That was something her old self would’ve done, Brodie mused. Breakfast at midnight, dancing in the rain, unplanned road trips and afternoon sex. The Brodie she was today didn’t do wild anymore.
“And tonight is the ball. Are you coming?” Kade placed his hand flat on the wall behind her head and she had to resist the urge to rest her temple on his forearm.
Brodie shook her head. “No. Besides the tickets are sold out.”
The corners of Kade’s mouth tipped up. “I’m sure I know someone who can slip you inside.”
It was tempting, Brodie thought, but no. Attending the ball with Kade would make it seem like a date and she didn’t date.
“Why don’t you give me a call in a day or two?” she suggested.
“I don’t know if I can last that long,” Kade said, his tone rueful. He jammed his hands into his suit pockets and Brodie couldn’t help her urge to straighten his tie. “But...okay.”
“Lipstick on my face?” he asked.
“No, you’re fine.”
Kade nodded. “Give me your cell number. And your address.”
Brodie put the info in his phone. Kade nodded his thanks.
Kade’s eyes warmed to the color of rough cocoa. “Do you work from home?”
“No, I share an office with my friend and associate downtown. He’s also a matchmaker.”
Kade scratched his chin. “I am still wrapping my head around the fact you set people up and they pay you for it. It’s...weird.”
She couldn’t take offense. Frequently she thought it was a very odd way to earn money—especially for someone who’d once specialized in international banking and who intended to remain single for the rest of her life. But she was curious as to why he thought her business was weird so she asked him.
Kade rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess it’s because I’ve never had a problem finding dates.’
It was such a common misconception. “Neither do most of my clients. They aren’t looking to date, they are looking to settle down.” She saw him wince and she had to smile. “So I guess you’re not going to be a client anytime soon?”
“Or ever.”
Kade pushed all thoughts of her career out of her head when he lifted his hands to cradle her face. She shivered with a mixture of lust and longing. Her hands drifted across his chest and skimmed his flat, ridged belly.
“I can’t wait to spend some time with you.” He bent to kiss the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck. He lifted his head and gave her a hard stare. “Soon, I promise.”
Brodie swallowed in an attempt to put some saliva back into her mouth.
Keeping his hands on her face, Kade twisted his wrist to check the time and softly cursed. “I’ve got to get back to the office, I am so late.” The pad of his thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Please don’t talk yourself out of this, Brodie.”
She wanted to protest, wanted to reassure him, but she didn’t. “See you.”
Kade nodded abruptly, dropped a hard, openmouthed kiss on her lips, then whipped around and headed back to the restaurant.
“You’d better make it very soon, Kade Webb.”
* * *
She’d run ten kilometers and had a cold shower, and despite it being four hours later, she could still taste Kade on her lips. Her lady parts were buzzing; her heart was still thumping. Her heart rate had actually dropped when she’d all but sprinted around Stanley Park. How was she going to function for the next couple of days if this heightened state of awareness didn’t dissipate?
It had to dissipate—she couldn’t live like this.
God, this was why she ran from entanglements. It was so much easier to slide on the surface of life. She didn’t like feeling this way. It felt too much like she was...
Well, living. Living meant anticipation, excitement, lust, passion. She wasn’t good at any of it anymore and she didn’t deserve to feel all that, not when her entire family, practically everyone she had ever loved, was no longer around to do the same.
Why didn’t I get hurt?
Why did I live when other people died?
Survivor’s guilt. She was the poster child for the condition. Brodie walked across her living room, hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. She’d seen the psychologists, read the literature. She knew guilt was common and part of the healing process. Her healing process was taking a damn long time. She knew she isolated herself. Living a half life wasn’t healthy—it certainly couldn’t bring her loved ones back. But she couldn’t stop thinking she didn’t deserve to be happy.
Love was impossible.
The sound of her intercom buzzing broke into her thoughts. Brodie pushed back her hair, frowning. She wasn’t expecting anybody—her great-aunt Poppy, who lived on the floor below, was out of town—so she couldn’t imagine who could be leaning on her doorbell.