Unsure of how to answer, I glance at Brooks for help, but he shrugs. “He is extremely attentive to my wants and needs.”
“Oh my,” Shea says, fanning himself. “If only I had tits like yours, dear…or if Brooks still had a thing for older, dashing men.”
Hattie chortles. “Or for drag queens.”
Eyes widening, my mouth drops open. “Are you quite serious?” I ask, sending Hattie and Shea into peals of uncontrollable laughter.
“That’s enough,” Brooks says sternly, but the twinkle in his eyes lets me know he doesn’t mind their teasing. “Give Charlotte some space and time to eat before I drop some much-needed knowledge on this crowd.”
“Such a pleasure to meet you, dear.”
“Hope Brooks brings you back again.”
“I do, too,” I reply faintly.
Satisfied that I’ve been properly hazed, Hattie and Shea direct their attention elsewhere.
I lean on Brooks a little, relishing the feel of his hard body against mine. “I’m afraid that I don’t have experience with this sort of thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Them. Me. Anyone.” I frown. “I’m botching this, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re honest and real, something that’s very, very rare…and precious.”
I swear my knees get weak. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
His gaze falls to my mouth. “Anything for you, Princess.”
Nervously, I lick my bottom lip. “Please don’t call me that here.”
He smiles and my heart slams against my chest because it’s not seductive or wicked…it’s nice, kind, and friendly. “Anything for you, Charlotte.”
I spend the rest of dinner, eating with and listening to my tablemates. They’re wonderful, full of life and a have a love of the performing arts. I don’t contribute much to the conversation, and, thankfully, no one pressures me to do so.
Not even Brooks, who I can tell thrives on the energy of it all.
Brooks touches my knee. “I have to give my talk now.”
“Go on, Brooks,” Shea says, waving him away. “We’ll take very good care of your precious Charlotte.”
“However, we can’t guarantee that we’ll give her back. She’s such a good listener,” Hattie says, scooting her chair closer to me.
Feeling rather giddy, I smile encouragingly. “Go on. I want to hear what you have to say.”
“That makes one of us,” Hattie all but shouts. “I just like looking at him.”
I bite back a laugh and watch as Brooks makes his way to the lectern that’s been set up for him. In one fluid movement, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his phone. I can only assume he keeps his notes on it.
He begins speaking, thanking The Booth Club and its members for inviting him to discuss topics near and dear to his heart. I can’t tear my gaze from him as he charms the audience and makes them laugh while discussing very serious issues like free speech and libel laws. He’s engaging and at times self-deprecating.
I can see where his family’s chosen profession has influenced him. He’s a natural, so poised and extremely intelligent. The rapier wit that I’ve only experienced via YouTube is on full display tonight as he takes time for a brisk question and answer session.
“The speech you and I hate the most is the speech that must be protected at all costs. When you give people the chance to expose themselves, they will and you can make the decision whether or not to support them,” he replies in answer to a question about limiting speech that one finds offensive. “The real kicker, the one thing that you don’t seem to consider in this, is that right now someone finds you offensive. In fact, I find your question offensive. Should your speech be chilled because of that? What about the truth? It’s always been a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow we must.”
That sets off a few titters around the room, including ones from Hattie and Shea.
“If you tell the truth every time, you have nothing to fear. People are smarter than we give them credit for. They can figure out what passes the smell test on the Internet, without our interference. I’m assured of this by a quote from Lincoln when he commanded the starship Enterprise: Live long and boldly go to Hogwarts where Darth Vader learned the dark arts from Gandalf.” He smiles and winks at the audience.
They laugh and practically jump to their feet, clapping for him.
“Thanks for having me tonight. It’s been an honor.” He moves away from the lectern only to be engulfed by a small crowd of people. I hang back at the table, automatically looking for Peter. He’s close by, standing directly behind me.
“Everyone loves a good show,” Hattie says, and Shea joins us. They walk with me across the dining room. “Brooks is a natural politician. Thank God we have him on our side.”
My brows crash together. “But he’s not in politics.”
“That’s the point,” Hattie replies. “He keeps them honest and they all hate him for it.”
“Everyone?” I ask, stunned.
Shea leans over. “He can’t be bought, darling, yet they still invite him to the best parties in the City, D.C., and L.A.”
“I don’t go to those sorts of things,” I admit. “That’s my sister’s domain. I’m the spare, you see.”
Shea’s gaze slides over me, then focuses on my face. “I’m sure that will change.”
“What will change?” Brooks asks, wrapping one hand around my waist and pulling me to him.
“That you’ll start taking Charlotte to parties all over the country,” Hattie says.
I twist a little to look up at Brooks.
He glances at his friends, then back at me. “Parties aren’t Charlotte’s thing, so I’ll be attending fewer of them…until she gets sick of me.”
“So romantic,” Hattie sighs, then pats Shea on the arm. “Guess who’s finally dared to show her face.”
Shea scowls, but not at Brooks or me. “You kids have fun.”
“You were bloody brilliant tonight,” I exclaim and try to turn to face him, but he won’t allow it.
“Were you naughty or nice, sweetheart?” Brooks murmurs, his arm inching up to rest right below my breasts.
“I was…nicely naughty.”
Slowly, he spins me around and takes my hand in his. “Come with me.”
I follow him up the stairs. No one follows us, not even Peter, but he does move to stand in front of the stairs, prohibiting anyone from getting past him.
I hate causing problems and almost turn around in the middle of the dimly lit hallway.
As if he’s reading my mind, Brooks says, “The upstairs is only used during the day, during business hours.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I lie, and one of his brows arches. “That much.”
He grabs my hips, pulling me to him and covering my mouth with his. I melt, my arms stealing up his chest to wrap around his neck. His grip is hard; his hands splay and move to my bum, cupping my cheeks as he lifts me up.
My legs go around his waist. He turns us, my back hitting the wall, while he lets go of my arse and works at the sash of my wrap dress. It falls open, revealing my lacy bra that bares more than it conceals.
“Did you wear that for me?” he asks, his mouth going to my neck and nibbling.
Bewildered and slightly mindless, I reply, “Who else would I wear it for?”
He lifts his head a little, so that I can see the slight smirk on his face. “You’re very literal tonight.”
“Sorry?”
He cups one of my breasts, his thumb rubbing lazily over my nipple until it’s diamond hard and aching for his mouth. “Don’t be.”
I arch into his touch. “Are we having sex here?”
“Yes.” He grabs something from his pocket and rips it open with his teeth, then unzips his trousers. There’s more rustling, adjusting, and then he rolls the condom down the hard length. His hand travels up my thigh and slides my panties to one side.
“I can take them off,” I offer.<
br />
“Leave them.” The thick head of his cock enters me first, then he pulls back slightly and drives all the way inside me. I gasp into his mouth, grabbing his head and searching for his mouth.
My legs fall a little, but he bends his knees and thrusts into me so hard that I slam against the wall. I can hear everything as he takes me in the hallway—the sound of people talking a few feet away. The clink of glasses and footsteps echoing.
Music begins to play, a song from a bygone era that doesn’t detract from Brooks’s rhythm. He’s relentless, his mouth punishing, yet tender as he slides his tongue against mine.
With each thrust, he’s hitting my clit, and the fact that we’re still dressed turns me on even more. And if someone were to get past Peter to come upstairs, I know I wouldn’t stop Brooks.
“You feel so damn good. Could barely read my notes with you sitting there with your pretty eyes and your tits straining against your dress,” he whispers hotly, alternating between dirty and sweet. “That little cock tease of a move you pulled in the car…I should punish you for that. Not let you come. Leave you wet and unsatisfied while I come so hard and so deep in your pussy.”
“You wouldn’t. You always take care of my needs and wants,” I insist.
“Princess,” Peter calls from the first floor. “We need to go.” His heavy footsteps sound on the stairs.
My eyes widen, but I don’t stop Brooks from moving. “Just a minute,” I call out, desperate to come before he catches us.
“Are you close?”
I nod and he smashes his mouth against mine again, reaching between us and lightly tapping my clit over and over through my panties until I see stars. My orgasm rushes over me, my inner muscles contracting around Brooks.
The footsteps grow louder.
“Fuck,” he swears, turning his head to one side. “He’s almost—I’m almost.”
I bite his earlobe, sucking it into my mouth, and he all but growls his release.
Brooks drops my legs, my feet hit the floor with a thud, and I can’t move as he pins me to the wall, his breath harsh. He slides his fingers under the band of my panties and rubs my clit hard, setting off another orgasm.
I moan his name, widening my thighs so he can go deeper. I want him deeper and tell him as much.
“Greedy girl, you’ve already gotten every last drop,” he murmurs, tenderly brushing my hair out of my face. “Give me a few minutes to recover.”
“Princess,” Peter says, and I turn my head, startled to find him at the top of the stairs. My face heats, even though I’m unsure of how much he’s seen…and the fact that Brooks is still inside me. “Mr. Walker. We must go. Paparazzi is here, demanding to be let in.”
Brooks’s grip is punishing on my hips. “We’ll be right there.” He waits until Peter leaves before speaking again. “Was I attentive enough?”
“Yes.” I drop my gaze. “Is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
“He didn’t see anything. You were done before his foot hit the second floor. I swear.”
Finally, I look at him. His sexy eyes are earnest. “But you’re still in me.”
He grins. “Pretty sure if I pulled out, then he would have seen more than you wanted. Let him assume what he wants.”
“This is very new for me,” I admit as he steps back and removes the condom, tying it off. I fix my dress and panties, then follow Brooks to the bathroom.
“That’s not a problem,” I say as he disposes of the condom, then washes and dries his hands.
Our eyes meet in the mirror over the vanity.
“Because you plan on being my tutor?”
He moves my hair to one side, kissing the exposed skin of my neck, and I shiver with pleasure. “Because I plan on taking care of you. Stay here while I speak to Peter. There’s another entrance that he doesn’t know about.”
Without waiting for an answer, he leaves me alone. I’m not sure what to make of Brooks, or if I’m in way over my head.
“Of course you’re in way over your head,” I mutter, washing my hands and splashing some water on my cheeks to cool them down. “He’s more suited for someone like Gen.”
Brooks sticks his head in. “I picked you, Charlotte, because you’re you. No offense, but your sister’s not my type. Now let’s get you home before the witch suspects I’ve let you out of your tower, Princess, and locks you up for good.”
“My sister’s not a witch.”
“I meant your brother, Colin.”
I don’t stop smiling the entire way back to the hotel.
Chapter 6
Brooks
The next morning is filled with back-to-back meetings that leave me little to no time to think about Charlotte or our second night together. It’s better this way, for both of us.
Okay, so it’s better this way for me.
Instead of keeping my distance, I took her to a place I consider a refuge, introduced her to friends that not even my family has met. I’m not ashamed of my life here, but there are times when I feel like two different people.
The country boy from North Carolina who loves to fish and surf…and the man who wants to rule the journalistic world with only the click of a mouse. Whenever I’m with Charlotte, that’s what I’m thinking about—home.
Not entirely, though. I’d say ninety percent of my thoughts are consumed with how do I get her in bed as soon as possible.
Although fucking her against the wall was incredibly hot and exciting, it’s not the kind of thing Charlotte is into. I don’t mind. Being the first guy she almost gets caught with is pretty damned exhilarating, though.
My desire to spend time with her, outside of the bedroom, is fucking scary. This isn’t what I signed up for, but I can’t seem to help myself.
It’s all for the greater good, though. I know she’s hiding something from me—big deal or not—and I intend to get it out of her.
There’s a knock on my door and I glance up to see my twin walk in. He looks exactly like a politician in his suit and slicked-back hair. He even has a miniature flag pin fixed on the lapel of his jacket.
“Your secretary said you were free after twelve,” Briggs says with a southern drawl that irritates me. I think he makes it thicker whenever we’re together, like he’s trying to remind me how authentic he is, how he made the choice to stay true to his roots while I yanked mine up and almost killed the family tree. “Thought we could have lunch.”
“You flew up from Raleigh just to have lunch?” I ask, skeptical and hopeful. I love my brother, always have, but we’re not on the best of terms and I’m unsure how to fix it.
I’m unsure because it’s not normal for us. Growing up, we were inseparable. We played the same sports, hung out with the same group of friends, and even went to the same college. After that, we started to drift a little—I became interested in journalism and tech while Briggs finished law school, only to enter the corporate world and begin working on political campaigns.
While he tried to show his candidates in the best possible light, I exposed every bit of them to the world—the good and the bad. You might say that contributed to our lives growing farther and farther apart.
And you’d be right.
“Not entirely,” Briggs replies. “What do you say?”
I can almost see the olive branch he’s holding out. All I have to do is take it. Besides, if he acts like a blowhard, I can beat his ass with it. “Why not?”
Briggs smiles tightly. “Let’s go.”
“You’re not going to let me pick?” I ask, walking with him to the elevators.
“No.”
We don’t say anything more until we’re in his car, cruising down Fifth Avenue.
I let out a low whistle. “Driver and a limo. Look who’s moving up in the world.”
Briggs slices his gaze to me. “Says the guy who owns a Bugatti and a Range Rover, and uses the same service to get around.”
“Yes, but I don’t pretend to be a man of the people,” I point out. “Vote for me
. I’m just like you. Except insanely rich with four houses in three different countries. Man, the likeness between you and your future constituents is remarkable.”
“Can we have a regular conversation for once?” he asks, irritation making his smooth voice rise and me smile.
There’s something about annoying your brother. Something so enjoyable that I’ll never stop.
“About what?” I ask.
“The last time you visited Mom and Dad.”
“Christmas,” I say with no hesitation or guilt. Okay, so there’s a little guilt, but who doesn’t feel like they should visit their parents more often?
“That was six months ago, Brooks.”
“I do have a company to run.”
“So do I, but I still make time for them.”
“Such a good son.” I pat his shoulder. “You always were the favorite.”
“Shit. That’s Hayden.”
I grin, shaking my head. “Only because he had grandkids first.”
“Apparently, you and I are the worst sons in the history of sons because we’re not remotely interested in marriage,” Briggs says. “Next thing you know, our parents will be hosting events just to set us up.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s why you’re here.”
“What?” he asks, his face a picture of innocence. “Just because they’re hosting a charity polo match next weekend doesn’t mean they’re interested in pushing perfectly respectable women on us in the hopes of something sticking.”
“You sound just like Mom.”
“She’s the one who sent me.”
“What about Dad?”
“He said to do whatever it takes to get you there, including letting you in on the fact that quite a few famous faces will be in attendance.”
I consider the invitation. “Wouldn’t my appearance make them decline?”
Briggs grins. “Not if they don’t know until the last minute, and since this benefits the largest veterans organization in the U.S., they would look like complete assholes if they did.”
“Whose idea was that?” I ask, although I already know the answer. My brother is as shrewd as I am. All Walkers are.
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