Last night when he’d given me the full tour of his room, showing me everything new he’d acquired since my last visit, he’d made sure to give each of the banks a hefty shake.
The bad-word piggy had by far the most change.
“Okay, kid.” Brody gave August a fist bump. “I’d better get out of here. I’m all out of quarters.”
“Or you could stop saying bad words,” I said.
That comment earned me a death glare over his shoulder, but when he touched the tip of August’s nose, it was with a warm, genuine smile. Brody’s affection for August was his only redeeming quality.
That, and the way he looked in a tux.
Even I had to admit he looked delicious. The suit wrapped around his broad shoulders and encased his strong arms. His slacks molded to his thick legs and muscled behind. The trimmed beard added a rough edge to his otherwise smooth, classy appearance. And the tie . . . I wasn’t going to admit that I wanted to untie it with my teeth.
He was infuriating and arrogant. But damn . . . there were very adult words and scenarios running through my mind. If August had any clue what I was thinking, I’d fill that piggy bank to its ears.
My cheeks flushed. A flare of desire coursed through my veins. Any other man, and I’d be a puddle of lust by the end of the night. But this was Brody. All I had to do was wait until he opened his mouth to speak and he’d turn me off entirely.
“Have fun,” Clara said as Brody returned to the driver’s side of his car.
“Not likely,” I muttered.
“Then have . . . er”—she looked between the two of us—“safe travels.”
“Save me some pizza,” I said when she came over for a hug.
Clara was a hugger. She hugged her hellos. She hugged her goodbyes. She hugged everything in between. When we’d split apart, it was the one thing I’d missed most. Conversations we could have over the phone, but they were no replacement for a rib-cracking hug.
I’d found myself giving more hugs when she wasn’t around, simply because I’d missed them from her.
“Thank you for doing this,” she whispered.
“For you? Anything.” I let her go and waved goodbye to August.
I slid into the car, surprised to find the leather seat cool to the touch. Someone had come out here and started the engine to let the air-conditioning run. I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t even that hot outside, but heaven forbid Brody break a sweat.
He climbed in behind the wheel, but he didn’t pull out of the drive. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because Clara asked me to.”
Beyond the windshield, my sister took August’s hand and the two of them walked down the driveway toward their house. She was still in her sweats from this morning. Her hair was a mess and her eyes tired. But she hid it as best she could for her son. She smiled and swung his hand beside her hip, taking him home, where they’d probably cuddle on the couch watching cartoons until it was pizza time.
“You hate me,” Brody said.
When I turned to face him, his green eyes were waiting.
Brody’s eyes were the first thing I’d noticed about him years ago. They were disarming. They were almost too bright to be real. The green was a spiral of shades from lime to hunter. It was all held together by a ring of sable around the iris. They always reminded me of a patch of creeping Jenny snaking its way through moss on a summer day.
“Yes, I do.” I hated Brody. I’d been hating him for years. “But I love Clara more than I hate you. Apparently, this wedding is important. And if I didn’t go, she would have.”
He blew out a deep breath, facing forward. “It is. Important.”
“Then let’s go.”
He shoved the car in gear and roared down the asphalt, racing for the gate, like if he didn’t get us off his property this instant, he’d change his mind.
I held my breath, fighting the urge to let my knees bounce. I’d seen plenty of weddings at The Gallaway. I often worked with florists in the area to tie the exterior flowers into centerpieces for the event. But this was different. I wasn’t going to stay in my tennis shoes and tee, lurking in the dark corners and appreciating the show from a distance.
Tonight, I was a guest. I’d never been to a wedding as a guest. When I’d admitted that truth to Clara, she’d told me not to tell Brody.
No problem there. I doubted we’d share a lot of conversation.
I was arm candy, not entertainment.
The drive to the Welcome airport was uneventful. Silent. Though the air-conditioning was cranked, the heat won the battle. It seeped off Brody’s large frame as tension radiated from his shoulders.
When he pulled into the airport, I expected him to park in the parking lot and lead me through the small terminal. Silly me. Brody was no mortal man. He drove straight for the runway. With the planes.
He parked beside a jet that gleamed silver and white under the Arizona sun. Its windows sparkled like those diamonds he had on his cuffs.
I’d never owned a diamond. Hell, I’d never even touched a diamond.
An attendant opened my door and extended a hand to help me from the car.
“Thanks,” I breathed and steadied my feet.
The wealth was staggering. Maybe I’d gotten in a bit over my head because—no freaking way—there was a carpet leading to the plane. Gray, not red, but a freaking carpet nonetheless.
“Madam.” The attendant bowed. He actually bowed.
He was older, likely in his fifties, with white streaked liberally through his blond hair. He carried a halo of sophistication, and even though his blue eyes were kind and welcoming, he knew I wasn’t here by my own free will.
My sweet, sweet sister was going to owe me big-time.
I opened my mouth to tell him the bow wasn’t necessary—I wasn’t the queen—but he bowed again, this time to Brody.
“Sir. We’re ready.”
“Thank you, Ron.” Brody tossed the man his keys, then strode toward the plane, taking the stairs without a backward glance my way.
“Oh, you’re such a jackass,” I muttered under my breath, glowering at Brody’s shoulders. Then I hiked up my gown’s billowing skirt and hurried to catch up. Stiletto heels were not my specialty and I teetered on the last step before emerging inside the airplane’s cabin.
Leather and citrus filled my nose. Cool air rushed over my skin.
The plane was nothing but golden light and cream finish. Every surface was polished, every comfort ready at your fingertips. This plane cost more than my entire life. It wasn’t the cold, modern style of Brody’s home.
This was . . . lush.
No wonder Clara hadn’t hesitated to tag along on a tropical vacation.
I’d always thought Mark Gallaway was the richest man I’d ever met. Clearly, I’d underestimated Brody. His house was enormous and state-of-the-art, but this was grand. This was affluence passed down from generation to generation. And the plane seemed more indicative of his wealth than his home or his car.
Had Brody been downplaying his money? That seemed so . . . unlike him. He’d always seemed like the type to flaunt his millions. He did flaunt his millions. Except maybe he’d been holding back.
Maybe millions were actually billions.
Brody was in a chair, sipping a glass of water with a lemon wedge, as his fingers flew across the screen of his phone. Probably texting Clara to tell her this was a horrible idea. I was going to do the same as soon as I pulled my phone from my black clutch.