Brynn had seen people deal with illness and the realization of their own mortality in any number of ways. She’d be willing to bet part of his behavior was the struggle to come to terms with his. He was someone used to bending things to his will: travel, business deals, rivals. Regular exercise and a good diet kept him free from many of the ills other seventy-year old men faced like diabetes and high blood pressure or hypertension. He was unaccustomed to the vulnerability his illness created. It had made him a short-tempered and difficult patient in Belgium and not much better in Singapore. Like it or not, she was the closest person to him and she’d bear the brunt of his moods.
• • •
She was waiting in the lobby at a few minutes before two when Maddux appeared. As usual he was attired in a designer tee and khaki pants. He’d worn a shirt with the same logo yesterday. It might be his idea of casual, but it screamed designer. She’d worn a sundress with strappy sandals and carried a wool cardigan in her bag. He held the door for her as they exited the hotel, and she smoothed her dress self-consciously.
“Are they a sponsor?” she asked, gesturing to his shirt.
“Yeah, I’m under contract and you never know when someone might spot you and take a picture—God help me if they get one of me in Izod or something.”
She stopped on the sidewalk.
“Photographers?” she said, uneasily, glancing around. “I figured they’d all moved on.”
He took her hand and led her forward, down the street crowded with people and cars—the hustle of a weekday in Singapore.
“Much more likely before race day. I think all the press is hung over today.”
“And you’re not?”
“I don’t drink much,” he said.
“Really?” she asked, her tone skeptical.
“Oh, you mean the other night? I had a couple. More than one drink is pretty unusual,” he admitted. “But there were extenuating circumstances.” He stepped to the edge of the curb and hailed a cab. One pulled up right away, and he opened the door for her.
She scooted across the seat and he followed.
“Marina Bay Sands,” he told the driver. “We could’ve walked,” he eyed her shoes again, “but I wasn’t sure about those.”
“Surprisingly comfortable,” she replied. “I mean, they should be for what they cost, right? But seems like the more expensive the shoe, the more unpleasant it is to walk in.”
“You don’t wear those to work I gather?” he said.
“No way. I wear closed-toe shoes to see patients and rounds at the hospital. My patients are older so I think it gives them more confidence in me if I dress more—sedately. This stuff,” she smoothed the dress, “is all new.”
He stiffened next to her.
What had she said?
Oh.
Anger surged through her, but she held onto her temper. “What are you thinking, Maddux? That my sugar daddy bought this outfit?”
“No,” he said, but his jaw was rigid.
“I’m a doctor. I think I can afford a few nice things, and unlike you, I buy my own clothes.”
“But he is buying your rooms, right? And your meals?”
Brynn stared out the window. The hell of it was, she couldn’t blame him for being confused, angry even. If the circumstances were reversed, she’d steer clear of a man involved on any level with another woman.
“Maddux,” she said, turning her body toward him, searching for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t jeopardize her agreement.
He held up his hands, indicating he didn’t want to talk about it further.
The cab driver sped on, making a turn that put them in front of the gigantic hotel. He stopped at the entrance. Maddux leaned forward, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a few bills.
Then he groaned. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand thinking about it. About him and you. I thought I could, but I can’t,” he said, roughly.
He grasped her by the shoulders and took her lips, urgently, ungently. He angled his mouth over hers, his hot, slick tongue tracing her lips, then the inside of her. Not tentative, not uncertain. The hand behind her head locked her into his intensity. As if she would try to escape; she was drowning in the scent and feel of him, one hand tangling in his silky hair, the other pressing against the steely firmness of his thigh.
She moaned as his lips left hers to explore the texture of her cheeks, the thudding pulse in her neck.
“Maddux,” she muttered. “I think we’re moving into ‘get a room’ territory.”
“Upstairs,” he said, apparently unable to tear his mouth from the skin of her jawline.
“Is that why you brought me here?” She avoided looking anywhere but at Maddux. She could feel the cabbie’s stare in the rearview mirror.
He reluctantly pulled back and let out a shaky laugh. “I brought you here for the pool, but it’s only for guests. Like it or not, we’ll have to check in.”
Her hands went to his jaw and she held his head steady while she stared him down.
“I’ve been told you’re indiscreet,” she said.
He frowned. “By who? Belamar? That’s bullshit.”
“Smart but not trustworthy,” she continued.
“Total bullshit,” he said, angry now as he pulled his face from her hands. “Belamar said that? He’s just trying to keep you from leaving him.”
“I can’t leave him,” she said.
“Well, that’s it then,” he said, leaning back on the seat. “Despite what Belamar’s been telling you, I’m none of those things. And I don’t screw around with other men’s women.”
Right. She raised an eyebrow. “Like Vivienne McCloud,” she stated.
His pushed the lock of hair back from his forehead—she knew that move now, that anxious movement he often masked with a false grin.
The cocky half-smile appeared, but it didn’t match the coldness in his eyes.
“That was different.”
“So is this.”
“No, I mean that relationship wasn’t what it seemed.”
“Neither is mine,” she replied.
He sat forward, studying her. “I’ve asked you this before—“
“I’m not … we don’t, uh … there are medical issues,” she hedged.
“That prevent you from sleeping with him?” he asked, leaning toward her.
Technically. God, all this lying—not lying. She should have known this conversation was coming, should have planned what she would say. But in the end what came out was the closest to the truth.
“We’re not intimate, but I can’t leave him,” she said.
He opened his mouth, but she pressed a finger to his lips. “I can’t tell you any more than that, so you have to decide what you want.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
She swallowed.
“You.”
He took her hand, playing with her fingers. “Stay with me,” he said. “If you want to travel, if it’s the cost—”
Brynn took her hand back. “It’s not that I can’t afford to travel on my own. I can’t leave Belamar. I can see why that would be hard for you to deal with, so ... ”
“If we get caught, this could be trouble for me,” he said. “Trouble with the press. Trouble with Belamar.”
“Yes, it’s a risk for me, too,”
They stared at each other.
Am I really going to go through with this?
“The hell with it. I want you, Brynn.”
She closed her eyes, suddenly, belatedly terrified that she’d gotten herself into something she couldn’t handle.
Before she could change her mind, she reached for the door handle and scooted out to stand on the sidewalk in front of doors intermittently expelling hotel guests.
He came around and took her hand, half leading, half dragging her into the hotel. Spying an empty area in the atrium, he led her over, giving her a gentle push onto the couch. She watched his long, lean, body approach the desk. He smiled at the desk clerk, chatted for a momen
t, and produced a credit card from his wallet. The woman consulted her computer with a head shake. He talked some more. She examined the computer, finally nodded, and handed him an envelope.
He sauntered toward her and Brynn’s heart raced.
“Come with me.” He pulled her off the couch and steered her to a boutique in the lobby. There were far more than analgesics and junk food in this boutique than at the Four Seasons. There were dresses, jewelry, shirts, sundresses, pool cover-ups, books—he steered her to the back of the shop and stood her in front of the bikini display.
She looked at him in dismay. “No.”
“Yes.” He selected a brown two-piece with white piping and a turquoise suit in her size from the rack and held up one in each hand. “Pick.”
“Which goes best with ghostly pale?” she asked.
“I like them both,” he said, flipping the hanger around. The brown one rode up higher in the rear.
She reluctantly took the blue suit from his hand, forcing herself not to look at the price tag.
They moved toward the front of the store and she stopped in front of the Tommy Bahama island-style, short-sleeved shirts display. With a wicked grin, she pulled down a shirt a shade between red and pink with a hibiscus pattern. She checked the label and handed it to him. He stared at it in horror.
“Um, not on your life,” he said, reaching to put it back.
She hung the bikini on a rack, reaching for a more modestly cut one piece.
“No! Wait.” He picked up the shirt and plucked the bikini from the rack. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said. “I’ll feel like my dad in this.”
“Excellent. You know how I like older men.” Her mouth dropped open in horror. “Oh my God. I was joking.”
“I know.” He smiled at her and they took their purchases to the counter, arguing about who would pay—she won that battle, whipping out her credit card first.
“Should we go up to the room to change?” he asked, toying with his white hotel envelope after they left the boutique.
She bit her lip.
“They have somewhere to change by the pool, right?” she said.
He nodded but his lips twisted.
She tugged him toward the elevator.
They were the only ones in the car when she pressed “Skypark,” her heart roaring in her ears, his hand holding hers, the other holding the bag of their purchases.
“They’ll have towels?”
He nodded.
“Have you been up here before?” she asked, nervously watching the numbers light and extinguish as the car made its way without stopping toward the top.
“Once or twice with a few of my crew a few years ago. We stayed here for a race for Formula Ford.”
“F1 people don’t stay here?”
“Nah. It can get crowded. And the service isn’t as good as a Ritz. Most of F1 moved on this morning. Why are you still here?”
“Belamar had work to do,” she said. “We’ll head to Tokyo before we get to Nagoya.”
Her heart rate picked up as the elevator stopped. She stepped out and caught her breath.
“Wow.”
He smiled and his hand tightened on hers before he released it.
“It’s … I wasn’t expecting it to be so … It looks like it’s right on the edge of the building.”
“Cool, yeah?”
The infinity pool was sparsely populated. Palm trees ringed the sides, interspersed with what looked like beds. There were lounge chairs further from the edges, but the white bed-like structures were on platforms over the pool. And the view of the city and the bay from fifty-seven stories up was like nothing she’d ever seen. “I can only imagine what this place must be like at night.”
He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have anywhere to be until tomorrow.”
He handed her the bag.
Brynn changed in the small dressing area, avoiding looking in the wall of mirrors at all costs. It had been years since she’d worn a bikini—high school, perhaps. She wasn’t one to lie out in the sun, and most of her swimming required something more substantial than these scraps of turquoise Lycra held together with strings. She tugged at the bottoms riding up, spread the triangles over her breasts—no padding, no cups with wire to artificially enhance and inflate. Nothing to be done to disguise her lack of endowment. She was half tempted to pull on her street clothes for the walk to the lounge chairs.
Instead, she tucked her dress into the bag and held her shoes in hand as she ducked back out.
Maddux reappeared moments later, his gaze scanning her body, lingering long enough to make her that much more self-conscious.
He wore board shorts—brightly colored turquoise, black, and green. Long and loose, they nonetheless hinted at the phenomenal body beneath. Her eyes tracked up the rigid abdomen, the broad, strong shoulders, and from the slightly thickened neck to his smile.
There was something surreal about this whole thing. The view of Singapore, the most amazing pool, the outrageously good-looking male in front of her.
This wasn’t Brynn Douglas’s life—this was this some bizarre fantasy world.
“Nice—beats the hell out of that navy Speedo.”
“Should have made you get that instead of the Hawaiian shirt,” she lamented.
“You are obsessed with getting me in Speedo,” he responded, making his way down to the pool. She followed, stopping to grab two towels. They used their key to enter the pool area. “Tell you what, I’ll parade around the room in my boxer briefs later,” he said.
Her nerves jangled at the mention of later.
“C’mon,” he said, glancing behind him where she had paused by a group of lounge chairs. He tilted his head to the platforms.
Her lips twisted. Those things looked entirely too much like a bed for her comfort. Then again, there were two … separated by only a palm tree. She forced herself to relax and followed him down. He took her bag and shoes and tossed them along with his things onto one platform. Then he took her towel and threw it onto the empty bed next to it.
Brynn stepped off the ledge into the water. Not quite tepid and certainly not chilly, it was the perfect temperature.
She took a few strokes, crossing the narrow pool to peer over the concrete ledge to the city skyline, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the midday sun. She felt Maddux come up behind her.
“I thought it would be more crowded,” she said.
“Late September on a weekday,” he said. “There’s more tourists on the weekends.”
He submerged and she watched, fascinated, as he re-emerged, the water dripping down from his wet, dark hair onto his golden skin.
She turned her back to the wall, feet pressed to the bottom. “It’s shallow,” she said. “Is the whole pool like this?”
“I think four feet is as deep as it gets,” he said, the water bringing him closer to her.
He brought his hands up on either side of the ledge next to her, only a few inches of warm water separating them. Her heart was racing now, her eyes glued to his beautiful mouth, those perfectly white teeth.
She met him halfway, her mouth exploring his, his tongue stroking into her. One of his hands moved behind her head, tangling through the dripping strands.
She fitted herself to him, her bathing suit a thin barrier against the heat and strength of his hard body. Her hands moved to his lower back, shaping and learning the flesh just above the waistband of his suit, before moving lower, to his firm ass beneath the slippery fabric of the shorts. She sank lower into the water. He was kneeling now, pressing her into the side of the pool. Her hands moved farther, skimming the backs of his thighs. She gasped into his mouth as his hands teased the waistband of her suit, then parted her legs to wrap them around his hips. She ground against him, his erection trapped in the baggy material of the board shorts.
Someone jumped into the pool, and as the droplets from the splash hit them, Brynn pulled away.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered against
his neck.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered back. “I can’t wait to have you.”
Her thighs clenched against him as his words sent a pulse of sensation through her.
What was holding her back? His reputation? Certainly not Belamar.
“Why me?” she asked, pulling her head far enough from his body to meet his eyes, his pupils dilated from the glare of the sun. His irises ranged from an outer ring of navy to an inner ring several shades lighter and brighter—greener than the label of his Supernova logo. They were exotic, especially compared to her sedate brown.
Everything about him was shinier, harder, younger—more beautiful.
What am I doing?
His hand stroked down her bare back, sending a shiver rippling through her, gooseflesh rising on her arms despite the warmth of the water.
He sighed. “I hate the analysis part. Can’t we just go with it?”
Could she? Could she cram all her reservations into a little box and stuff it away—enjoy this fleeting physical relationship halfway around the world from her reality?
Maybe he did want her because he thought she was unavailable, or he was, long term. Did it matter? He did this kind of thing routinely without giving it a second thought. In and out of women’s bodies, their lives, their countries.
The thought made the contents of her stomach whirl and some part of her subconscious poked its head out of the box and shook its head.
Please, her body begged, thrumming. Let go of all the thinking for once in your life.
“Okay,” she agreed, stroking for the other side of the pool before her conscience fully emerged from its box.
Brynn grabbed the towel, her clothes and the envelope with one plastic key Maddux handed her; he pocketed the other in his dripping board shorts. “I have to make a stop,” he said.
“Wha—oh, ok.” She turned and walked to the elevator bank, wrapping the towel around her wet body with hands that shook.
Condoms.
She punched the button for their floor, the elevator dropped, then halted, the doors opening to a silent hallway. She checked the number on the envelope, pulled out the key and searched the wall for arrows pointing to the room.
Brynn stood outside the door, key in hand, frozen, staring.
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