Page 3 of Hot Hearts
Brooks works me up and down his cock, thrusting up into me. I brace my hands on his chest, letting him take me to paradise once again before I’m collapsing on top of him.
Both our breathing is heavy. He wraps his arms around me, his cock still inside as I once again let sleep take me.
When I wake up again, I see the light peeking in through the curtains. I smile, not only feeling the tenderness between my legs but also because Brooks is spooning me from behind, his arms wrapped around me, our legs tangled together.
I could lie here forever, but my bladder says otherwise. I slowly work my way out of his arms so as to not wake him up, sleepwalk into the bathroom, and quickly come back to bed. I pause when I see a stack of papers and a folder on a desk next to a laptop.
I shouldn't, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I flip the folder open to see something about a cooking show. My eyes almost pop out of my head when I see what they are offering him. I go to the next page that talks about the show idea and then promotions.
My name with my social media tag is at the top of the list. My stomach drops. He knows who I am. He’s known this entire time. I close my eyes as a barrage of emotions overwhelms me.
I did it again. I picked a man who only wanted to use me, but why does this time hurt a million times more than my ex? I hadn’t even cried over my ex. No, the only tears I shed were because my friend betrayed me. That’s what I had been so upset about.
I can’t even bring myself to wake Brooks up and give him a piece of my mind. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m so naïve. Of course Brooks Neal doesn’t truly want me.
I quickly get dressed before slipping from his suite and back to my room, where I shower and pack my things, telling myself I will never see this man again.
I’ll ghost him, make him wonder where he’d gone wrong. I hope it eats at him if he even really cares, but I’m guessing if he was willing to use me and knew he could easily bed me, he has an ego that will take a hit.
Fate has other plans, though…ones that show up as two pink lines on a stick.
Chapter Two
BROOKS
THREE MONTHS LATER….
“Iknow who you are.”
That’s what she’d said to me, and it didn’t register because lust had taken over every thought process the moment she came into my line of vision. I saw her, and I wanted her, and strangely enough, she wanted me back. That was the only thing that mattered that night. Her need was me, and mine was her, and we matched perfectly until I woke up the next morning and she was gone.
As the investigator spreads out the photos he took, it starts to make a little sense. Slater Braxton woke up and found out I was Brooks Neal, chef of The Plate and probably thought I had lured her up to my room under false pretenses.
I was her first, and I’ll be her only. It’s not going to be easy. She hates me because she thinks I’ve lied to her. No one likes to be made a fool out of.
My fingers hover over the photos. It’s been three months since that night, and I haven’t been able to sleep since. I keepreplaying the scenes of her naked, wild, moaning, and trembling. My own hand shakes a little as the memory of that night washes over me.
The photos show Slater getting groceries—she has her own recyclable bags; Slater buying yarn—I’ll have to keep her away from my friend Dylan who knits because I can’t have her liking one of my friends more than me; Slater going to the movies.
“She likes horror films,” the investigator shares when he notices my attention lingering on one particular photo of her swiping her phone against a kiosk. She has an excited look on her face, as if she’s been anticipating this film for some time.
I can take her to the movies and buy her yarn and carry her groceries. This is going to work.
“She doesn’t want to meet you in private.”
“But she will meet me.” I’ve spent an ungodly sum tracking her down, and then, when the investigator revealed her name, I spent an ungodly amount of time kicking myself for not realizing I knew her already.
“Yes. She laid out these conditions. A public place, middle of the day, with no one else. Specifically, she said no lawyers. Oh, and not at The Plate.” The investigator tacks on that last detail.
Too bad because that was my first thought.
“How about One Cup, Tea Cup?” I suggest. It’s a popular coffeehouse not too far from The Plate, and it’s always busy.
The investigator’s eyebrows shoot up. “She recommended the same place.”
“We’ll meet tomorrow at ten.” I stand up, but at the door, I turn back. “How did you get caught?”
The investigator’s cheeks turn a dull red under his tan. “One of my men was following her at the deli, and someone recognized that his glasses had a camera in the frame. He tried to run away, but other customers tackled him. When they reviewed the footage, they saw she was the target. I had to step inand bail him out. The police forced me to tell her who my client was.”
