because she was relationship-phobic, Kade would be the last person sheâd be interested in. Brodie gripped the vanity and stared at the basin, thinking hard.
He was famous and sheâd matched enough semifamous guys to know how much time and effort it took to date a celebrity. She couldnât think of anything worse than having your life dissected on social media platforms or in the society columns, but some women got off on it.
She hadnât considered any of this that long-ago morning when sheâd agreed to coffee. Everything had moved so quickly and sheâd only been thinking in terms of a couple of hours spent with him. But she had noticed that over the last six months the spotlight on Kade had become even bigger and brighter. His life was routinely dissected; his dates scrutinized. The press was relentless and easily turned a movie into a marriage proposal, a dinner into destiny.
Brodie shuddered. Yuck.
That being said, she still wanted him.
If she could go through with it this timeâand that was a big ifâshe couldnât ignore the fact that a quick fling with Vancouverâs most eligible, slippery bachelor could have consequences. If they did do the deed and it became public knowledge, as these things tended to do with the Mavericks, it would affect her business. She had a database of clients who trusted her, who confided in her. Quite a few of them thought she was engaged, and a liaison with Kade would not inspire her clients to trust her judgment.
Men, sheâd realized, were frequently a lot more romanticâor traditionalâthan most woman gave them credit for. They could have affairs, play the field and have one-night stands, but they wouldnât appreciate their matchmaker doing the same.
No, it was smarter and so much more sensible to ignore Kadeâs suggestion that they continue what theyâd started. Sleeping with him probably wouldnât be as good as she imagined; sheâd probably romanticized exactly how good Webbâs kissing was to excuse her crazy, uninhibited behaviour when she was alone with him. No, best to keep her distance...
Good decision, Brodie thought, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. Sensible decision.
Adult decision.
Safe decision.
So why did it feel so damn wrong ?
Three
T he ladiesâ room was on a short flight of stairs above the menâs restroom and when she stepped into the passage, she looked down and saw the blond head and muscular shoulders that could only belong to Kade.
She flicked off a piece of fluff from her shocking pink blouson dress, belted at the waist and ending midthigh. Nude heels, scalpel-thin, made her legs look like they went on for miles. Back in her apartment it had seemed very suitable for a business lunch, but when Kade looked up and his eyes darkened from a deep brown to a shade just off black, she knew he wanted to rip off her clothing with his teeth. Keeping her hand on the banister, biting the inside of her lip, her heart galloping, she walked down the three steps to the marble floor, a scant couple of inches from his broad chest.
He didnât give her any warning or ask for her permission, his mouth simply slammed into hers. Brodie had to grab his biceps to keep from falling off her shoes. Those amazing hands covered a great deal of her back and she was sure her dress would sport scorch marks from the heat. She was intensely aware of him and could feel the ridges of his fingers, the strength in his wrists.
Brodie wound her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his. He tasted like coffee and Kade and breath mints and his lips seemed to feel like old friends. Warm, firm, dry. Confident. That word again. His hands bumped up her spine, kneading as he worked his way to her shoulders, moving around to catch her face. His thumbs skated over her cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth.
Lonelinessâthe slight dissatisfaction that hovered like a
Larry Collins, Dominique Lapierre