“That’s even sweeter,” I reply, and he smiles slightly then bends at the waist. I hold my breath as he brushes his lips across mine, and when he pulls back, my lashes flutter open.
“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll be out of the office all day or I’d say we could have lunch.”
“I think it’s better if we keep things on the low,” I tell him, covering his hand with mine and hoping he doesn’t get mad. “I really don’t want people to get the wrong impression, especially since I just started.”
He drags in a breath through his nose and nods once. “I can give you that for now.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything.” He lets me go and heads for the door. “Be good.”
I have to laugh. “I’m always good.”
“I doubt that.” He winks then he disappears. After the door closes, I look over my shoulder at the view of the city lit up and smile when I realize I might be just as insane as Braxton Adams, and I’m okay with that.
Chapter 7
Dakota
WITH A BOTTLE of water in hand, I head down to the gym to get in a run before I have to go to work, already dreading the idea of running. I’m not one of those people who enjoys working out, but I am one of those people who likes sweets and wine, so I pay my dues.
Once I step into the gym, I take off my sweatshirt and put it and my bottle of water into one of the lockers before going to the back of the room where the treadmills are lined up to look out over the city which is still dark. I hop on one near the end of the line, next to an older man who’s walking while watching something on his iPad in front of him. I put in my headphones and turn up my music before starting up the machine, keeping my pace slow while I try to talk myself into going faster. After a couple minutes, I look to my left when someone gets on the machine next to mine—a redhead with a full face of makeup and her hair in a perfect ponytail. She waves, so I wave back wondering why she would waste time with makeup if she’s just going to sweat it off.
I look at my reflection in the glass before me. Heck, I didn’t even bother brushing my hair this morning; I just piled it on top of my head in a messy bun. I press the up arrow on the machine for it to go faster then notice the redhead looking my way, so I turn toward her again but see she’s actually looking around me. I turn to check on the old guy, and my feet below me falter when I see a shirtless Braxton wearing sweats that should be outlawed while jogging, with his arms pumping and his muscles flexing.
He looks over at me and winks, making my skin warm. I want to ask him what he’s doing here, but that would be a stupid question. It’s a gym, and he’s obviously working out. I play it cool and focus on keeping my feet under me and eyes straight ahead, and lucky me, I’m still able to watch him in the glass, just like what the redhead at my side is doing. I turn toward her, and she narrows her eyes on me. I guess the whole women’s liberation business only lasts until there’s a hot guy around.
I see her speed up her machine, so I do the same, and when she presses her arrow up again, I do too, which is stupid, because I might actually die while she doesn’t even seem to be breathing heavy.
Refusing to embarrass myself, I slow down my machine to a jog then squeak a moment later when I’m lifted off my feet then set on solid ground. I lift my eyes off Braxton’s bare chest and meet his gaze with the song “Bad Guy” roaring in my ears. The song fits him and the dark possessive look in his eyes. My chest rises and falls as he lifts his hand to my cheek and smooths his fingers back, tugging my ear bud from my ear. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I say, telling myself the breathy tone in my voice is because I just ran a mile, not because Braxton is standing so close, looking like he wants to devour me.
“Since you’re done with your workout, wanna have breakfast with me?” His fingers brush mine, but my attention is pulled from him when I hear a loud noise behind me. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as the redhead attempts to get her feet back under her and slow down. “You’re so bad,” Braxton whispers close to my ear, and I shiver, turning my head and coming face-to-face with him.
I drop my eyes to his mouth and lick my lips. “Breakfast sounds good.”
“Come on.” He takes my hand, but I stop him before he can pull me away. I turn off my machine, and then—because I’m petty—I shrug at the redhead and smirk, a silent sorry not sorry, he’s mine.
“What?” I ask Braxton when he chuckles, but he just shakes his head.
We stop at the lockers, and I grab my sweatshirt and bottle of water as he grabs a large black duffle bag before taking my hand once more. I let him lead me to the elevator, and he releases my hand to turn his back to me and wave his wrist across the screen. I put on my hoodie, leaving it unzipped, and lean against the wall as the doors close, holding my breath because I’m unsure what to expect as he turns to face me.
“Where is the watch I gave you?”
“I gave it to my brother,” I reply, and his eyes narrow slightly. “What? I might have agreed to keep it, but I didn’t tell you what I would do with it, and I wanted Jamie to be able to get into my place.”
“Hmm.” He skims his finger along the top edge of my sports bra, and I automatically grab onto the rail to keep myself standing. “Do you always work out dressed like this?”
“Why?”
“Curious.” He slides his finger between my breasts and up my throat to my chin, taking it between his thumb and pointer finger.
“Braxton?”
He lowers his head toward mine. “Yeah?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Is that what you want?” He tugs on my chin, forcing my lips to part.
“Maybe,” I say as the doors behind him open.
“You let me know when you’re sure.” He steps back, leaving me disappointed as he takes my hand from the railing.
As soon as I step out of the elevator with him, I’m confronted with exactly how much money he has. His place is ginormous with two full walls of window that overlook the rest of the buildings in the area and the sound, which I never realized is only blocks away. After releasing me, he walks across the open floor and tosses his bag on a sleek black couch that could seat the entire Brady bunch along with a few dozen more kids.
“Are scrambled eggs okay?” he asks as I slowly walk behind him toward the open kitchen with black cabinets, pure white countertops, and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.
“Sounds good.” I keep walking toward the windows and look out. “I could never live up here. I’d feel like I lived in a fish tank and people were watching me all the time.”
“That’s why the windows can do this,” he says and suddenly the windows seem to fill with smoke, blocking out the view.
“That’s very fancy.” I look at him over my shoulder so I can watch him laugh.
“A little too fancy. It took me a month to figure out how to use them,” he replies as I walk to the large dining table and run my hand over the wood surface that looks like someone split a tree in half then glazed it, with the natural pits and grooves filled with some kind of gold flecks. Even the outer edge of bark is glazed over. “You like it?”