Page 73 of Tied Up in Riches

Cuddled into his warmth, I close my eyes, allowing myself to truly relax for the second time tonight as I replay the day’s events. When we left the hotel, all I wanted was for the event and this night to be over. But now, I don’t want it to end. Still, the comfort in my closeness to Marcus pulls me toward sleep, a haze consuming me.

“Brooke?” he whispers my name but it sounds far away, and I’m fading quickly, the long day catching up to me. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe . . .

Chapter twenty-eight

Marcus

Fucking hell, my shoulder hurts. How can it hurt when it’s numb? I open my eyes, but the room is still dark aside from the sliver of light infiltrating through the blackout curtains. Straining to look at the source of my pain, the most beautiful girl is tangled in me. Her head is heavy on my chest, her hair fallen from her bun and splayed over the pillow under my head. She’s tucked into me, her leg over one of mine and her arm around my waist.

She’s covered by the comforter, but she’s wrapped around me so closely that I’m reminded she’s not wearing underwear, and every moment of last night replays in my mind. Can thinking about sex release endorphins the way having sex can? I’ll research that later. Either way, my shoulder numbness is now on the backburner. We didn’t even have sex, but goddamn was it good.

I run my thumb across my lip, remembering her lips on mine and my tongue on her. I was hopeful but still surprised she let me blindfold her. It’s something I’d thought about doing with her in the fantasies I’ve been pushing away the past few weeks, so it worked to my benefit that one of the articles I was reading suggested taking away a sense to heighten the others.

I’m elated that everything I tried worked. I mean, I would have kept researching, trying, doing whatever it took to give Brooke an orgasm like that, but holy hell was it satisfying watching her fall over the edge the way she did. It was more than experiencing her build up the tension and let it all go. It was her getting comfortable with me, letting me into her safe space, trusting me. I was conscious of it happening, but it wasn’t until she curled into me, sex-sedated, and comfortable, that the guilt hit fucking hard.

It’s not like my secret is horrific and dark. I could never work another day in my life and be set. It’s my secret that feels like a crime when it comes to her. I’m proud of my worth. I worked hard for it. I need her to see the good in that, but it’s like she’s wearing . . . whatever is the opposite of rose-colored glasses. I need her to take them off long enough to understand, to not want to bolt at my apparent red flag.

I almost told her last night. I don’t want her to think I misled her, took advantage for sex, but she was so peaceful falling asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb it. Especially not when we have a busy day today. Another event at the country club. It’s not that I can’t see why Brooke has the opinion she does of rich people. The ones she has experience with are insufferable. I just have to show her the other side. After she fell asleep, I stayed awake for another three hours. Thank god my phone was within reach from where she held me captive, so I was able to do some digging of my own. I went down a few rabbit holes and ultimately followed a trail of court cases for clients all from the same family–ones where Beau was the lawyer. Based on what was available to the public, it doesn’t make sense Beau won the case. It should have been a shoo-in for the plaintiff. Might be nothing. I could be missing crucial information. Also might be something. I sent my lawyer and PI an email around four in the morning before finally joining Brooke in an uneasy sleep.

I brush my hand over her arm across my chest, whispering my fingers against her skin until she stirs. Her eyelids flutter open as she takes in her surroundings without moving. “Morning, love,” I say, my voice rough from its first use of the day. She lifts her head a bit to meet my gaze, studying my face as if my greeting means what she thinks it does. “Yes, I still mean everything I said last night, don’t regret anything we did, and absolutely want to do it again.”

She gives me a sleepy smile as she sits. Before I can stop her, she swings a leg over my waist, straddling me. “I was really hoping that would be the case.” Her hands fall to the V of my abs, disappearing under my briefs, and mine run up her thighs, her skin soft under my fingers. With the comforter behind her, she’s on full display and not shy about it at all–not that it’s bright in here, but still. Fucking hell. It’s sexy.

I groan, already regretting my decision. “But not right now. If we start, I won’t stop. And we have an event to get to.”

She pouts. “It’s just a little cooking competition. It’s not like Gordon Ramsay will be there.”

I chuckle. “I thought Bobby Flay was your favorite celebrity chef?”

“He is, but no one puts on a show like Gordon.”

“That’s true. We still have to go.” I squeeze her thighs.

She snaps the band of my briefs lazily. “Who is your favorite chef?”

“Anthony Bourdain,” I answer without hesitation. “Was, anyway.” She’s silent, her eyes drifting to information in her mind. That death fucked me up. It hit so hard, it was one of the catalysts to shifting my mindset around making money, around focusing only on things that fulfilled me and that made a difference.

“I love learning new things about you.” She leans in to kiss me, her lips pressing against mine and sealing the sad memory away.

She pulls back, sitting up again, moving slowly against my already hard cock. “Brooke.”

“What?” She feigns innocence.

“We’re going. You were actually excited about this event.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m still returning that favor later.”

“I’m not keeping score.” I grip her hips, debating staying here in favor of her riding me, but our first time will not be a quickie. “Come on.” I nudge her off me, and she tumbles to the mattress dramatically before swinging her head up for momentum and jumping off the bed. I chuckle, shaking my head. This girl.

She’s mine.

In twenty minutes, I’m ready to go in my go-to black jeans and gray V-neck when Brooke walks out of the bathroom. She’s in jean shorts rolled at the bottom and a loose-fitting maroon T-shirt that says “wander” in bold serif across the front with “forever” scripted below. Her hair is thrown in a messy bun with a folded bandana as a makeshift headband. It’s an outfit that her mom will surely comment on, but she’s perfect. Somehow more desirable than last night when she was all done up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, crossing the room to the nightstand to grab her phone and slide it into her back pocket.

I meet her where she’s at and pull her to me by her hip with one hand, the other gripped on her neck as I kiss her. It’s soft at first, but then I need more. Her hands cling to my waist as she lets me deepen the kiss. I break it too soon, knowing we can’t be late, and she immediately whines at the loss of contact. I can’t help but grin.

She leans her head back, still holding tight to me, and I don’t want her to let go. I already know she’s the girl I’ve been waiting for, the one I’ve been hoping will cross my path every time I see my parents together, or Dean and Maci. Troy and Lexy. Cooper and Sophie, even. “I’m going to be thinking about that kiss all day.” She sighs like it’s a bad thing. “And last night.” The brown of her hazel eyes appears to be winning the daily battle today as she stands directly in the stream of light coming from where I’ve cracked the curtains.