Keeping Her Close: A Slow Burn Standalone

by Casey Diam

  He studied her for a moment and then announced, “We have dinner reservations, so I’ll see you guys. And I’ll drop by tomorrow, Mom.”

  “Be nice to her, and don’t do anything your father would,” she warned.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?” his father probed.

  “On that note . . .” Brandon said, waving to everyone as he escorted Jordan out of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom worked here?” he asked once they reached the hall.

  “Because I didn’t know you, or what your intentions were, and I was upset with you,” Jordan answered.

  A pair of receptionists ogled them as they passed the desk, and he looked back to Jordan. “Was upset with me?”

  “I still am, but not as much. I would have come with you if you’d just asked, you know. Anyway, now I’ll have to deal with my mom asking me about someone I’m not dating. So thanks for that.” She smirked.

  “Hey, you invited her.” Brandon laughed. The automatic exit doors opened and a gush of wind encircled them. “But if you want, we could pretend to date. I’m sure she would leave you to your lonely life then.”

  “You don’t know that my life is lonely,” Jordan said, taking ahold of her hair before the wind did.

  “Are you sure about that?” Brandon asked as he stuck his foot out in front of her.

  She let out a yelp as she tripped over his shoe, but before any damage could be done, he wrapped his arms around her. With his arms around her back, and hers gripping his sides, seconds passed. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from giving her a hug. She looked like she needed one. Or maybe it was him who needed one. Either way, it felt good.

  “You’re despicable. I’m so telling your mother. I would go back up there right now if it weren’t for all the staring.”

  “Tattletale,” Brandon teased, picking up the flowers from the ground and handing them back to her. “I was trying to help you out, get your adrenaline going to warm you up.”

  “By trying to break my face? Are you crazy?” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute, were you trying to do to me what your dad did to your mom?”

  “I don’t know; are you falling for me yet?”

  Laughter escaped her pretty lips as she shook her head, and Brandon let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  By the time he was done charming her, she would be a prize for sure.

  He opened the car door and watched her ease into the black leather seat.

  “It’s so warm in here,” she gushed.

  He grinned down at her. “You like that? I turned on the car at the entrance so it would be nice and warm for you. You see, Jordan, I am, too, a gentleman.”

  “With a gigantic ego. Shocking . . .”

  Her face no longer showed the ease it had mere seconds ago. A pang of pain pushed against his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this much challenge; more accurately, he didn’t even know what the damn challenge was anymore—figuring her out, seducing her, or fucking her. One thing was for certain; he couldn’t just fuck her now that he’d introduced her to his family and met her intimidating mom in the process.

  Well, he always could, but he didn’t want to.

  The screen on his dashboard showed an incoming call from his lawyer, and he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel before giving in. “I’m sorry; I have to take this.”

  Since his presence was no longer needed on a regular basis at Sky Fast, he’d moved on to other aspirations, one of which was a real estate investment firm he’d started.

  “You said to call once I heard something.” His lawyer’s voice echoed in the car. “I have, and it’s not good. The board won’t approve it.”

  “Dammit, what the—” Brandon passed a quick glance at Jordan, not wanting to scare her when he lost his shit, which he always did when someone stood in the way of what he wanted. “Their company is going down whether they like it or not. There’s no fucking question about it, and there’s nothing for them to sit and fucking ponder about.”

  “Their lawyer said they aren’t going down without a fight, and per his client, you can take that offer and shove it up your ass.”

  Brandon’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, and he bit his tongue before he cursed again. “Listen, they want a hostile takeover? They got it. I was trying not to be an asshole, but you can let them know I’m coming after every one of their shares. And since they want to make this difficult for me, I’ll hit them from all directions. I’ll have my guy contact their shareholders tomorrow to vote in a new board of directors. All their reports indicate that they have no idea what they’re doing.” Brandon took in a deep breath and sighed. “Hey, I have company, and I’m driving, but thanks, man. Appreciate the update.” He ended the call.

  “Sorry about that. These guys have been working my patience for the longest.” Brandon looked over to see Jordan sending a text.

  “It’s okay,” she said, putting her phone away. “So, you’re a bully, too, huh?”

  “I’m not. That was just business. I’m more like a teddy bear, or a kitten everyone can’t help but love.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” Jordan quipped.

  “I am. Careful, you’re already giving me all the signs of being sucked in by my charms, and I don’t know if I’m ready to catch you if you fall.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. You are not even my type, Brandon Kuvat.”

  He thought about her comment, and he wanted to believe her. She’d brushed off everything nice he’d attempted to do, but he had a feeling it was all a front. He’d been taking note of the simple things she must not have realized spoke volumes—like how she’d said she would have helped him if he’d asked her to accompany him to the hospital in the first place, the way she’d introduced him to her mother, and how she’d said she didn’t mind staying in a room full of strangers. All of that had been for him.

  The valet took his car, and a woman in a pristine suit greeted them at the door, calling for the waiter on a small microphone attached to her collar. In seconds, an Italian waiter guided them to a window table overlooking the streets and nearby stores.

  Jordan gripped the back of the chair, but Brandon covered her hand with his and peeled her fingers away. She stiffened as his other hand clasped her waist.

  Inhaling, he grinned. Hmm . . . someone’s affected by my touch.

  Jordan took the white napkin from the place setting and folded it across her lap. Had Brandon really pulled out her chair? Then she backtracked . . . he’d also opened car doors, the restaurant door, and offered to assist her out of his car. There had to be two sides to this man, because the one sitting across from her was not the same as the one she’d met a few days ago.

  “Would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?” the waiter asked.

  “Water, please,” Jordan said, looking up.

  Eyes still glued to Jordan, Brandon said, “The same for me.”

  As soon as the waiter walked away, she addressed Brandon’s intense gaze. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

  He smiled, and the lighting accentuated the gleam in his green eyes. Why does he have to be so attractive?

  “Just wondering if you had any suggestions.”

  She picked up the menu, but there was no way she could think straight under his scrutiny. “It’s my first time here. I was wondering the same thing.”

  “Right. How about we start with champagne?”

  She smiled and set the menu down. “Champagne? What are we celebrating?”

  “Health, strength, and new friendships, but mainly you coming out with me tonight. Thank you for that.”

  Feeling shy, she lowered her gaze. It had been a while since she’d dated—only this wasn’t a date. But why would he be so kind if it wasn’t a date? He had to be pretending, trying to gain her acceptance.

  “You’re welcome, and champagne sounds good.”

  Brandon signaled the waiter, and within minutes, Jordan was consuming champag
ne like she was on a mission to get drunk. And since she wasn’t a huge drinker, the whole thing made no sense. Was she that nervous about getting to know Brandon?

  “How long have you lived in Santa Clarita?” he asked.

  “Since I was fifteen. That’s about . . .” She inhaled deeply, the rise of her chest causing her breasts to push against the low neckline of her dress. “Eleven—twelve years.”

  A sly grin formed on his lips. “You realize you just told me your age, right?”

  Picking up the champagne flute, she asked, “Is that funny?”

  “Not at all. It’s just, most women lie about their age. Some want to be younger, some older, some don’t mention it at all.”

  “It’s not something I’m ashamed of. It’s a simple reminder that I no longer have to listen to anyone but myself,” Jordan explained.

  “I take it you’re single, as well.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, for one, your mom sort of pointed it out. And two, you said you don’t have to listen to anyone. Three, there’s no way a man would let his woman go to dinner with a guy like me, dressed like that.” Brandon pointed to her.

  “Okay, Mr. Cocky, I’m going to take that as a compliment, and yes, I guess you’re right. I am single, but that’s only if you don’t hit on me.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “And if I do hit on you?”

  “I’m in a serious relationship with Tony, and we are very happy together.” When he looked at her with wide eyes, she beamed. It sounded crazy now that she’d said it aloud, but she continued. “I’m very satisfied with him.” Now Tony sounded like her dildo. She supposed it was about time that she named the thing. She folded her lips, hoping he didn’t ask if Tony resided inside her nightstand. She didn’t know him well, but from what she’d gathered so far, it seemed like a very Brandon thing to say.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Nothing.”

  “I have an idea, but I won’t be the one to say it.”

  “Good. We can move on to the next topic then.”

  Brandon grinned. “What are you having? I suggest we do the six-course Chef’s Signature Tasting Menu.”

  After she nodded her agreement, Brandon placed the order, and she made the waiter aware of her allergy to nuts. She’d forgotten her epinephrine, and she didn’t want a premature ending to the night, because to her surprise, the night was actually going well.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this with me?” Brandon goaded. “It’s a lot of food. Basically grown-man things.”

  “Is that so? Then why are you having it?”

  He laughed. “Oh, look who has jokes now.”

  He looked at her over the rim of his glass as he drank. “If I had known you had dimples the first day I met you, I would have stayed and bothered you much longer. And I know we agreed to move on from Tony, but if he wants to stop me from pursuing you, he should know he’s no match for me—in any shape or form.”

  His words stirred a deep longing, causing her cheeks and body to flame.

  Then he continued as if he hadn’t noticed the fire he lit in her. “So where did you live before age fifteen?”

  Raising her champagne glass, she welcomed the cool fizziness hitting her tongue and sliding to the back of her throat. “Nebraska. In a small town.”

  “Really? I would never have known. Are you more of a country girl, or do you prefer the city?”

  “The city. A fast-paced lifestyle soothes me. But I like Nebraska. I go there sometimes, mostly to relax and unwind. It’s small and welcoming. Christmas is never the same unless I’m there. My grandparents still live there.”

  “I suppose you’re going this year? What do you like about a smaller town?”

  Her gut tightened at the genuine interest he seemed to have in her. “Definitely going. I haven’t seen my grammy in two years. And I like that everyone looks out for each other. It’s pure. It’s not about what you own. You know, like, who has the biggest house, or the most expensive car. It’s . . . humbling.”

  Brandon chewed his lip as the waiter placed the first course of their meal in front of them. Now she was the one admiring him. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top few buttons of the white dress shirt beneath his three-piece suit remained open.

  “You should eat. It’s not the same when it’s cold,” he said, giving her a mischievous smile. “You call her Grammy?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “How old are you again?”

  She glared at him. “Whatever. What do you call your grandmother?”

  “Mrs. Kuvat.”

  “No, you don’t. Liar.” Since her appetite was missing, she sipped from her glass. She should have been starving; her last meal had been more than seven hours ago. “How old are you, by the way?”

  “Thirty, and no, I’m not looking for a baby mama.” He flashed her a sexy grin, and her stomach knotted. “It’s a joke, but you’d be surprised.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Brandon did seem like the kind of guy girls go for, and she was finding that she also really liked him. Two glasses of champagne and her control was dissipating.

  “Well, don’t be surprised when I say you’d be the last person I’d make father of my child. As I said, you’re not my type.”

  She’d been lying—to herself and him—all night. He was her type in every way; that’s what scared her the most, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “If women really make offers like that, why don’t you have any kids?” she asked. “You’re thirty years old. You should have at least three by now.”

  He grimaced. “Many women have offered to have my child—or worse, poked holes in condoms. Seriously, it’s crazy. My sex life has lost excitement because I’m always trying to protect my—oh, sorry. Going in the wrong direction with this.” He chuckled. “Do you have kids?”

  Jordan shook her head. Something told her he wasn’t your average Joe.

  “I’m a busy guy, and a woman has never held my interest long enough to start that kind of relationship,” he continued. “After . . .” He dropped his head and shook it after a moment. “I mean, I never wanted to. When I have kids, I want to be ready. I need to be able to watch their every move and make sure they don’t have the freedom to possibly turn out like me.” He drank the rest of the champagne in his glass and summoned the waiter.

  She smiled to lessen the tension as she sensed a change in his mood. Were kids a touchy topic or something? “So you’re going to be one of those strict dads?”

  Brandon nodded. “Yup, I’m going to be their father, friend, teacher, and bodyguard. Whatever it takes to keep them away from these bad kids on the streets—me being a prime example.”

  Jordan giggled. “Wow, you’re serious. Did you turn out that bad?”

  With a smirk, he said, “A decent woman doesn’t want a guy with commitment issues—like you, for example. So even though I’ve been living a promiscuous lifestyle, my kids will have an unsoiled reputation. No sex until eighteen.” He held up a finger. “Sorry, I said the S-word. But yeah, if it’s a girl, thirty.”

  Oddly touched by his admission, Jordan waved off his apology. Sex with a stranger wasn’t up her alley, and neither were one-night stands or casual sex. There was no hope for this to be anything but dinner. He’d just clarified that for her. But her main question was to herself: When had she started thinking she wanted it to be more?

  “What you’re saying is impossible,” she told him. “Kids rebel against rules.”

  “Ten years from now, I’ll create a tracking device used in the body.” His face lit up. Apparently, he thought he was on to something. “It will have sensors that can be programmed, and also a lie detector, to notify when a lie is being told or the person isn’t where they’re supposed to be, so parents won’t have to worry. It’s perfect, and it’s going to be a success. Just wait for it.”

  “That’s so silly. I need to warn you, you’re not giving a very good second impression,�
�� Jordan said, taking a drink.

  “Sorry if I sound strange, ranting away. I’m not usually this open when I go on dates. But then, this isn’t a date so . . . I don’t have to waste time being charming and impressive. It’s kind of great, actually!” He laughed.

  Shit, he wasn’t pretending, and she guessed he didn’t know how charming his honesty made him. “You’re like a twelve year old stuck inside of a thirty year old, you know that?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s probably why I still look like I’m twenty, and you, well . . .”

  “I hope you get someone pregnant,” Jordan retorted.

  “Ah, blasphemy! Knock on wood, woman.” He set his fork down and gave her his full attention. “That is just mean. You know, I think you know enough about me. Matter of fact, too much. Let’s hear about the excitement that goes on in Ms. Jordan’s world, starting with why you’re consuming more champagne than food.”

  “Oh crap, that’s three whole glasses. It’s no wonder I was feeling so at ease with you.” Jordan eyed her empty glass as if the contents had been poured down her throat against her will.

  “Uh, hello, my great conversational skills?” Brandon chuckled. “But really, you should eat a bit more. We’re on the fifth course, and you’ve only been picking bits out of each one so far. You know what happens when a lady gets tipsy from more champagne than food. I’d rather you hit on me while you’re sober, just saying.”

  “You wish.” She felt a wide smile on her face, along with the rising need to have him. He was the first person in years she’d considered being with. But it couldn’t happen, not after all he’d revealed. He was bad for her.

  “Come on, tell me about you. Who’s this woman sitting across from me?”

  “I’d much rather talk about you. I need enough dirt to roast you if you ever disrespect me again,” she said, eating a bite and setting her fork on the plate.

  “Roast me? Are you the type?” he asked, calling the waiter over. “You don’t look it. Let’s see. Tell me if I’m right or wrong. You live for your career.”

  She nodded. She had a goal, and she wouldn’t stop until she fulfilled it. “It makes me independent, and I love what I do.”