Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for though speakest
well of fools!

William Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night
, act 1, scene 5

“Sleep well?” Braden asked a mussed-up Lola who walked through the front door of the restaurant, her winter coat open over Hello Kitty pajama pants and a Def Leppard T-shirt.

Not exactly dressed for the cold Michigan weather. It couldn’t be more than ten degrees out there. Someone needed to make the woman zip up her jacket and wear gloves. He peered down at her Birkenstocks and sighed. She wasn’t even wearing socks. Good thing it hadn’t snowed yet or she could lose those cute little tattooed toes.

Her bright hair was back in a low ponytail and she was wearing those librarian glasses again. The outfit should have him running in the opposite direction, but he thought the whole ensemble was sexy as hell.

Taking off her coat, she grunted an incoherent statement about his balls. At least she had her mind on the right area of his body.

He blew on his steaming hot coffee and took a tentative sip while she glowered at him, her hands on her hips. “If you have any decency in that well-formed body of yours, you’ll give me that coffee.”

He gave her a slow grin. “You like my body, huh?” He couldn’t resist the tease.

She narrowed her eyes and growled. “Coffee, Braden.”

“Here.” He handed off his extra-large mug, and she gulped it without testing the temperature.

“Mmm.” She wrapped her hand around the mug and her eyes fluttered closed just like when he’d brought her to orgasm. “So good.”

His jeans grew tight thinking about a repeat performance, wondering what he could teach her to cook today. He stepped closer. “It’s an old family recipe. I add a hint of cinnamon and sugar to the beans, then steamed milk.”

She looked up at him through sleepy eyes. “This one’s mine. You’ll have to make yourself another cup because I’m not giving it back.” She clunked the mug down, slumped on a stool, rested an elbow on top of the bar, and cradled her head in her hand.

“Rough night? Jon’s bed not comfy enough for you?” he said, failing to keep the tinge of bitterness from his voice.

Thanks to her, he hadn’t gotten more than a couple of hours sleep, and even then he’d dreamed of her on that rock in the ocean once again.

Her eyes focused on him and she hesitated. “I didn’t sleep at Jon’s. I decided to go home.”

His shoulders relaxed for the first time since she’d left the previous evening and he suddenly breathed easier. “Why?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but . . .” She frowned and shook her head. “No, let’s just leave it at that. It’s none of your business.”

Wrong. He repressed the urge to show her exactly why it was his business and slid onto the stool next to her. “Okay, I can accept that.”

She fidgeted in her chair, her feet kicking the bar in a patterned beat. “Good.”

“I know you’re trying to avoid your mother, but you’re fortunate to have one who cares about you.” The moment the words passed his lips, he wondered what the hell had gotten into him.

She took another sip of coffee and studied him. “You don’t talk much about your parents.”

He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. My parents divorced when my sister Rosalind was a baby. Our father took custody, but he didn’t really know what to do with us, so we were essentially raised by nannies and housekeepers. My mother spends her time trying to beat Elizabeth Taylor’s record for most marriages, and my father finds reasons to travel the world. Guess he’s not one for settling down.”

Lola looked as though she could see right through him. Her hands, still warm from holding the mug of coffee, grabbed his and squeezed. “How much older are you than your sister?”

He swallowed hard, unprepared for the surge of heat spreading throughout his chest from her comforting touch. He smoothed his thumbs across the soft flesh of her hands. “Five years.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without Portia. Even now, she’s so forgiving of our mother. It’s hard for me to share such close quarters with her again. I mean, last night, I actually snuck in through the window of my own apartment. And there she was, sitting on my bed waiting for me. I can’t—”

“Move in with me.” He banded an arm around her waist, sliding her off the chair to stand between the V of his legs.

She pressed her hands firmly against his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I thought about it last night. You don’t want to sleep at your apartment as long as your mother is staying there. I’ve got a large house with plenty of extra bedrooms. I can teach you how to cook in my kitchen and . . . I’ve got something you can’t find anywhere else.”

“What’s that?” she asked breathlessly.

He instantly hardened from the nervous glimmer of heat in her eyes and the scent of lavender permeating from her skin. “A music studio. It’s set up with everything we’d need to write and record the songs you’ll need for the producer.”

She pushed off his chest. “Why do
you
have a music studio?”

He chuckled that she doubted him. With a billion dollars in the bank, he could buy a music label. “It came with the house. I bought it from a famous singer who didn’t get enough
r-e-s-p-e-c-t.
”

Her eyes grew wide, impressed by his hint of the previous owner.

“Really? That would be kind of cool.” She eyed him warily. “But why do I need to sleep there?”

“You said yourself you didn’t want to share an apartment with you mother.”

She cocked her hip. “Are you sure you’re not using this as an opportunity to get me into bed?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He got off his chair, stood, and yanked her against him, making sure she understand exactly what he wanted. “Of course I’m using this as an opportunity to get you into bed.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “And against the wall. In the shower. And wherever else the opportunity presents itself.”

She shivered and inhaled loudly. “At least you’re honest.”

He smiled against her cheek. “So, is that a yes?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said quietly.

“Why not? We’d be good together.” He swept his hand down her arm as he drew back and observed her beaded nipples beneath her shirt. He coughed, clearing the arousal constricting his larynx. “Is it because of Jon?”

“No, Jon isn’t a problem.” She kept her gaze on his chest.

He cupped her chin and tilted her head to look at him. “Then what?”

She pulled away and took a few steps back. “I wouldn’t want you to get the idea that this meant more than it did. As soon as the tests are done, I’m leaving Michigan.”

He rubbed at the tendril of sharp pain jabbing his chest “To Los Angeles? What if you don’t get the contract offer from Rand?”

She turned around and walked to the stage then pulled herself up to sit on the edge, her legs dangling. “It doesn’t matter. I guess you can say I’m officially giving you my notice. At the end of the month, I’m moving no matter what happens. I should have told you sooner, but when my sister came to Michigan, I stuck around longer than I’d anticipated and I didn’t know when I’d get that itch to move on.”

Now he understood why she’d wanted to know what would happen if she sold the building. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Jon at all.

He walked up the steps of the stage. “And now?”

She looked over her shoulder. “I’m itching like crazy. It’s what I do. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one city in twenty-three years. I don’t do long-term commitments and I don’t fall in love.”

That made two of them.

He sat down next to her. “Who said anything about love?”

“If you and I spend all our time together this month and have sex to boot, don’t you think you might get attached? You may come off as a player, but you’re obviously a nice guy and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Me? A nice guy?” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face close to his. “Would a
nice guy
want to push you to your knees and order you to unzip me and suck me dry? Would a
nice guy
fantasize about bending you over one of those tables and taking you from behind? Would a
nice guy
plan on making you so crazy with lust, you’d forget, wouldn’t care, that Christopher is due to walk through the front door any minute?”

She made a choking noise and swallowed hard. “No?” she asked rather than stated, her voice squeaking.

He released his grip on her neck and caressed her hair, relishing her stunned expression.

“You can call me a lot of names, but
nice
is not one of them.” He continued to run his fingers through her pink hair. “I’m not sensitive. What I
am
is a man who is attracted to you, and I will do whatever I need, other than lie, to get you to sleep with me—although I wouldn’t count on getting much sleep in my bed. I want to make your eyes glaze over with lust and taste your climax in my mouth.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “And when I leave?”

“We’ll say goodbye.” He traced her now glistening bottom lip with his thumb. “No regrets, no recriminations, no ugly emotions getting in the way. We’re good together. I enjoy the hell out of arguing with you and enjoy shutting you up even more. What do you say?”

She stared into his eyes then smiled. “Sure. I’ll move in.”

His cock pushed uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans. He couldn’t wait to get her home. Good thing he brought his Mustang this morning.

She continued, “But I will not, under any circumstances, have sex with you.”

CHAPTER 8

She never told her love,

but let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

feed on her damask cheek.

William Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night,
act 2, scene 5

If Lola wore panties, they would’ve melted by the time they pulled into Braden’s driveway. She’d refused to have sex with him, but her body wanted him anyway. He didn't say much as they drove from the restaurant to his house, but his heated stare as he led her with the palm of his hand low on her back to his black Mustang sent hot electric tingles from her hair follicles all the way down to her exposed toes. And the covert glances he stole of her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention created a coiling tension between her legs.

They stopped at her place on the way so she could pack a bag. Worried her mom would be waiting on the couch to lecture them on their shared fate, Lola told him to wait in the car.

After spending an hour last night enduring Reina’s suggestions that she read the signs and listen to the earth’s music, she’d finally reached her breaking point and kicked her mom out of her room. Sleep hadn’t come quickly and when she had slept, she’d dreamed of Braden again, swimming to her as she wept a million tears. The closer he’d gotten, the harder she’d cried until she’d lost him to the sea once more.

For the first time in her life, she decided to follow her mom’s advice and read the signs. The dream could only mean one thing: she would destroy Braden if he got too close. Although he’d fooled everyone else with his smooth cocky attitude, she saw through it when he’d told her about his parents. He might claim he wouldn’t become attached, but the potential was there lurking beneath his cool exterior. That man felt everything deeply, and one day, he’d make some lucky woman a wonderful partner. She thanked the stars she wouldn’t be around to watch it.

In the end, her mother wasn’t even home. She’d left a note that she’d gone out to lunch with George and not to wait for her. Lola didn’t want to think about what that meant. She crumbled up the paper and threw it away, then wrote a note of her own informing Reina she’d be moving in with Braden for the duration of the thirty days. Alexander’s inheritance gave her the perfect excuse to extricate herself from her mother’s presence without hurting her feelings, especially since she was adamant that Braden and Lola were soul mates.

How she’d keep her hands to herself while she spent every waking moment with him she didn’t know.

Before she left her apartment, she changed into a colorful skirt and navy sweater, put in her contacts, and packed up a small suitcase.

Later, sitting in his car and looking up at his McMansion, she swallowed the deluge of insecurity. The house wasn’t as big as her sister’s, but Braden lived alone. Why did he need so much space? He spent most of his time at work.

With red brick, large pillars, and a turret, it resembled a castle. The front of the house was landscaped with perfectly hemmed bushes, two large pine trees, and various other trees she couldn’t identify because they’d lost their leaves to the season. In the middle of his circular drive, a gigantic fountain with a statute of some sort added an old-style sophistication that went far above someone like Lola’s head. She didn’t know the first thing about art, but the man in the statue held what looked like a giant ice cream cone.

Three cars were parked in the circular driveway. A silver Lexus, yellow Hummer, and a red Lamborghini.

“Are those all yours?” she asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt, jabbing her chin in the direction of the vehicles.

“Yes, those are a few of my cars,” he said, turning off the engine. “The rest are in the garage. Help yourself to any of them. Assuming you know how to drive a stick?” He smiled and winked.

She took the bait. “I love driving a stick. So much power in my hands. The freedom to move as fast as I want. The control.”

The smile faded, replaced with raw desire. “I’ll get your suitcase from the trunk.”

Here she’d told him she wouldn’t have sex, and the first chance she got, she teased him with sexual innuendo. Not only would she have to learn to keep her hands to herself, she’d have to keep her mouth closed too. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

She got out of the car as Braden slammed the trunk shut and carried her bag past the fountain and toward the front door. With her purse over her shoulder, she followed, but stopped at the statue to get a better look.

It seemed familiar. And it frightened her a bit to tell the truth.

“You like that? He came with the house,” Braden commented as he strode to stand beside her.

She shivered and not just from the cold. “Who is he?”

“Achelous. The Greek River God.”

Her teeth chattered. “Never heard of him. He wasn’t in ‘The Odyssey’ or any of Sherrilyn Kenyon’s books.”

He laughed. “No, I wasn’t familiar with him either until I moved in and then I Googled him.”

“Yeah? What does Google have to say about him?”

“Achelous and Hercules both loved the same nymph, Deianeira. It’s said Achelous changed into a bull to fight Hercules, but Hercules won and tore Achelous’s horn. Then Naiades, some sort of mermaid, retrieved the horn and gave it back to him filled with flowers. This statue is a replica of one in Versailles, France.”

Achelous held a cornucopia of flowers, not an ice cream cone. He was actually kind of attractive for an old guy, but something told her his body wasn’t the only thing made of stone. His heart was as well.

Like a warning, a chill ran through her. “For some reason, he creeps me out. Good thing I’m only moving in temporarily or I’d remove his ugly toga-ed ass from the property.”

“Right. Good thing.” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Why don’t we get you inside where it’s warm?”

They walked up the steps to the porch. He lifted her bag and turned the doorknob, motioning with a wave of his hand for her to go inside.

The beauty of the entranceway alone robbed her of air—white and gray marble floors, tall ceilings, and a crystal chandelier hanging over a shiny wood table which held a crystal vase of flowers. This room alone was worth more than everything she owned. How could she live here? She’d stain the floor with the sole of her shoe or bump into the table and shatter the vase. What had she gotten herself into?

He dropped the suitcase in front of the marble staircase and took her hand. She couldn’t let him know how all this intimidated her, so she shrugged as they walked past the table and into a large room with three brown leather couches and furniture which obviously came as a set, unlike her mismatched pieces of borrowed furniture. “Nice.” Her gaze swept the room stopping on a blob of silver fur curled up on the couch. “For the love of Moses, what is that thing?”

Braden laughed and walked to it then sat and patted it on its head. “You know him. This is Zeus the cat. Ryan and Portia made me take him in because Ryan’s allergic. It’s only temporary, until I find him a permanent home.”

Oh, yeah, her sister had mentioned they’d inherited a cat along with the house, but she’d never seen him when she visited. “How’d my sister sucker you into that? Did she give you a little pout and a tear?” Something passed over his face. Yep, she nailed it. “She got you good and you totally fell for it.”

He continued to pet the cat, rubbing him behind his ears. “She didn’t want him to end up in a shelter. He’s twenty. It’s not like anyone would adopt him.”

She frowned. “How long do cats normally live?”

“Vet said fourteen to seventeen years, give or take.”

She joined him on the couch. “And Zeus is twenty? Go, Zeus! I want to know your secret.”

The cat meowed and stood, arching his back in a stretch. He padded over to her and settled on her lap before closing his eyes and purring. “Huh? I guess this means he likes me.” She scratched his neck and caught Braden watching her with interest. “What?”

“You look good in my house.”

She tensed and gently pushed Zeus off her lap. He jumped to the floor and settled a few feet away, this time keeping his eyes trained on her. She got to her feet and darted from the couch, unsettled by his comment.

Who was he kidding? She didn’t look good in his house. She didn’t look good in any house.

Before she could leave the room, he pulled her back against him. “What’s wrong?” he said, resting his head on top of hers.

She felt small and delicate in his arms. Powerless. While it scared her to lose that power she clung to so fiercely, it also made her feel safe, knowing Braden wouldn’t use it against her. With him, she didn’t need to pretend, didn’t need to act strong. She could relinquish it to him and relax. Which meant she needed to get the hell out of there. “This was a bad idea. I don’t belong here.”

His hands crept up to caress her stomach through her sweater. Her breath came quickly and she wanted to close her eyes to treasure the pleasurable sensation of liquid heat flowing through her blood, making her breasts ache for his touch. But she refused to give into temptation and kept her eyes open. With the press of his hands, he slowly turned her toward him.

“How do you know you don’t belong?” He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger and released it, the edge of his warm hand brushing her cheek. “You’ve only been here for ten minutes.”

She watched the rise and fall of his chest and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I have pink hair.”

He laughed and raked his fingers through it. “I’ve noticed. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s what the hair represents. You’re gourmet and I’m fast food. You’re designer and I’m vintage, and not the expensive kind either. You’re fast cars and I’m a bicycle. Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t.”

He cupped his hand to the side of her face and for a moment, she savored its warmth, resting her cheek against it, her eyes sliding closed. Then she forced them open and looked up at him.

Was there anyone sexier? She’d lived in almost every state and yet she’d never met a man who’d set her heart racing from a mere glance.

“My hair, my tattoos, my piercings, they’re who I am. I have six holes in each ear, one in my brow, and those are the ones you can see. Do you know why I have so many tattoos? I’ve gotten one in every city I’ve lived since turning eighteen. Each one represents something about the city which made it special. I have pink hair and tattoos and piercings because I want everyone to
know
I’m different. I didn’t grow up in a house, have sleepovers with friends, or join the school band. If I have ordinary brown hair, a blank canvas of skin, and only one hole in each earlobe, everyone will assume I’m like them. But I’m not, Braden. I’m different.”

He smiled. “Yes, you are. You’re unique and carefree, you’re sensual and artistic. You may not have grown up in a mansion, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live in one. Believe me, I’ve met plenty of rich people who don’t have the class in their entire body that you have in your little pinkie. The way you look doesn’t have anything to do with who you are inside. You try to hide Viola behind Lola, but I see her there, staring back at me, wanting me as much as I want her.”

He braced both hands on the sides of her face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across her lips. Her throat seized, her ability to deny him gone. His lips hovered over hers, fanning her with his warm breath. She didn’t close her eyes this time. Didn’t want to miss the moment. Like the wings of a butterfly, and as soft as a whisper, his lips softly touched hers. Heat bloomed in her core, and she emitted a small moan in the back of her throat. He slanted his lips over hers, deepening the kiss, taking and giving, and she gripped his shoulders to keep from slumping to the plush carpet in a boneless heap.

The sound of knocking stopped their kiss cold. She peered around Braden and saw Portia and Ryan standing in the doorway of the room.

“Sorry.” Portia’s cheeks were stained pink from her blush. “Ryan used his key and we didn’t know you’d be here. We were just coming to get the rest of his things.”

Her sister tried to contain her smile, but she was failing miserably.

“If you’re here for the boxes, you could’ve just gone upstairs and you wouldn’t have needed to come by this room. Did you need something else?” Braden asked, his voice slightly strained.

“I missed Zeus. I figured he’d be hanging out on the couches.” Portia glanced at the carpet where the obese silver cat licked his paws. “There he is.” She knelt beside him and kissed him on the head. “I’m so sorry we had to send you to live here. You know I didn’t want to do it, right?” She spoke to the cat as if she expected him to answer.

“Does he look like he’s suffering?” Braden pointed at the animal. “As long as he’s got his chow and a couch to shed on, he doesn’t care where he lives.” He leaned down to speak in the cat’s ear. “I mean that in the nicest of ways.”

Portia shook her head. “Zeus is special. Don’t underestimate this cat. He’s sneaky and crafty.”

Ryan sneezed. “I’ll tell you what,” he said when he’d finished. “Why don’t Braden and I carry out the last few boxes from my room and give you two a chance to visit with each other. And the cat.”

Braden nodded. “Sure. I can help you. I wasn’t kidding at the engagement party. I’m glad my boy grew up and finally left the nest. And now,” he said glancing at Lola, “I get to live with someone much prettier.”

Portia’s jaw dropped. “You two moved in together? Willingly, or because of Alexander?”

“A little of both,” Braden said, not giving Lola a chance to speak. “She wanted a place to crash while your mom was in town and didn’t want to cramp your style by moving in with you. Since she and I have to spend all our time working on the conditions of the Will, I offered to have her move in with me.”

Portia gave her a grin. “Really?”

“He’s got a music studio,” Lola added, as if that explained everything.

Ryan laughed. “Well, we’ll leave you two lovely ladies to your gossip while we go schlep heavy boxes.”