Chapter 1
BRADEN’S POV – THE FIRST MEETING
Braden shook Thomas Prendergast’s hand with a congenial smile and stepped out of the small restaurant Thomas owned in Bruntsfield. Thomas was an excellent chef and an even better businessman. He owned four restaurants — one in Edinburgh, two in Glasgow and one in Newcastle. They had been acquaintances for a long time and Braden liked him, respected him, and he believed the respect was reciprocated.
Braden just wished Thomas would accept his proposition to sell his father’s French restaurant La Cour to him.
Sighing, Braden shrugged his shoulders back and looked up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight. Decked out in a three-piece suit on a sweltering day like this didn’t ease his growing frustration. No one knew he was thinking of selling La Cour except for Thomas. In passing Thomas had mentioned numerous times that he’d be interested in opening another restaurant in Edinburgh, but he didn’t know if the timing was right. Braden thought he’d jump at the chance to buy La Cour—a thriving, ready-made five-star restaurant—and he trusted Prendergast could maintain its high standards. Feeling stretched too thin and not interested in the restaurant, Braden had no qualms about selling. All his concentration and focus was going into making his nightclub Fire a success, developing properties that turned profits, and he still had his father’s estate agency to keep up with. Moreover, he had a restaurant he was interested in. A successful Scottish seasonal restaurant he co-owned with the chef, Frazier Allie, down on the Shore.
La Cour as it stood was a nuisance, a nuisance Braden felt obligated to attend to since his father worked so hard to make it the success it was. But his father had always told him that when business became a nuisance rather than a challenge, and was no longer satisfying, it was time to move on to greener pastures.
Braden glanced back at the restaurant. Come on, Thomas, make up your fucking mind, man.
His phone beeped in his pocket. Braden pulled it out and glanced at the digital reminder informing him he had a meeting in twenty minutes with one of his managers at Douglas Carmichael & Co, the estate agency his father built up from the ground to become one of the primary agencies in Lothian. Shit. Braden had spent longer with Thomas than he’d intended and would be lucky to make the meeting. He hated being late. He didn’t tolerate lateness among his staff and disdained bosses who held themselves to lesser standards than their employees.
Scowling, Braden walked toward Bruntsfield Church, his eyes trained on the road ahead, willing a taxi to make an appearance. Only seconds later one turned around the corner and he stepped out onto the curb with his arm raised. When it slowed to a halt, he reached for the handle on the passenger side. A clean, fruity smell drifted towards him seconds before a warm, small and very feminine hand collided with his.
Braden dipped his chin and looked down into the face of a woman, her skin bright from the sunlight, her eyes narrowed to slits as she squinted against the sun shining behind his head.
His father always told him Braden’s ability to read people would prove his greatest asset as a businessman. More often than not his intuition proved him correct about the people he encountered—except for his traitorous ex-wife, but he blamed his lack of awareness in that situation on his twenty-two-year-old dick and its fascination for her long legs and perky tits.
In the case of the short woman in front of him, Braden read stubbornness in the features he could make out and in the obstinate tension she held in her shoulders. He was in no mood for stubbornness or fighting over a bloody taxi.
He sighed. “Which way are you headed?”
Braden heard the words “Dublin Street” and did what he always did: maneuvered things to his liking. “Good.” He pulled the taxi door open. “I’m heading in that direction, and since I’m already running late, might I suggest we share the taxi instead of wasting ten minutes deciding who needs it more.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and nudged her into the taxi.
Relieved she didn’t stall them, Braden got in after her and gave the taxi driver their first destination. His sister, Ellie, lived on Dublin Street in a flat he’d renovated and then gifted to her. Ellie was his half-sister—they shared the same father. She’d never had it particularly easy from their dad. That was putting it politely. He was a negligent bastard and although he and Braden finally become friends of a sort before he died, Braden had never forgiven him for his treatment of Ellie. The guilt their father should have felt transferred to Braden, and he’d done everything he could to make Ellie’s life easier. Giving her the flat meant she could concentrate on her doctorate and not worry about paying rent. He liked having her so close to the estate agency on Dundas Street. Anytime he was in the area, which was more often than not, he could drop by Ellie’s to check in on her.
Braden decided he’d have the taxi driver to stop at the top of Dublin Street, burl around and come back toward Dundas Street. It would be easier to drop Braden off first but it was ingrained in him to never let a woman pay for anything. So he’d drop the stranger off first so he could pay the fare.
“Thanks, I guess,” the woman answered from his left, the words sardonic. It wasn’t the tone that drew Braden’s attention. It was the husky, sexy voice and the American accent.
He glanced with interest at her and almost did a double take. She was attractive. Extremely. Thrown by this, he asked somewhat stupidly, “You’re an American?”
She turned to him and as soon as their eyes met Braden felt his dick stir with the impact. Jesus fucking Christ. Intelligent, stunning tip-tilted gray eyes appraised him as she tucked a loose strand of dark-blonde hair behind her ear. She had it pulled back in a ponytail, giving him an unhindered view of a graceful neck and an arresting face. She wasn’t classically beautiful but she was something better. More. Striking. Compelling. And Braden suspected from the darkening of her irises and the way her mouth trembled slightly that she felt the instant attraction between them.
It was rare for Braden to feel such an immediate, visceral desire for someone. He could appreciate a beautiful woman but it usually took at least a few minutes in her presence before something about her made his dick stand up and take notice.
Only seconds with her.
He watched her study him. Braden was used to women looking at him but he wasn’t used to a woman appearing so consternated because she liked what she saw. He raised an eyebrow, begrudgingly intrigued by this contradiction.
“Yeah, I’m American.”
That voice. He shifted in his seat. She really did have the most throaty, sexual voice he’d ever heard. When she spoke, it was the equivalent of her running her fingertips up his thigh. He wanted to hear her speak again. “Just visiting?” Braden murmured.
“Nope.”
Christ, she was taciturn. “Then you’re a student?”
Whatever she heard in Braden’s tone, it made her tense. The change in her demeanor drew his attention to her body. She wasn’t his usual type. But maybe that was his problem. He kept choosing the same kind of woman over and over, including his current girlfriend Holly. And Braden was bored by them all.
He wasn’t bored now. He was the opposite of bored. The woman had large breasts for such a delicately built female and although she was short, her legs were long and shapely. He could see almost every inch of her smooth olive-toned legs because she only wore a tiny pair of shorts. Great fucking legs. Braden grew hard looking at them.
Christ, control yourself, man.
When he finally dragged his eyes up to her expressive face, he noted the raised eyebrow. She’d caught him eating her up and did not look impressed. Amused by her obvious irritation, Braden grinned at her. Usually this would incur a responding grin. Instead, the brat rolled her eyes at him.
It was strangely charming.
“I was a student,” she answered, and his ears warmed to the purr of her dulcet yet snippy tones. “I live here. Dual citizenship.”
“You’re part Scottish?”
She gave him a barely-there nod and seemed intent to avoid his gaze. Braden smiled inwardly, feeling a stirring of heat in his lower belly. He hadn’t experienced a challenge from the member of the opposite sex in God knew how long. His relationships with women were simple and straightforward. Braden was a serial monogamist. He’d never cheat but he also wasn’t looking for anything more than a casual relationship. The women he dated knew the score, and they were usually easy-going and sweet.
It wasn’t until Braden was faced with this little walking inducer of the hard-on that he realized he really was bored by the empty relationships. Moreover, it might not be such a bad thing to swap sweet for a little bit of stubbornness in bed. In fact, it might be an outstanding thing. Braden eyed her generous cleavage and his skin prickled, growing hot at the thought of taking one of those perfect breasts into his mouth, turning that willful glint in her stunning eyes soft with need as he sucked and played with her nipples.
Braden shifted again, realizing that fantasy couldn’t come true considering he had a girlfriend and he wouldn’t cheat on her, no matter how casual their relationship was.
Bugger.
The timing was shit.
Well, Braden couldn’t have the stranger but he could enjoy this moment with her. He wanted to hear her talk again. “What do you do now that you’ve graduated?”
She shot him a look out of the corner of her eyes and he recognized the measured aloofness in them. “What do you do? I mean, when you’re not manhandling women into cabs?”
He smirked inwardly. “What do you think I do?”
“I’m thinking lawyer. Answering questions with questions, manhandling…”
“I’m not a lawyer. But you could be. I seemed to recall a question answered with a question. And that,” he gestured to her full mouth, wondering how she’d taste, “that’s a definite smirk.” His voice was thick with the sexual curiosity and he knew she heard it because her eyes flared.
Yeah, she definitely felt the heat too and the air in the taxi grew heavy with tension—undeniable and incredible electricity that suggested sex between us could be off the charts combustible. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this kind of heady anticipation.
As shitty as it made him, Braden cursed the existence of Holly as his girlfriend.
It was maybe time to start winding things down between them.
The American abruptly snapped her gaze away and she leaned her body away from his as she stared out at the passing traffic. As Braden watched her attempt to create a distance between them utilizing silence, his eyes caressed the sharp sweep of her jawline and the smoothness of her olive skin. She had a great skin. Skin that told of her age, and it suddenly occurred to him that the American was quite young, probably ages with Ellie by the looks of it. She looked suddenly unsure.
Was her earlier confidence a blip?
Braden was confused by her mixed signals. One second she’d seemed attractively self-possessed. Now she seemed uncomfortable and inexperienced.
It should have put him off.
It didn’t.
“Are you shy?” He asked trying not to sound like a condescending prick and probably failing.
She turned to him with a bemused smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something in her gaze Braden couldn’t put his finger on. Something… melancholy. “Excuse me?” She asked, drawing him out of his strange musings.
Her tone suggested shyness wasn’t her problem, and Braden searched her gaze for the darkness he’d seen only seconds ago. It appeared to be gone, her expression carefully composed. She wasn’t as easy to read as he’d first thought, and he found he liked that. Wanting to see if he could find that sadness again, if only to assure himself he had imagined it, Braden repeated the question. “Are you shy?”
He knew the answer. She was something, but it wasn’t shy.
“Why would you think that?” She frowned, her expression giving little away, other than mild irritation.
Braden had the sudden urge to discomfort her. To ruffle her well-placed feathers and break through those well-guarded defenses of hers. “Most women would be taking advantage of my imprisonment in the taxi with them—chew my ear off, shove their phone number in my face… as well as other things.” His eyes instantly located those magnificent tits of hers, letting her know he thought they were well worth his attention.
Not knowing what reaction to expect from his blatant perusal, Braden was charmed to find her grinning at him. Fuck. Her smile hit him like a punch in the solar plexus. She had one helluva sweet smile, completely at odds with the cynical glint in her eyes.
He’d made her smile. Braden was somewhat taken aback by how much that pleased him. He’d only just met this woman.
“Wow, you really think a lot of yourself.”
He grinned. “I’m just speaking from experience.”
“Well, I’m not the kind of girl who hands out her number to a guy she just met.”
Even though Braden couldn’t ask for her number, he was disappointed by her answer. He’d begun building an idea of who she was in his head and, despite the sweet smile, ‘sweet, virginal girl next door’ was not it. “Ahh.” He glanced away. “You’re a no-sex-until-the-third-date, marriage-and-babies kind of woman.”
“No, no, and no,” she answered, affronted by the idea. So affronted Braden suddenly wondered if the opposite was true. Was he in the presence of that rare creature? A woman afraid of commitment?
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“I’m not giving you my number.”
As a somewhat blunt-speaking person himself, Braden enjoyed finding that quality in other people. He grinned wickedly at her, trying not to let the fact that he couldn’t have her number diminish the enjoyment he derived from their little verbal sparring. “I didn’t ask for it. And even if I wanted it, I wouldn’t ask for it.” Fucking lie. “I have a girlfriend.” Unfortunately, true. He mentally slapped himself across the head for that ungentlemanly thought. Holly was a good girl and deserved better than his disloyalty, even if it was only in his head.
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“I have a girlfriend, but I’m not blind. Just because I can’t do anything doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to look.” Pity. Braden wanted to look. He wanted to look past the cynical eyes and through the sweet smile and find out which one of them was her. Maybe she was both. Maybe she was neither. He didn’t know. At all. And he wanted to. Jesus—
“Here’s good, thanks.”
What? Braden’s fascination with her was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt by her direction to the driver. They weren’t at Dublin Street yet. They still had—he looked outside to discover they were at Queen Street Gardens. Only seconds from her destination. And what was he panicking about, anyway? She was off limits.
Fuck.
The driver pulled up to the curb and she handed him fare and reached for the door.
“Wait,” Braden said.
She turned to him, her expression impatient. “What?”
He sensed he had seconds. Braden could either tell her to take her money back and offer to pay for the entire taxi fare as he’d intended. Or he could ask her the one thing he’d wanted to ask since she first opened her mouth.
He went with the latter.
“Do you have a name?”
She smiled. “Actually, I have two.”
What?
She jumped out of the taxi and was gone.
Despite the loss of her, Braden chuckled at her cool reply. It was his own fault. He’d asked a smart woman the wrong question.
Just as abruptly as she’d left him, Braden’s amusement fled as he realized he’d probably never see her again. His intuition made him a successful businessman, and his intuition was telling him he’d just let a significant opportunity pass him by.
Swallowing his disappointment, he directed the cabbie to turnabout.
Braden headed toward his meeting in an even worse fucking mood than before he’d met the gorgeous American.
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