It was, of course, porn.
“You’re a very fast typist, Betty.”
“Thank you, Mr. Larson. My fingers have always been my biggest asset.”
“I bet they have. Bring your hand a little closer.”
“Ooh, Mr. Larson, that tickles.”
“Do you like it?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“What about this?”
“Mmm, even better.”
Hayden had to bite her lip to refrain from bursting into laughter. On the screen, Betty and her boss began making out. Mr. Larsen’s big hairy hand disappeared under Betty’s conservative skirt. Loud moaning ensued.
She shook her head and pressed a button on the remote. Betty and Mr. Larson disappeared, replaced by a great white shark.
You want me, come and get me.
The sound of Brody’s sandpaper-rough voice filled her head. She let out a long breath, exasperated. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about the guy? And why couldn’t she stop wanting him? She wanted him so badly she could practically feel those big muscular arms around her waist.
But sometimes the things you wanted weren’t necessarily the ones you needed.
At the moment, she needed to concentrate on supporting her dad through his divorce and maybe finally call Doug back to tell him she’d slept with someone else and that it was time to turn their break into a breakup.
But what she wanted was one more night with Brody Croft.
It doesn’t have to be black and white.
She sat there for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as Darcy’s words buzzed around in her brain.
Was her friend right? Was she overanalyzing all of this? She’d always had the tendency to pick and prod at each situation until she’d sucked every last drop of fun or enjoyment from it. This wasn’t an art history lecture she needed to plan for—it was just sex. Was there really anything wrong with delving into that gray area and enjoying a carnal ride with a man she found wildly attractive?
She turned off the television and reached for the phone.
6
THE CALL FROM HAYDEN came as a total shock. Brody had just stepped out of the shower, where he’d stood under the hot spray for a good half hour to get the kinks out of his muscles. He’d intended to grab a beer from the fridge and watch the highlight reel on ESPN, maybe give Becker a call to talk about Craig Wyatt, and then his cell phone began chirping out a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 and Hayden’s throaty voice was on the other end.
Come over.
She’d only spoken those two words, then disconnected, leaving him both pleased and befuddled.
Obviously she’d finally changed her mind and taken him up on his offer to continue the fantasy she’d started two nights ago, but was it still just sex she craved? Or was she looking for something extra this time around?
Shit, he was getting ahead of himself here. Hayden was simply inviting him back into her bed for another wild romp, not offering to make a commitment.
He quickly put on a pair of jeans and pulled an old Warriors jersey over his head. Then he grabbed his car keys from the credenza in the hallway, shoved his wallet into his back pocket and left the house, breathing in the damp night air.
It was mid-May, which meant the nights were still cool and the chance of a thunderstorm or even a freak blizzard wasn’t all that far-fetched, but Brody loved this time of year, when spring and summer battled for domination over Chicago’s climate. He’d lived in this city almost eight years now, and he’d grown to appreciate and enjoy everything about it, even the indecisive seasons.
When he pulled up in front of Hayden’s hotel, a light drizzle of rain was sliding across the windshield. He hopped out of the SUV and entered the lobby just as a bolt of lightning filled the sky. Thunder roared ominously in the distance, growing louder and louder until the rain became a steady downpour.
Shaking droplets of water from his hair, he approached the check-in desk and asked the clerk behind it to ring Hayden’s suite. A moment later, the clerk walked him over to the elevator and inserted a key into the panel that would allow Brody access to the penthouse, then left him alone in the car.
The elevator soared upward, its doors opening into the suite, where Hayden was waiting for him.
“I have some ground rules,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
He grinned. “Hello to you, too.”
“Hello. I have some ground rules.”
He tossed his car keys on a glass table beside one of the couches and moved toward her.
Even in sweats, she looked amazing. He liked how she’d pulled her hair back in a messy ponytail, how a few haphazard strands framed her face, which was devoid of makeup. He especially liked how her thin tank top didn’t hide the fact that she wore no bra.