Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) Elise Faber (most read books of all time txt) 📖

shifted. “You’re cold.” He shifted again, straightening and cradling her against his chest, and starting to walk along the path again. “I need to get you inside and warm.”

Heidi found herself without words.

She’d not expected him to be like this, to be so intense, so ferocious in his protection of her.

It was . . . not numbing exactly, but she was suddenly having an out-of-body experience as he carried her along her little trail, his legs eating up the space in hardly any time at all. What had taken her fifteen minutes of meandering, took him just a handful, and when he was walking up the stairs to her door, holding her like she weighed no more than a feather, she still hadn’t found her voice.

All she could think was . . . she hadn’t expected this.

Probably, that said bad things about her and her intelligence—that being held by this man had fried her brain—but she was still struggling to reconcile the normally easy-going, funny man with this one in front of her.

Though, he had gotten all protective about her phone.

“Keys,” he said, stopping in front of her door.

She blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in the hard line, tempting her with a desire to taste that little pulsing spot, to soothe away the tension. But she didn’t have a chance. He wedged her against the door, dug her keys out of her purse, then somehow managed to finagle them into the lock to open it.

A moment later, they were inside.

He kicked it shut and carried her down the hall, dumping her onto her bed. “Stay,” he growled and then disappeared out of the room.

She stood up, not wanting to get her blankets wet, and moved to her dresser, opening the top drawer to pull out some pajamas.

Which was the moment Brad came back into the bedroom.

His eyes met hers in the mirror. “What part of stay don’t you understand?”

Fresh pair of underwear in her grip, she dropped her hands to her side. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

His expression turned mulish.

“What part of stay don’t I understand?” She spun to face him, crossing the room and prodding him the chest with her finger. “Stay? Fucking stay?”

He captured her finger. “You’re bleeding. You’re limping. I reserve the right to go a little crazy.”

“You don’t have any rights. Reserved or not. Bleeding and limping or not.” Even if her cheek was starting to burn, and her groin, along with her ankle, were feeling a bit sore. She whirled around, took a step—

And stumbled.

Brad caught her. “Woman,” he muttered.

Then she was in his arms again, pressed against his chest, his heat surrounding her, his scent in her nose. He marched into the bathroom, set her on the counter, and then turned to crank on the shower.

Her breath hitched when she saw the look on his face, fury written into every line, but his fingers were gentle when he reached for the hem of her T-shirt and tugged it over her head, when he unfastened the button on her jeans and slid down the zipper before hefting her again and working the damp material down her legs. He started to set her down then hesitated, reaching for a towel and tucking it beneath her before setting her on the marble surface.

The small act of kindness, the bit of care without a word undid her.

“Brad,” she whispered.

His eyes came to hers, filled with an emotion that made her lose her breath all over again. “I can’t hurt you again,” he whispered. “I did it once. I can’t be responsible for doing it again.”

Her heart rolled over in her chest. “I’m not hurt.”

He didn’t answer, instead reaching for a small towel, dampening it in the sink, and bringing it up to her cheek, dabbing lightly at the cut.

She inhaled sharply, the sting taking her by surprise.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

She covered her hand with his. “It’s just a little cut.”

He set the towel aside, stepped away to check the shower temperature. Then he stripped off his shirt, shoved his pants down, and scooped her up again.

“What are you—?”

He stepped into the shower with her.

Hot water sluiced over her skin, soaking into her bra and underwear, slicking their skin, and suddenly, she didn’t feel the cut, or her aching groin, or the slight throb in her ankle. She could only feel Brad. Just the wide breadth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the abrasion of the damp lace of her bra against her nipples, the cotton growing hot and wet between her thighs.

“Better?” he asked.

And she had to remember how to speak again.

Because this was a hell of a lot better. It was fucking incredible and not enough. It was intoxicating, and she was desperate for more. It was—

“Put me down,” she whispered.

His gaze met hers, and whatever he saw there must have been intense enough that he actually listened to her, setting her carefully on her feet.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice barely above a murmur.

His eyes slid closed, opened slowly, then his hand came up, cupping her uninjured cheek gently. “I’ve spent the last months hating myself for leaving that night.” His shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “Because it was more.”

More. More. More.

The word echoed through her mind.

“I didn’t know what I felt that night—” A sharp shake of his head. “No, that’s a fucking lie, and I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you, not after I’d seen what it did to you when I treated you like that.” His fingers convulsed slightly. “You’re a fucking keeper, Heidi. You’re the real deal—smart, beautiful, funny, kind—and I wanted to keep you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He slid his hand to her nape. “Then we made love. Then I got to hold and touch you, to be inside you . . . and I knew I’d give up everything for a shot with you.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs—a rapid whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh. Water