Page 28 of The Proposal
“Vegas. It’s Blakely Evans’s birthday, and I came with Brock for the weekend. I’ll be home on Sunday.”
She pauses. “So what are your plans while you’re there?”
I twist my lips, knowing exactly what she’s asking—without asking.
“Oh, not much,” I say. “Strip club. Shots. Might get married tonight. That sort of thing.”
“Renn Patrick Brewer, don’t you even joke about such a thing. You’ll lose your contract if you so much as breathe the wrong way, and Dad has hundreds of millions of dollars tied up in this Arrows purchase—”
“I’m aware.Damn. Don’t any of you have any faith in me?”
“Is that rhetorical?”
“Call someone else the next time you think you’re living next to an apex predator.”
“I will.” She takes a breath and blows it out. “Enjoy your night.Safely.”
“Andsafelyenjoy yours.”
“Love you, Renn.”
“I love you, Bianca. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
Before I put the phone in my pocket, I enter a quick text just to piss her off.
Me: I can’t believe you’re helping your neighbor hide bodies! That’s wrong!
Sure enough, it buzzes in quick succession as I shove it in my pocket and walk out of the room.
No one is visible, and the suite is quiet. I start to check the kitchen. But just as I pass the staircase, movement catches my attention.
And then it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
Ho-ly. Fucking. Hell.
Blakely stands at the top of the stairs looking like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.
Her dress fits her like a glove that shimmers as she moves. A deep, plunging neckline showcases her breasts. The hem stops just low enough to keep it classy, capping off her toned, tanned legs that look a mile long thanks to those silver heels I found earlier.
Fuck. Me.
“Does this look okay?” she asks, running her hands down her stomach.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you come closer so I can get a better look?”
She takes her time descending the staircase, taking my hand as she reaches the bottom. It takes every ounce of power I have not to kiss the hell out of her.
My body buzzes as we make contact, skin to skin.
Big hoop earrings. Lipstick the same color as her cheeks when she blushes. She’s gathered her hair loosely at the nape of her neck, letting strands hang around her face.
I’m not mature enough for this.
“You areabsolutely beautiful,” I say, holding her hand and encouraging her to twirl. “My God, Blakely. How do you expect me not to get punched tonight?”
She giggles, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
