SWEAT Read online

  "Brynn?" I reach out to touch her shoulders, but she backs up. "I'm trying to fix this. You're obviously pissed at me so I'm going to kiss you and then we can finally leave the past where it belongs."

  She throws her head back as a hearty laugh escapes her. "Seriously? You might be a great kisser, Smith, but it's not a magic eraser. You can't undo the past with a kiss."

  What the fuck? Does this woman want me to get on my knees? Do I have to beg for her forgiveness because I stayed loyal to my girlfriend and passed on the chance to make out with her in a cramped kitchen uptown?

  "You're making a bigger deal out of this than it is," I say gently, trying to defuse the situation. My sister had a broken heart when she was fourteen. I get that it can stay with a person for years, but this is ridiculous. Brynn was engaged to another man. She fell in love with someone else. She needs to move on and forgive me. "You need to get over it. Let it go already."

  "Shut up," she says hoarsely, her voice breaking. "How can you say that? It was a big deal. It will always be a big deal."

  I don't try to stop her as she turns and walks away. There's no way in hell this is about what happened in Julian's kitchen years ago. I broke her heart in two. I wish to fuck I had a clue how I did it.

  Chapter 10

  Brynn

  It's been an hour since I saw Smith at the gym. I'm on the sidewalk across the street from the brownstone that I once imagined would be my home. I haven't been here in years. I couldn't bring myself to walk down this street, so I avoided it, tearing my way through Manhattan as if East Sixty-Seventh Street never existed.

  Years ago, I'd make a point of walking this block at least a few times a week. I'd daydream about the dinners I'd cook there and the holiday gatherings that would take place in the grand sitting room.

  In every single dream, there would be a familiar face beside me. She'd be there when I got home from work each day. She'd help me pick out which accessories complemented the furniture pieces I'd chosen for my clients.

  Those dreams died the day my broker told me that the seller had accepted another offer. I knew it was Smith who had sealed the deal. I'd insisted on speaking to the seller myself, but Otto, my broker told me that the contracts had already been signed.

  Smith Booth bought the townhouse I planned on bringing my grandmother home to. It was the same place her mother had wanted to live but her time inside was restricted to ten hours a day when she took care of the household needs of the wealthy family that lived there.

  My grandmother spent her summers in that house when she was a kid. She sat on the floor playing with wooden puzzles and reading books as my great-grandmother peeled potatoes, washed windows and ironed the clothes of the people she worked for.

  A loud cough behind me startles me enough that I turn. It's a friendly face; older and distinguished.

  "Are you lost, Miss?" The man I'm looking at touches the lapel of his white suit jacket. "We don't get a lot of folks standing on this block for so long."

  I have no idea how long I've been here. It's been long enough to notice the front door of the brownstone is now painted a dark brown. It once was blue; the same shade as my eyes, my mom's eyes and my grandmother's too.

  "I once knew someone who spent time in that house." I wave my hand toward the brownstone I thought I'd be living in. "I was just remembering the stories she told me."

  "I take it they were good? If they weren't, I doubt you'd be standing here staring at the front door."

  I manage a faint laugh. "They were good. I wish I could hear them again."

  I'll never be able to. My grandma is gone, just like my chance to live in that house and build my own memories.

  "I tell my wife all the time that every crevice of this city has its own story to tell. If the walls of that home could talk, you'd hear those familiar stories and more."

  I nod as my gaze catches on the tall man walking up the street. He's carrying a shopping bag filled with groceries in one hand. The other is cradling his phone next to his ear.

  He's not dressed at all like he was at the gym. Smith is wearing jeans, a dark T-shirt and sunglasses. His gait is easy and relaxed.

  "That man right there could tell you a story or two about that place." The white-suited man points in Smith's direction. "He worked his fingers to the bone restoring that townhouse. He's on the news. He's a big shot. Booth Smith is his name."

  Close enough.

  "He didn't work his fingers to the bone," I correct him because my great-grandmother was the one who worked her fingers to the bone in there. She worked every single day, including Christmas Day and Easter Sunday to provide a stable income for her two daughters after her husband died.

  Smith made a few calls, ordered a latte and let the professionals bring that four-story building back to life while he soaked up the sun in Los Angeles. "That man hasn't done a day of manual labor in his life."

  "I hate to disagree." The man next to me taps his chin. "I watched him work alongside the contractors almost every weekend for more than a year. He can wield a hammer with the best of them."

  I cringe. My mind jumps to a place it shouldn't be. I can't keep staring at Smith whenever I'm near him. He may be incredibly good-looking and built like a sex god, but so are a lot of the men in this city. I need to stop looking in his direction.

  "Would you like me to introduce you to him?" he asks excitedly as Smith nears the brownstone. "It would be my pleasure."

  No. It would be Smith's pleasure because he'd think I'm hanging out in front of his home because I'm desperate for him to kiss me. In his mind, I've wandered aimlessly through life for the last eight years bereft because I was never gifted with the taste of his lips.

  Jesus, the man's ego is bigger than Manhattan.

  "Thank you, but that's not necessary." I watch Smith tug a set of keys from the front pocket of his jeans before he unlocks the brown door and steps inside. "I have nothing to say to Smith Booth."

  ***

  "Why don't you two just hate-fuck already?" Adley scoops Pike into her lap. "I've never done it, but I hear it's mind blowing with the right person. Or maybe it's the wrong person since in order to hate-fuck, you have to technically hate the person you fuck."

  "What?" I try to make sense of what she just said. "You're not saying that if I have sex with Smith that all my problems will be solved?"

  "I've yet to meet a man who can fuck every problem away." She pets Pike's chest before she kisses the top of his head. "All I'm saying is that you're mad at him, he wants to kiss you and you're both obviously hot for each other. Just do it already, Brynn."

  I glance down at the screen of my phone and the text message Smith sent me an hour ago.

  We need to talk, Petal. Meet me at Easton Pub at seven. You know the address. You got caught inside the place with that shitty fake ID you had when you were seventeen. In case you forgot, I was the one who saved your ass that night. You owe me and I'm cashing in now. Seven sharp.

  I don't owe him a thing. He came to Easton Pub that night because he was the one who answered Julian's phone when I called. Julian was on a date and had forgotten his phone at Smith's apartment. Smith arrived just as the owner of the pub was about to call the police to report me since I refused to leave. My rebellious stage was not cute.

  Smith came and resolved the situation. He did it as a favor to Julian.

  "Go and talk to him." Adley points at my phone. "Clear the air. Scream at him if you have to. If anyone else had bought that brownstone, you would have forgiven them. You're hanging on to this because you feel something for him. I see it. He sure as hell must see it when you two are in the same room."

  "That's ridiculous," I scoff. "If I feel anything for Smith it's hatred."

  "You couldn't hate a person if your life depended on it." She puts Pike in my lap. "I'm going to make us a salad. You'll eat and I'll keep Pike company while you go talk this out with Smith. Do it, Brynn."

  Chapter 11

  Smith

  Bry
nn walks into Easton Pub thirty minutes late. She looks like something out of a dream. Her body is covered in a short white shirtdress cinched at the waist with a simple silver belt; her feet are in silver heeled sandals. Her gorgeous long legs are on display. They're toned, tanned and all I want is to feel them wrapped around me as I fuck my name from deep in her throat.

  She glances around like she doesn't notice me at the bar. I planted myself here when I arrived an hour, and two glasses of whiskey, ago. I saved the seat next to me despite the fact that two different women offered to keep it warm. I turned them down easily even though I'd normally invite them both back to my place.

  Experience has taught me that the quick way to breakfast in bed for three is to flirt the fuck out of both prospects and let the cards fall where they may. I've been known to take all that's offered. It's never been more than I can handle, until now.

  Brynn Bishop is the only woman I want tonight and judging by the look on her face, I'm the last man she wants anything to do with. Her gaze catches briefly on the suited guy on stage singing the shit out of "Oops…I Did It Again."

  Wisps of her pinned up hair fall around her face when she finally makes eye contact.

  I wave her over, willing my dick to behave. The bulge in the front of my jeans is big enough to warrant attention from the woman who just walked by me. I'm not interested in her. It's Brynn that my body craves.

  Her eyes skim over my face and the black T-shirt I'm wearing. I dress down when I'm out in the evening. Women still give me a second glance, but when I've ditched the tailored suits, they don't make the immediate connection that I'm the dude they drool over when they're eating their breakfast cereal every morning.

  My hair isn't styled in place as per Rise and Shine standards tonight. I showered, ran my hands through it and left my apartment looking like I was ready for a fuck.

  "What do you want, Smith?" Brynn's sapphire blue eyes cut through me as she approaches. This woman's eyes always got me. They may be the same color as her brother's but their depth is endless. The contrast to her jet black hair is striking. She's seriously the most beautiful person I've ever seen.

  "Sit, Brynn. Have a drink." I pat the seat of the wooden stool next to me.

  "I don't want a drink."

  "Said you, never," I deadpan. "Are you still drinking vodka and orange juice? If you are let me introduce you to a new friend. His name is Jack Daniels."

  She eyes the vacant stool. "I'll stand. Tell me why you ordered me down here."

  "I'm sorry I didn't kiss you when you were seventeen." I muster as much sincerity as I can find in the bottom of the second empty glass of whiskey. I know that death stare she keeps throwing my way isn't just about the kiss, but that needs to be cleared off the table before we go any further down the list of reasons why she can't stand me.

  I tap my glass on the wood bar to get the bartender's attention. I want a refill but I need to slow down. At this rate, I'm going to ditch my sense of what's right and wrong and end up on stage for amateur karaoke night. A viral video of me trying to catch the high notes of, "My Heart Will Go On," wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

  She levels me with a stare. "Why are you stuck on that non-kiss, Smith? I forgot all about it until you brought it up at the gym."

  I call bullshit with a red flag. "You didn't forget about it."

  She tosses me an exasperated smile with a sigh of impatience. "I forgot about it when I went home that night and kissed Leon Sibley."

  "You kissed Leon Sibley?" My hands clench into fists. Motherfucking Leon Sibley was at the party at Julian's. He showed up on the coattails of his older brother. Leon was a sophomore at NYU at the time, with an end goal of one day becoming a doctor of some discipline I didn't give a shit about back then. He was background noise, bitching about the ill effects of all the alcohol I was consuming and the bag of weed that found its way into one of the guestrooms.

  He was a nuisance, an annoyance I wanted gone. Apparently, Brynn viewed him differently.

  "He followed me home." She meets my eyes. "He had the doorman call me after I went in. I ran right down to see him."

  She better not give me a play-by-play of what happened. I don't want to hear it. Sibley saw an opening and moved in. That's all I need to know.

  "It was the most romantic first kiss in the world…" she hesitates, looking over at the guy giving his all as he belts out yet another Britney hit. "He wrote a song for me. He sang it before we kissed."

  Who does shit like that? Wait. Her first kiss? She was seventeen at the time.

  "I didn't know Sibley had it in him," I say, my voice not giving anything away. "He was your first kiss, Petal? What about the jerk that broke your heart and caused the death of the dozen daisies I caught you ripping to shreds?"

  "I never kissed Rhett." She squints at me and then gazes at the drink the bartender just placed in front of me. "First kisses are supposed to be special. Rhett wasn't special."

  I was. Goddamn my life to hell. She wanted me to kiss her. She was almost eighteen-years-old when she made her move on me and I brushed her off, sent her home and into the waiting arms of that crooning idiot Sibley.

  "I should have kissed you," I murmur as I watch her reach forward to pick up the glass of whiskey before she takes a mouthful.

  Her shoulders lift, her neck bows back and her eyes close as the liquid burns her tender throat. Her tongue swipes her bottom lip before she finally looks at me. "You should have but you didn't. It's all for the best. I got one of the best kisses I've ever had and you… I remember Julian saying something about you getting dumped the next day."

  I did. Taya dumped my ass the next night with a weak excuse about needing space. I accepted the job in Buffalo; ran through my training for my first on-air job and screwed my way through as many of the single women in the city as I could.

  "The kiss was that memorable?" I wrap my hand around the glass and swallow what's left.

  She kissed another guy after I turned her down. I could have been that sweet memory that will forever own a corner of her mind. I should have been her first kiss, her first fuck, her first goddamn everything.

  "His lips tasted like blueberries." She arches a perfectly shaped brow as if to challenge me.

  I don't know how to respond to that. Blueberries? Who the hell wants to kiss a blueberry? If I would have kissed her that night she would have tasted raw need with a pure lust chaser. I wanted her. I convinced myself it was wrong, but I wanted her. I would have waited until she blew out the final candle on her eighteenth birthday cake to have a taste of those lips. I should have.

  "It's all for the best. It's in the past, Smith. Let it go."

  I can't. I know there's more simmering inside of her. She's full of rage whenever she's near me and even though it's hot-as-fuck, it's also annoying. I want it gone. I want her to see me for who I am now, not whoever the hell I was when I pissed her off.

  "I'm done talking about that night," she says indignantly. "It's not like either of our lives would be any different if we would have kissed back then."

  I can't stop myself. I'm not done talking about it because she just dropped a bombshell in my lap and I don't have a drop of whiskey left to chase down the bitterness of the bad choice I made eight years ago. "Your life would be different now if we would have kissed back then."

  Her eyes widen. "You're wrong. Nothing would be different now."

  "You don't know that." I exhale roughly, irritation gnawing at my gut. I'm not pissed at her. I'm the one who turned her down. My life is the one that would have been different if I would have pushed my reservations aside and taken a taste.

  She rests her hand on my shoulder as she steps closer to where I'm still seated on the stool. I shift, parting my knees to give her access. She takes it, moving until she's standing between my legs. "A kiss is just a kiss, Smith."

  "You know that's not true, Petal."

  "I'll prove it," she whispers before she cups my face in her hands, tilts her head and
sweeps her soft lips over mine.

  Chapter 12

  Brynn

  He takes control of the kiss almost immediately. His hand grabs my hip, the other cradles the back of my neck. He angles me the way he wants, the taste of his lips controlling me. I'm intoxicated by the scent of his skin and the mild jolt of whiskey that peppers his tongue as it glides against mine. He moans into my mouth and my knees weaken. My body heats and I melt at the same time.

  Goose pimples pop up on my arms, my legs, and every single spot that I want to feel his touch.

  I step even closer to him and he growls out my name. He wants more and dammit, I do too.

  I can't.

  This is Smith Booth.

  I almost whimper as I pull back and break us apart.

  His lips breeze over my cheek, leaving a soft trail of kisses that land on my ear. "That was worth the wait."

  No, it wasn't. Shit. Yes, it was. That's why I tossed all common sense aside and went for it.

  I've never been kissed like that. My ex-fiancé couldn't make my panties wet with just a kiss.

  I resist the desire to kiss Smith again. I did it to prove a point to him and all I accomplished was to get myself so worked up that I'll need to come the second I close my bedroom door tonight.

  I take a step back because I don't trust myself. "It was just a kiss, Smith."

  "Are you trying to convince yourself of that?" he asks. His eyes are dark as he looks at the outline of my hard nipples through my dress. "You felt what I felt, Petal. Don't deny it."

  So I felt aroused? Big deal. I haven't been with a man in months. It's not surprising that a kiss would ignite something in me.

  "I kissed you to show you that a kiss is just a kiss." I reach to pick up my clutch. I'd tossed it on the bar when I made my move on him. "Now that we've settled that, we can finally stop talking about what didn't happen when I was seventeen. Agreed?"