by Regina Kyle
“I see what you’re doing.” Mallory waved a finger at her. “And I’ll go along with it. For now. But you can’t keep us apart forever.”
Brooke took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and nudged her toward the door. “Watch me.”
“See you later, Eli,” Mallory called over her shoulder. “Ask Brooke to tell you what happened to the class hamster in second grade.”
The door clicked shut after her, echoing across the roof.
“So.” Eli slid his arms around her. Hers settled on his chest, and he pulled her closer until she could feel every ridge and valley of his body. For a brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he spoke, his breath warming her cheek and skimming down her neck. “What’s this I hear about a hamster?”
…
“Sure you want to go through with this?” Eli asked two days later as he straightened David’s bow tie and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “There’s still time to change your mind. We could get an Uber to the airport and use those tickets to Santorini.”
“Don’t you dare.” Chris appeared in the doorway to Eli’s apartment, where David was getting ready to march down the aisle. “It took me two years to convince him to marry me. I’m not letting him out of it that easy. And I’m sure as hell not letting you go on our honeymoon with him.”
“What are you doing here?” David wailed, his tone of voice somewhere between a screech and a scream. He ducked behind Eli in a futile attempt to hide. “It’s bad luck for us to see each other before the ceremony.”
“We had breakfast together this morning,” Chris pointed out.
“That doesn’t count,” David insisted to Eli’s back. “It was ages ago.”
“Eight hours is not ages.”
“It is in my book.”
“Boys, boys.” Eli moved to one side, leaving David exposed. “No fighting on your wedding day. You’re both pretty.”
Chris put his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. “We’re not fighting, we’re arguing.”
“Which we wouldn’t be doing if someone respected tradition and kept his distance.” David narrowed his eyes at his soon-to-be husband.
“I thought I told you to stay downstairs.” Brooke came up behind Chris and smacked him on the back of the head. “The two grooms aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
“That’s what I said.” David huffed. “Not that anyone listens to me.”
Eli certainly wasn’t listening to him. How could he with Brooke standing there looking like a goddess in a short, figure-hugging black dress and gladiator sandals? A triple strand of pearls hung in the valley between her breasts. A matching bracelet adorned one bare arm, and she wore pearl and what he assumed were diamond studs in her ears. She’d left her hair hanging loose around her shoulders the way he liked it, making him itch to grab a handful and tilt her head to the perfect angle for him to kiss her into next week, wedding be damned.
“You look…” He searched for the right word and came up short, settling for the first thing that popped into his head. “Gorgeous.”
“It’s a gift.” Chris tugged on the cuffs of his jacket and adjusted his cummerbund. “Or a curse.”
“He’s not talking to you, doofus.” David rolled his eyes. “He’s talking to her.”
“Thanks.” Brooke openly ogled Eli. “So do you.”
He’d pulled out all the stops and had Ginny raid the closet at his penthouse. The result—a navy-blue suit he’d paired with a pale-pink dress shirt, burgundy tie, and matching pocket square for a pop of color. Every guy had at least one good outfit in his wardrobe for special occasions, right?
“Come on.” Chris looped Brooke’s arm over his. “Let’s get out of here before my fiancé blows a gasket. Or one of you two heterosexual lovebirds spontaneously combusts from all this pent-up sexual tension.”
“I need you guys on the roof in ten minutes,” Brooke called over her shoulder as he dragged her off. “The guests are almost all here.”
“Don’t worry.” Eli slipped David’s tux jacket off the hanger. “We’ll be there.”
The door closed behind them. Eli held out David’s jacket. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” David put his arms through the sleeves and fastened the top button. “You?”
“You’re the one tying the knot, my friend, not me.” Eli took David’s boutonniere out of box and stuck the pin between his teeth.
David fixed his collar. “From the way you and Brooke practically eye-fucked each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re next.”
Eli laid the boutonniere flat against David’s lapel. “Shut up and hold still.”
“Charise says you two go at it like rabbits every night. Really noisy, nympho rabbits.”
Shit. He knew they should have kept the moaning, groaning and oh-my-God-ing to a minimum. Not that either of them seemed to have any self-control when their clothes were off. Or on. “You really want to go there? I’m holding a long, sharp pin inches from your heart. And I’m not afraid to use it.”
David’s teasing smile faded into a thin line, and any trace of humor disappeared from his eyes. “In all seriousness, man, Brooke’s special.”
“I know.” He wouldn’t get any argument on that from Eli.
“We’ve been friends for almost three years. Ever since Chris and I moved into this building. More than friends, actually. She’s like a sister to me.” David hesitated, his next words coming out slow and measured. “I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then don’t you think it’s time to tell her the truth?”
The pin in Eli’s hand slipped, jabbing his index finger and falling to the floor. He jerked back and sucked his injured finger into his mouth. This was it. His day of reckoning. The shit had hit the fan.
He took a deep breath and tried to quell the flood of panic rising inside him, making his chest tighten. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in love with her,” David stated matter-of-factly, like he was discussing the weather. “Or well on your way to it.”
Part of Eli sagged in relief. David didn’t know his real identity, or his reason for being at Candy Court. It was important he tell everyone—especially Brooke—on his own terms, when the time was right. And that time was almost here.
But as relieved as he was that his secret was still safe, another part of him continued to panic. It was too soon to be throwing around the “L” word, wasn’t it?
He repositioned the boutonniere. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s as obvious as a bad boob job.” David handed him a fresh pin. “All you have to do is look in a mirror. You’ve got all the classic symptoms. Yearning look. Dopey grin. Shortness of breath. The next thing you know you’ll be doodling hearts and flowers on your spreadsheets. Or whatever it is you work with.”
So much for his big-time-real-estate-magnate poker face. If David could read him like a cheap airport paperback, could everyone else? Could Brooke?
“We’ve barely known each other two months.” The protest sounded lame, even to Eli’s ears. He pushed the pin through the stem of the boutonniere and stepped back to observe his handiwork.
“Weeks, months, years. Love doesn’t have a timetable. I moved in with Chris three weeks after we met.” David shifted to the mirror to check his appearance. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”
Eli fiddled with his pocket square. “I thought so, back in college. But now I’m not so sure.”
David gave his reflection a final once-over and turned back to Eli. “Yeah. The real thing will do that to you.”
The real thing. The words tugged at Eli’s conscience. It felt real. It felt right. But how right or real could it be until he was completely honest with her?
The door cracked open and Brooke stuck her head in. “Your ten minutes are up, and the natives are getting restless. Are we doing this, or what?”
“You bet your
ass we’re doing this,” David said, his tone joking but his expression deadly serious. “I can’t have Chris jeté-ing his way across Europe in tights and a dance belt without a ring on his finger. Which reminds me.”
He took a small, square box out of his pants pocket and put it in Eli’s palm. “Here. The rings. Don’t forget them. And don’t forget what we talked about.”
Eli nodded. “I won’t.”
David breezed past Brooke, planting a kiss on her cheek as he went. “See you on the roof.”
“What was that all about?” Brooke asked in his wake.
“Guy stuff.” There wasn’t time for even the abridged version of what he needed to say to her. That would have to come later. Eli crossed to Brooke and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She threaded her arm through his and let him lead her into the hallway and toward the stairs to the roof. “I’m all yours.”
Chapter Ten
Brooke didn’t cry at weddings. She didn’t. The moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes as she watched David and Chris exchange vows wasn’t tears. It was her damn ragweed allergy acting up again. In March.
“Here,” Eli whispered, dangling a handkerchief from his fingertips.
“A handkerchief? Who still carries a handkerchief?” She took it, running her thumb over the “EWJ” embroidered in the corner. “And monogrammed, no less.”
“They’re extremely handy. Perfect for lending to damsels in distress.”
“Do you come across a lot of those?”
He took her free hand and weaved his fingers with hers. “Only one, recently.”
She dabbed at her eyes—stupid allergy—and turned her attention back to the ceremony. As happy as she was for David and Chris, who had finished with the vows and were exchanging rings, she couldn’t help feeling a little wistful.
Things were finally starting to go her way. Her agent had loved the last set of revisions. She lived in a great neighborhood, surrounded by good friends. And she had a hotter-than-hell guy in her bed every night who made sure she never went to sleep unsatisfied.
But how long would it last? Her book might never sell. Any day now, she and her friends could be out on the street. And as much fun as she was having with Eli, watching David and Chris stand before their family and friends and swear to have and to hold from this day forward, seeing the love and promise in their eyes as they slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers, made her wonder if maybe she and Eli could have that, too.
“You okay?” he asked under his breath.
She nodded and stared straight ahead, not daring to look at him. Her face had always been an open book, and she was afraid of what he might see there now. “Allergies.”
“Right.” He drew out the word like he was savoring it.
“Screw you.”
He chuckled and turned her hand over in his, running his thumb over her palm. The slight touch reverberated all the way to the tips of her toes in her high-heeled Roman sandals. “Later.”
“Shh,” Mr. Feingold hissed loudly, rapping Brooke on the shoulder. “I can’t hear.”
“Neither can anyone else now, thanks to you, old man,” his wife scolded, her voice only slightly softer than her husband.
For the rest of the ceremony, Brooke kept her mouth shut and her eyes on the happy couple. No easy task with Eli refusing to release her hand, his thumb continuing to draw slow circles on her palm. How could such a simple, seemingly innocuous touch create such a tidal wave of sexual pleasure? It was a good thing they were sitting down because she didn’t think her legs would support her.
Only when the service was over and David and Chris shared their first—almost obscenely long—kiss as spouses for life did she sneak a glance at Eli. He looked right back and mouthed, “Later.”
“One-track mind,” she mouthed back. But at that moment, as David and Chris continued to kiss and Eli stared at her with a bittersweet smile, something deep inside told her they were talking about more than sex.
Cocktails and dinner passed in a sort of blur. By the time they’d eaten Mallory’s fabulously prepared food and Charise’s boyfriend du jour had started spinning tunes on Eli’s sound system, Brooke had a nice little champagne buzz. She shook her booty to Beyoncé and Britney Spears and taught the Feingolds the Electric Slide before a slow song came on, one that called for lots of touching and swaying and romance. PDA of the highest degree.
“It’s about time.” Eli intercepted her at the edge of the makeshift dance floor and held out his hand. His jacket was long gone, and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. “Dance with me.”
It was a command, not a question. Brooke looked at his outstretched hand then met his gaze. It was what she saw there that made her overcome her deep-seeded aversion to public displays of affection. Not need or desire, but a kind of quiet desperation, as if his world would end if they didn’t share this dance.
She took his hand and let him lead her past the other swaying couples to the center of the floor. His grip tightened, and he tugged her closer so he could slide his other arm around her waist. The heat of his palm on her back scorched her skin through the crepe of her dress. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and flattened her free hand against his chest.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” she said lamely, her eyes fixed on one of his shirt buttons.
“Thanks to you.” The hand at her back pressed more firmly against her until their hips brushed with every step.
“And you.”
He dipped his head so his lips skimmed her earlobe. “What do you say we get out of here?”
She pulled back far enough to look at him. “Wouldn’t that be rude?”
She followed his gaze to David and Chris, locked in each other’s arms on the opposite side of the dance floor, oblivious to everything but themselves. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll miss us.”
“What about my sister?” She scanned the rooftop for Mallory and spotted her helping one of the waiters cut and plate the cake.
“What about her?” He pulled her back to him and pressed his cheek to hers. Under her palm, his heart beat as wildly as hers.
She closed her eyes and listened to the music. Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” Fitting. The night had been pretty darned wonderful. She sighed and let go of her last shred of doubt, letting herself drown in the music and the moment and the man. “I told her I’d help with the cleanup.”
“She’s got staff. You’ve done enough.” Eli spun her around in a slow circle so she could take it all in. The sun, which had been setting during the ceremony, was long gone, and the white LEDs twinkled against the backdrop of the cloudless blue-black sky. “Look at this place. You transformed a half-finished garden into a rooftop paradise.”
“Like I said, I had help.”
“Every team needs a leader.”
His cheek brushed her hair, and his hand slid up her back in a gentle caress. He shifted his grip on her hand so his thumb was back to its old tricks, teasing her palm with soft circles. Like before, the simple touch set off a tsunami inside her.
“Okay, let’s go.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “But I have to let my sister know I’m leaving. And I’m grabbing us a couple of pieces of cake. It’s chocolate almond, with raspberry mousse and a chocolate ganache. I never pass up chocolate.”
“I like the way you think.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head that should have been platonic but only served to whip her already crazed hormones into a frenzy. “I’ll snag a bottle of champagne and meet you at my place in five minutes.”
“Why your place?”
“It’s about twenty feet closer. And I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to have you naked and underneath me.”
“You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.” She toyed with a button on his shirt, two fingers slipping between what felt like two-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton to stroke his bare flesh. Two could play this game. “But who says I
’ll be underneath you?”
His eyes darkened to a velvety blue, and the heartbeat under her hand stuttered. “Good point.”
He slid a finger under her chin, lifted her face to his, and kissed her again. No prelude, no hesitation, nothing platonic about it this time. He dipped his head to hers and claimed her mouth like it was his for the taking, no matter where they were or who was watching.
When he was finished, he stepped back, brushed a loose hair behind her ear, and headed for the bar, leaving her dazed and wanting in the middle of the dance floor. Heart pounding, she navigated on shaky legs through the crowd of dancers and found Mallory still doling out cake.
“That was some kiss,” her sister said, not wasting any time getting into the thick of things.
“Oh. You saw.”
“Everyone saw. You two weren’t exactly subtle.” Mallory continued to cut and plate cake, her knife working quickly and efficiently. “This guy must be special. I thought you hated PDA.”
“If I take off, will you be okay cleaning up without me?” Brooke asked, ignoring her sister’s implication.
“Fine. Don’t answer me. And yes, you can go get down and dirty with your new boy toy. I’ve got plenty of help.” Mallory handed her two pieces of cake. “Get out of here.”
“You know I love you.” Brooke took both plates and grabbed a third for good measure. “Lunch Tuesday? Anywhere but Heirloom.”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you.”
Carefully balancing the cake plates, Brooke made her way down the stairs to Eli’s apartment. The door was open a crack, so she shouldered her way through, set the plates down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, and untied her sandals so she could pull them off. Why she’d thought she could wear those things for more than an hour without killing her feet was a mystery. She leaned against the counter and wiggled her relieved toes. Maybe she could convince Eli to give her another foot rub. Without any interruptions.
“What took you so long?”
His voice drifted across the apartment, lit by a solitary lamp. She turned to see him sitting in shadow on the bed. He’d already stripped off his tie, which lay discarded on the floor, and was working on the buttons of his shirt.