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Eight
BRENDAN
Never in his life had Brendan acted the way he did around Genevieve. A bold version of himself came alive in her presence. Sure, he made bold moves in business, but those were always calculated with a lot of experience and confidence behind them. He had zero experience or confidence with women, and yet, around Genevieve, he just went for it. She probably thought him a hundred times more certain than he actually was. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing—with the move to kiss her, with the move to hold off on sex, with the move to ask her for a committed relationship, none of it. She’d answered with another potential yes, though, so he must be doing something right.
Brendan sighed while his unfocused eyes scanned his computer screen. He was supposed to be the genius getting them out of this mess, and all he could think about was tucking his fingers inside Genevieve’s lacy bra and letting her pull off his belt. But he’d put a stop to that. What kind of an idiot was he? Okay, so it was the right thing to do, but his body still protested painfully.
He’d never been turned on like this before. His skin burned while his mind undressed Genevieve—first, her silky blouse, followed by that way-too-arousing paper-thin lace bra. Freeing her ample breasts, visions of his mouth pulling one of her perky nipples into his mouth and swiping his tongue across the tip flashed before his eyes. He groaned, thumping his head down on the desk. Dust particles fluttered up, landing on his lenses, and he squeezed his lids shut. A replay of Genevieve tearing his shirt open like the sexy goddess she was pulsed a rush of blood through his veins. My god, he was going to combust. He gulped down a steadying breath and reached for his water bottle.
Brendan didn’t want to tell Genevieve the truth about his inexperience, though she might have already suspected it. He both hoped she did and didn’t at the same time. If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. If she didn’t, though less embarrassing, it was possible she might reject him, which would destroy him. Either way, at some point, he’d have to tell her… I’m a virgin who’s only into you.
Was that really so bad, though? Could he dare to hope that perhaps she’d even be turned on by it? She did mention that she wasn’t the jealous type—except with him. That had to be a good sign, right? Could they leave it at ‘he only wanted her,’ so he didn’t need to divulge his awkward backstory? I mean, honestly, did she really want to know?
When she’d asked him about other women, he could have stammered through a response about how he hadn’t dated since high school—that his girlfriends had wanted more, but he wasn’t overly turned on when they’d kissed him, just uncomfortable. Then what? Tell her he hadn’t wanted to date after that? That dating women was a chore that resulted in him questioning if something was wrong with him and his dates going home with hurt feelings? Reliving those experiences wasn’t worth it, so he hadn’t dated since.
Then, Genevieve strutted into his office, bringing with her the fresh scent of spring and blossoming his desire to life. Not only had his social and intellectual interests been piqued by her, but one look into her colorful caramel eyes and every sexual fantasy known to man had awakened inside him.
Brendan roused as Genevieve emerged from the bathroom wearing a plum purple T-shirt and ripped jeans, looking like a voluptuous supermodel. He held back another groan, ready to burst.
“You look amazing,” he managed, his tone unavoidably husky.
“Thanks.” She cocked her head. “This is going to be interesting.”
What is? He sighed. “Can you elaborate, please? It drives me crazy when you don’t finish your thoughts.”
She giggled, and his cock jutted up. Ugh, that kiss had unleashed the beast. He would have to slip into the shower and take care of himself to survive. Just the sound of her sweet laughter did it for him.
“Already going on about what I do that makes you crazy.” She flashed him a bold smile. “We’ve been together less than an hour.”
She had no idea how much unfinished thoughts bothered him. “Please, Genevieve. I want to know what you were thinking when you walked into the room.”
“Already begging? You could have had me without having to, and now, well…” She shrugged. “You get to suffer.”
A loud groan escaped. “You’re killing me. I was trying to do the right thing.”
“And I appreciate it—though I can tell you’re struggling from our sexual tension. That’s why I said, ‘This is going to be interesting.’”
Brendan hopped up, beads of sweat tickling his forehead. “I’m getting a quick shower. I can’t handle…” He pointed from her to himself, and her laughter filled the room. Plucking dark blue designer jeans and a white polo shirt out of his suitcase, he huffed out a loud breath. “Then we have to concentrate on the problem at hand.”
“So we can resolve it and clear the way to get it on?” She waggled her eyebrows.
He jerked still. “No, I didn’t mean?—”
More giggles erupted across the room, and Genevieve coiled an arm around her waist, dropping onto the bed. “Ow, my stomach,” she moaned. “They do say laughter is a good stress reliever, too. It’ll have to do for now.”
Brendan playfully lifted his lips as she caught his eye. “That might work for you, but not for me.” He raced into the bathroom, and her sweet laughter followed him. It didn’t take him long to relieve his stress, but not in the way he dreamed he’d be able to if they could truly be a couple.
Fifteen minutes later, Brendan emerged from their drab hotel bathroom, feeling moderately relieved. “All clean,” he announced so she’d know he was coming out, stumbling to a stop with a strangled gasp. Where was she? Had they taken her? Eyeing a note on their makeshift desk, he jolted across the room.
Headed to the coffee shop in the strip mall. Couldn’t nod off. Badly need coffee and sustenance. I’ll bring some back for you. Love, Gen
He let out a relieved breath, the corner of his mouth inching up. Love, Gen. Was it too junior high if he saved her first note to him?
Another fifteen minutes and his worries returned. He didn’t want to be the suffocating type, but given the circumstances, he had to confirm she was safe. He grabbed his wallet and room key before dashing across the parking lot. The strip mall came into view, and he read the faded neon pink signs, locking onto the only one that mattered—Coffee in the Café. Shaking his head, he thought sarcastically, how original. The bells tied to the door tinkled as he entered. He examined the empty café, his heart deflating. Please let there be an explanation.
A sturdy barista with her hair pulled back into a messy bun appeared and shot him an astounded glare. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for a woman with streaky red highlights wearing a purple shirt and jeans. Came in here about twenty minutes ago for coffee and food? Perhaps ordered a vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso?”
