Page 50 of Reckless Vow

“Okay, sweetheart, you really need to shower and brush your teeth.”

I groan, covering my face with my hands, and Baldo chuckles. He jumps out of bed and uses the bathroom.

“Don’t move until I get you something to eat, and more electrolytes. I don’t want you to faint in the shower.”

Still mortified, I don’t look at him, just hum something unintelligible, hoping somewhere on the way to the kitchen he’ll lose his memory.

“Brook.” His voice comes from the door, and I peek at him with one eye. “I’m glad you feel better.”

I cover my eyes with my forearm and groan.

Was I hoping to sleep with Baldo? Ever since he entered the kitchen a couple of weeks ago, if I’m being honest. Despite my better judgment.

Was this the scenario I envisioned? Definitely not.

But here we are, and other than the embarrassing morning breath and sweaty skin, somehow this was better than any alternative.

But something tells me this is only a temporary ceasefire, not a peace treaty.

Chapter15

Baldo

The music blares like there are at least two amplifiers booming in the house. Are we hosting a concert?

I drop my briefcase in the kitchen and glimpse movement in the sitting room. Through the open double door, I watch the performance.

Brook dances, gliding around the room and jumping up and down.

She props herself on her hands on the sofa and arches her back, throwing her head back, her hair cascading down.

She’s really flexible. And now I’m thinking about the ways that flexibility could come in handy, and my cock stirs.

But before I can entertain all the things I could do with her while she’s propped up like that, she springs to her feet and glides to the side.

She looks so carefree and liberated that I catch myself smiling as I lean against the door frame and watch her.

The first time I caught her dancing, she had the music in her ears, so I couldn’t appreciate how attuned she is to the rhythm.

I’m assuming the song then was sensual. Right now she is rocking to some serious heavy metal.

And fuck, she’s adorable.

Until she notices me, and her peaceful expression turns into a scowl. She leaps to turn the music off.

“Seriously, you need to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

“Spooking me like this.”

“Okay.” I shrug.

“Okay?” she huffs, exasperated, panting after her performance.

“You’re an excellent dancer.”

My eyes trail her body clad in leggings and a tank top. Maybe I should buy her a new wardrobe that consists of oversize shirts that won’t show her curves and skin.

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