Wrong Bed, Right Man (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  “Great, I’ll be by in just a minute. Mr. Waterford, before you go, I’d like you to meet—”

  And then he was leading the man away. Rose’s heart pounded with nerves.

  When she’d first met Jason, she’d thought he was so perfect. Her friends had immediately taken to calling him “Mr. Fancypants.” She’d known there was an edge to the nickname. But was it so wrong to date someone who had impeccable taste and appreciated the finer things in life? Was it so wrong to be one of those finer things to savor?

  Only now did she see what her friends must have known all along.

  His suits may have fit him like a dream. But the clothes didn’t make the man. She flashed to a completely different image. A man in work pants, boots, his hands calloused and rough. His shirt lifted to show the cut of his hip bones and the smooth, textured plane of his abs.

  Hair not slicked back but allowed to fall freely across his eyes. Eyes that smiled and teased.

  She swallowed. She had to get Owen out of her mind. This was the world she lived in. The world she couldn’t escape.

  She knew what Jason wanted to talk to her about. Not work—she was completely on top of everything for CUBE.

  But about, say, the fact that he’d been supposed to get a check for her grandmother’s furniture—a check that had mysteriously failed to appear.

  The responsible, Rose-like thing to do would be to face this head on.

  But she was tired of being responsible. She’d spent her whole life doing everything she was supposed to—just like her parents had told her. Sensible job to pay the bills? Check. Handsome fiancé who looked the part? Check. Stability, security, and complete and utter boredom? Check, check, and check.

  The Old Rose had done everything right. And look at what it got her.

  Absolutely nothing.

  She grabbed her phone and a stack of papers and shoved them in her bag. She could leave early and finish her work at home. All she was doing was inputting data into a spreadsheet. It wasn’t like she needed to be here to do that.

  And it wasn’t like she needed to see Jason. Her time was her own now. She intended to use it.

  She took a deep breath, grabbed her phone, and left.

  She almost didn’t realize who was sitting on the front steps of her apartment building as she walked up. She already had the “excuse me” practiced in her head for when she’d need him to move so she could get to the door.

  Then she looked again. And stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  Owen looked up, a smile spreading over his face. That was when Rose realized it wasn’t a phone in his hand. It was a screwdriver. He twirled it between his fingers.

  “If I’m remembering correctly, I still have some work to do on that headboard of yours.”

  It was a perfectly innocent statement. Or it could have been a perfectly innocent statement—from anybody else. But Rose heard the words behind the words. The words he’d been teasing her with via text, that had been dancing through her head all day.

  I’ve got to make it strong enough that you can lose your mind.

  You have to trust that I won’t let you down.

  She swallowed, hating how what she could guess was the blush on her face was making him grin.

  “How’d you know I’d be here?” she asked, stepping around him to open the front door.

  He moved—but only a little. Only so she could get the key in the lock. Not so much that she wouldn’t brush her whole side of her body up against him as she did so.

  “I didn’t,” he said.

  “So you were just going to—what? Wait on my doorstep until I showed up?” She frowned.

  “Pretty much,” he said. But instead of matching her expression, his grin got even wider.

  “That could have been a long wait,” she said.

  He held out his open palms. “I was prepared to camp out.”

  “With your invisible tent?” she asked.

  His eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said.

  “What?” She stopped walking, thinking something had just happened.

  But then he said, “You can see it, too?” like he was totally serious, and she smacked him in the arm as he laughed. Turned out tackling his biceps was like play-punching a brick. Danger: proceed at your own risk.

  “You could have texted,” she said as she shook out her hand.

  “Where’s the fun in that? I’ve got to keep you on your toes.”

  She didn’t have to let him in. She could tell him thanks but no thanks. Just because he’d fixed her bed—the bed he’d broken—instead of buying it out from under her didn’t mean she owed him anything.

  But that was the thing. She didn’t owe him. He hadn’t gotten her a job or bought her a five-course dinner or done anything to make her feel in his debt. If anything, he’d insisted it was nothing; he was just doing his thing.

  This was about what she wanted. Not what she was supposed to do.

  Every atom in her body hummed with the same vibration. It was one word, over and over. She could hear it in the very swish of her pulse.

  Yes.

  Chapter Nine

  It was different walking into Rose’s apartment for the second time.

  She clearly hadn’t planned for him to show up at her door today. Who just sat on someone’s steps without calling or texting or emailing first?

  But he wanted to see her. Even if she worked for the enemy, that wasn’t going to stop him.

  So he’d put down the scratch awl, wiped the sawdust from his hands, and headed for the subway. Impulsive? Maybe. But he didn’t want to think about it too hard. He didn’t want Rose to think about it, either.

  She led him over to the bed. Now that was a sight he could get used to. Rose kicking off her heels, shrugging off her jacket to reveal an expensive-looking blouse underneath. Her shirt matched her toenail polish, which matched her fingers, which matched her lipstick. Something about the shimmery pink, the way it all went together, was so damn enticing, he couldn’t look away.

  It was like seeing this part of her that nobody else did. No one at work saw her toenails or the way her blouse clung when the jacket was off. But it was clearly a part of her that mattered, because why would she put it all together unless she wanted to…for her?

  “Earth to Owen?”

  He snapped to attention as Rose stood by the bed, a bemused expression on her face.

  “I’m sorry—what?”

  “I said I hate to disappoint you.”

  “How could you disappoint me?”

  “Because the bed’s still standing.”

  That cheeky grin on her face. He laughed. “I told you. You haven’t tested it enough.”

  “But how will I know?” she asked, with a sweet innocence he so wasn’t falling for.

  He took a step closer, close enough to smell her perfume. His chest was inches from hers. She looked up at him.

  Now. Do it now.

  She pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart. He couldn’t wait another second.

  He gathered her hair, feeling the silk between his fingers, and cupped her chin. “You’ll know,” he whispered.

  And then he kissed her.

  Her mouth was soft as her lips parted for him. He felt the warm press of her tongue and drew her deeper. He wanted to take her. Now. But he wasn’t going to rush. There would be time to taste her and taste her, unraveling her piece by piece until—

  There was a knock at the door.

  Rose tore away with a small gasp.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked, hoping they could ignore it.

  She shook her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shiny.

  “Anyone else usually drop by your place unannounced?” He was trying to joke about his little stunt. But Ro
se looked flustered, and not in a good way.

  “Probably the wrong apartment,” she said and went to the door.

  She ran her hands over her hair as she went, smoothing down the strands that had been wrapped around his hands. He wanted to keep that hungry look on her face, the wild abandon in her eyes. The way she tugged on her blouse and pulled herself together made it look like she was erasing him completely, hiding from her body the reminders of his touch.

  His jaw tightened.

  And then the pounding on the door increased, and his molars nearly cracked when he realized what was happening.

  “Rose? Open up, I know you’re in there!”

  It could only be one person. Jason.

  Rose wavered.

  But they couldn’t pretend she wasn’t home. The lights were on. Jason could probably see her shadow moving under the door. Then the shadow of Owen coming up behind her.

  “Is that him?” he whispered. He pulled a strand of hair behind her ear, finishing the job she’d started of putting herself back together but also reminding her she didn’t have to deal with this alone. It was his hands on her. His lips kissing her. She didn’t owe that guy on the other side of the door a goddamn thing.

  Rose didn’t move, but she didn’t pull away. “The one and only,” she said.

  “You should open it. Before he breaks your hinges.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice was small. Smaller than he’d ever heard before.

  In an ideal world, he would have smuggled Rose over to the bed and been too busy making her scream with pleasure to even hear the knocking.

  But this wasn’t an ideal world, and there were certain realities he had to contend with. Like the fact that Jason Harris seemed more likely to break in the door in than admit defeat.

  He leaned close to her and pressed his lips to her ear. “You can,” he said. “I’m here.”

  She nodded, quick and resolute. And then she swung open the door, right as Jason’s fist was raised to come down hard again.

  “Can I help you?” she asked mildly, and Owen almost burst out laughing. There was that calm, collected facade, like they hadn’t just given into the kiss they’d been building to all week. Like the knock on the door hadn’t shaken her to her core.

  He had to admit, it was impressive. Cold, but impressive. It made Jason look like an idiot to be so flustered when Rose was standing there like nothing significant was going on.

  Jason may have had the obvious power. But Rose knew how to wield what she could. Owen needed to remember not to cross her.

  If Jason was caught off guard by her tone—or by the man beside her—he only showed it for a second. Like Rose, he was a master of disguises.

  “Yes, you can help me,” he said and walked right into the apartment, even though Rose hadn’t invited him in. “You can explain what the hell you think you’re doing.”

  “You must be Mr. Harris,” Owen said, extending his hand.

  “Of course. And you are?”

  “Owen Crowley. I believe we emailed, actually. Only you might not have realized I’m the Crowley of Crowley & Sons.”

  Rose looked surprised he’d come out and said it. But he wasn’t the type to tiptoe around. Let Jason be on the defensive. Owen had nothing to hide.

  Jason’s eyes snapped to him, giving him an obvious once-over. “You’re kidding,” he finally said. “And now you’re here? You owe me money, Crowley. Money I’m surprised your little shop has to spend.”

  Owen should have expected the dig. Because Jason was right—he didn’t have the money. Obviously, CUBE knew that.

  Who did he think he was? He and Rose had barely even kissed—and she’d pulled away immediately. He’d at least changed out of his work clothes before coming over. But he was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It had seemed right for the moment. Until The Suit showed up to remind everyone in the room where Owen stood. Jason still hadn’t taken his hand.

  But Owen didn’t drop his. Let Jason look like an ass for not doing the right thing and shaking it. Let Rose see that it took more than a bank account to be a man.

  Jason didn’t have to acknowledge him. But that didn’t mean Owen had to let him get away with it quietly.

  “I don’t, actually,” Owen said, finally dropping his hand with a shrug. “I didn’t wind up with the product. So I don’t have to pay you.”

  “You can’t just walk into my apartment and take my things,” Jason said. “Stealing from clients is a bad look for Crowley & Sons. Our lawyers will have something to say about that.”

  Owen couldn’t fucking believe this guy. “You want to talk about stealing? You’re the one trying to sell someone else’s family heirlooms. I went into that deal in good faith that I wasn’t buying stolen property—”

  Rose touched his arm. So maybe he’d raised his voice. But Jason had a lot of nerve to show up there, pounding on her door, acting like he was the one who’d been wronged. If there was one thing Owen had no patience for, it was douchebags like this who thought the world owed them just for existing.

  “It was my bed,” she said to Jason. “It’s still my bed.”

  “You left,” Jason snapped. “I’m not your free storage space. I had to do something to get rid of your crap.”

  “Something like…call me? Tell me you wanted it gone, so I could make the arrangements?”

  “I’m owed money,” Jason said. “You denied me a sale. If you’re not going to buy it from me yourself—”

  Owen took a step forward. Not so he was completely up in Jason’s business––but close enough. Even if he hadn’t just kissed Rose, he’d still do whatever it took to stand up for her.

  “It’s over,” he said to Jason. “And you and Rose are over. It’s time for you to leave.”

  “I don’t know where you think you get the right to be involved in any of this,” Jason said.

  The way Jason said the word you—or more like sneered it—it was like he’d just stepped in one of New York City’s sidewalk treasures and had gum or dog shit or gummy dog shit all over his pristine calfskin oxfords. So maybe that was why the next words blurted out of Owen’s mouth before he’d thought them through.

  It wasn’t like he planned to say, “I’m her boyfriend, and you need to back the fuck off.” It just sort of…happened.

  It had to have been the fastest define-the-relationship non-talk in all of dating history. One second, he’d barely kissed Rose for a full ten seconds. The next thing he knew, she was his.

  Allegedly.

  He waited, frozen, for her to set the record straight. Tell him off for being a possessive a-hole, then tell Jason it wasn’t true. Make something up about how she was doing market research for the advertising team, or anything to save her skin. At least, laugh her head off for the joke that it was.

  But she didn’t do any of those things.

  There was a beat of the most uncomfortable silence Owen had ever experienced.

  And then, miraculously, Rose stepped closer to him.

  Every hair on his body stood up straight, electrified by her touch. He slid his arm around her, his heart hammering as she tucked her body up against his like it was where she belonged.

  “Don’t come back,” she said to Jason, snug against Owen’s side in a picture-perfect couple’s pose. “You’re not welcome here again.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jason said, shaking his head as though now he’d seen everything.

  And maybe he had. Maybe this was the most shocking thing he could imagine: Rose with a Crowley instead of him.

  Whatever. Owen didn’t care that Rose’s gesture was all for show. Jason was leaving. Rose wasn’t upset anymore. That was the only thing that mattered.

  Then Jason turned to Rose, like they were the only two people in the room.

  “I know you’re hurting,” Jason said, voice o
ozing like something had gone rancid inside him. “But I still care about you, Rosie, and I hate to see you making these mistakes. I’m not going to get after you about a conflict of interest. But when this little rebellion of yours is over, and it will be soon, I hope you take the time you need to heal and take care of yourself.”

  Owen’s breath was a tornado inside him. His palms itched. It had been a long time since he’d been in a fight. High school hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing for him. But his body still knew what to do.

  Only the knowledge that it wasn’t worth it—that Rose wouldn’t want it—kept him in check.

  Jason strode out, and Rose closed the door behind him. She didn’t slam it like Owen would have. She was a better person than him.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” he said as soon as she turned the deadbolt in the lock. He had to get it out there before she could lay into him for his idiocy.

  But she only bit her lip and said, “It worked out okay.”

  “Yeah, but still.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s fine.”

  He had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Fine because discovering he was her boyfriend was the best news of her life? Or fine because they were going to completely ignore it, and the kiss, and pretend it never happened? Fine because it was all a big joke anyway? Or fine because…maybe it wasn’t?

  “I’m just sorry you had to witness that,” Rose said. “And to have dragged you into this in the first place.”

  “You didn’t drag me into anything. I hauled my own ass up those stairs. Quite willingly, in fact.”

  That at least got a smile. “You know what I mean.” Then the smile faded, and she looked worried again. “Do you think I should have offered him something for the bed? Just to make things not so tense?”

  “Fuck, Rose. Are you kidding me? Absolutely not.”

  “It’s not like I don’t know he’s a slime ball. But—”

  “I honestly don’t know how you could follow that sentence with a but.”

  “It takes two people to be in a relationship.”

  “Yeah. And only one of them to try to sell the other person’s belongings. Funny how that works.”