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

her yelled-out declaration—had the room going quiet, had five pairs of eyes coming to her. Well, six if she counted Brad, whose pretty hazel eyes were heavy with an emotion she couldn’t read from this far away.

Then he was moving toward her.

More than moving toward her. One moment he was across the room, and the next he was there, one arm wrapping tightly around her hips and tugging her against his chest, the other moving higher, until his fingers slid in her hair, weaving into the strands and gently tilting her head back. “What did you say?” he whispered.

Kate’s voice penetrated the Brad-fog descending around her. “We’ll just go—”

“No,” Cora said. “We’re staying and—ouch! Kels, let go!”

And that was the last she heard of her friends—at least of any words being spoken, because obliquely, she processed them gathering their things, of footsteps moving toward the door, of that panel clicking closed behind them.

Then her condo was empty of everyone except her and Brad.

Who was stroking tiny circles on her scalp, making prickles of sensation trail down her spine, her arms.

“You love me?” he asked.

Her cheeks went hot—and not from the margaritas this time. The tequila was wearing off, and she was feeling exceptionally vulnerable, especially since. He. Hadn’t. Said. It. Back.

“Brad,” she whispered. “You . . . um—” She shook her head, dislodging his fingers, starting to pull away.

His arm around her waist tightened. “You love me?” he repeated.

“I—”

Not. A. Coward.

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Joy in those hazel eyes, and then his mouth was on hers. He kissed her with an intensity that immediately had her pulse skittering, her heart squeezing tight.

Then just as abruptly pulled back.

“Wait,” he said, breath coming in rapid gusts. “Are you too drunk to consent to this?”

“Too”—she blinked—“um . . . what?”

“Baby.” He smoothed back her hair. “Jaime said you were drinking. Are you too drunk to—”

Her heart exploded.

Well, not literally, of course, but for a moment she was frozen in place, unable to believe that she could feel this much for another person. The only caveat, the single thing that crept into that joy, that weighed down her happiness, was that he hadn’t said it back. Maybe it was too soon . . . or maybe it was too much.

Her gut clenched. That bliss was tempered by old insecurities.

Maybe she was destined to be a woman—like her mother had always said—who would end up alone without a person to love her for who she was inside. Maybe she worked too much, was too difficult.

Hell, maybe he’d come across her Twilight collection and had decided that was just a step too far.

Which would certainly put a damper on her feelings for this man.

“I’m not too drunk,” she whispered, tugging at his arm, now feeling sick instead of joyful.

“You sure?”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on a spot over his shoulder when he didn’t release her.

“What’s the matter?”

He was honestly asking her what was the matter? She’d blurted out a huge freaking revelation in front of almost everyone who was important to her, and he had hardly acknowledged she’d told him she loved him, aside from confirming she’d said it in the first place.

Her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth.

Then froze when she realized he was slowly and inexorably leading her toward—

“Will you stop pushing me around?” she muttered, yanking at his arm.

“No,” he said.

And then he spun her around.

“What—”

He pointed to a piece of paper in the middle of her command center, neatly written and held in place by four purple magnets, one on each corner.

Her jaw fell open.

“Is that what’s the matter?” he whispered into her ear, making her shiver, making her melt back against him.

Because that note, written in sure, firm strokes, said, “I love you.”

“How long has that been there?” she asked.

He turned her in his arms, cupped her cheek. “Since last night.”

A shuddering breath. “Really?”

He nodded.

“You love me?”

Another nod.

“Really?”

His lips quirked up. “Really, really.”

“Are you sure?”

Annoyance had those lips pressing flat, his eyes going serious. “Heidi,” he warned.

She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just that you haven’t said it.” She nodded at the note. “I mean, writing it isn’t the same as saying it, is it?”

He growled, swept her up in his arms. “I love you, Heidi Greene. I love you so much that it feels like my heart will explode with happiness when I’m with you.” He kissed her briefly, but intensely enough to have her pulse ratcheting up. Then he broke away, his expression gentle. “I love you with every bit of my soul, and I’ll love you until that soul is no longer in my body.” His forehead dropped to hers. “I never thought it was possible to feel this way for another person—”

She laughed.

He frowned. “What is it?”

Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “It’s only that I was just thinking the same. I don’t know how you did it, honey, but somehow what I feel for you is more than I ever could have imagined.” She slid a hand to his chest, placed it over his pounding heart. “And this . . . mine . . . it beats for you.”

He went still. “Heidi.”

“What?”

“Fuck, I love you.”

She smiled, lifted up so her lips were just a hairsbreadth from his. “Guess what?”

Affection—no, love—so much fucking love in his eyes. “What?” he asked gently.

“I love you.”

He grinned.

“Also”—closer now, so her lips brushed his with every word she spoke—“the answer to your previous question of whether or not I’m sober enough to consent is . . . yes, baby, I am.”

“Yeah?”

A nod. “What about you?”

He frowned.

“Are you sober enough to consent to my attentions?”

“What do you think?”

She blinked, realized he’d brought her to the bedroom, and then she smiled. “I think—oof!" He dropped her onto the mattress. “I think,” she said again, gasping as he came on top of her, all of those glorious muscles pressing into her, “you’ll do fine.”

A wicked gleam in his eyes, his mouth coming down on top of hers.

And