The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 38

The guards fan out. One of them combs downstairs while the other rapidly ascends the wooden spiral stairway that leads to the upper level. Brian's pulse taps a steady beat at his neck. He's not unduly worried that anyone would break in. That is the reason why he has a penthouse - for the security.

But he has had a lot of visitors. A lot of one night stands.

He hasn't been too careful in that regard. Any one of them could have ferreted out his alarm system. But they are all women anyway. He didn't think any of them were criminals.

Maybe he should buy himself a separate fuck pad. Somewhere he doesn't live.

Gus comes down the stairs. "All clear, sir."

"Good to know. I need to head out again. Thanks and sorry for the literally false alarm."

"You should get the alarm company to have a look at it Monday, sir."

For answer, Brian smiles and holds the door open.

When the security guards have taken the elevator downstairs, he arms the alarm again and exits, locking the door behind him. Aida has probably finished killing herself over her hot commander by now, but maybe he can catch Sam and the rest for drinks - provided Cassie hasn't burned the opera house down with her witchery.

He pushes the button for the private elevator - the only car available on the floor. When it arrives, he steps in. He rides all thirty-three floors down, thinking of Sam pitching to Old Man Moody and smiling. He has full confidence in her, even if she doesn't seem to have much in herself.

The elevator doors slide open and he steps out.

And collides into a woman carrying a dish.

Whatever was in that dish upturns and spills onto the woman's dress. But she manages to catch the dish before it can slide down her front and splinter into a thousand pieces upon the floor.

"Oh, oh, oh," she wails.

"I'm sorry," Brian says, reaching for the dish and righting it again. "But look on the bright side. At least we managed to save half of whatever's cooking."

If there's a glass lid to the dish, which is made out of white china, he can't find it on her, or on the floor, or anywhere else. Unless it has slid down her dress.

And what a dress.

He finds himself looking at a pretty redhead in a green gabardine dress cut to show off plenty of cleavage. And that cleavage - which immediately arrests his eyes - is now covered with a generous helping of Bolognese sauce.

She says, "Now I'm a mess."

"It goes well with your hair."

She glares at him. "Are you always this smug?"

In a corner of the ceiling, the roving security camera is trained on them.

Brian pushes open the front door of his penthouse; aware that only minutes ago, he had made up his mind to be more careful about letting strangers into his home. Still, what can an itsy-bitsy girl like her do to a big, strapping man like him?

"Come on in," he says.

"Wow." Her dark eyes sparkle.

This is the reaction he always gets when he brings someone back to his apartment for the first time. It's designed to wow. The entrance opens up to a lounge bedecked with a plush Persian carpet that cost him a hundred thousand dollars. OK, it was a gift from his aunt. Tasteful Italian furniture is set in artful arrangement, and the centerpiece is a grand piano.

"You play?" she asks.

Has he heard her voice before? Something about her seems awfully familiar.

"Only with one finger."

"And you have a whole grand piano just for that finger," she teases.

Oh, she wants him all right.