Page 80 of The Biker's Brother

She might be headed back home tomorrow and never see Brandon again, but by all that was holy, she was going to get that kiss from therightbrother before she left.

Brandon had spent a lifetime developing the sort of discipline and single-minded focus it took to run a global concern. All gone in an instant at the hands of one medium-sized woman in a blood-red silk dress, bare legs, and combat boots, a sight that would possibly be burned into his memory forever because of the emotion attached.

He spent the rest of the day trying to free himself from the entanglements of tasks that had backed up while he’d been on the road. But he had to return to things again and again because he’d let his mind wander and that had resulted in questions down the line. Every decision he made was like a domino effect. He had to have his mind in the game. Not on the way red silk seemed to float around a beautiful body when the wearer stomped across a room.

At seven o’clock he was still trying to wade out of the maze of things that needed his attention, and was feeling conflicted. Germane Enterprises needed his attention, but so did the SSMC. After all, they were throwing the party for him in celebration of the greatest honor they could give. He couldn’t be late.

On the other hand, bikers didn’t run on a German train schedule. Flexibility was built in. If he didn’t get there until nine, it would be no big deal. Still plenty of time to party. And plenty of time to find Camden Carmichael and make her listen to his perfectly reasonable explanations for making her sit on a toilet and look at his painfully erect Johnson while pretending to be gay.

He sighed deeply running through that scenario in his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t find the words to get to the outcome he craved. He wasn’t sure he could even form a coherent description of the outcome he craved. He just knew it involved a Cami who wasn’t mad. Or hurt.

At nine he more or less said, “Fuck it,” and walked out of the office. He used his key to take the private elevator up to the top floor, which had been redesigned as a penthouse when he’d bought the building. He changed into jeans, Ropers, and a black Henley. He’d found black was good for parties. No matter what rowdies spilled on you when they accidentally bumped into you, it never showed too badly.

At ten o’clock, Cami was tired of watching people eat, drink, and dance. And tired of watching the door for Brandon. Supposedly the party was for him, but it was looking like he was going to no show. She entertained the possibility that he’d rather not attend his own party than have to see her after the way she’d behaved.

In his office of all places.

She, of all people, should know that, to the head of a company, the office is sacredno-family-drama ground. Even knowing that, she’d made a scene.

Setting her red cup down on the bar, she made her way through the crowd seeking the solace of her room. A tall blond guy with light beard scruff grabbed her and twirled her into his arms when she tried to pass.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said. “You can’t be alone. If you are, it’s my lucky night. If you’re not, who’s the stupid fucker who let you out of his sight?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Brash was there before she could speak, shouting over the music. “She’s not alone, Des. She’s a friend of the club.”

The guy named Des raised an eyebrow. “Friend of the club? That works for me. I want to be her friend.”

He looked down at Cami and smiled with even teeth so white they could have been veneers. His lascivious grin might have sparked interest if she didn’t already have strange, confused, and unresolved feelings for a bodyguard who’d turned out to be a famous player mogul.Christ.

“She’s not looking for new friends, Des. Brandon says so.”

Des turned his attention to Brash. “Brandon?” After processing that, he burst into laughter. “He ain’t here.”

“He will be,” Brash countered. “This is his party. Remember?”

“Oh.” Des’s eyes slid to Cami. “She’s for his party. Got it. Okay, sweetness. Some other time maybe.”

Cami shot Brash a thankful look and continued toward her room.

Brandon had almost made it past the fire pit when Carlot spotted him.

“Brand’s here! Man of the hour!”

Carlot gave him a hug and a few manly slaps on the back.

Within minutes the clubhouse had emptied, making Brand the center of attention. They all parted like the Red Sea for Brant, who came walking through the crowd carrying Brandon’s cut. Anybody who saw the smile he was wearing had no doubt that the honoree got his own good looks from his father.

Brash was standing next to his brother when Brant held the leather vest up for Brandon to slide into.

Brand hadn’t expected to feel emotional about getting his own cut, but it was a little overwhelming. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted it until it was riding squarely on his back.

He accepted hugs from Brant and Brash, followed by the other club members who’d formed a line to offer congratulations.

From inside Cami’s room, she had no idea that anything had changed because the volume of the music coming from the bar was the same. Rescue hadn’t brought Daisy by because he wouldn’t have expected that she’d go to bed early. So she was alone. She lay down on the bed and faced the wall. She wasn’t ready to get undressed or take makeup off because there was a chance Brandon might still come.

Edge recognized his chance. He slipped back inside, making sure that no one noticed. That wasn’t a problem. Everybody was busy making a big deal out of the second heir apparent.

Like they said about the English princes. An heir and a spare.

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