Wrong Bed, Right Man (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  It made his dick respond like it thought the word actually meant something. Meant what, under any other circumstances, he might have wanted it to.

  But they weren’t at a bar or a club. This wasn’t a date. No one had swiped right on anyone. It was an accident, one big misunderstanding. Rose looked so horrified—sex was probably the furthest thing from her mind. He had to keep himself in check.

  “You can do me a favor,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t tell your ex what you found,” he said. “Let him squirm worrying about it, wondering what happened.”

  Rose smiled. One grin from her, and he wanted more. She’d only brushed his hand softly, but already he still felt her on his skin.

  He couldn’t be thinking like that. And yet…

  “Are you really sure?” she asked again. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  You can take advantage of me anytime.

  He didn’t say that out loud, thankfully. He still had some sense left in his brain. Even if all the blood was pooling…elsewhere.

  This was someone just out of an engagement. She wasn’t looking to rebound. Especially not with him.

  She used to live in this very apartment, for fuck’s sake. She’d probably had a rock on her hand the size of California.

  But he couldn’t help grinning at her anyway, thinking again of how her cheeks had flamed scarlet at the sight of that dark leather hiding dangerously under the bed.

  “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly for me to back out now,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you a gentleman, Owen?”

  He held her gaze, just as she held his.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Chapter Five

  Is he there yet? Amanda texted.

  Not yet, Rose wrote back. Maybe I should make sure I’m not home, so I don’t have to see him again.

  Didn’t you say he was hot? Amanda asked.

  Insanely.

  Uhhhh, then why don’t you want to see him again?

  Because he’s hot! Rose wrote back. God, did Amanda not understand anything?

  Maybe we should all come over, Amanda said. Make sure he’s not a serial killer.

  You just want to check him out.

  Damn straight, Amanda wrote with a wink.

  Rose paced around her apartment, phone in hand. Or as much as she could pace in such a small space. She’d been sleeping on Jessie and Shawn’s old air mattress for weeks, and it was starting to look deflated and sad. She stepped over the corner. Where was Owen? What if he didn’t come?

  He’ll probably just bring everything in and leave as soon as possible, she wrote.

  Amanda sent her an eye roll. Please tell me you don’t believe that.

  I just broke off an engagement—I can’t go thinking about stuff like that now.

  Breaking off an engagement is EXACTLY why you should be thinking about stuff like that now.

  Rose sighed at the phone. Amanda spent all her time pining for one of her co-workers—so much that if something actually happened with him, Amanda probably wouldn’t know what to do. It was all well and good for her to tell Rose to get some. Her life wasn’t the one that had gone to shit.

  It wasn’t just the engagement that made Owen a no-go. There was also the tiny matter of her job. And the fact that Owen wasn’t just some random guy who’d wound up literally falling into her bed.

  All week, she’d rushed home from work as soon as she could, averting her eyes from the Crush List on the wall. She didn’t want to get stuck having to make small talk with Jason. She wasn’t about to confess she’d gone into his apartment, met someone from the list in person, and canceled the sale.

  Or give a friendly, “Hey, how about that bondage gear I found?”

  No, thank you. If she could spend the rest of her life simply pretending the guy down the hall didn’t exist, she’d be more than happy.

  Except for the part where that scenario involved working at CUBE for the rest of her life. A thought so depressing that when the door finally buzzed and she let Owen in, the first thing he did was ask what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, trying to mask whatever must have been flitting across her face.

  I have to spend all day within earshot of my asshole ex, doing mindless admin work to sell products I don’t care about, but I can’t quit because the salary and benefits are better than anywhere else—since, you know, when I was hired, I was kinda sorta sleeping with the owner’s son—and I don’t have other experience, so I can’t get a job doing anything else, and there aren’t any openings, anyway.

  Plus my feet hurt, I’m tired, and I’m never going to get laid again for the rest of my life.

  Shit, that hadn’t been on her mind just a second ago. Not until she’d stepped aside to let him in, and he walked by her, almost—but not quite—close enough to touch.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he said, giving her a look as she closed the door.

  It was weird, how it seemed like he really wanted to know the answer. Not whatever chipper, cheerful, “Great!” she was used to making up no matter what was going on.

  “Long day,” she mumbled. She never should have agreed to this. Didn’t she know better than to mix business and pleasure?

  Not that Owen had pleasured her. God, that wasn’t what she meant.

  But she should have sucked it up, wiped out the rest of her meager savings, found another repairperson, and crossed her fingers nothing went wrong. How could she have invited him over, especially after spending all day reviewing ad spots that directly targeted businesses like his?

  Her studio seemed smaller than ever with him inside. He filled the room with his presence, his scent of pine and wood shavings, so unlike the sanitized office she was in all day.

  She’d tidied up before his arrival, but it didn’t help. Having a studio meant the air mattress was right there. Right next to him. He could see her sheets, her pillows, the comforter she wrapped around herself at night, telling herself she wasn’t lonely. Lying through her teeth about how great it was to be on her own.

  She shouldn’t have felt weird about him seeing such personal parts of her. It wasn’t like she was jumping him.

  But the fact that she’d even think that made her cheeks feel funny and hot.

  “Can I get you something?” she asked, trying to act not-completely-insane. “Water?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  “I’m not worried.”

  “I just meant…never mind.” He shook his head. “You seem a little tense.”

  “I’m okay.”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  “Okay, as in water?”

  God, why was this so awkward? Was she always this way? Was it him? Was it her?

  “Okay as in, I don’t need anything,” he said, spreading his palms wide. Reassuring.

  Right. Operation Stop Being Weird commencing in three…two…one…

  Her first date with Jason was ages ago, but she still remembered how nervous she’d been. He was handsome and so sure of himself. It made her feel small and uncertain beside him. Yet he always swooped in to handle everything, so it didn’t matter if she didn’t know which fork was for salads and which was for the main meal, because he’d show her. He loved to show her. She’d always thought he was delighted when she finally got things right.

  Only did now did she stop to wonder if his joy might have been from the opposite. From showing her where she was lacking, pointing out all she didn’t know. So that he was the one to teach her. To guide and correct.

  But Owen didn’t step in to tell her everything she was doing wrong. He just smiled and thanked her for the water when she brought him a glass from the tap, already forgetting he didn’t want any. She’d just nee
ded to give herself something to do.

  And then he drank it down, like he’d really been thirsty. Like maybe he just hadn’t wanted to say yes.

  She stared at his throat as he swallowed. At the hair that curled into his eyes. His wasn’t the manicured beauty of someone like Jason. But it was raw and arresting, and she couldn’t look away.

  He put the glass down, and she jumped back to her senses. She had to stop letting her mind wander.

  “So,” she said, clearing her throat. “The bed?” She didn’t want to sound too eager. Or not eager enough. How eager was the right kind of eager? Fuck, she didn’t know.

  “The parts are downstairs in my truck,” he said. “I’m lucky I got a parking spot out front.”

  “Can I help you bring everything up?”

  He gave her an obvious once-over. “In those heels?”

  It shouldn’t have embarrassed her. But somehow, what was exactly right when she went to work was all wrong as soon as she saw him. Her toes were pinched; her pants chafed. She had no idea what she was doing at all.

  “I can change,” she said. “I just came from work.”

  “I figured,” he said. “Where do you work?” He sank his weight into one hip like he’d come here just to chat. He clearly wasn’t in a rush to get downstairs, bring in the bed, assemble it, and be gone. Out of her life for good.

  Which he would be, as soon as she answered his question.

  She took a deep breath. She meant to come out with it, face this whole thing head-on.

  But instead, she said, wincing, “I really don’t want to tell you.”

  “How come every woman I meet always says that?” he asked without skipping a beat.

  She stared at him. “Really?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Never.”

  “Oh.” She laughed a little. He laughed more, the smile lighting up his eyes until all his features softened. She shouldn’t have been noticing things like that—not when she was trying to still the wings in her chest before they could do more than flutter.

  “I was expecting you to say—I don’t know, to be honest. Not ‘I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’”

  “I never threatened bodily harm,” she reminded him.

  “Not yet,” he said, and she didn’t know why his lips were curling into a grin until he said, “But a man can hope.”

  Um. She wasn’t really sure what that was supposed to mean. Or maybe she just wanted to pretend she didn’t know. Because her body seemed more than happy to acknowledge what her brain refused to see, since it promptly responded by heating her cheeks with what she was sure was a visible blush.

  “These heels make great weapons,” she said, trying to match him barb for barb and master the flame on her face.

  “I’m sure you’ve had a lot of practice,” he deadpanned right back.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “No.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t.”

  She couldn’t keep up the act anymore. She had no practice flirting, and this wasn’t the time to start. “I saw a cockroach in here when I moved in. I thought I was going to die. Trust me, my murderous instincts are very much in check.”

  “Then tell me what you do,” he prodded.

  “I already told you,” she said. “You don’t want to know.”

  “You’re a mortician. I fucking knew it.” He threw up his hands.

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Worse.”

  “Hit man?” he asked. “I mean, hit lady?”

  “I wish. That’d be awesome.”

  “See? You do hold murderous impulses.”

  “Shit, you’ve found me out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re going to have to kill me now,” he said, as though bored. “Since I’m already done for, come on. Just tell me.”

  She winced. “I’m not kidding. You’ll hate me.”

  And I don’t want you to hate me.

  Even though she wasn’t ashamed. And she shouldn’t have cared. He’d be here for another thirty minutes putting the bed together. An hour, tops. And then nothing. This wasn’t going anywhere.

  Owen must have heard she wasn’t kidding anymore, because he frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “How could I hate you? I don’t even know you—yet.”

  It was the yet that caught her. A word without ending. A word that implied…more.

  What could he possibly mean by wanting more?

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  Most guys weren’t into her like that, for one thing. Especially not guys like Owen, all muscle, wit, and smooth charm. Guys who didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of them. When that was all Rose cared about. Like it was programmed into her—how do I look? What do you think? Did I do okay?

  And because he wasn’t going to look at her like that, with such a playful sparkle in his eyes, as soon as the next words were out of her mouth. So she might as well wipe that smile off his face before he started getting any ideas about who he thought she was.

  “I’m an administrative assistant,” she said.

  “That’s not nearly awful enough as you made it sound,” he said. “And it explains the hot office look you’ve got going on.”

  “In the advertising department for CUBE,” she said, before he could take that “hot” bullshit any further as he raked his eyes over her.

  And yup, there it was. As soon as she said it, his face froze. His eyes dimmed. That flirty spark burned out like a lightbulb, giving one tiny pop before going dark. For good.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you sooner. It…didn’t seem relevant. Before.” Before what? “But I thought you should know.”

  He ran a hand over his beard.

  “Huh,” he said, after a long pause.

  “Yeah.” She didn’t know where else to go from there.

  “So you worked on CUBE’s latest ad.”

  It was everywhere. Of course he would have seen it. And hated it. The whole point was to encourage New Yorkers not to invest in heavy, expensive pieces that didn’t fit into their apartments anyway. Pieces exactly like Crowley & Sons made.

  She wanted to protest that she was part of a huge team of people. It wasn’t like she’d come up with the idea herself. Or made any decisions. That was way above her pay grade.

  But clearly, her team’s work had gone into crafting the ad and choosing what angle to take. She may not have held the knife herself. But she’d helped twist it all the same.

  “There’s more,” she said, taking a deep breath. She had to go through with this. Get it all out there. As much as she wanted to disappear through the floorboards instead.

  “I’m not even sure I want to know.”

  “Jason?” she pushed on anyway. “Jason Harris?”

  It took him a minute.

  Then his eyes widened.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “Harris. As in, Jim Harris’s son. I didn’t think of that at all. You—” He ran a hand over his beard. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s kind of how I feel about it, too.”

  She hadn’t been engaged to any run-of-the-mill asshole. She’d been engaged to the one and only asshole whose father was the founder of CUBE and who was going to take over the company someday.

  There was a long pause. A really, really long pause.

  “Well.” He looked at his hands. “I guess I should go get your stuff.”

  And that was it. Whatever might or might not have been happening between them, it was clear a gallon of ice water had just been dumped on that flame.

  It was better this way. New Rose may have wanted to stick it to Jason and flirt with a stranger like she didn’t have a care in the world. But she couldn’t run from the Old Rose. No wonder Owen wanted to get out of there as fast as
humanly possible.

  “Of course,” she said, trying to be back to business, too, no other thoughts in her head. She’d pay him for all the work, not just what they’d agreed. Turning to her parents came with too many strings attached, like pressure to move home and “marry well.” But she’d borrow money from friends if she had to, to make sure she was being fair. And then she’d take Amanda up on her offer to set her up on all the apps. Get “back in the game.”

  Even if nothing about sex, love, loneliness, or longing felt like a game at all.

  She escaped to the bathroom to change while Owen went down to his truck. She put on jeans and a T-shirt, trying to be practical.

  Turns out CUBE is the best birth control on the market. No way was Owen going to flash her that irresistible smile now.

  But just the fact that she was checking out her boobs in the mirror to make sure they looked good but not too good under her T-shirt meant she still had sex on the brain.

  Stop it. Old Rose wouldn’t have thought twice about any of this.

  New Rose was just going to have to lace up her sneakers and deal.

  Chapter Six

  Owen raced down the steps of Rose’s building and shoved open the door. A million variations on the word fuck crowded his brain. He should have known meeting Rose was too good to be true.

  At least now he had the facts. He’d put all that work into fixing the bed, making it as sturdy as possible. Those were hours he couldn’t get back.

  But he’d be smarter moving forward. No more flirting, that was for sure. This was a clusterfuck, and he had to get out.

  He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. New plan. Bring the rest of her furniture upstairs, assemble the bed as quickly as possible, and then leave. It’d be easy to keep his focus. Now that he knew who she was—and what she did—he wouldn’t be tempted anymore.

  But when he came back to her apartment, hauling the headboard with him, he found himself groaning out loud.

  “Is that too heavy?” she asked, rushing to help. But the problem wasn’t the bed. The problem was Rose in ass-hugging jeans and a white T-shirt that showed the outline of her bra peeking through.

  If he’d thought her silk blouses and heels drove him wild, that getup had nothing on Rose looking casual, relaxed, like she’d look on a weekend with friends or a lazy Sunday after lounging around in bed all morning…