by Green, Megan
* * *
This time when I peel my eyes open, the room is pitch black, but I don’t freak out. I might be doped up on cold medicine, but I do remember waking up in Barrett’s house. The alarm clock next to me brightens the room slightly with the red numbers alerting me that it’s two o’clock in the morning.
Too bad I’m wide awake after sleeping pretty much all day long. On the upside, I’m feeling a million times better. Slowly easing myself up in bed, I shield my eyes as the bedside lamp illuminates the room. I didn’t really think that one through clearly. As my eyes slowly adjust, I spot the water bottle from earlier and quickly down its contents.
My stomach rumbles echo throughout the room.
Mmm.
I could really go for some boiling hot, salty ramen right about now. I lick my lips just thinking about it. Toss in a hard-boiled egg and some crispy bacon. My mouth salivates almost as if I can taste it. Way to go Monroe, thinking about something you obviously can’t have. Barrett doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to have packets of that sodium-laden stuff filling up his pantry, but maybe I can find a can of chicken soup or something else to fill my belly. I hope it’s Campbell’s because I don’t really want to replace a ten dollar can of fancy whatever that he probably has in there instead.
I shiver as my bare feet drop down onto the cold wood floors. I have no idea what, if any, of my things are here, so I compromise with wrapping my body in the cable knit throw draped over the end of the bed. I clutch it tight to me relishing in the warmth and softness of the blanket. If Barrett isn’t careful, this little thing is coming with me back to the motel. I could live with this thing forever.
Wherever he’s at in the house, Barrett is probably long past asleep, so I’m quiet as can be as I ease the door open. A long dark hallway greets me, and I don’t dare turn any lights on, instead I allow the bit of light from the lamp show me the way toward what I hope is the kitchen.
I tiptoe down the short hallway and I’m not the least bit surprised when I come to a staircase. I only passed a couple of doors on the way down so everything else must be downstairs.
What is surprising is what, or I guess who, greets me when my feet hit the bottom step.
Oh my gosh.
Barrett curled up on the couch with a thin blanket protecting him from the cold. I instinctively wrap the blanket tighter around my body at the sight of him.
He had me sleeping in his bed? I don’t know how to feel about that information. Not only did he take me home from the shitty motel room I was staying in, but he gave up his bed for me. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to thank him for his generosity, I can’t remember the last time someone put my needs before their own, besides when my uncle took me in.
A single tear drips down my face as I continue watching Barrett sleep. He may act like a stuck-up suit only concerned about money, but if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that he’s one of the good ones.
Too bad a relationship isn’t in the cards for me.
Or him for that matter. At least that’s the vibe he’s putting off.
I turn around, pushing the idea of food to the back of my mind. I’ll just go back upstairs and turn that flat screen on and watch some TV until I pass out again. I move quietly, hoping to not hit a creaking floorboard, but that plan backfires completely when a corner of the throw gets caught underneath my feet and I slip on the hardwood floors.
“Motherfucker!” I scream as my ass hits the floor with a bang. I wince at the pain radiating through my body and up my spine.
So much for being quiet.
Chapter Twelve
Barrett
Monroe’s full lips part, her tongue darting out to roll over the lower one, her eyes locked firmly on my cock as she lowers herself to her knees before me. Her slender hands work their way up my thighs, her eyes lifting to mine as she grabs hold of the base of my dick.
“You’re never going to forget this night.”
Her jaw drops open, her hungry mouth begging for me to…
“What the fuck?” I shout as I shoot up from the living room sofa, my heart hammering so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t leaped straight out of my chest. My eyes are wild as I flip on all the lights and scan the room, looking for the source of the crash that woke me out of a sound sleep.
And a damn good dream…
A heap of fabric catches my eye in the middle of the space behind the sofa, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what I’m looking at.
Monroe on her ass, draped in my favorite throw, covering her face as if not looking at me will somehow make the last twenty seconds disappear.
I clear my throat, letting her know the jig is up. She’s been spotted, and she may as well face the music so we can both get back to sleep.
With a heavy sigh, she drops the blanket from her face, her cheeks reddening as she slowly struggles to get to her feet. The panic I’d woken with immediately dissipates, and I move quickly around the couch to help her.
Surprisingly, she accepts my help with only a slight pause, grabbing hold of my hand and allowing me to pull her to her feet. She pulls the throw more tightly around her shoulders, her eyes falling to the floor now that we’re both awake and standing here at…
Two in the fucking morning?
My eyes dart away from the clock above the mantle and back to Monroe. “It’s the middle of the night, Monroe. What are you doing up?”
She shrugs, looking toward the kitchen. “I woke up hungry. Figured you might have a snack I could borrow. I was going to pay you back. But then I got down here and saw you sleeping there and didn’t want to risk waking you…”
I let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’d say you did a pretty lousy job at that.”
She shoots me an apologetic look, and I instantly regret the snarky remark.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, changing the subject.
Monroe gives me a slight smile. “Better, thank you. That cold medicine really did the trick. I can’t remember the last time I slept that much. I’m not sure I ever have. Which explains why I woke feeling like my stomach was about to eat itself.”
“Right, food. Let’s get you something to eat,” I say, clapping my hands together and heading toward the kitchen, grateful for a task to help ease the awkwardness that’s currently surrounding the two of us.
I flip on the light as I enter, immediately going to the cupboards and pulling them open. “What sounds good?” I ask over my shoulder.
I hear her enter the room behind me, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from glancing back to watch as I hear her lean her back against the wall. The soft fabric of her t-shirt hadn’t escaped my notice as I’d pulled her to her feet earlier, her breasts bare beneath that scrap of cloth.
And suddenly the hard-on I’d surely been sporting when I’d been ripped from sleep stirs back to life.
Calm your dick, Brooks. The girl was knocking on death’s door not even twelve hours ago. Slow your roll.
“Whatever you have is fine. I’m not picky,” she says, answering my question.
I lift my eyes back up to the cupboard, cursing myself for not having gone to the grocery store in...what was it now? Three months?
I clear my throat once again as I close the cupboard and finally turn to face Monroe. Thankfully, she has my blanket wrapped snuggly around her shoulders, and I don’t have to try and control my reaction to her being there in my kitchen. Well, not too much anyway.
“How do you feel about Ramen noodles?” I ask, wincing with embarrassment. I’m a thirty-year-old successful—at one point, at least—businessman. And all I have in my cupboards is fucking Ramen.
Monroe’s eyes light up as she looks at me. “Seriously?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’ve been a little...busy. Haven’t had time to shop in a while. I’m pretty sure the drug store a few blocks over is open twenty-four hours though. I can pop over there and grab something else. They probably don’t have a lot, but I’m sure they have more than
this.” I pull open the cupboard again and gesture to the nearly bare shelves.
Monroe shakes her head. “No, Ramen is fine. Great, actually. It’s what I was craving before I came down here. Never would have thought you’d really have some, though.”
I grin as I look at her. “I’m full of surprises, baby.”
God, that was corny.
She laughs as she pushes off from the wall and saunters over to the island. “That was a terrible line, Brooks. Even for you,” she quips, sliding her ass onto one of the bar stools as she watches me open the package of Ramen.
“Don’t hate me ‘cuz you ain’t me,” I say with a fake flip of my nonexistent hair, turning to fill a pot with water, relishing in the sound of her giggles as I go about preparing her late-night snack.
I make enough for us both, and by the time I set the steaming bowl down in front of her, I can practically hear the hunger pangs coming from her stomach clear across the room. She digs in immediately, groaning out in pleasure as the first salty bite hits her tongue.
“Oh my god, you have no idea how good this tastes,” she moans, slurping a mouthful of noodles between those beautiful lips.
Keep it together, Brooks. Remember, she’s still in recovery.
I repeat the words to myself at least a dozen times as I sit and watch her eat, my eyes never leaving her lips as she devours mouthful after mouthful. And by the time she finishes, the semi I’d been fighting has turned into a full-blown erection.
Monroe’s eyes drift over to my untouched bowl. “Not hungry?”
I nearly choke on my tongue as I swallow back the response that instantly springs to my mind. If only she knew just how hungry I am.
She lifts her gaze to mine when I don’t answer, and whatever this is that I’m feeling must be written all over my face, because her eyes darken almost immediately, her breath hitching as her eyes lock with mine.
The uncomfortable air that had passed between us before is completely gone, and in its place, something I’ve only felt once before.
The night I met Monroe at the bar.
Tension crackles between us, her eyes never leaving mine, her body instinctively leaning toward me. I’m not even sure she’s aware she’s doing it, the chemistry that exists between us so strong that it’s impossible to deny.
We were stupid for ever thinking we’d be able to work together and not fall victim to whatever this is that exists between us. Stupid for ever thinking we would be able to resist this after we’d both had a taste.
A taste I’m desperate to have again.
With Monroe’s face only inches from mine, I lift my hand and push it into her hair, pulling it back from her face and neck. My lips drop to the soft flesh of her throat, my tongue darting out for a taste.
Monroe’s breath hitches in her throat, the sudden intake of air causing her to fall into a fit of coughing.
Fuck me. What the hell am I thinking?
I slide off the stool where I’d been sitting beside her, moving to the fridge to grab her a bottle of water before carrying both of our dishes to the sink. By the time I have them rinsed and in the dishwasher, Monroe has gotten control over her coughs, her face a deep red from the exertion, and maybe something else…
“Barrett, I—”
I hold up my hand. “No need for apologies, Monroe. Or explanations. Whatever you were about to say, I don’t need to hear it. I shouldn’t have allowed that. Not when you’re still so sick.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You shouldn’t have allowed that? News flash, Barrett Brooks. You’re not the boss of me. You may be my boss in the professional sense but have no say over what I say or do when I’m off the clock. Did you see me trying to fight you? No? I didn’t think so.”
“Monroe—”
This time she cuts me off. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Call it a momentary lapse in judgment. Let’s just go back to sleep, and as soon as I can get a cab, I’ll be out of your hair.”
My brows furrow. “And where do you think you’re going?”
She looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “Um, back to my motel. Where the hell else would I go?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I may not be ‘the boss of you’ as you so eloquently put it. But I can tell you this. There’s no goddamn way that is happening.”
Her mouth falls open, whatever smartass response she’d been preparing clearly fleeing as my words catch her off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s no way in hell you’re going back to that shithole. I’ve already talked to Benton. He swung by and picked up your things and took care of checking you out of that dump. You’re staying here.”
Her spine straightens, her shoulders pulling back as she stares up at me in defiance. “Like hell I am.”
“You don’t have a choice, sweetheart.” She grimaces at the pet name, and I can’t help the smug feeling I get knowing that my words affect her even when she’s so clearly pissed at me. “You don’t have any money to go anywhere else. The prick at the motel wasn’t about to give you back the cash you paid upfront. Stupid decision, by the way.”
She bristles at my words. “Well excuse the hell out of me. Not all of us have Daddy’s money to fall back on. I did the best I could with what I had.”
“And now you can have something better. Don’t fight me on this, Monroe. You will lose.” I ignore the part about my father’s money. My parents might be wealthy, but I haven’t asked them for a single cent since I graduated college. And I don’t intend to start now.
“You can’t just storm into my life and uproot it, demanding I do what you say.”
I shrug. “I already did. Your things are in the room upstairs. You’re more than welcome to go freshen up if you’d like.”
Her eyes burn into me, and I can see all the retorts spinning in her brain, the insults she’s stockpiling, ready to release rapid fire at first chance.
I hold up a hand again. “Come on, Monroe. We’re not getting anywhere with this tonight. Go upstairs, take a shower. I know you must want one. And then try to get a few more hours of sleep. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
When Benton is here and can talk some sense into your stubborn ass, I tack on silently.
Monroe’s eyes narrow at me, and I half expect her to fight me some more. But after a moment, she shoulders her way past me, knocking into me like a bully on a playground, storming out of the room and pounding her way up the stairs.
“This isn’t over, Barrett,” she shouts just before she slams the door to my room.
Fuck no, it isn’t over.
If I have anything to say about it, it’s only getting started.
Chapter Thirteen
Monroe
Asshole!
I don’t care if Barrett can hear me or if it makes me sound like a child, but I stomp my feet as hard as possible on every single step on the way up the stairs. What makes him think he can control my life? He’s not my father, I don’t even have one of those. He definitely isn’t my boyfriend or husband. He crossed a line and muddied the waters between employee and employer today. Or I guess technically it was yesterday.
What happened between us at the bar doesn’t count. We didn’t even know who each other was at the time. There’s a reason why one-night stands stay anonymous…to keep all of the personal shit and drama out of it.
The door bangs against the wall as I push it open as hard as I can. I hope I didn’t break anything. No! I cut that line of thinking off immediately. I don’t care. What I care about is my decisions being made for me. That man downstairs is so fucking infuriating and he doesn’t even seem to understand that he did anything wrong.
Whipping my body back around, I put all of my body weight into slamming the door shut as hard and as loud as I possibly can. This is one hundred percent juvenile, but I’m beyond caring about that at this point. A large picture hanging on the wall rattles from the shockwave the door sends off. I can’t help the satisfied grin that covers my face as I t
urn away and look around the room.
A small part of me contemplates emptying out all of his dresser drawers onto the floor. But I’m not going to be that petty and immature. I have to draw a line somewhere. Besides, he did give me medicine and feed me. My fever is completely gone and I’m feeling almost back to normal. So at least he was good for something.
As my eyes travel around the room, I have to stop and do a double take.
How did I miss seeing my stuff all camped out in the corner?
Not that it would have been obvious at first glance. Three large black trash bags stuffed to the brim with “stuff” doesn’t scream luggage. I should feel embarrassed that my entire life fits in those bags or that I’m so beyond broke I can’t even afford a duffel bag, but mostly I’m just pissed. What right did either of the Brooks boys have to decide what was the right thing for me to do?
Stomping over to the corner, I make sure to pound my feet down onto the hardwood floors with as much power as I can muster. I might be on the mend, but I’m not one hundred percent there yet. My lack of energy gets the best of me as a wave of vertigo crashes over me.
If it weren’t for Barrett’s very large dresser for me to lean against, I’d probably be sprawled out face first on the floor. And that definitely would leave a mark.
“Are you going to spend all night slamming shit? I just want to know whether or not I should plan on sleeping the rest of the night?”
How did I miss him opening the door? I spin around, slowly so I don’t accidentally trip and fall, and find him standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.
He looks so smug standing there and all that does is piss me off even more. I step away from the dresser and steady myself while asking, “You know what?”
“What?”
“You’re such an arrogant dick, you know that?”
