Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) by Elise Faber (important books to read txt) 📕

“Fine.”

“Brad,” she warned.

“How’s your ankle?” He moved to lift her up again, readying to carry her to the bed.

“Fine,” she said, brushing past him.

Well, limping past him.

“Heidi.” It was his turn to warn.

“Not so fun, is it?” she muttered, making her way through a door that was attached to the bathroom.

He did some muttering of his own. “No, it isn’t.” Following her, he saw it was walk-in-sized, and one look around the space told him that Heidi had a lot of clothes—though they seemed to only come in the T-shirts and jeans variety.

“You have an extensive collection of graphic tees,” he pointed out as she hobbled toward the far side and stood on tiptoe.

She turned one on a hanger, showing him that it had the words This T-shirt is the color of my soul. It was black and had him fighting back a smile. “That’s because they express me better than I can express me.” A shrug. “Plus, I don’t have to wear adult clothes very often. I love my tees. And my pajamas. Half my dresser is filled with them, and I can honestly say that I’ve probably spent more on them than anything else in my wardrobe, combined.”

He ran a finger over the silk sleeve of her pajama top. It was soft and cut high to expose a large portion of her arm. “I like them.”

She glared over her shoulder, wavering to the side so much that he had to catch her shoulder to steady her. “Because you’ve seen the underwear I have on beneath them?”

“That is a plus,” he said, finally realizing what she was reaching for, and nudging her to the side so he could snag the large plastic tub before she forgot she was hurt and started scrambling up the shelves.

“Where do you want this?” he asked.

“Open it up, help yourself to the clothes inside.” A shrug. “My exes won’t care. I promise.”

Like it had burned him, he dropped the box on the floor.

Heidi laughed. “I’m kidding,” she said, opening the lid. “My dad left these behind when he stayed over a while back. They’re clean and free from any ex cooties.” She tugged out a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and a T-shirt, handing them over. “No underwear, I’m afraid, but I’m guessing you don’t want to wear another man’s boxer briefs.”

“No.”

She snorted. “You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

“Maybe just a lime,” he muttered, freezing when she snagged the shirt from his hands and tugged it over his head.

A pat to his chest, her lips curved into a smirk, but there were deep lines etched into the space around her mouth.

“You should lie down,” he said.

For once, she didn’t argue, just nodded. “I think you’re right. I’m actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.”

He dropped the clothes, snagged her arm when she wavered. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” He’d seen the cut on her cheek, knew it had looked worse than it was. After he’d cleaned it, he’d realized it was just a scratch. He could also see that her ankle was bothering her, and maybe her hip. But he didn’t think she’d hit her head. Still, she’d fallen so fast he couldn’t be sure.

“No,” she said. “I think it’s just the adrenaline coming down.” She pulled her arm free. “Well, that and the fact that I didn’t eat lunch.”

God save him from this woman.

He bit back a snarl, wanting to yell at her for not taking care of herself. Yes, he knew her particular predicament was his fault. But that didn’t give her an excuse to not fuel her body. First the cell phone, now skipping lunch.

A pat to his jaw. “More lemon-swallowing.” She turned and made her way carefully out of the closet, shuffling across the bedroom to her bed. “Stop hovering,” she muttered. “I can make it five feet to the bed. If you really want to make yourself useful, why don’t you go get me a bag of ice?”

That was an excellent point.

But he still made sure she’d made it into bed.

A fact that didn’t escape her notice. Probably because he was currently tucking the covers up and over her.

“I didn’t take you for one of these men.”

He’d just straightened, and her words made him frown. “What do you mean?”

“Manly. Caveman. Protective.”

Some of the fear that had gripped him since seeing her fall, since he’d thought she was going to kick him out because he kept flubbing things with her, faded. Enough for him to say, “I don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented. You think I’m manly?” He fluttered his lashes. “Oh, thank you.”

She snorted. “Ice, please, Mr. Caveman.”

“For the record,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “I’m always protective.” A beat. “Especially, when it comes to a woman who matters.”

“Brad—”

But he was just going to let that statement hover in the air.

He took the opportunity to escape into the hall.

Twelve

Heidi

She just stared at Brad’s retreating back and tried to figure out what in the fuck she was doing.

Getting naked in front of him—or naked in intervals, she supposed.

Showering clothed with him—or more like showering semi-clothed with him.

Talking with him—as though it were no big deal to have this man in her bedroom, casually discussing her pajama and T-shirt collection.

It was a big deal, and he’d said . . .

A lot.

Too much, probably, but she was good at isolating parts of her brain, at pushing things down. Because part of her couldn’t believe it—not because she didn’t think it was possible for a man to really like her, to want to look after her, and be with her.

But because she didn’t believe this man could feel that for her.

And back into circles she went.

She liked Brad, sincerely enjoyed spending time with him. She just . . . didn’t trust him.

“You’re asking too much, Heid,” she murmured. “You want too much.”

Now that was her mother talking, always telling Heidi to lower her expectations. “No one wants to listen to a female