Page 35 of Code Name: Michelangelo

I checked the time and saw it was a bit after four, which meant she was probably preparing the sauce now, but it would be a couple of hours before dinner was ready. Like most New Yorkers, Penelope rarely ate before seven or eight in the evening.

Rather than interrupt her, I reopened the book I’d only gotten a few pages into and kept reading.

“Brand? Time to wake up,” I heard a soft voice say.

I opened my eyes and looked into the beautiful face of the woman who appeared regularly in my dreams. I reached out, took the hand resting on my shoulder, and brought it to my lips, knowing that a simple kiss would prove to me being here with her was real.

“Dinner will be ready soon. I thought you might want to freshen up.”

I could hear her words, but my concentration was focused solely on the way her soft skin felt on my tongue. When I turned her hand over and kissed her palm, she gasped.

“Brand.”

Her tone drew me out of my stupor. Not because she sounded angry. Instead, my name on her lips came out like a plea. Harsh reality swept over me. Regardless of my longing or hers, I couldn’t give her what she might be asking for. I’d agreed. No sex. Until she declared our friends-only pact over, I’d respect her wishes.

I squeezed her hand and let go. “Give me fifteen minutes or so?”

“Take all the time you need. Well, no more than a half hour. Okay?”

When she stepped back, I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be down in half that time. By the way, whatever you’re preparing smells fabulous.”

“Guaranteed to taste even better.” She winked, then left the room.

I found towels in the bathroom and turned on the shower. While it was spotless, creaky pipes led me to believe it hadn’t been used in some time. The water pressure was good, and it was plenty hot enough, although I could use a stream of cold to quell the desire I felt whenever I thought of Penelope. Her name alone made me hard.

After doing what was necessary to sit comfortably at dinner, I toweled off and put on a pair of trousers and a pullover. While I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t celebrate my birthday, I appreciated Penelope wanting to do something special for me. Typically, the only person I heard from was my mum, like I had earlier, due to the simple fact I’d rarely shared the date with anyone. No doubt Penelope had found out from Tara, who had found out from my mother.

I could hear jazz playing when I descended the final staircase from the second floor to the first, and the additional aromas wafting from the kitchen made my stomach rumble with hunger.

As I turned the corner, I was met with a resounding, “Surprise!” from people I was stunned to see. My mum, Tara, and her husband, Knox, were there, along with Doc and Merrigan, Ava and Aine, and their respective husbands, Razor and Striker. The only person who caused me discomfort to see was Richard Emsworth, my father.

While in prison, I’d come to grips with my resentment of the man who didn’t reveal himself as my parent until I was over eighteen. That was when I learned about the trust fund he’d set up in my name, which I saw as regret money. Rather than allow myself to rehash the negative feelings I’d felt then, I squared my shoulders and went about hugging everyone in the room and thanking them for coming.

When I got to him, I did the same, except rather than using the honorific one usually employed with a parent, I referred to him as Richard. I could not bring myself to do otherwise, no matter how many times he said he wished I’d call him Dad.

I eased out of his embrace and approached my Butterfly. “You’ve been busy. Thank you.”

She beamed. “It wasn’t easy to put this all together. I couldn’t respond to any of Tara’s questions on the plane for fear you’d peek over and see, which meant by the time we landed, I had at least twenty texts from her piled up. The main thing was to say Kade arranged for them to travel via one of K19’s planes and that they were in the air.”

At least twenty texts piled up. Is that what the giggling and lagging behind me was about? And when she left the town house earlier, believing I was asleep, had she been out gathering the elements of the spread laid out on the massive kitchen island? God, I was a wanker for the things I’d thought instead.

Her eyes scrunched. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Nothing at all,” I responded, smiling down at her and wishing I could cup her cheek and kiss her for this wonderful surprise.

“Something is.”

Unable to stop myself, I put my hand on her shoulder and rested my forehead against hers. “This is the nicest, sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She leaned closer so her mouth was near my ear. “Is Richard being here what’s bothering you? Tara insisted on inviting him.”

I shook my head. No, my issue was with the illogical assumptions I’d made about the woman I loved with all my heart without being able to share those feelings with.

“Everything is fine,” I responded.

“We’ll talk later.”

Per usual, Penelope wouldn’t relent until I fessed up to my discomfort, but could I be honest with her? What would she think of me if I told her the horrible things that had played through my mind? She deserved so much better. Thinking about it now brought me shame. She would never have done the things that, in my thoughts, I’d accused her of.

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