Asking for Trouble(11)

“Lucky. Huh.” She smoothed a hand over her hair in a familiar gesture. Right in front of his eyes, he watched her transform back into the ice princess. Her back straightened, she tucked her hair neatly behind her ears and crossed her arms over her breasts. “See you in the morning, Mother. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Hayden. No alcohol tonight. It makes your face puffy.” Hayden didn’t respond as Brent listened to the sound of her mother’s heels clicking down the front steps. She snatched her bra off the ground in front of him and put it on, her motions jerky. Next came the shirt. Bye-bye tatas.

When she’d finished dressing, she pierced him with a look. “What? No comments from the peanut gallery? You’ve gone thirty seconds without shooting your mouth off. It’s got to be some kind of record. Shall I call Guinness?”

Clearly, she needed a fight. Something to take her mind off the conversation with her mother. In his current state, he was all too happy to give it to her. “Maybe you should call a goddamn shrink, instead. You’ve got me handcuffed here with my family jewels hanging out, in case you somehow forgot. And you think you have any grounds to be pissed off? If I recall correctly, one of us had a screaming orgasm and it sure as shit wasn’t me.”

Her face reddened, probably matching his own. Her mother had upset her, then he’d finished the job by completely knocking the wind out her sails. Why he suddenly gave two shits about her mood, he couldn’t decide.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Hayden—”

She held up a finger to quiet him. “Hold on. I just had an idea.”

“Oh, really? Does it involve releasing me from unconstitutional imprisonment?”

“No.” She pursed her lips. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Why are you asking?”

“You like dinner parties?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Me? Dressing up in a monkey suit and listening to your friends’ amusing stories about their latest tropical vacation? Not going to happen, duchess.”

Hayden shrugged off his rejection. “Fine. Thought you might relish the chance to crash one of the stuffy, overblown snooze-fests you’re always teasing me about.” She smoothed her skirt again. “I guess eating your weight in caviar and dropping backhanded insults on a bunch of rich stiffs doesn’t appeal to you.”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that did appeal to me. What would be in it for you?”

“I get you as my bodyguard for the evening,” she replied simply.

Brent’s smile disappeared. Something unpleasant moved in his chest. “Why the hell would you need a bodyguard?”

Hayden waved off his serious tone. “I don’t need one, per se. However, I’d like someone to keep Stuart away.”

Brent could practically see the wheels spinning in her head, and braced for whatever would come next.

“If you happen to be your loud, irreverent self while we’re there, thus pissing my mother off in the process? Well, I probably wouldn’t mind that either.”

“I see,” he responded, berating himself for not anticipating the request. “You want to bring the working-class jackass from Queens along for your own personal amusement.”

Her lips parted, she shook her head. “Wait—”

“Unlock the goddamn handcuffs. Now. The keys are in my pocket.”

After a brief hesitation, she knelt down beside him. As she fished the keys from his pocket, their gazes met, but she quickly looked away. Having her close, her soft hand moving inside his pants, stiffened his cock once more, only serving to inflate his anger further.

She gasped when she saw that part of him stir, as though it should come as a surprise when he’d been primed for sex only minutes earlier. With the keys in her hand, she moved to unlock the handcuffs, then stopped. “When I take them off, you’re not going to…I mean…”

“What? Throw you down on the floor and see if you fuck as hot as you kiss?” When she flinched a little, he reined himself in with a deep breath. “No. Even blue-collar jackasses have some boundaries. You’re safe.”

When his hands were finally free, he snatched the cuffs from her and carefully zipped his pants. He needed to get some air, clear his head. Which wouldn’t be happening around her. As he yanked his shirt over his head, an idea of his own began to form. She expected him to show up to her ritzy party, acting like a knuckle-dragging ape? Hell, maybe he would put on a show. Just not the one she expected. Brent made sure the smile on his face stayed well hidden as he turned back to her, one hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t have a suit. If you can get one in my size—and good luck with that, by the way—I’ll go to your fancy dinner party tomorrow.”