Page 18 of How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

They would garner attention, but it would be therightsort of attention.

The hope was that the PR campaign and the rebranding exercise would, finally, dilute the interest in his parents fast-paced and over-the-top lives, and their still recent deaths. More than a few journalists had, over the years, blown up minor incidents in his and Digby’s lives, trying to show that he and his brother were like Gil and Zia. Digby’s escapades—fast cars, boats and bikes and his one-date love life—garnered attention but nothing he did was ever, thank God, salacious. Or smarmy.

Scandal sold papers, but Radd was determined to show the world they were apples that had fallen very, very far from the family tree.

Along with a couple of personal interviews he intended to give to trusted journalists, the world would see that he and Digby were serious, responsible and restrained. That the Tempest-Vanes could be trusted again.

Damn you, Gil and Zia.

Radd rubbed his jaw and hauled in a deep breath, seeking calm. Thinking about his parents reminded him of his need to remain numb. Feelings, he’d decided a long time ago, were counterproductive. Love was a mirage, a myth and a lie.

Besides, Brinley wasn’t his type.

He was repeating himself. Again. He obviously needed more sleep and so, he presumed, did she.

Responding to his squeeze of her shoulder, Brin slowly opened her eyes and Radd was briefly reminded of that photo of the Afghan Mona Lisa, the girl with the light green eyes in her dark face. Brin’s skin tone was much lighter, but her eye color was as intense, splashes of light in her face.

Gorgeous.

“What time is it?” Brin asked, her voice sexy with sleep.

“Just after six,” Radd replied as she swung her long legs off the couch. She stretched and the hem of her T-shirt rose an inch, maybe two, revealing a strip of smooth skin. He wanted to put his mouth on that strip, nudging the shirt up with his nose to find her breast, her nipple.

Or go lower…

Radd cursed and tipped his head back to look at the high ceiling. It was going to be a long, long day, but by this afternoon she’d be on his plane. Then he’d be able to forget her and her irritating effect on him.

Yet the thought of her leaving left a bitter taste in his mouth. That had to be because Brin’s company was preferable to Naledi’s and her father’s, to that of the guests he had yet to meet.

Brin stood up and bent down to touch her toes, wrapping her arms behind her knees and pushing her pert bottom in the air. Oh, hell, she was bendy…

Not what he needed to know.

“Did you sleep here last night?”

Yeah, he understood he was being rude, but rude was better than taking her in his arms, lowering her to the couch and doing several things to her he was pretty sure this couch, or this room, had never seen. Or maybe, knowing his guests, it had.

“I finished around two,” Brin said, unfurling her long body and standing up straight. She placed her hand over her mouth to cover her yawn. She looked past him to the bouquets of flowers on the table. “What do you think?”

There was that note of insecurity in her tone again, the silent wish to be reassured. Normally he would ignore it, but Brin had done a great job and what would it hurt to tell her so? “They look amazing,” he truthfully answered.

Brin’s eyes locked on his as a hopeful smile touched her lips. “Really? Honestly?”

“I never say things I don’t mean.”

Brin walked over to the table, pulled out a cream rose only to jam it back into the same spot. “I’m not happy with the balance of this one.”

Radd put his hand over hers and pulled it away from the arrangement. Goosebumps raised the hair on his arms and blood flowed south, tenting his pants. And all because he was holding her hand. Could he be any more ridiculous? Radd dropped her hand and, to keep from reaching for her and showing her how much he appreciated her efforts in a more basic, biblical way, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Brin stepped away from the table and turned her back on the flowers. “Full disclosure, I didn’t follow the exact instructions of the original florist. She wanted more structured arrangements, but I think these work a lot better, especially now that I’ve seen the interior of Kagiso Lodge. It’s beautiful, luxurious, but it’s not rigid, or fussy. So, I followed my instincts.”

And they were spot-on. Speaking of instincts, his instincts were yelling that they’d be great in bed together…

Tempest-Vane! For God’s sake.

“But Naledi might not appreciate her original designs being changed. Maybe I should change them back, tone them done.”

No damn way! “For every flower you move, I’ll deduct ten grand off your payment.” Radd told her, his tone suggesting that she not argue. “You’ve already lost ten thousand because you moved that one flower.”

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