Page 39 of Tied Up in Riches

Brooke winces at the mention of her mother, and I feel the urge to redirect the moment. “Thank you, Joseph,” I say, taking the keys from him and reminding myself of my role. With my free hand, I graze Brooke’s lower back, only enough to encourage her toward the elevators. She tenses at my touch but not enough that anyone else would have noticed. Her body relaxes under my hand with her first steps, and she glances over her shoulder.

“See you for dinner, Dad?”

“Sure thing, sweetie. Go get settled in. Meet me in the lobby at 8?”

“Okay.”

With that, even though my hand is still connected to the thin fabric of her tank top, she guides me toward the elevator. She taps on the “4” and once I’m inside with the bags, she stares at the stainless steel doors as they close us in.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“About?” I shift my gaze to catch hers but she’s picking at her light pink fingernail. Weird. I don’t think I’ve seen her nails painted since I’ve met her. Maybe I didn’t notice.

“I didn’t think about the bed situation.”

I chuckle. “I think we can manage.”

“About that.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t even pack pajamas. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it. I’m not a very good planner.”

“You planned an entire successful book event.”

“That was important to me.”

“I take it pajamas aren’t?”

“Not so much.”

Fucking hell. Does that mean she’s been sleeping naked in my bed every night–not even a scrap of fabric dividing us on the other side of the wall? “Lucky for you, I am a planner. I’m sure I have an extra shirt you can borrow.”

“Thanks, Marcus. For all of this.”

“You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze longer than my dick wishes I would, thankfully broken by the elevator jolting to a stop. The doors open with a whoosh to a hallway covered with tan chevron carpet. Our room happens to be the one directly in front of us. I pull the key from its pocket, tapping it against the black box next to the door before pushing through it.

I pull the suitcases into the space in time to watch Brooke toss herself dramatically onto the white comforter, her feet hanging off the edge as she stares at the ceiling. A fresh smile lights her face as her eyelids flutter closed.

“That good, huh?”

“Just a glimmer. Nothing like a freshly made hotel bed, you know?”

“Not really. I’ve spent a lot of time in hotels in the past few years. My bed is what I look forward to.”

“Sorry.” Her smile fades. “I’ve been holding it hostage from you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, maybe after this trip, we will be pros at sharing a bed and you can move off the couch.” Her words flow with innocence when I wish they were anything but. I debate making a joke, but not knowing how she’d react keeps me from it. “I guess it depends if you snore.”

“No snoring here. Hope you don’t mind my mid-night kicking, though,” I tease, feeling weird about being somewhat relaxed in this situation.

“Not at all,” she plays. “A perfect way to test my self-defense skills. If I can’t protect myself in my sleep, what even was the point in all those Muay Thai classes?”

Taking off my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, I sit on the edge of the bed and twist back to look at the beautiful girl sprawled out behind me. “Impressive. Seems Thailand was good for you.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, sitting and kicking off her Nikes to sit criss-cross on the mattress. “Thai Brooke is the best Brooke.”

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