How To Pleasure A Playboy(8)

"You think he might not be alive?"

"That's just it, I don't know."

She swallowed. That had to be hellish, not knowing if a loved one was dead or alive. "Why did he leave?"

Lips pressed together, he stared at her for long enough that she thought  he wasn't going to give her an answer. Finally, he said, "We had an  argument." The words were clipped, so she was pretty sure that was as  much of an explanation as she'd get.

"Well, I'm sorry." What was she supposed to say? Building an office  tower to lure his angry brother back to Sydney sounded like a long-shot,  but he was obviously desperate. Problem was, so was she. And it was  obvious he wouldn't give up his plan easily. The only solution was to  win the bet.

Time for the first Baxter Games challenge. The mattress she'd dumped  into his room had been so heavy with stagnant water that she'd had to  arrange for a few strong guys to help her carry it up the stairs. She'd  been afraid just touching it would give her some awful flesh-eating  disease. No way would Bronson spend an entire night on it.         

     



 

"It's time for bed," she said, getting up.

"Too early." He checked his watch. "Nine o'clock."

"I don't have a TV, so you may as well try out your bed. Then you'll  have plenty of time to call your limo to pick you up if you don't like  it."

His eyes narrowed. "What did you do to it?"

She folded her arms, not bothering to answer. When he got up, she followed him into her old bedroom.

Staring down at the mattress, his face twisted with distaste. "You think I'm going to sleep on that?"

"Or the floor. Take your pick."

He put one foot on it, and vile-smelling dark water oozed out. "You've outdone yourself. It's truly disgusting."

"Give up and move back to your mansion." She touched his arm and made  her tone cajoling. This could be the moment to change his mind. "Listen,  I'll ask the other tenants to agree to a rent hike if you fix this  place up. We'll be reasonable."

"Most of the tenants have already committed to moving. You're the only  one who's holding out." He shook his head. "It's a done deal. Stop  hiding your head in the sand and face facts. This hovel needs to come  down."

Dammit! Why'd he have to be so stubborn? "Then you'll have to sleep here." Frustrated, she gave the mattress a hard kick.

A loud crack came from the floor. Under her feet, the floorboards shuddered.

"Quick. Get to the door," ordered Bronson, grabbing her arm and pulling her with him.

Another loud retort, like a firecracker going off.

Bronson stopped to shove her, launching her across the room. She fell  heavily, landing on her side, and skidding until she was against the  wall.

The next crack was like a gun firing next to her ear. Then, with a  deafening tearing and crashing, the floor collapsed. Dust and debris  exploded outward. She covered her face, cowering, until she was sure it  was safe to look.

There was an enormous jagged hole in the floor. Bronson was gone.

Opening her mouth to scream his name, she breathed in so much dust that  all she could do was cough and choke. Finally, she managed to scramble  onto her knees, still coughing. "Bronson?"

No answer.

Carefully, on hands and knees, she crept toward the edge of the hole.  With every movement, the floor sagged and shuddered beneath her. She  stopped, terrified more would collapse. "Bronson?"

Even if she could get closer, with clouds of dust still billowing, she  wouldn't see much. At least the apartment below was empty. The tenant  had taken Bronson's offer to leave. But the ceilings were just as high  on that level. The drop would have been enough to seriously injure him,  or even …  No, she wouldn't let herself think the worst. He had to be  alive.

"Bronson?" Her voice cracked. "Please answer if you can hear me."

A cough from below sent a wave of relief surging through her. "Bronson, are you hurt?"

More coughing. When he managed to speak, his voice was hoarse. "When you  mentioned the Hunger Games, I should have taken you more seriously.  Tell me you don't have a bow and arrow aimed at my head."

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. "So you're okay?"

"The mattress broke my fall. Though I'm surprised this floor didn't collapse as well."

"Wait there. I'll come down."

Thanks goodness they'd decided all departing tenants should leave their  apartments unlocked in case of emergencies. She raced downstairs and  flung open the door to apartment 204.

Bronson was on his feet, but his clothes were filthy and torn. A cut on  his forehead was dripping, and his face was coated with smears of blood  and grime. Behind him, the apartment looked worse than the aftermath of  an explosion. Even taking her glasses off and wiping some of the dust  off with her grimy T-shirt didn't help. When she put them back on, the  pile of destruction still didn't look like anything someone could have  survived.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"A little sore." Limping out of the apartment, pain tightened his face.  His voice was still hoarse. "And I could do with a glass of water." He  looked her up and down, frowning. "Are you hurt? I shoved you pretty  hard."

"I'm fine. If you hadn't shoved me, I would have gone down with you."  And now that she saw the debris piled on the floor, she was very glad  she hadn't been amongst it.

Bronson might actually have saved her life.





Seven





When Bronson limped back up the stairs with Lacey trying to help support  him, an elderly woman was standing at the top. She had long gray hair,  and was wearing a purple robe so long it dragged on the floor. Tucked  under one arm was a fluffy black-and-white mongrel. "I heard a crash,"  she said in a worried tone. "What's going on?"         

     



 

Lacey let go of his arm. "The floor fell in, but we're both okay. This is Bronson. Bronson, my neighbor, Crystal."

Bronson nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"You're the owner?" She raised her eyebrows. "Handsome, isn't he? A real Bobby Dazzler."

Lacey blushed. At least, he thought she did. Her face was so covered  with dust, it was hard to say for sure. "Everything's fine," she said.  "You can go back to bed. We're not hurt."

"Where did the floor collapse?" asked Crystal.

"In my old bedroom. It's been leaking badly in there."

"I hope the rest of the building holds together for a little longer."

"It only needs to stand up for seven more days," said Bronson. "But you  should get out as soon as possible. It's not safe to stay."

Lacey shot him a sideways look. "I'm sure your place will be okay, Crystal. Your floor's not rotten."

Bronson moved forward and winced as pain shot through his side. "Excuse  me." He shuffled into Lacey's apartment and eased himself onto her  couch.

Lacey followed him in. She got a glass of water from the kitchen and  handed it to him with a couple of pills. "I've only got Paracetamol, but  it'll help until you can get to hospital. I'll call a cab to take you."

The water soothed his burning throat and washed the grit out of his  mouth. He swallowed the painkillers, finishing the glass with a sigh of  relief. "Nice try, but I'm just bruised."

"You could have internal injuries."

It was his turn to shoot her a look. "You're not going to win so easily."

"That wasn't why I suggested it." She sat down next to him and he  shifted to make room. "Seriously, you might have saved my life. Let's  pause the Baxter Games for tonight, okay? I'll take you to get checked  out, and it won't affect the bet."

He reached out and tried to brush a clump of dirt from her cheek. She  flinched, then realized what he was doing and stilled. But his fingers  were so filthy, he put back as much grime as he took off.

"All I need is a hot shower and a little rest," he said.

She shook her head, sending a cascade of muck tumbling from her wild mop  of hair onto her shoulders. "Are you always this stubborn?"

"Always. Are you?"

"Absolutely." Her lips twitched up, and he blinked. It was the first  time he'd seen her smile, and it was definitely worth waiting for. "At  least let me clean the dirt out of that cut."

She got up without waiting for him to agree, and fetched a wet flannel  and a tube of antiseptic. Sitting back down next to him, she leaned  forward and gently dabbed at his forehead. Her forehead scrunched as she  peered at the cut with a look of total concentration.

He couldn't help but smile. "You might want to clean your glasses."

"What? Oh." She took them off and blinked at the layer of filth coating  them. Then she used a corner of the flannel to wipe them clean and put  them back on.

With a different corner of the flannel, she wiped the skin around his  cut while he studied her face. Though her hair was the same tawny brown  as her eyes, her eyelashes were jet black. Her mouth had a natural  upward curve as though she could break into a smile at any moment.