He rolls his eyes, draping his forearm over his eyes. “Is this like a date?” he mutters flatly.
“Yes, so I expect you to be witty and charming,” I tell him as I stand. “Maybe even romantic.”
“It’s too early for that shit. And I don’t do romantic. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I don’t bark. I’m going to have a shower now.” I make my way to the linen press to grab a towel. “You are not welcome to come in.”
“I can’t, anyway. My back is fucked. I’ll be lucky to walk again today.”
I giggle, make my way into the bathroom, and step into the shower. My stay trained on the door. I don’t have a lock. What would I do if he walked in right now? Would he? I wouldn’t put it past him.
Stop it.
I quickly wash myself and get out in a rush. After drying myself, I walk into my bedroom in a towel to find him lying in the same position with his eyes closed. Poor bastard. He really did sleep poorly. He’s exhausted.
Now, what should I wear?
I put on my black crochet bikini. Lucky for me, I bought this baby as a just in case I need to be sexy incident. I throw on a short summer dress that’s flowy and white, pulling it over the top of my bikini. I pull my long hair into a high ponytail. When I finally walk out of my room, Brock is gone, and I walk up the hall to investigate.
He’s urinating, the bathroom door is wide open. He looks up casually.
I gasp. “Close the door will you.”
“Why? It’s just pissing. Everyone pisses.”
“You’re an animal,” I say with a shake of my head as I turn and walk back into the living room.
Simon never went to the bathroom in front of me in nine years. These two men are like chalk and cheese.
“You can come in and hold it for me if you want?” Brock calls out.
“No. I’m good thanks.” I smirk.
Idiot.
I hear the tap turn on as he washes his hands, and then he reappears, wearing only his black briefs. I have to concentrate not to stare.
“We have to call in at my place to get some clothes,” he says as he rubs his eyes.
He really is a beautiful looking man.
“Okay.”
I sit on the sofa and watch as he grabs his jeans and steps into them. He slowly slides the zipper up. It’s hard not to jump up and drag his jeans back off with my teeth.
He then throws his T-shirt over his head, picks up the blankets, and carefully places the cushions back onto the sofa.
“I wish I could say I had a hard night in a good way,” he says dryly.
I smirk.
“But I had a hard night in the worst possible way.” He pretends to kick my sofa. “You piece of shit,” he says to it.
I laugh.
“You ready?” he asks.
I throw my towel and sunscreen into my beach bag. “Yep. I’ll just grab my book.”
“You won’t be needing that. I’m very entertaining. Let’s go.”
We walk out into the hall and he takes my hand in his. I look up at him in question.
“I did my time out.” He eyes me as he strides forward confidently.
I smile and squeeze his hand in mine. “Like a good boy.”
“Don’t push it.” He squeezes my hand back. “Or I’ll show you how good of a boy I’m actually not.”
We get downstairs and walk out across the road. “Where’s your car?” I ask.
“Around the corner.”
We turn the corner and I see his large black Range Rover. Lights flash as he opens it.
“Nice car.” I smile as I get in.
“Yeah, it’s just a car.” He starts the engine. “Where are we going for breakfast?”
“There’s a little café a few blocks from here. Where is your house?” I ask.
“Surry Hills.”
“Oh, that’s close. Just a few blocks away.”
“Yeah, I know. I moved here when I found out where you lived so I could watch you round the clock.”
I frown at him, and he smiles cheekily, flashing me a wink.
“See, the creepy thing is, I have no idea if you are joking or not.”
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “I’ve lived here for two years.”
“Oh.” I feel embarrassed that I just said that out loud.
He casually puts my hand back down to rest on his thigh. I can feel his tight thigh muscle through his jeans, and my arousal awakens. I blow out a breath as I concentrate on not trailing my hand up to his crotch and back over his heavenly, thick thighs.
Cut it out, you sex-craved animal.
We drive for a few minutes and then pull up out the front of a row of swanky terrace houses. “You live here?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.” He parks the car and gets out.
I frown as I stare at the terrace house in front of me. It’s painted a dark charcoal colour with contrasting white shutters. There’s a beautifully kept garden with brass numbers on the gate.
It looks like something out of a home magazine. It’s not where I would expect a bad tempered stripper to live.
39
Wow. I didn’t expect this.
He opens the large, timber door, and my mouth drops open. Holy shit, it’s gorgeous. “This is really your house?” I whisper, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the shitty sofa I made him sleep on last night.
“Yeah, I bought it about two years ago. I’ve been renovating ever since.”
He holds his hand out for me to take, and I do. The living room is large, the floors all dark timber and polished. There is a stone fireplace with a big antique rug in front of it, running against the wall. We walk through the living room to a bright, sunny, all-glass style kitchen and dining room.
“Holy shit, Brock, this is amazing.”
“Come upstairs, I’ll show you the rest.”
I smile as I see his pride shine through.
We walk up to the second level and it opens to a large living room with another blue stone open fireplace. Big cushions decorate the floor, with a big leather comfy-looking sofa sitting in the middle. There’s a huge television, too, and I get the feeling this is where he spends a lot of time. He takes me up another set of stairs where the whole top floor is his bedroom.
The walls look like recycled brickwork that have bits of white paint on them. The bed is a king-size, with black velvet coverings. The carpet and furnishings up here are luxurious.
“I just put a bathroom in.” He opens the door to show me a beautiful beige marble tile bathroom with a huge stone bath sitting in the centre.
“J-Jesus,” I stammer. “What are you, like, a decorator or something?”
He smiles proudly. “Look at this.” He pulls back a curtain at the side of his bedroom, and I see the whole wall has been removed into the terrace next door.
“I just bought the terrace next door. I’m going to join the two together.”
My eyes widen.
“Bottom level will be kitchen and living area, and then the two top levels next door will be bedrooms.”
He takes my hand and leads me through to the other terrace. I smile to myself, watching him get all animated as he shows me through the dingy apartment.
“Was yours in this state when you bought it?” I ask.
“Mine was worse. I had to basically gut it.”
“You did all this yourself?”
“Yeah, my sisters helped with the styling and furnishings.”
This is the third time he has mentioned his sisters. “You’re close with your sisters?” I ask.
He smiles softly, and I know they get the best of him. “Yeah, they’re pretty cool chicks.”
I narrow my eyes as I try to remember their story. “Did you say they were married?” All I remember about them was that they were very attractive and married to holy hot men.
“Yeah, Natasha, my older sister, is married to a super-rich dude. His name is Joshua Stanton, and they live between here and L. A. Bridget, my younger sister, is married to one of my best friends. He works for me. You met him. Ben, the guy from the gym.”
“I remember. How did it feel when your younger sister hooked up with one of your best friends?”
“I met him through her.” He shrugs. “Well, not really, He was Natasha’s husband’s bodyguard.”
I frown. “Joshua has bodyguards?”
“Yeah. They are, like, mega rich. Millionaires. He’s an app developer.”
“Wow,” I whisper.
Brock takes me down to the ground floor of the second terrace. It’s so daggy compared to his apartment.
“I’m going to put the large kitchen across here.” He shows me. “And then upstairs I’m adding another four bedrooms. It will join with the other terrace on every level.”
“Why do you need five bedrooms?”
“Well, I don’t right now, but hopefully, one day, I will.”
I stare at him and my stomach churns with a wave of nervousness. He means for one day when he has kids.
Please don’t get sensible on me. You’re my bad boy quick fuck. You don’t need to be anything else.
Please just be the meathead I need you to be.
We walk back upstairs, through the opening into his room.
“I’m just going to take a quick shower, okay?”
“Sure.”
“You’re welcome to come in, by the way.” His mischievous eyes hold mine.
I giggle, he’s throwing my request to him from earlier back in his face. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
I hear the shower turn on, and I sit on the bed and look around. God, this place is beautiful. I lean down and smell his pillow. It smells good-just like him.
I lie down on his bed and imagine what it must be like to live in such a beautiful house. The shower eventually turns off, and Brock comes in with a towel wrapped around him. He stops when he sees me, and he smiles that slow, sexy smile of his.
“What?” I ask him.
“You have no fucking idea how good you look spread out on my bed.”