The next morning, Keeley teaches her seniors’ yoga class, then returns. About the time she pops in the door, I receive a frantic call from a client whose neighbor advised them that their investment property sprung a leak and there’s water everywhere. By the time I arrive at the house, located on the other side of the island, it’s flooded. I know the exotic hardwoods are toast, and this will be a major remodel before we can market the property again. I get the emergency cleaning crews out there and deal with the mess the owner can’t manage because he’s half a world away, then I look up. The sun has already set.
I haven’t eaten since seven a.m. and I’m exhausted.
When I open the door to my condo, the smells of Italian greet me. I inhale, so damn glad I don’t have to call someone for mediocre food that takes an hour to arrive.
“Lasagna?” she asks.
“Please.” I grab a beer from the fridge, then notice an apple on the counter. I rarely have produce around the house, and I need to eat something now before I fall over. I bite into the fruit and hold in a moan. When did apples start tasting that good?
“Rough day?” she asks.
“Terrible. You?”
“It was all right. I got in a lot of studying. I feel ready for my tests.”
My logic tells me that’s good. We can spend time this evening discussing my brother and exactly how to trip him up. But I’m so wiped out. It’s unusual for me—I don’t normally like TV—but all I want to do is curl up with Keeley on the sofa and feel her soft body beside me while we watch something mindless.
“That’s good.” I take another bite of the apple as I open my beer and wash it down.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I will be once you feed me. How about you?”
Keeley pauses as if she’s gathering her thoughts. “Yes. I apologize if it seems like I threw a hissy yesterday. I was overwhelmed by how far apart my dream and my pocketbook are. It’s not your fault, and you were trying to show me alternatives, the bright side, other ways to look at this. I was being a brat. I’m sorry.”
“Not a brat, sunshine. It’s my fault. Realtor 101—never show someone a property they can’t afford. They’ll always fall in love. I didn’t put viewing the property for my client together with your pro-and-con list until it was too late.”
She purses her lips together. “There really were major flaws in all the other properties you showed me.”
“Absolutely. But this is when the business side of your brain needs to kick in. If you have to make hard choices, figure out what you value most. What can you live with? What won’t you accept? You’ll find your answers.”
“Will I ever succeed or is this just a pie-in-the-sky dream?”
She’s looking at me with such troubled eyes that I can’t stand it anymore. I reach out, pull her against me. She stiffens for a moment but doesn’t protest. When I settle her against my chest and kiss the top of her head, she lets out a long breath and relaxes, curling her arms around me.
This is the most satisfying moment I’ve felt in nearly a week, since the last time I held her.
“You’ll make it,” I murmur. “You’re too stubborn not to. It won’t be easy. It will require sacrifice. But you’re helping me with Griff. I promised I would help you with your inn. We’ll get there.”
At the reminder of our deal, she backs away, swiping at a teary eye. She gives me a brave nod, and I wish I’d kept my damn mouth shut.
“Of course. If you want to shower or change clothes, we’ve got about twenty minutes before dinner.”
“Both.” I risk pressing a kiss onto her cheek. Her body goes rigid but I’m already dashing into the bedroom before she can protest my embrace. “Back then.”
As I stand under the spray, I’m tempted to take my aching cock in hand. I’m hard and I have soap. I’ve had plenty of orgasms here, especially in times, like now, when I’ve been too busy to give my sex drive the relief it craves.
I lather up and give my erection a few strokes. I’m having trouble concentrating with Keeley in the next room. I feel like a stupid teenage kid, jacking off instead of simply telling her I want her. She knows and she might turn me down, but I refuse to admit defeat that easily. Maybe a little wine, a little conversation, and a little charm will work wonders.
I give up on the self-pleasure concept and finish my shower. Some shorts and a tank top later, I’m waltzing into the kitchen as she’s dishing up steaming plates and handing one to me over the bar.
“Lanai?” I ask.
“Why would we eat inside?” Her voice tells me that concept is absurd.
I smile as I swipe a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and take them outside. She’s following with her own plate and a salad bowl a few minutes later. She’s barely dressed the tossed greens and taken three bites of food before I’ve cleared my plate.
At the empty carnage of red sauce all over the white china, she blinks. “That was fast.”
“I was starved. And that was amazing.”
To the sound of her laughter, I head in for seconds. When I emerge and start eating again, the pace is still brisk but at least I’m not imitating a Dyson.
“After last night, I’m at your disposal,” she says between bites. “What should we do?”
I’m about to suggest something that requires her to straddle me. Or maybe a reverse cowgirl would be awesome, if athletic, after the crappy day I’ve had. But I have to get serious about my goals, too. Griff didn’t lose a whole damn weekend to other clients, I’ll bet. No matter how tired I am—or how much I don’t want to think of Keeley with my brother—I have to start taking advantage of the time I have with her now.
“I’ve been giving this some thought. In order for you two to ‘meet’ and spend time together, you’ll need a cover story. The easiest would be for you to come to him as a client, but he refuses to romance where he sells. He’s got an assistant he won’t part with. Sheila is ruthlessly efficient, and she’ll have to quit if she ever wants to be rid of him. Besides, after Britta, he’ll never touch someone in his office again. His social circle is like mine—small and closed. Who has time, anyway? The one thing I know he does is hit the gym.” We have that in common, too. “He ran cross country and played basketball in high school. He does some of his best thinking when he’s in an aerobic zone.” And thankfully, one of his neighbors is an older and very nosy woman who is more than happy to tell me everything if I call to chat with her. “I know where he works out. I also know they’re looking for a morning yoga instructor.”
“I’m not certified.”
“I had Britta call the gym. All you have to do is audition. They’re having trouble keeping anyone decent over there. She, um…introduced herself as you. They’re very excited you’ll be coming in on Friday to discuss a job. It pays decent money.”
“You said you didn’t want me working while I was helping you.”
“I’ll make an exception for this.”
“So I’ll be in the same gym as Griff. How am I supposed to meet him? Does he do yoga?”
I scoff. “I doubt that.”
“All right. Then I’m supposed to, what? Come on to him while he’s working out?”
Yeah, that’s sounding less likely. “Or, hell, just strike up a conversation. Get him to talk about himself. He likes to do that. Smile. Be his friend. You already look pretty, so you don’t have to try there. Dazzle him with your charm.”
“If he’s attracted to a sharp, professional woman, how am I supposed to dress smartly in yoga pants?”
She has a point. Not that he’d never look at a woman in spandex. But he’s like iron to a magnet when it comes to a babe in business garb who has a sharp brain to match. If I want to snag his attention and distract him quickly, I need a different tactic. I really don’t want Griff seeing Keeley dressed in the way designed to slay him. I certainly don’t want my brother thinking about her sexually. But how else will he ever let her in his life? Since my brother won’t touch a client, pursue a colleague, or let a new friend close, that leaves me one option. Keeley will have to sweep him off his feet, the way she did me.
Shit.
“Never mind.” I sigh, completely annoyed. “I’ll check with Harlow, find out what bar he’s frequenting these days when he’s feeling lonely and wants a hookup. I’ll see if she knows when he’ll be swimming the pool of other single professionals looking for a watering hole and a meaningless fuck.”
“I’m still not sleeping with him.”
Please don’t. “Totally understand. I just need you to tempt him a little.”
She nods nervously. “I hope this mission doesn’t require more.”
On Monday afternoon, I cut the workday short. Rob and Britta finally camped onto my way of thinking about the Stowe estate, so they’re plunging headfirst into what my assistant likes to call a more elegant strategy. A nice way of saying we’re going to strip this bitch down and focus on showcasing her tits. Sorry, her breastsss.
They’re brainstorming so hard I’m half expecting a tornado to take out the office before I leave and head back to the condo. Sure enough, when I arrive, Keeley is there with an iPad hooked up to a portable speaker. It takes me a minute to realize she’s YouTubing karaoke music and singing the hell out of a Katy Perry ballad.
I watch her and let that sweet, velvet voice caress my eardrums. Every note resonates with something that feels a lot like heartbreak. I want to touch her.
When she cries out for the final time that she’s “Wide Awake,” she turns off the tablet, then spins around for her bottle of water and spots me in the entry. She presses a hand to her chest with a gasp.
I swallow my tongue because she’s wearing a bikini top that barely holds her in and some of the tightest yoga pants I’ve ever seen. A glance at her ass tells me she’s undoubtedly commando.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” She looks away in embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you for a few hours.”
“We’ve got an appointment tonight. Makeover phase one is about to begin.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t look thrilled. “What about dinner?”
“We’ll get it while we’re out.” I grab her hand, glad when she doesn’t resist. “It’s regrettable that you need to throw on a bra and panties, but you’d start a public riot wearing what you’ve got on. Oh, and choose clothes easy to slip off.”
“You are not seducing me, Maxon Reed.” She wags a finger at me.
Maybe not in the next five minutes, but soon. At the very least, I need to remind her which brother she met first before I send her off to derail Griff.
“It’s nothing like that,” I tell her innocently.
She doesn’t look as if she really believes me, but she disappears into her room. A few minutes later, she emerges in a pair of khaki shorts, a pretty crisscross blouse in some blue-green color that does amazing things for her eyes, and a pair of beige heels with studded straps around her ankles that attach to a matching band across her toes via a slinky gold chain. If shoes ever said “fuck me,” it was these.
I almost swallow my tongue.
The trip down to my car is an exercise in restraint. I want to adjust my dick in my ever-tightening pants so badly it’s driving me mad.
When I get Keeley settled, I manage to move my zipper so it feels less like a tourniquet for my cock, and we drive down the road to an outdoor shopping center to grab a nice steak. It’s so awesome to spend time with a girl who likes her meat. (Yeah, I went there.) Afterward, I take her hand and we stroll a few doors down.
“You going to tell me where we’re going?”
“And end your curious squirming?” I give her a mock frown. “Why would I do that?”
She pulls free. “You’re mean.”
I just grin. “It’s one of my better qualities.”
“Says you.” She scowls.
“Well, yeah. My opinion is the only one that counts,” I tease. “At least tonight.”
I expect Keeley to have strong thoughts about what we do in the next hour or two, but I know my brother, so this is my show. She needs to listen when I tell her something will drive Griff crazy with lust.
I shove aside the reality that he will check her out like a slab of meat. But he will. It pisses me off, too. Keeley is way more than that. Will he love her singing? Will he care that she’s a damn good cook? Will he even bother to notice how funny she is? If he’s going to treat her like a pig—
I stop the thought cold. Maybe that’s better for me. Maybe…after this stupid pissing match with my brother is at an end, Keeley and I can try something more than being each other’s one-night stand or partner in crime. Maybe we could actually date. Or try a relationship. Yeah. I feel safe with her. Okay, that sounds fairly stupid because obviously she’s not the sort who will take a tire iron to my face. But I mean I feel as if I can be myself with her and she accepts me. That’s pretty epic. Certainly not the way my sentence—sorry, commitment—with Tiffanii worked.
“Stop with the hints and spill it. What are we doing tonight?”
She can’t stand not knowing. It’s kind of nice having the upper hand for two seconds. As clever as Keeley is, I don’t expect it to last.
“You can’t worm it out of me,” I vow. “Unless you want to make me lewd sexual promises you’ll absolutely fulfill later.”
“Nope. You know the rules.”
“Your rules,” I point out. “And they suck.”
Beside me, she shakes her head like I’m an idiot. “You can’t have it both ways. I’m either with you or with your brother. This is your call.”
“Can’t you be with me while pretending to be with my brother?” I’m actually serious now. “I don’t understand.”
She gives me a sad smile. “The fact that you don’t reminds me of all the reasons I have to say no. So I guess we’re at a standoff. Neither of us is giving in.”
“Ugh. I miss girls who act stupid.”
She turns to me, her expression a warning that she better not have heard me right. “What?”
“You know what I mean. You’re twisting my balls until they’re fucking blue. At least other girls pretended to be dumb so I could talk them into raunchy acts that would make everyone but a porn star blush. Well, maybe a few of them, too. But you…” I sigh. “All brains and ethics and doing things right. I’m not used to that.”
Keeley laughs at me like she can’t do anything else. “Poor baby. And now I’m making your life miserable.”
“Yeah.”
“Because I won’t be your quick, conscienceless lay.”
“Something like that.” But there’s more.
“You know, I’m not the only woman on this island.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re telling me to go fuck someone else?”
“We’re not committed.”
That answer absolutely pisses me off. “I’ve zeroed in on who I want.”
She cocks her head at me, chin slightly tilted, hair brushing her arm. “We’ve talked about this. Just because you want me doesn’t mean you can have me.”
The teasing has turned serious, and I need to make myself clear. “You should rethink that. When I want something, I will pursue it to the ends of the earth. If necessary, I will still be reaching for it when I take my dying breath. I will obsess day and night until I have what I want.”
She tries to look unmoved, but I see a little shiver run through her as I stop in front of the door that’s our destination.
“I believe you,” Keeley assures. “This crazy plan to sabotage your brother that you’ve dragged me into proves you’re persistent. But you’re forgetting something: you don’t own me. Just like you’re free to fuck someone else, I’m free to do the same.” After tossing out that zinger, she tries to peek through the glass door. “Why are we here…wherever here is? This place closed ten minutes ago according to their sign.”
Before I point out that she is not free to fuck anyone but me for the next three weeks—and maybe never—the door opens. A woman in her mid-forties greets us with a wide smile. “Hi. Maxon Reed?”
I hold in a curse. This is a terrible time for the sales associate to be helpful. But she’s bending the rules for me. We have two hours to accomplish a shitload. I can’t afford to waste a minute. I’ll table this discussion with Keeley…for now.
“Yeah.” I shake the woman’s hand. “Thanks for seeing us after hours, Jennifer. You have what I asked for?”
“Absolutely. Come on in.” She steps back to admit us, then locks the door.
Keeley peers around curiously at the tasteful, upscale boutique of ladies’ clothes. Most of it is resort casual with a few evening-out pieces. I see shoes, belts, bags, hats—all kinds of stuff artfully placed on the walls surrounding the racks of clothes.
What I don’t see are the sorts of garments I requested. “Where?”
“In the back. Have a seat,” she invites with a smile, gesturing to a stuffed chair she’s dragged near a fitting room. Once I comply, she smiles. “You must be Keeley.”
My pretty accomplice nods cautiously. “I am.”
“Excellent.” She scans Keeley up and down. “Size eight?”
“Mostly. Sometimes a ten, depending.” She shrugs. “I like food.”
“I do, too.” Jennifer pats her slightly rounded stomach, but really, for a woman at least a decade older than me, she’s definitely fuckable. The me of a couple of weeks ago would totally have done her. “You look great, and I have plenty of things that should fit perfectly. Size medium underwear?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re a…” Jennifer cuts in and dissects Keeley. “I’m guessing a 34C?”
“In the neighborhood. Sometimes a D,” she says, turning a bit red.
I don’t know why she’s blushing. She sounds hot. Hell, she is hot. I’ve handled all the goods. Not as much as I’d like to. Not as much as I plan to. But Keeley has absolutely no reason to be embarrassed.
“Good. Sit tight. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
When Jennifer disappears into the employee-only area, Keeley whips her gaze around to me. “You’re dressing me from the skin out, including lingerie?”
“Yes,” I growl just loud enough for her to hear me. “And let’s get one thing clear: you are not free to fuck anyone else when you’re with me.”
She holds up her left hand, wiggling the finger beside her pinky. “Until someone puts a ring on this, I am. And I know that someone will never be you, so…I am free. Choose your battles, Maxon. You’re not winning this one. If you want me to wear this button-up Betty garb, I suggest you focus on that fight.”
Before I can reply, Jennifer emerges with a rolling rack filled with garments zipped up into dark, protective bags. The shelf at the bottom between the wheels holds something like thirty pairs of shoes. “I meant to ask your shoe size. Most of my samples are a six or seven.”
Keeley puts on a smile. “I’m usually a six and a half.”
Jennifer lights up. “Perfect. Then most of these should fit. Let’s get started.”
After she unzips all the bags and hangs the clothes meticulously on the rack, I see the caliber of the garments she’s brought and I smile. Tailored. Designer. Impeccable. The muted colors aren’t typical. Yeah, there are navys and grays, but I see pale peach and a powerful orange. A soft green suit with a leopard print trim at the pockets and cuffs catches my eye. I spot a really sexy dress in black with cream-colored cut-outs at cleavage and waist, giving the illusion of skin that’s actually covered. A pretty salmon-colored skirt snags my gaze next. On the hanger, it’s been paired with a silky white blouse and a taupe cardigan sporting just a hint of texture. This is a visual feast, and imagining how it will all look on Keeley is making my aching cock press into my zipper again.
I point to a classic pinstripe suit that looks designed to hug the body. The one deviation from tradition is that the lapels drape softly to ruffle down the torso. “Let’s start there. What goes beneath?”
“It’s actually designed to be worn alone. You can pair it with a shell but it’s not necessary.”
“So…cleavage?”
Jennifer nods. “Quite a bit.”
“Perfect.”
“Do you want my opinion?” Keeley asks me.
I try to keep it diplomatic. She warned me to pick my battles. I intend to win the war. “I want to see how everything looks, then we’ll compare notes afterward.”
“Fine,” she huffs.
Jennifer hustles her into the dressing room with several boxes of shoes and some lacy stuff that will no doubt make my heart race dangling from her palms. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I hear the ladies talking. Fabric rustles. The ever-helpful associate darts out from the little room to dash for her jewelry case. After a cock of her head, she reaches for several pieces, then hustles back to the dressing room. Another two long minutes pass before the door opens.
Keeley emerges looking a tad less than comfortable and confident in that pinstripe suit. I don’t know why. She should be thrilled. It hugs every curve, exaggerating the flare of her hips and the slender shape of her calves. Her feet look almost Cinderella dainty in the sexy black wedges with straps wrapped around her ankles a time or ten. I almost see the swells of her breasts. The chunky silver locket high on her throat is a distraction, but I’m sure if I look hard enough I’m going to see tits. Only I don’t. It’s classy yet sexy. Jennifer has even wound Keeley’s pink hair into a French twist behind her head.
Overall, she looks stunning. I always preferred babes in bikinis or tight dresses, but now I see exactly what Griff responds to by lusting after women in suits. Oh, my god, the thought of stripping away her power and getting her under me, hearing her cry out my name while I’m—
“Do you like it?” Jennifer butts into my thoughts.
“Yeah. Everything. Just like that. What else do you have?”
“Let me show you.”
She proceeds to change Keeley into the pale green suit. It’s classic but reminds me of springtime. It’s paired with a black shell that highlights the animal print trim. She’s even found matching cheetah shoes that should seem hookerish, but with such an elegant ensemble, it’s perfect. Delicate jewelry. A thin headband to hold Keeley’s hair away from her face. Feminine and prim with a hint of vixen.
I want to dirty her up bad. “Yes. Love all that. Next?”
By the time we’re done, we’ve chosen four suits, three dresses, ten pairs of shoes, four purses, and a handful of accessories. I can’t help but notice the seven bras and matching panties she’s sliding into a soft pink box all wrapped in tissue paper. I wish to fuck Keeley had modeled those for me. I’m hard just imagining what she’ll look like in those transparent confections of silk.
I pay Jennifer handsomely for everything she selected and assure her that I’ll call if I need anything else. Keeley is quiet and looking a little shell-shocked as I loop the packages over my wrist and drape all the hanging bags over that same shoulder. With my free hand, I take hers as we leave.
“You okay?” I ask.
She takes a few minutes to answer. “It’s…realer now. We’re really going to do this.” She looks up at me with concern. “Maxon, I’m not very good at deceit.”
I can picture that. Keeley is so open and kind. She would help puppies and old people across the street. She’d stand between a bulldozer and a historic building. She would hate lying to anyone.
“That’s a crappy trait in business”—I squeeze her hand—“but I like you that way. Just remember, you’re doing this to help me repair my relationship with my brother.”
“I am. But you’re not.”
“My motives don’t have to be yours, sunshine. Look, my soul is black. I’m perfectly happy with subterfuge and revenge. But you didn’t get into this to hurt anyone, just help. You don’t have to get down on my level. Just…do what you do.”
Slowly, she nods. “I have to be honest, if the opportunity to bring you guys together presents itself, I’ll probably ditch the whole flirtation thing and just ’fess up.”
It won’t but I love the fact that she’s not in a hurry to have sex with my brother. It’s up to me to make sure she doesn’t want to have sex with him—or anyone else. I’m not precisely sure why I’m feeling so possessive, but there it is. I’m not dissecting it now.
“I know,” I murmur as we reach the car. I doubt Griff will ever let her into his soul enough to talk about family rifts, so it’s a nonissue. “I’m okay with you being you.”
More than okay.
She lets out a relieved breath as I help her into the car. When I slide in beside her and we speed out of the nearly empty lot, she reaches across and grabs my hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think your soul is black. I hope you see that someday.”