“Piper.”
I rolled onto my side so I could face Brock. He turned his head, his eyes meeting mine.
“Move back.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“Move back to Philadelphia,” he said. He rolled toward me and propped himself up on an elbow. “I want to be with you.”
I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. He couldn't be serious. He'd seen how his parents had been at the wedding. There was no way he could tell anyone we were dating. I was already Reed's dirty little secret, I didn't need to be anyone else's. It didn't matter if I thought he was sweet. I'd be a joke, and then I'd be something worse.
I had no doubt the Michaels family would hire a private investigator who wouldn't have to look far to find out what I was. Once they did, it'd all be over. Just because he knew what I was didn't mean he wanted anyone else to know.
“Hey.” He brushed the back of his hand across my cheek. “I don't care what anyone says or thinks. I want to be with you.”
“I don't know,” I said, uncertainty in my voice. How could someone like him want to be with someone like me?
A determined light came into his eyes as he correctly read the reason behind my hesitation. “Then I'll prove it to you.”
Chapter 7
“Say that again?” I stared at Brock.
He was propped against a stack of pillows, stark naked, and grinning down at me where I was stretched out, recovering from our second round of vigorous sex. I tried to move, and felt the aching in my muscles. I was definitely going to be sore tomorrow.
“We're having a family dinner tomorrow evening to welcome back Reed and Britni. I want you to come with me.”
Part of me wanted to ask why two very wealthy people had only gone on a short honeymoon, but I refrained. It wasn't any of my business, and I really didn't want Brock getting the idea I was overly interested in his brother-in-law. So, I focused on the part of those two statements that concerned me.
“Why in the world would you want me to come to your family dinner?”
Brock moved so that he was laying on his stomach, his feet on the pillows and his head next to mine. His face was uncharacteristically serious. “I told you, Piper, I want to be with you. Part of that means I’ll want you to come to boring family functions and keep me company so I don't go insane.”
I gave him a skeptical look.
He reached over and took my hand. Raising it to his lips, he kissed my knuckles. “Piper, what's it going to take for you to believe I want us to be together?”
I didn't answer because I didn't know. All of this was happening so fast. It was supposed to be a simple weekend. Let Brock apologize for something I didn't remember, buy me some things, get some money, enjoy making Reed squirm and then go back to Vegas. Nothing was supposed to really change. And I certainly wasn't supposed to end up staying longer to hang out with Reed's brother-in-law.
Brock's fingers tightened around mine and for a moment, I had the crazy thought that he knew what I was thinking. I leaned forward and brushed my lips across his.
“Look, it's all just a lot to take in.” I moved closer so that the lengths of our bodies were touching. “You asked me to come out here as a date to apologize for...” I let my voice trail off for a moment. “I wasn't expecting this.”
“You weren't expecting me to like you?” Brock asked.
I shook my head. “I wasn't expecting me to like you.” I flushed. He was asking a lot of me and deserved to know at least this part of the truth. “I thought you were...”
“Like every other guy who hires strippers for bachelor parties?” he finished the sentence. “Or like the assholes who come to The Diamond Club?”
I hesitated. How was I supposed to tell him that's exactly what I'd thought?
“I was one of those assholes who went to The Diamond Club,” he admitted. “And when I asked you to be my date, I did it because I was sorry. Also because you're gorgeous and we'd look good together at the wedding.” He gave me a childish grin. “It didn't hurt that I knew it'd piss my sister off that I brought someone I met in Vegas. She keeps trying to set me up with Rebecca.” He made a face. “That's weird, right?”
I nodded. “Definitely.”
He grew somber again. “Then we hung out together and I realized I was enjoying spending time with you.” He brushed hair back from my face, letting his fingers linger on my cheek. “And our little encounter in the janitor's closet proved we have great sexual chemistry.”
“So that automatically means I should come to dinner at your parents' house?” Now I was getting nervous. When he said everything like that, his actions seemed completely logical and my brain wanted to know why I was arguing.
“No,” he said with a smile. “That means you should move back here so we can be together. You should come to dinner for two reasons. One, it'll annoy the hell out of my sister and Rebecca. Two, I told you I'd prove to you that I wanted to be with you. What better way to do that than for me to introduce you to my parents as my girlfriend.”
I was pretty sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights. How had we gone from wedding date slash apology to girlfriend? Okay, we'd fucked, but somehow Brock didn't strike me as the type who required someone to be his girlfriend before he'd have sex. According to Anastascia, he preferred not to have any strings attached.
“Or I could say we're dating and leave the label alone.” The look he gave me said he understood what I was thinking. “Either way, I want them to know that you aren't some one-date fling.”
I sighed. He was being very persistent and charming, a dangerous combination. I threw out my last protest, which, now that I thought about it, I probably should have used first since it was entirely practical.
“I don't have anything to wear.” I realized how whiney that sounded and clarified, “I brought a couple changes of casual clothes for the trip and the outfit I wore to the club. The only other thing I have to wear is the dress from the wedding.”
“Well then.” He grinned and sat up. “I guess that means we're going shopping.”
I didn't really believe he intended to take me shopping until we were walking into Macy's. I'd been there before, of course, but only to stare at the elaborate architecture and imagine what it must be like to be able to shop there. I'd heard the pipe organ play once and had never forgotten it, the sheer number of pipes surrounding the upper floor still astounded me.
“This way,” Brock sounded amused.
“I forgot how amazing this place was,” I said as we walked toward the section of the store that would have the appropriate clothes. Though I wasn't entirely sure what constituted appropriate for meeting – or re-meeting – the parents of the guy I was sleeping with but not exactly dating even though he wanted me to move back to Philadelphia so we could be together. The run-on sentence made my head hurt.
“How can we help you?”
A pair of women approached us as soon as we were within a few feet of the right section. The one who'd spoken was a tall blonde. The other was a shorter redhead, though her hair was more auburn than mine. Both of them were staring at Brock like he was something good to eat. It was on the tip of my tongue to confirm that he was, indeed, delicious, but something stopped me.
This was a chance, I thought. An opportunity to see if what Anastascia had said was true. If Brock was the kind of man my friend said he was, his behavior here would show it.
“My girlfriend needs something for our dinner tonight with my parents.” He pulled me closer and slid his arm around my waist. “We want it to be something special.”
The women both turned toward me, the expressions on their faces thinly disguised jealousy. It took me a moment to realize they were jealous of me, of the fact that Brock hadn't given either of them a second look. Something warm and pleasurable squirmed in my stomach. I'd never had anyone be jealous of me before, especially not over a guy.
“Let's get you some things to try on.” The blonde offered me a
fake smile.
I nodded, then glanced up at Brock, a mischievous streak rising up. “Do you want me to model them for you?”
He gave me a roguish grin. “In that case, can we get some lingerie too?”
I playfully smacked his arm and followed the women to the dressing rooms.
What followed felt like something out of a movie montage, minus the bubbly pop song and quick intercuts.
The saleswomen gave me snazzy business suits that would've been great if I'd been trying for a job interview. Those were followed by dresses that screamed jail bait, and even a couple that would've been more suited to a cougar than someone in their twenties. Each of these poor choices was met by scoffing laughter from Brock and a demand that they try harder. I wasn't sure if I was the only one who thought they were deliberately trying to make me look frumpy in front of Brock, but what I did know was he didn't respond to any of the subtle or not-so-subtle flirting being sent his way.
When they finally started giving me good outfits, I noticed a minute change in their approach. They were no longer trying to make me look bad, but rather asked questions about Brock and me. How we'd met. How long we'd been dating. Was it serious? I could sense their frustration when I kept my answers intentionally vague. I'd spent too much time over-hearing the girls at school talk about how they would get friendly with a crush's girlfriend, using her to find out information they'd then use to steal the boyfriend away. If they were going to seduce Brock, they would do it without my help.
I came out of the dressing room in a cute little black dress, feeling like this was the one. When Brock's eyes lit up, I knew I was right. He stood and came over to me.
“I don't know, babe. I might not be able to make it through dinner without tearing that off of you.”
I smiled. “If that's the case, I might need to get some lingerie after all.”
“No modeling,” he said as he pulled me toward him, his hands on my waist. “Not here anyway. Let's save that for when we're alone.”
His gaze was fixed on me, lust and desire burning in his eyes. I didn't see a trace of deception on his face and he hadn't even looked twice at the saleswomen. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, this could work.
Chapter 8
I wasn't regretting that Brock wanted to bring me to family dinner, and I certainly wasn't thinking about how Reed and his new bride would be there, all aglow and shit from their strangely short honeymoon. But I was nervous as hell when Brock opened the door to the town car we were taking to his parents' place. I was still asking myself why I'd agreed to this when we pulled up in front of a huge house that looked like it had been around since the city's founding. I didn't need anyone to tell me that it cost more than my entire building in Vegas. Brock took my hand as we walked up the front steps, but he didn't say anything and I wondered if he was as nervous as I was. If he was, he didn't show it.
He greeted his parents with a warm hello and asked if they remembered me. When they were too shocked to answer, he walked right past them, taking me with him. The Stirlings were already there, with the exception of the guests of honor, and they didn't look any more happy to see me than the Michaels had been. Rebecca looked downright put out, which pleased me and made the anxiety worth it.
We made small talk as we waited, but Brock always made sure it steered clear of anything I might be uncomfortable answering. I waited for Rebecca to get in a few pointed barbs, but she appeared to be saving them for later and contented herself with glaring at me while she sipped on a glass of wine.
Before things got too awkward, Reed and Britni arrived. I caught a glimpse of surprise flashing across Reed's eyes before it was gone again, but it made sense that he was able to hide it so quickly. I already knew he was a good liar.
Britni recognized me too and gave me a glare so angry I wondered if Reed had told her about us. A quick glance at him said he hadn't, and her anger was probably because she thought her brother had brought a prostitute to family dinner.
As we made our way into the dining room, I unintentionally discovered the reason for the short honeymoon.
“I really wish you would've taken the extra time off of work.” Mrs. Stirling didn't even try to conceal the disapproval in her voice as she spoke to Reed. “It was your honeymoon, after all.”
“You know my company's at a critical stage right now,” Reed answered in a tone that suggested he'd offered this explanation a million times before. “I can't leave for a whole week or more until it's stable. Britni and I discussed it and decided that, rather than postpone the wedding, we'd put off the honeymoon for a couple months.”
Mrs. Stirling pursed her lips. “I hope you intend to take your wife someplace nice then. No woman is okay with giving up her honeymoon.”
Most women wouldn't be okay with marrying someone who didn't love her either, I thought, but Britni had done that. Maybe it was a rich person thing. I just didn't get it.
We took our seats around the dining room table and I tried not to stare when someone in a starched white apron came in to serve us. Anastascia's family had a housekeeper who would clean their place a few times a week, but they'd cooked for themselves and she couldn't imagine them having someone serving their meals.
“This must be quite a change for you,” Rebecca broke through the quiet murmurings that had been the conversation through the first course of the meal. I didn't even have to look at her to know she was talking to me. She continued without waiting for a response. “Aren't you used to being on the other side of the table?”
“Rebecca.” Mrs. Stirling's heart didn't seem to be in the chiding.
“Did she tell you, Brock, that she grew up here? Poor.” She practically sneered.
“Actually, yes,” he answered without a pause. “Piper told me everything.”
Either he believed I hadn't left anything out or he was a better actor than I'd given him credit for. He answered her without batting an eye.
“You must be enjoying this then,” Mrs. Michaels interjected smoothly. “The chance to see how the other half lives.”
I didn't need her to say the other part of the statement. I knew it already. Before you go back to where you belong. I remembered a movie I'd watched as a teenager. Poor boy saves rich girl's life and gets to have dinner with the important people, most of whom are determined to make sure he knows his place. He'd gotten the girl for a little while, but the story hadn't ended well for him. I just hoped that wasn't going to be the case here.
“You have a lovely home.” I gave the Michaels a polite smile. “So much space.”
“I suppose you and your dozen half-brothers and sisters all shared a one room apartment, right?”
My smile tightened and Brock put his hand on my back. Across the table, Reed stiffened, though I couldn't tell if it was because of his sister's comment or Brock's touch.
“Our apartment had two bedrooms,” I replied stiffly. “And it was just my mother and me before she died.”
“I'm sorry to hear she passed,” Mrs. Michaels said.
I wasn't sure I believed her.
“That's unusual,” Rebecca continued. “Isn't it? Someone like your mother not having a dozen kids from different men.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Then again, you're following in her footsteps, aren't you? And you don't have any kids.” She smirked. “That we know of.”
I stood. “Excuse me.”
I heard Brock say my name, but I didn't acknowledge it or stop walking. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I knew it was away from the dining room. As soon as I saw a set of French doors leading outside, I went through them. I didn't care if they went to the front or back of the house. I wanted fresh air and solitude.
I stepped out into what looked like a garden. Leave it to rich people to turn their backyard into a garden rather than keeping it somewhere kids could play. I supposed the Michaels could've done it after Brock and Britni had grown up, but I doubted it. They seemed like the kind of people who wouldn't want to deal
with the mess that came from outside play.
I took a deep breath of the warm early summer air. It was well past seven, closing in on eight, but dusk was only just settling. If I hadn’t been escaping from a room of horrid rich bitch snobs, I might have enjoyed it.
“Piper.”
Brock's voice came from behind me but I didn't turn to face him. His arms slid around my waist and I leaned back against his chest.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head. “It wasn't your fault. Rebecca's a bitch. Always has been. Usually, I can take it, but...” My voice trailed off.
“But this was about your mother,” he finished the thought for me.
I nodded.
“It might not be my fault, but I'm still sorry you're hurt.” He kissed my temple.
I turned around in his arms and put my hands on his shoulders. “Do you see now why I can't move back here?” My eyes met his. “Why this can't work?”
“I don't believe that.”
“They're never going to see me as anything but trash, even if they never find out how we really met, although you know they will.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “It doesn't matter how I dress, or if I learn all the nice buzz words that people in your social circle use. I'm not one of you, and I never will be.”
He kept one hand on my waist while the other cupped my chin, holding my face in place as he spoke, his voice intense. “Fuck them. I don't care what my parents think and if they try to make me choose, I'll choose you. I'm not going to let their close-minded prejudices make me miss out on the chance for happiness.”
My heart constricted almost painfully. He was choosing me over family. How could I not at least try to see if this could be something? I touched his face, trying to see if he words were real. “Okay.” I gave in. “I'll consider moving back.”
Brock's face lit up and he lowered his head. The kiss was rough, his mouth moving against mine almost forcefully. It was more than just wanting. This was needing. A hunger I felt myself catching. I slid my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer, pressing my body against his. The hand on my waist dropped to my ass and the one holding my chin moved around to bury itself in my hair.