“I don’t plan on losing you again.” His breath was warm against my skin as he pulled away.
My body. My heart. He was doing everything right to appeal to them both.
I had to remind myself this was Brooks North. Mr. Reality. Everything he was saying and doing could have been to manipulate me into falling for him. I knew that. Yet something in his eyes told me this was no ruse.
“Why wait?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t the type of man who did or had to wait to get a woman into bed.
He combed my hair back from my face. “Because you’re worth it.”
“You’ve already had me.”
“I’ve had your body,” he said, drawing my head to his chest, holding me against him. “But now I want the rest. I want it all.”
Jimmy gave a low whistle across from us in the limo. “That was one hell of a shoot, you two.”
Brooks rubbed his mouth. “Good to know.”
“I mean, the chemistry was, like, off the charts. You’ve gotten good at selling it, Hannah.” Jimmy winked in my direction as he settled the camera gear beside him on the seat. Conrad had decided to upgrade the camera gear a few weeks ago—you know, for added production value. “You too, Brooks. I wouldn’t have thought the stone-cold reality guy could be so . . .”
“Not stone cold?” Brooks suggested.
Jimmy shook his head. “Romantic. Didn’t think you had it in you, North.”
I had to bite my tongue and look out the window to keep from laughing. Our public dates had been different ever since that night in my apartment, and even though we both tried to keep what happened off-camera from trickling on-screen, it was impossible.
“Either Conrad forced you two to take some acting lessons or he’s pumping aphrodisiacs into your coffee, because seriously.” Jimmy’s finger waved between Brooks and me keeping a measured distance between one another in the back of the limousine. “That was scorchin’.”
“Good to know we figured it out a day before the three months is over.” Brooks’s head turned to look out the other window, trying to ignore me like I was trying to ignore him. I wondered if we were at all convincing, or if it only made it more obvious that something was going on behind the Romance Versus Reality façade.
“So tomorrow night.” Jimmy clapped. “We’ll pick you both up at seven sharp, but you’ll be riding in separate cars to the venue. Conrad is having some formalwear delivered tomorrow morning for you to wear.”
“Why can’t we wear something we already own?” I asked. A.k.a. something comfortable.
“Because this is the final night. Conrad wants to make it big. Fireworks. Twelve-person ensemble. Designer gown and tux. The whole bit.”
Brooks and I blinked at Jimmy.
“It’s the last night of a social experiment, not a presidential inauguration,” Brooks said.
“Maybe. But almost as many people will be tuning in tomorrow night as do during the actual presidential inauguration.”
My palms, sweaty from thinking about what was in store tomorrow night, rubbed down my jeans. Brooks and I had become pros at skirting around our positions as public guinea pigs for romance. Our unsaid motto was to take things one hour at a time and to ignore the elephant looming between the two of us.
“Any other spoilers you can share about tomorrow night?” I asked.
Jimmy wrestled two beers out of the mini fridge, holding the extra out toward Brooks and me. When we both declined, he swung it in the direction of the two bodyguards sitting ramrod-straight in their seats, laser-focused on their “clients.”
“Sorry, that’s right. On duty.” Jimmy set the extra beer back inside the fridge and twisted the cap off his. “Let’s see. Spoilers, spoilers.” He took a pull of his beer. “It’s going to be like the final rose ceremony meets The Hunger Games.” He grinned, looking proud of his analogy. He noticed me gaping and held out his arms. “You both can’t win, you know?”
Brooks shifted in his seat, getting back to staring out the window.
“Oh, and Conrad decided to let the viewers decide who wins tomorrow night.”
Jimmy had said it so quickly, in such a straightforward tone, it took me a minute to catch up to what had been said.
“Wait—”
“What?” Brooks cut in, looking angry instead of distraught like myself.
Jimmy kicked his feet up on the seat across from him. “After the finale, voting lines will be open for viewers to call in with their vote as to which one of you two love-slash-anti-love birds comes out the champion. I think each number can vote five times. Or maybe it’s ten. I don’t remember.”
“That wasn’t part of the original agreement,” the words tumbled from my mouth.
“The agreement you all had written up, notarized, and signed in blood?” Jimmy clucked his tongue. “Come on. We all know Conrad is an asshole who’s going to do whatever he thinks is best for the company, screw the employees working for it.”
Brooks’s hand brushed mine, as though he’d been about to take my hand and caught himself at the last moment. “This isn’t fair,” he said.
“Hey, man, you’re the one who quoted that letting fairness be the guiding compass for life is for the suckers.” Jimmy took a swig of his beer. “It sucks man, I’m with you on that, but that’s what’s going down tomorrow night. Might as well make the best of it.”
Inside, a thousand protests were rising, but I stifled them all, knowing, as Jimmy did, nothing would change Conrad’s mind on this. The viewers would decide who won tomorrow night—Brooks or me—and a part of me already knew the final result. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Conrad has done everything in his power to make this a bigger spectacle whenever the opportunity presented itself.” I blew out a slow breath. “It doesn’t matter. A person would have to possess the emotional intelligence of a grasshopper to believe I’ve actually fallen in love with Brooks North.”
Beside me, Brooks huffed.
“Daaamn. Ice cold.” Jimmy chuckled. “I love it.”
“Miss Arden.” The security guard, Dean, who had been assigned to me a few weeks ago when getting to work without being mob-rushed had become a challenge, said as he reached for the limo door.
My apartment building was outside, and Dean was scanning the sidewalk like he was protecting a foreign diplomat in a hostile country.
“I’m going to hop out here too.”
As Brooks moved, his security guard, Sven, got up to follow. Brooks shook his head, and Sven instantly fell back into his seat. I didn’t know where the paper had gotten these security guards from, but my guess was that they were half machine from the way they behaved.
“Dude. Your place is miles from here,” Jimmy said.
“I’m meeting some friends at a bar down the street.”
“You’ve got friends? People that actually like you and seek out your company?”
Brooks grunted. “Hilarious, camera boy.”
“You should bring Sven though.” Jimmy scanned out the windows. “You’re going to get lady-mobbed if you step foot in a public place.”
Brooks laughed. “I’m the guy trying to prove love is a fallacy. The mob slings pitchforks at me, not bras.”
“Pretty sure those pitchforks can do more damage than lacy bras,” Jimmy called as Brooks climbed out of the limo behind me.
“I’ve got a thick skin.”
I glanced back at Brooks. “Try an impenetrable shell.”
“Good to know I’ve fooled some.” His blue eyes found mine, holding longer than they should have.
“Well. Good night, Brooks.” My posture straightened, attempting to sell how formal I felt where Brooks was concerned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Something sparked in his eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clutching my purse, I turned to head into my apartment building. From the corner of my eye, I watched him meander down the sidewalk. God, were we fooling anyone? It seemed so obvious to me, as though we were holding billboard-sized signs proclaiming our secret rela
tionship.
Dean stayed at my side, swinging the door open and checking the lobby before indicating it was safe for me to enter. Half the time, I thought Dean forgot he was protecting me and not T Swift.
Once we made it to my apartment, he took his position outside my door, hands clasped in front of himself. The paper had insisted on the security detail, Conrad no doubt behind that decision. Not because he was concerned for my well-being in the sense of human decency, but because I was an investment he couldn’t afford to have out of commission.
His social experiment had achieved everything he’d hoped it would, and more. Millions of viewers tuned into every episode of Romance Versus Reality, and the paper was capitalizing on it in every way imaginable. From random trivia about Brooks’ and my lives, to posting exclusive extra questions Jimmy asked us leading into each date, the World Times had secured the crown of hybrid news conglomerate. Half People magazine, half New York Times, everyone from CEOs to stay-at-home moms found some reason to make the World Times their premier news source.
Dean wasn’t here to keep Hannah Arden safe. He was here to protect the asset labeled Ms. Romance.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked him the same question I asked every night before slipping into my jammies.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he answered, his exact reply every time.
“If you change your mind, just knock down my door or something. That seems well within your skillset.” I paused to gauge his reaction. Nothing. Not a muscle movement, no eyelid flicker. Okay, he was more like ninety-percent machine.
Once I was inside, I flew into my bedroom, ripping off my shirt as I went. After tearing through my closet, I changed into a come-hither dress and slid into a fresh pair of underwear that were not cotton solids. Then I lit some candles and turned down the lights. All in under five minutes. I kicked on the pair of heels still lingering at the doorway from yesterday and pulled the door open. Dean did not blink, his gaze still aimed forward.
“I just remembered I’m out of creamer. Need that for my morning coffee unless all of New York wants to experience the female version of King Kong.”
Dean’s face didn’t register an emotion even close to the amusement scale. “I’ll grab some for you,” he announced, already marching down the hallway. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Lock the door and don’t answer it for anyone.”
“Maybe the mayor?” I teased.
No response as he jogged down the stairs. Going through the motions, I closed my door and locked it, then leaned into the wall behind me, waiting. It wouldn’t be long, based on past experiences.
A soft trio of knocks echoed outside the door a few minutes later. My stomach knotted as I reached for the handle, both in anticipation and trepidation.
Brooks’ and my relationship was still undefined, lurking in murky waters. That wasn’t strictly because we’d dodged having that conversation with each other, but because I’d shirked having it with myself. I had feelings—I felt emotions—but if I didn’t assign them a name, I could spin whatever theory I wanted based on the outcome. Would our story wind up a fairy tale? Or a cautionary one? As long as I kept things vague, I could accept either without being crushed. Or at least, that was what I told myself.
“That was fast,” I greeted upon opening the door.
Brooks looked fine. He smelled fine. That silver glimmer in his eyes was beyond fine. “Too fast? Should I leave and come back? I don’t want you thinking that I’m overeager or anything.”
When he backed away from the doorway, I grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. “Why don’t you want me thinking that?”
“Because I don’t want you to see me as some kind of Red Zone Clinger. Even though one might lurk just below the surface where you are concerned.” The pads of his fingers brushed against mine when he moved closer.
“Red Zone Clinger? Is that a label you’re going to share with your readers?”
“No way in hell.”
“Why not?”
“The man who bites his thumb at commitment coming out of the closet as a clinger?” He shot me a look as he rolled up his sleeves. “Can you imagine the blowback?”
“Nice story.” My hands planted on his chest, shoving him into the wall behind him. “When do we skip to the part that comes next?”
His expression changed from amused to aroused. His head fell toward mine, his breath warming my cheek. “Next.”
My fingers curled into his shirt, my lips finding his. A low sound rumbled in his throat as I pressed my body into his.
“This is the kind of hello a man could get used to.” His mouth collapsed into mine for a moment. His eyes opened like he’d just remembered something. “By the way, nice dress.”
“Nice dress?”
One brow lifted. “Nice is short for a million other things I could say about this dress and what seeing you in it makes me want to do to you, but to save time . . .”
“Nice works,” I said, a smile pulling at my mouth. “Instead of saying what it makes you want to do to me, why don’t you just show me?”
Brooks’s arms wound behind my back; a moment later, I was lifted into the air as he carried me into the living room. “Your wish.” His voice outside my ear sent a tremble down my back. “My command.”
My ankles crossed behind his back, my arms tying at the base of his neck. His strides were purposeful, moving as though he knew exactly what he wanted and was not in the business of waiting for it. I loved that about Brooks; he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to go after it.
“I’ve got a perfectly good bedroom back that direction,” I said when he paused beside the sofa. “With one of those bed things.”
He kicked off his shoes, still holding me close. “Too much temptation.”
I fought the urge to groan. “What’s so wrong with that?”
Brooks flung us onto the sofa, him on top, me below him. My whole body throbbed with desire, the weight of him pinned against me fanning the flame.
“I thought you didn’t want to have a conversation.”
My hand slid lower, skimming beneath his shirt. “I don’t.”
The words were hardly out before his mouth returned to mine, his large hands gripping the back of my dress. I lost whatever thread of restraint I’d been clinging to as his weight settled deeper into me, the pressure building between my legs as I felt him hard against my stomach.
My breath was strained as our kisses deepened, tongues dominating then yielding. The ache had become a throb that had turned into an overpowering swell. It was my body, but at that moment, I was not in possession of it.
As my fingers scrolled further beneath his shirt, I swore his skin heated from my touch. It went from warm to scalding in a few strokes. My hand grappled with his shirt, peeling it up his back as I contemplated ripping it from him if it took longer than a few seconds to remove.
Brooks shrugged, dipping his head to make it easier. The shirt wound up in a crumpled heap at our feet. When he collapsed onto me again, the air in the room changed. Anticipation had given way to resolution. Doubt yielding certainty.
My legs fell open wider to meet him at the same time my hands lowered to his belt.
“Slow down.” His mouth left mine, his eyes sealed closed almost like he was in physical pain.
It took me a few moments to formulate a reply. “Slow down?” A few more to catch my breath. “We’ve been making out like a couple of church-going teenagers afraid of eternal damnation for weeks. How much slower can we possibly go?”
Brooks’s face twitched with amusement as he planted his hands beside my head to better hold his weight. “What’s the rush?”
I blinked at him. “What’s the hold up?”
His head tipped as a familiar expression moved into place. I knew what the hold up was, and he was waiting for me to acknowledge it.
“No proclamations, remember? No designations to whatever this is. That was part of the agreement.” Sighing, I gave his chest a shove as I
adjusted my legs into a less inviting position.
His forehead pressed into mine. “What is this, Hannah?”
“Why do we have to give it a name?”
“Because tomorrow night, the world is going to force us to.”
My eyes closed when I thought about the future. The near and distant. With Brooks’ and my relationship, one hour into the future was too far to plan out. “We don’t owe the world an explanation.”
“Fine. But we owe ourselves one.” When he exhaled, his warm breath broke across my face. “So what is this? Us. Behind closed doors. Off camera. What are we?”
God. That face. It was as flawless up close as it was at a distance. What presided from the neck down was no different. But what dwelled past the surface was perhaps the sexiest component of Brooks North.
As much as I wanted to tell him how I felt—to assign a title to whatever this was—I wasn’t enough of a fool to do so before the show was over.
“No. Designations,” I enunciated slowly.
Sliding out from beneath him, I adjusted my dress back into position since he wasn’t going to be taking it off in the near future. Or maybe even the distant future. The one-night-stand man had become the wait-for-marriage type, and I’d never wanted to give irony the bird more.
“Slow down doesn’t mean stop.” His arm wrung around my stomach at the same time his teeth grazed my earlobe.
“But slow down does mean probable cranium eruption from the female equivalent of blue balls, so yeah, I’m gonna stop while I’m still breathing.” Gliding away from him took the ultimate feat of willpower.
“I bet I could give you that release you need . . .” Brooks’s hand at my stomach skimmed lower, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my dress. “Without removing a single article of clothing.”
My hands balled into fists when I felt his fingers grazing the insides of my thighs.
“Just lie back . . .” His teeth sank into my earlobe at the same time his fingers reached their destination. “And let me . . .”
In the background, I heard a noise.
It wasn’t important. It could have been a rocket launcher bursting through my kitchen wall and it wouldn’t have been more pressing than what Brooks was doing to my body at that very moment.
Dating the Enemy Page 20