The Reluctant Boyfriend (The Bad Boyfriend series Book 4)

by Erika Kelly

“Really?” Brodie’s deep, rumbly voice sounded interested. “What’s the process, exactly?”

  “Sorry.” Harrison chuckled. “That’s not my area of expertise.”

  “How have you not been paying attention?” Gustav asked. “Basically, the oil leeches the scent out of the petals, and then she uses ethyl alcohol to separate the fat from the smell. Something like that.”

  She had to smile at Gustav’s simplistic description, but she liked that he paid attention. With the clock ticking, she closed the door, hurried to her suitcase, and grabbed her skinny black pants. Then, she headed into the closet where she’d hung a couple shirts and a blazer.

  Grabbing the closest, a pretty black and white striped blouse, she nabbed a pair of vintage Louboutins she’d found in a little boutique in London. In the bathroom, she pulled off her T-shirt, got dressed, swiped on some red lipstick, flipped her hair upside down, spritzed a holding product, and then straightened. Done.

  But, as she gazed in the mirror, she couldn’t help wondering what Brodie saw when he looked at her. Did he see the scientist? An attractive woman?

  Actually, what she really wanted to know was whether sexiness came naturally or if it took effort. Like, were some people just born sensual or was it a conscious choice in their clothing and make-up choices, in the way they moved their bodies?

  It struck her that she already had her answer. She wasn’t attracted to Marcel, so she didn’t feel sexual around him. And she only knew that because around Brodie she felt…aware of herself. Her breasts, her hair, her smile, the sway of her hips.

  It changes everything.

  Of course, it wasn’t about Brodie. After Monday, she’d never see him again. It was about what he’d awakened in her. On her way out the door, she yanked a black silk scarf out of her suitcase and wrapped it around her neck. Done.

  As soon as she stepped into the living area, she grabbed her purse. “Ready.”

  The moment Brodie turned to her, his aloof vibe dropped, and he stood there staring, slack-jawed.

  Or maybe she was the one staring at him. Because he was the most handsome, rugged, and potently masculine man she’d ever seen. He looked like a man who didn’t share his secrets but knew all of yours, like a man who didn’t have a care in the world but would drop what he was doing to help with yours. He looked like he played hard, expected to get dirty, and wouldn’t spare a moment on people who didn’t throw themselves into life the way he did.

  He looked like the kind of guy who grabbed a fistful of a woman’s hair and pushed her down to her knees to get exactly what he wanted.

  Sensation tore through her, lighting a path down her spine, flaring across the tops of her thighs, and settling between her legs in an insistent throb.

  Where did that come from?

  Okay, you need to stop this right now. “Was I over five minutes?”

  Harrison grinned. “You’ve got thirty seconds to spare.”

  “Perfect, because I left my phone charging on the nightstand.”

  And then she ducked into the bedroom, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.

  Holy Mother of God, that man is hot.

  “I’ve never seen a hotel like this.” As they crossed the lobby, she felt like an extra on the set of a gold rush film. Actors dressed as gunslingers bellied up to a brass-rimmed bar, the female staff wore hoop skirts, and the men wore suitcoats with vests and woolen trousers.

  A valet opened the door for her, and she stepped outside to a lively shoot-out scene taking place up the street. She breathed in the dusty air tinged with sage and wildflowers. “I love it here.”

  “Glad to hear it, princess.”

  This place was doing things to her. Like…prying open her senses and making her hungry for every little thing. “Did we have breakfast?” She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

  Brodie shot her an odd look but didn’t say anything.

  “I brought you up a croissant,” Harrison said. “Not sure if you had it.”

  “I had a cowboy breakfast,” Gustav said. “Bacon, sausage, eggs, biscuits. It was delicious.”

  Brodie gave a chin nod. “Yeah, we don’t do Continental breakfasts in Owl Hoot.”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Rosalina looked to the mountain range that had thrust violently out of the earth six million years ago. Her Alps weren’t quite so dramatic, having formed sixty-five million years ago. “Not with all the adventures you must offer here. White water rafting, hiking, rappelling. I’ll bet you even offer heli-skiing.”

  “I—” Brodie’s mouth snapped shut. For the first time, raw emotion gripped his features. He looked down to his scuffed black boots, and then determination had his gaze swinging up. “Not yet, but we will.”

  Well, that was an odd reaction. A black town car glided under the portico, and as her bodyguards moved to open the door, she couldn’t help noticing the way people stopped and watched.

  Probably wondering if I’m some famous American actor.

  Not only didn’t she want to draw attention to herself, she actually liked that Brodie never showed any deference towards her. It was…freeing.

  And that’s exactly what I’m here for.

  She couldn’t pull herself together while inhabiting everything that made her Marcel’s fiancée and Fabiana’s boss and friend. She needed a complete change.

  “My bike’s parked just over there,” Brodie said. “Hang on.”

  “Whoa,” Gustav said. “What kind of motorcycle is that?”

  Brodie’s gruff demeanor cracked, exposing the teenage boy underneath. “Triumph Rocket.”

  It was sleek, black, with shiny chrome features. It looked dangerous and wicked, and…

  I want to ride it.

  “That is badass.” Gustav gawked. “What kind of horsepower?”

  “Hundred forty-eight.”

  “Damn, that’s sweet.”

  Harrison swatted the back of the younger man’s head, and Gustav instantly turned serious. “Sorry.” Back in security mode, he scanned the area, but he couldn’t hide his awe as he took in the boardwalks and costumed actors.

  Brodie waved his keys. “Back in a second.” He started off, his long-legged gait powerful. He had an athletic grace and an air of fearlessness that captivated her.

  He was her Pied Piper, only instead of a boy, he was a testosterone-charged man. And she wanted to follow. “Wait.”

  He turned around but kept walking backwards.

  “I’d like to ride with you.”

  “Rosalina.” Harrison’s tone held a warning she realized she never wanted to hear again as long as she lived.

  But Brodie’s grin was pure challenge. “You want to ride the beast?”

  “Maybe another time,” Harrison said. “We’ve got to get her to the fitting in one piece.”

  “Oh, I’ll get her there safely.” The growl in his voice made her want to knock those mirrored aviators right off so she could see the challenge in his eyes. “She just might not look so…” He waved a hand at either side of his head. “Princessy. What do you say, Rosie? You gonna ride with me?”

  His assumption that she was some frail, sheltered socialite made her want to snatch the keys out of his hand and take off by herself. But, while she’d done her share of dirt biking, she’d never ridden a motorcycle.

  “Okay, sir, I know you do things differently here,” Harrison said. “But she’s the princess of St. Christophe—”

  “No.” She cut him off. “Here, I’m Rosie.”

  His initial surprise settled into concern, but Brodie gave her an approving smile.

  She touched Harrison’s arm. “It can’t get out that I’m in America, apart from Marcel. If I’m Rosie, no one will care. But the driver, the bodyguards…this is just drawing attention to me.” She turned to Brodie. “How many people know who I am?”

  “My family knows. The manager. That’s about it. We don’t talk about our guests. That’s basic policy in hospitality.”

&nbs
p; “Can I trust everyone to keep my identity under wraps?”

  “Of course. One of the reasons we get so many celebrities out here’s because of our attitude towards privacy. Nobody asks for autographs or selfies. Our state motto’s Equal Rights, and that’s because we were the first state to give women the vote, but it’s also because, to us, people are just people.”

  A guy walking by clapped Brodie on the back. “I thought our motto’s, Where the Men are Lonely, and the Sheep are Scared.” He cracked up and kept walking.

  “Fuck off, Chris.” But Brodie was smiling. “So, yeah, you’re safe with us.”

  She liked the way he unapologetically swore around her. Now, for the more difficult conversation. She addressed her bodyguards. “You may not like this, but I think it’s best if you stay in the hotel until I get back.”

  “I can’t do that, Princess,” Harrison said. “You know that.”

  “You can.”

  Brodie came closer. “Is there some threat I should know about?”

  “Not at all,” Rosalina said. She held Harrison’s gaze. It’s all right. Let me do this.

  “Some of the most famous actors, athletes, and entrepreneurs in the world live here,” Brodie said. “And no one bothers them. If she’s just Rosie, the chemist, she’ll be left alone.”

  She gave Harrison a gentle push towards the lobby doors. He didn’t like it, but he gave her a terse nod and stepped around the car to talk to the driver. A moment later, the car pulled away.

  “You take care of her.” Harrison pointed a finger at Brodie. “She’s precious cargo.”

  “We got this.” Brodie turned and strode to his motorcycle, not even waiting to see if she’d follow.

  But follow she did.

  Chapter Six

  The wind loosened the scarf Rosalina had wrapped around her head to keep her hair from becoming a tangled mess. It started to break free, and she tried to grab it, but Brodie’s ridiculously swift reflexes caught her hand and pressed it to his hard stomach.

  Good Lord, this is too much. Tearing down the highway was exhilarating enough, but the feel of her breasts pressed to his back, her thighs straddling his hips…she’d never been this close to a man other than Marcel. It felt different, strange. Thrilling.

  His muscular body, the scent of his herbal shampoo and leather jacket…it all smacked her with a heavy wallop of attraction.

  The “beast” roared, the wind whipped, and the engine between her thighs made her body vibrate. Both arms wrapped tightly around him, her chin on his shoulder, she leaned into him and enjoyed the ride, hoping he couldn’t tell how excited he made her.

  Her scarf flapped around her ears, loosening even more, until it flew away. She twisted around to watch it billow and soar like a black kite, before landing in a crumple on the asphalt.

  The town dropped away, the businesses thinned, until there was nothing on either side of the highway but wide, open meadows. Colorful wildflowers mixed with the tall grass and scrubby brush.

  Her gaze snagged on something in the distance. What the heck is that? In the middle of the field stood a large, wooly animal—

  “That’s a bison.” She bounced in her seat, her helmet clacking against his, as she gestured to the side of the road. “Pull over, please.”

  He slowed, easing onto the shoulder. Idling, he dropped both legs to the ground. “What’s up?”

  “I want to take a picture.” She climbed off the bike.

  “Of what?”

  “That’s a bison.” Digging around in her purse, she pulled out her phone and hustled back the way they’d come. Her high heels wobbled, the soles crunching on gravel. After she took a few shots, she pulled up the best picture and started to send it…

  When she remembered.

  The two people she would’ve sent it to were no longer her friends.

  All the freedom she’d felt on the back of that bike, the wind blowing in her hair, fizzled out like a damp firecracker.

  She felt a wall of powerful energy at her back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just going to send this to…my parents. They’ll get a kick out of it.” She took in the scene around her, the puffy white clouds scudding across a bright blue sky, the yellow, red, and white flowers dotting the meadow.

  “You okay?”

  She tried to rally and give him a smile, but the loss had her firmly in its grip. It hurt that Marcel had cheated. It sickened her that Fabiana could be so two-faced.

  But, in the end, she wasn’t out a fiancé so much as alone in the world. There weren’t many she could trust, and so she’d given it all to them. Now, she had no one. “Sure.”

  The skin around his eyes crinkled, and he seemed to struggle before giving her a terse nod. “We should get you to your appointment.”

  “Of course.”

  But, in that moment, she didn’t know how she could do it. She’d rather swim with stinging jellyfish than try on her wedding dress.

  “I’m sorry to be so difficult.”

  Brodie glanced up, not liking the heaviness in the princess’s voice. Something had happened out there on the side of the road. She’d gone from wild and free to…sad. All from sending someone a picture of a bison.

  “Trust me, you’re easy compared to most brides.” Knox, his brother’s wife, knelt on the pedestal, a Velcro bracelet of pins strapped to her wrist. “I want you to love this dress, so we’ll keep at it until we nail it. There’s no rush, right?”

  Rosie stared at the frothy white gown in the full-length mirror in Knox’s office. “Not at all.”

  “Then we’re good.” Knox got up. “Let me grab my sketch pad, okay? I want to remember every detail we talked about.”

  “Should I stay in the dress?” From her almost panicked look, Brodie had the impression she wanted to strip the gown off and fling it across the room. Maybe stomp on it, for good measure.

  “Definitely. Be right back.”

  The moment Knox left, Brodie hit send on the email to the modeler, giving his list of adjustments. Then, he got up and leaned against the desk, arms folded across his chest. “You want me to unzip it? We can jump on the bike and head for the hills.”

  “It’s that obvious?” She rallied with a smile. “I’m not very good at hiding my feelings.”

  “You don’t like the dress, tell her. She’ll start over if you want.” The princess was certainly paying enough.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Fine? Shouldn’t it be better than fine?”

  “No, I mean, I love the dress.” He watched her slip back into princess mode. “With a few alterations, it’ll be perfect.”

  He pushed off the desk and took the few steps over to her. “Remember what I said about privacy? You’re safe here, princess. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

  Color crested in her cheeks. She grabbed handfuls of the fancy white material and turned to face him. She wanted to say something, he could tell.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who got into people’s business. Other than his brothers, he didn’t ask too many questions or get too involved. But there was something so vibrant, so vital, about this woman, that he didn’t like seeing her reduced in any way. “Something happened back there, when you were going to send the picture.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “My two closest friends let me down. That’s why I came out here, instead of letting Knox come to me. I just needed to get away from them.”

  He didn’t think any words he had to offer would help, so he stayed quiet.

  “It came as such a shock…I’m still not sure how to process it.” She relaxed her hold on the fabric. “I can’t stop thinking about how, all the time I was with them, completely being myself around them…they were working against me. I feel like a fool. I feel—”

  “Like you don’t matter.”

  Awareness dawned in her eyes. “Yes, that’s it exactly. Before I caught—before I found out about the betrayal, I thought I’d mattered very much. As much as they’d matt
ered to me.” She turned away from him, as though embarrassed by her outburst.

  He got up on the platform, standing close enough to see the tiny streaks of black in her unusually pale green eyes. “When I was a kid, someone led me to believe I mattered more than anyone in the world. She lied to me for months. I ignored my gut feeling, because I was so hell-bent on getting things to go my way. When I finally figured out she’d been playing me, I got mad. The kind of mad where you flip tables and upend boulders, sending them crashing off hillsides.”

  He got his first genuine smile since the bison incident. “I think we process betrayal differently.”

  He grinned. “Maybe, but in the end it’s the same. The good news is that I had a dad who talked me through it.”

  “What did he say?” Her eager expression made him glad he’d decided to open up to her.

  “He told me that anger was the bully showing up to stand in front of my heart. And that I hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t about me being a fool…or being unimportant, it was about the person who’d betrayed me. She had bad character, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. He told me I needed to let go of the things I couldn’t control.”

  “I think I’d like your dad.” She turned back to the mirror. “It helps to see it that way.”

  “Because you’ve been blaming yourself?”

  “No. Doubting myself. And I hate it.”

  “Ah, hell, no, Rosie.” He held her gaze in the mirror, making sure she heard him. “Don’t give them that kind of power over you.”

  “Here we go.” Knox came in, waving her notebook. “Let’s make this your dream dress.”

  He held Rosie’s attention a second longer, until she rewarded him with a sweet smile.

  Fuck. That did something funny inside his chest. “You’re going to need more room for your project, so you’re welcome to use the bunkhouse.” Brodie had no idea where that idea had come from—it would mean sharing his place with her for the next few days.

  Then, again, he did know. She’d just lost her two closest friends. She felt alone. Since everyone hung out at the bunkhouse, he figured she’d appreciate being surrounded by people other than staff.