Page 26 of A Favor Owed

“Brady,” I whisper again.

“Mm-hm.”

I want to tell him we need to stop, that we can’t go any further, not tonight, at least. But I can’t form any words other than his name.

To my surprise and relief and disappointment, it’s Brady who stops us. He wraps his arms around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder and play with the small silver medal that hangs around his neck on a thin silver chain. I wonder why he stopped, but I’m too dazed to form a coherent sentence.

“Do you want to go upstairs?”

I sigh against his shoulder. “We can’t. I mean, I can’t. I want to, though.”

“Why can’t you? You too tired? I’ll carry you.”

I laugh at the soft teasing tone of his voice. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“I mean, you know, I just want to do this for now.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s do it outside of the pool and preferably in bed.”

“I think things will maybe get a little, uh, carried away if we do that, Brady.”

“Don’t worry, Pines,” he says, snapping the back of my bikini top. “I’ll keep you in check.”

I smack his shoulder. “It’s not me I’m worried about,” I protest. Big, giant lie. I’m entirely doubting my ability to control myself. It’s been months since a man touched me, and it’s been approximately, oh, forever since a guy as intensely tempting as Brady touched me.

“Hey,” he says, drawing back and taking my chin in his hand. He smiles. “I’m a good Catholic boy. I won’t take advantage of you.”

I raise a dubious eyebrow. “Really. Waiting for marriage, are you?”

“Hell no,” he says, looking horrified. “I totally believe in sex before marriage. Just not necessarily on a first date.”

“I’m not sure the papal authorities would agree with your interpretation of Catholic doctrine.”

“Fortunately I don’t give a shit about the papal authorities.”

“So is that what this is?” I ask. “A first date?”

His luminous eyes study my face. “Do you want it to be?”

I swallow. “If it means there’ll be a second one,” I say.

His mouth turns up in a smile. “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.” He runs his hands down my arms. “Any more negotiating before we head upstairs?”

I shake my head. “No. We’re good.”

This is so not good. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life. I’m lonely and scared and stressed. Even worse, I’m turned on as hell. I’m rapidly losing control over my heart, body, and mind.

But Brady seems laid-back as ever, in control despite the effect my body obviously has on his. I remind myself that he isn’t like the men from my world. He’s a sweet, funny boy who loves his mom and the Yankees. I can trust him, right?

Chapter Ten

Brady

Wrong, wrong, wrong. I was so wrong about how this was going to play out tonight. It all started with seeing her coming out of my bedroom, tall and elegant. She looks cute and artsy in her poodle skirts and other quirky clothes, and she looks hot in tight jeans or a short skirt. But wrapped in a sheer scarf, looking like she should be on the deck of a yacht in the Mediterranean? I’m from model-infested New York, so I’ve seen a lot, but I’ve never seen anything like that up close before.

And then the body under the scarf. I mean, like, wow. Speech-stealing, reason-negating, dick-hardening wow. Angela Pines is five feet ten inches of pure fantasy. She’s all smooth, deep curves, soft in all the right places, toned and defined in all the others. I couldn’t resist touching her. When she arched her back in the hot water and said how good it felt, I thought I was going to come right then and there. I want nothing more than her underneath me looking and sounding exactly like that.

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