her trowel and stood, surveying their progress. She was almost finished with the planter boxes. Eli had the canopy under control. Charise was dealing with the dreaded seating chart. David and Chris were off getting fitted for their tuxes. And the Feingolds were waiting in the lobby for the rental company to show up with the chairs and tables, probably squabbling the whole time over whose turn it was to take out the trash or whether the toilet paper was supposed to hang over or under the roll.

  All in all, things were coming along nicely. Sure, there’d been the snafu with the photographer, who’d accidentally double-booked himself. And she had to call five florists before she found one who could track down snapdragons in the colors David specified. But they’d been minor inconveniences, swiftly handled.

  The easiest call had been to the caterer. No one knew more about food—or weddings—than her sister. The Worthington had at least one a week, more during the busy months in the spring and fall. And Mallory had been more than happy to help David and Chris on their special day.

  “Hey, Brooke,” Eli called from his perch on the ladder. “Can you come over here and take a look at this?”

  She wiped her dirt-covered palms on her jeans and went over to him. He’d fashioned a sort of curtain from the tulle, hanging it from the top of the canopy frame then gathering it and securing it to one corner with wide, silver ribbon.

  The man was a marvel. Was there anything he couldn’t do with those magic hands?

  She banished all thoughts of his appendages—yes, that one, too—and gave him a thumbs-up. “Perfect.”

  “Great. I’ll finish hanging the tulle and string the lights.” Eli climbed down the ladder and moved it to the next corner, giving her butt a quick and dirty squeeze through her Levi’s as he passed. She shot him a warning glare and looked around to make sure no one had joined them on the roof. A relieved sigh escaped her lungs when she saw they were still alone.

  It wasn’t like they were sneaking around. Hell, half of Candy Court had probably heard their bedroom antics on more than one occasion. The walls weren’t three feet thick, and they weren’t exactly quiet about it.

  But sex in the privacy of one’s own domicile was one thing. PDA was another. It somehow seemed more intimate. A declaration to the world that they belonged to each other. A declaration she wasn’t sure either one of them was ready to make.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Brooke took a step back, needing to create some space between them, and gestured to the gardening tools and bag of potting soil she’d been using. “I’m going to put this stuff away and make sure the Feingolds haven’t killed each other.”

  Before she could finish gathering her tools, the door to the roof swung open and Mallory stepped out into the surprisingly warm for mid-March sunshine.

  “Mal.” Brooke dropped the shears she was holding into a bucket. “What are you doing here?”

  Mallory cocked her head then shook it. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “I’m surprised, that’s all. You didn’t text me you were coming. How did you get in the building?”

  “The nice old couple downstairs let me in.”

  “Nice?” Brooke snorted. “They weren’t at each other’s throats?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I interrupted something. But it wasn’t an argument.”

  Brooke shuddered. “TMI, little sis. TMI.”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “I’m not sure I can. The image is burned in my brain.” Brooke grimaced. She needed to change the subject. Stat. “You never answered my original question. What brings you here?”

  “I figured you could use an extra hand with the preparations. And I wanted to get a feel for the space before finalizing the menu.”

  “In that case…” Brooke picked up the bucket and handed it to her sister. “You can help me put this stuff back in the tool shed.”

  “Sure.” Mallory shifted the bucket to her other arm. “Then maybe after we can…whoa.”

  Brooke followed her sister’s gaze across the roof to Eli. He’d moved the ladder again and was a few rungs off the ground with his back to them. As he reached up to hang another panel, his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of golden skin above the waistband of his dangerously low-slung jeans.

  Mallory let out a low whistle. “Please tell me that perfect ass belongs to your new neighbor.”

  “Did you just say ass?” Her sister never swore. Like, ever. And that included words like hell and damn.

  “Now you’re the one avoiding the question.”

  “What’s wrong? Dr. McSnobby not enough for you?” They still hadn’t had that talk about Hunter. Brooke reminded herself to make time for her sister once the wedding was in the rearview mirror.

  “He’s not that bad once you get to know him, honest.” Mallory tapped the toe of one running shoe. “And you still haven’t given me an answer.”

  “Fine, Little Miss Nosy Pants.” Brooke hefted the bag of potting soil. “That’s Eli.”

  “The guy you’re banging?” Mallory tapped a finger against her cheek. “He doesn’t look like a bean counter to me. More like a contractor. Or a Chippendales dancer.”

  “Jesus, Mal,” Brooke hissed. She gave her sister the look of death and glanced over at Eli, who was thankfully still wrestling with the canopy. “Could you keep it down? And I never said I was banging him.”

  “But you are, aren’t you?” Mallory asked with a smug smile. When did her sweet sister get so sassy? At least she’d managed to lower her voice a few decibels. “If you’re not, you sure as heck should be.”

  Heck. Now that was more like the Mallory she knew. Except for the banging. Old Mallory would never refer to sex as banging. Old Mallory wouldn’t refer to sex at all. At least not without blushing.

  Brooke studied her sister’s face. Her porcelain skin was flawless, as usual, not a hint of red or even a touch of pale pink in sight. “Who are you, and what did you do with my sister?”

  “Consider this the new and improved Mallory Worthington.” Her sister spread her arms and spun around, the bucket still dangling from one hand. “Call me Mallory two-point-oh.”

  “Okay, Mallory two-point-oh. Now that your curiosity has been satisfied, can we get rid of this stuff? This potting soil isn’t getting any lighter.”

  “In a minute.” She put the bucket down and threaded her way through the planter boxes across the roof.

  “Hold up.” Brooke dropped the potting soil and chased after her. “Where do you think you’re going? The shed’s the other way. And you forgot the bucket.”

  “I didn’t forget it. I left it. I want to meet this man of yours.”

  “He’s not mine,” Brooke muttered.

  “Right.” There was that smug smile again. “You’re just banging him.”

  “Enough with the banging.”

  “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. Like you were with Hunter.”

  Crap. That didn’t bode well.

  “Brooke.” Eli caught her eye as they approached and climbed down from the ladder. “Who’s your friend?”

  “I’m her sister.” Mallory stuck out her hand. “Mallory.”

  Eli gave Brooke a sideways glance, not trying to hide his shock. They hadn’t talked much about families, his or hers. Her reasons were obvious. She didn’t want to unload that mountain of baggage on him. She figured he had his reasons, too. And unlike her snoopy sister, it wasn’t in her nature to pry.

  “Eli.” He shook Mallory’s hand and gave her a smile that oozed confidence and charm. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Mallory might not have blushed before, but she did now. Bowled over by the sheer force of Eli’s magnetism, no doubt, like every other red-blooded female between the ages of eight and eighty. “I wish I could say I’ve heard all about you, but I’d be lying.”

  He chuckled and released her hand. “Same here.”

  “She’s notoriously closemouthed,” Mallory s
aid, nodding in agreement. “When we were kids, she broke her wrist playing soccer and suffered in silence for three days before Carmen noticed her favoring it and brought her to the emergency room.”

  “She played soccer?”

  Mallory waved her hand dismissively. “It was a brief dalliance. She spent more time chasing butterflies than the ball.”

  “Who’s Carmen?” he asked.

  “Our housekeeper.”

  Eli’s eyes went wide, his surprise showing again. He must lose a fortune at poker. “Your family had a housekeeper?”

  Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

  This little game of twenty questions had gone far enough. Brooke had to stop it before her sister told Eli about the time she mooned the vice principal, or how she almost got busted for spray painting their neighbor’s garage door. Or worse, outed her as one of the heirs to the Worthington hotel chain. People tended to treat her differently when they found out her family had a net worth somewhere in the mid seven figures. She hadn’t told the other residents of Candy Court who she was until she’d lived there a year, and they were sworn to secrecy.

  Brooke cleared her throat. “You two do realize I’m standing right here.”

  “Did you hear something?” Mallory put a hand to one ear.

  Eli shrugged and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Not me.”

  “Very funny.” Brooke stepped between them and turned to her sister. “I thought you came here to help, not spill all our family secrets.”

  “Not all,” Mallory teased, nudging Brooke with her elbow. “Just yours.”

  “And you.” Brooke spun on Eli. “You’re supposed to be working. This canopy isn’t going to finish itself.”

  “I could use a hand.” Eli gestured to the pile of tulle next to the ladder. “This is really a two-person job.”

  “I can help,” Mallory offered.

  Not. Gonna. Happen.

  “I’ll work with Eli,” Brooke jumped in, nipping her sister’s not-so-bright idea in the bud. The last thing she wanted was to give those two more time to swap stories. “You can go downstairs and keep an eye on the Feingolds. Then when Chris and David get back from their fitting, you can put the finishing touches on the menu with them.”