Sinker: Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Colleen Charles

  The rooftop bar proved just as Brenna had described. The sun was setting over the Manhattan skyline, and I sighed with pleasure. I had the hottest girl in the room on my arm. I glanced around, drinking in the amazing view of the city I loved.

  “This is beautiful,” Brenna breathed. “Wow, I wish I had my camera or something.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Hey, take a picture with me. Come here.”

  Brenna smiled and fitted herself against my arm. I pulled out my phone and tilted the front camera down. We appeared on the screen, and I grinned, wrapping my arm around her before snapping the shot. Our first selfie.

  “Ugh,” Brenna groaned.

  “What?” Please don’t be another distraction, please don’t be another distraction.

  “There’s a television here. God, I can’t believe that even a rooftop bar would feel the need for one of those things.” She sighed. “For some reason, I feel like I hate television in bars. Whatever happened to just talking?”

  I glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, a TV hung above the bar, blaring ESPN. Sports Center. A nervous thrill shot through me. Maybe they’ll just stick to talking about hockey. At least, a man can pray.

  “Speaking of hipsters,” I said, pretending to groan. “You really sound like one, you know? What’s so bad about watching TV when you’re at a bar?”

  Brenna turned to me and narrowed her eyes. “It’s just lazy. I like going out and talking over a glass of wine, or a cocktail. I don’t need television blasted in my ears when I’m trying to get to know someone.” She grinned. “I think.”

  “Damn,” I teased. “I sure hope the TV here doesn’t impede you getting to know me. That would be a tragedy.”

  Brenna wrinkled her nose. “Let’s get a drink. Come on.”

  I shook my nervous energy out at the elbows as I followed her toward the bar. Even the hypnotic lure of her heart-shaped ass wasn’t enough to tear my gaze away from the television. The snippet on hockey had ended, and sure enough, they went straight into footage of baseball.

  I hoped this Manhattan bar preferred Mets fans, but I knew in my heart, I was fucked.

  “So,” Brenna said when I handed her a Moscow Mule. “This more your style?”

  I looked around but didn’t see anyone taking photos or video of me. Yet. Safe for the moment.

  “Sure.” While it wasn’t the kind of place I would have gone with Ernie, it had a cool vibe.

  “Sorry,” Brenna said. She looked down into her drink, and her lips turned into that pout again. Shit. “I was excited that I remembered the location and thought this was somewhere you’d like.”

  I shrugged, quick to reassure her. “It’s not bad,” I told her, touching her shoulder, then we both laughed as an angry growl came from her stomach. “It was a most excellent choice. Let’s get some food before your stomach erupts.”

  Brenna didn’t smile and frustration welled inside of my chest. What the hell was I doing wrong? Had I lost my touch with girls as well as with baseball? Normally, the negging approach worked wonders with chicks. But Brenna wasn’t responding like most girls.

  Maybe that ball damaged more than her memory. Maybe she just needs a little fine-tuning to come back to normal.

  I leaned closer and gave her a charming smile. “So, you wanna go someplace more private after this?”

  Brenna licked her lips. “Like where?”

  “Well, we’ve got a whole hotel below us,” I teased. “I’m sure they might have one or two rooms available. You know – at least for a star pitcher and his date.”

  Brenna frowned. Just as she was about to say something, I froze. Behind me, I heard the sound of her voice, giving an interview. Oh, shit. I whirled around. Sure enough, Brenna from the previous season graced the screen in all her capable glory. Sun kissed her cheeks, and all her lustrous hair had been piled into a messy bun on top of her head, but her green eyes sparkled with intensity. She gently punched the palm of one open hand with her other fist.

  I remembered that interview well. It happened right after the Yankees finished their post-season. Ernie and I had gone out partying to paint the town red. We’d wound up with three girls apiece in the back of a Hummer limousine, and the pictures had been in the tabloids before the sun came up. Brenna had called it “filthy” and “disgusting,” and she’d actually called for a boycott of the Yankees until they “learned how to respect women.”

  In short, it had been a complete fucking publicity shitstorm. My mom had even called my grandma, and they’d double-teamed me, painting me black with their brush of shame. I hadn’t been able to show my face in bars for at least a week, and Ernie still gave me hell about it. One of his favorite things to do was call me a filthy and disgusting man whore – I had a feeling the name might stick.

  If Brenna overheard that interview, I knew everything would be ruined. I quickly glanced down, groaning when I realized she still had half of her cocktail left.

  “Hey,” I said in a rush to cover my own ass. “How about a shot? You want a shot? I’ll go get us shots!”

  “Uh.” Brenna frowned and looked down at her glass. “I don’t know, that’s not me. I don’t ever do shots. At least I don’t think so.”

  “It’ll be fun!” I yelled, my fist pumping the air over her head. She looked at me as if I’d lost it. “Why don’t you wait over there?”

  Brenna frowned, but she did as I said and stepped out of earshot of the TV. In two long strides, I reached the mahogany bar and leaned on the counter.

  “Hey, barkeep!” I called, whistling and clapping my hands. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be rude to the bartender but desperate times called for inappropriate behavior. I flicked a Benjamin down on the shiny, wooden surface to make it worth his while. “Two shots of Don Julio and make it snappy. And get that shit off the TV.”

  “Oh, whoa, you’re Rhett Bradshaw!”

  I turned toward the excited voice. A younger guy stared at me and pointed, obviously dazzled.

  “Yup,” I said, not bothering to deny it. “That’s my name.”

  “Can I get an autograph?”

  No, but you can help save my ass. With a grin, I leaned toward him. “Sure, but I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you punch me in the face.”

  “What?” The guy almost dropped his drink. “Why the fuck would I do that? Every Yankee fan in the city would want my ass on a plate. I wouldn’t do that shit for a million dollars. It would be like hitting my idol.”

  “Make it a thousand,” I said, not sure how to convince him but knowing in my gut that the only way to turn Brenna away from the roadkill on the screen due to the slow-moving bartender would be to cause a scene in this fucking bar. As her eyes wandered toward the television, I became desperate. “I’m not gonna hurt you, man. Just please – help a brother out.”

  The guy stared at me, so flabbergasted his lips quivered. “You can’t be for real,” he said. “I’m gonna get sued!”

  “You definitely won’t,” I promised. “Shit, bring out your iPhone and record me saying it if you want to be sure. Just please – help me out. It’s about a girl, and you know how a man can get when it comes to his girl.”

  “Well, alright,” the guy said, sizing me up. “But I thought you had a lot of girls. What’s the deal with this one? Why would you be willing to take a fist to the jaw for some broad?”

  Because this broad is important to me. Whoa. Where the fuck had that come from? Left field, that’s where. Like a line drive to the baseline corner.

  “Brenna Sinclair.”

  Understanding lit the dude’s eyes, indicating his cooperation. He took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeve. A quick glance at Brenna told me that she’d started talking to another woman standing close to her, and she wasn’t watching me fetch the tequila.

  The guy swung his arm back in the air, then forward, connecting his fist with my lip. It wasn’t a hard punch, but I grabbed him and tackled him to the ground, making sure not to hurt him in the process.

&
nbsp; “Hey, what the fuck!”

  “I don’t know,” someone else cried loudly. “That brave mother fucker just sucker punched Rhett Bradshaw. I bow down, dipshit!”

  Soon, the bar around me descended into chaos. I grinned as I ducked under another swinging fist and darted away from the melee.

  Finally. Rhett Bradshaw lucks out. It wasn’t the first time and it sure as hell won’t be the last.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brenna

  “You filthy piece of shit!”

  The scream pierced my consciousness, interrupting the pleasant conversation I’d been having with the nice woman at the next table. A glass sailed in our direction, and I ducked so it wouldn’t hit me square in the face. What in the hell was happening? A bar fight in a classy establishment such as this? It defied logic. The bar streamed with screams, shouts, and cries of anger and pain. I looked up in alarm, scanning the perimeter for Rhett. I had to get out of the way before something horrible happened. Why had he vanished on me like that? All I could see were tons of guys at the bar, all swinging punches and screaming at one another.

  “For heaven’s sake,” I muttered under my breath. “What is going on here? Have I stumbled back into the middle ages? All they need are clubs and axes.”

  Before I could turn to flee the scene, Rhett appeared looking out of breath and sweaty. His blond hair was mussed and sticking straight up, and his lower lip was swollen and turning purple.

  “Oh my god,” I said in a rush, running toward him. I reached a finger toward his face, but he flinched and reared back. “What happened to you?”

  Rhett gave me one of his crooked, roguish grins. That same damn look that revealed nothing but indicated everything. “Some asshole threw a punch. I know I pitched a bad game, but did he have to resort to violence? What an ungrateful prick.” Rhett looked up at me and winked. “This must be a Mets bar. I guess I’m persona non grata around here. They want to sever my head, light it on fire, and stick it on top of a stake to parade through the city.”

  “We should go.”

  Rhett grabbed my hand and pulled me across the crowded bar. Somehow, the sense of urgency only made the fighting around me seem more exciting. As we ran out into the hotel, we both burst out laughing.

  “What?” Rhett looked at me and chuckled. “What’s so funny? You like seeing your date get beat up, is that it?”

  I shook my head, still laughing but not quite sure why. All I knew was that I liked him. I liked hanging out with him. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and my heart thudded from running and the adrenaline pumping through my body. I felt better than I had in…I had no idea how long.

  “Definitely not,” I said. “That was fun, though. Best first date ever. At least…I think it was my best first date ever. I can’t be sure. Can I get back to you on that when we’re both old enough to be in the rest home?”

  Rhett raised an eyebrow and smirked. He punched the button for the elevator, then leaned against the wall. “Well, if you like seeing me get punched, I happen to know a little BDSM club in the village. I’ll even let you snap on the handcuffs.”

  My jaw dropped, and I knew I blushed bright red. “No, thank you,” I protested, slapping him on the forearm. But part of me liked it. I closed my eyes and imagined him naked, laid out on a bed at my complete mercy. I’d climb on top of him and... “That’s quite enough of that.”

  Rhett winked. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close. “I think you just like seeing me get all macho,” he teased. He brushed my hair away from my forehead. Electricity crackled between our bodies, and I felt myself weakening in his arms.

  Kiss me. The thought whirled in my mind. Please, please kiss me again.

  “Maybe,” I said, lowering my eyes and batting my lashes. “Maybe I just liked seeing you grab my hand and pull me out of there. Protecting me.”

  Rhett feigned a pout. “So, you don’t think I look swarthy and dangerous with a fat lip?”

  I shook my head. “Of course you do.” I felt the heat creep up from my neck into my cheeks. Would I ever stop being embarrassed by his snarky banter? I wondered if old Brenna had been wittier. I wasn’t sure what happened back at the bar, but it seemed like a scene right out of my old life. Something about the bar descending into chaos and Rhett looking smug with a bruise decorating his mouth tugged at an old memory. I struggled to pull it forward, but it remained locked tight.

  The elevator doors dinged open, and Rhett pulled me inside. Before the doors even had a chance to close, he pinned me against the wall and covered my mouth with his.

  “Does kissing me hurt?” I whispered.

  Rhett grinned, grabbed both my hands, and placed them above my head. Then, he ground his huge erection into my center. I gasped at the steely length, not believing it existed outside of some old lady’s fantasy.

  “Only right here,” he said, pressing the length of his body against mine. “I’ve been through much worse.” He kissed me with a hunger I couldn’t resist, parting my lips with his tongue, and shoving one of his muscular thighs between my legs. I moaned when his leg pressed against my wet pussy, sending the arousal that had been building in my belly all evening to a new height of intensity. I rubbed and moaned.

  I wrapped my arms around Rhett’s neck, and he hoisted me into the air, holding me tightly as his mouth ravished my own. Rhett slid his hands down my body and grabbed my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “Ride me, woman. Only you can ease the ache.”

  By the time the elevator reached the ground floor and opened with that pesky ding, he eased my feet to the floor. I wobbled on my platforms, breathless and panting with lust.

  “So,” Rhett said with a sexy smirk. “Ready for round two? Another bar, perhaps? Dessert? You riding my cock until the break of dawn.”

  I blushed again, so not used to that kind of explicit talk. But a new gush of wetness reminded me that I liked it regardless. “Why not a combination of the two?”

  Rhett nodded. “Ah, a wise choice,” he said smugly as he guided me outside to the busy street. “I like a woman who wants it all. And takes it. Feel like a night cap, maybe paired with some chocolate mousse?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, what then?” Rhett leaned down and kissed me on the lips, just once. I ached for more. I didn’t even care that the sea of pedestrians had to part for our PDA. Or that taxis honked their annoyance. Or that other women looked at me with icy green shards of jealousy lighting their expressions.

  Our kiss turned both chaste and fiery, a contradiction, just like the man himself. Suddenly, I knew that I wanted him more than anything else in the world. Intrinsically, I knew that I’d never harbored this kind of desire for another man. Because if I had, I’d never, ever let that man go.

  I grabbed Rhett’s shoulders and pulled him close, nibbling on his lower lip. Rhett groaned in my mouth. His hands slid down my back and squeezed my ass until I pressed my core into his leg.

  “Why don’t we go back to my place,” I whispered in Rhett’s ear. “I think I have something to drink…maybe even some dessert.”

  Rhett ran a hand through my hair and yanked. “Ask, and you shall receive,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He stuck his arm in the air, and a yellow cab covered in mud screeched to a stop in front of us. “After you,” Rhett said, opening the door.

  “What about your car?”

  “It’ll take too long. I’ll get it later.”

  As I crawled into the cab’s backseat, I knew that Rhett had stared at my ass the entire time. But the knowledge didn’t make me cringe or want to turn away – if anything, it just made me wetter. My pussy throbbed with anticipation of what might come. I wondered how long it had been for me? The way my body carried on, I imagined it had been a while. Rhett kissed and fondled my limbs during the entire ride to my place, like a teenager necking with his high school crush in the back row of a movie theater.

  Rhett paid the cabbie, then I took him by the hand and led h
im upstairs.

  “Wow, eleventh floor,” Rhett said, voice dripping sarcasm as we walked into my apartment. “I didn’t take you for a penthouse kind of girl, Brenna.”

  I blushed, throwing my bag and jacket on the bar. “Not as fancy as your digs, I’m sure, but I like it.” I glanced around. My apartment seemed alien with Rhett Bradshaw inside. I struggled to draw my next breath. His looming, sexy presence had caused all the oxygen to be sucked from the room. I stared at the man. What am I doing? Where is this going? I don’t know. But do I care? Should I care?

  Just this once, I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t even want to try. Because if I looked deep within and recognized the possibility of regret, it would ruin this moment of abject perfection.

  “Forget dessert,” Rhett murmured in a deep, husky tone as he walked toward me. “You look good enough to eat.”

  He swept me into his arms before I could protest and lifted me into the air with ease, carrying me into my bedroom like he’d been there already. Had he? No. If that were the case, the man would be giving an Oscar worthy performance. As I landed softly on the bed, I stared at Rhett. Lust raced through me, and I licked my lips with a growing hunger for his body as we locked eyes. Without glancing away, I lifted my fingers to my dress and slowly started unzipping the blue material.

  Rhett growled. He leapt on the bed and ripped the dress away from my body, tearing the fabric with his powerful hands. I moaned as the cool air hit my exposed skin – my nipples were stiff and swollen inside the lacy cups of my bra, and my pussy begged for the touch of his hand. I felt ready to come undone from just the slightest touch. The man had me so hot, so aching that I thought he might make me explode.

  Rhett yanked his shirt off, threw it to the side, then dove on top of me and pinned me to the bed with his strong body. I thrashed under the weight of his torso and my desire as he ran his hands down my bare sides.

  Every nerve ending in my body tingled with anticipation as Rhett crawled between my legs. He lowered his head to my belly and swirled his tongue in my belly button until I cried out with desire. Rhett’s hands caressed every angle, every arch, every hidden place – I felt like he knew my body as well as he knew the back of his own hand. When he reached behind me and unclasped my bra in a single, experienced gesture, I helped him slide the lacy material away from my body.