Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (7 page)

Braden and he departed, leaving awkward silence behind.

Lola knelt beside her sister and shot her a look of warning. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. But if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

She took her sister’s hand. “I know and I appreciate it.”

Lola missed her sister, missed their closeness. When Portia had left her behind to become a professional dancer in New York, she’d resented her. Not for following her dreams, but for not taking Lola with her.

“So, what did mom say about you moving in with Braden?” Portia asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I left a note.”

Her sister sighed. “I was kind of counting on you to figure out what’s going on with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m worried about her. She’s acting different.”

The only way their mother could act different would be to act normal, and she hadn’t seen that happen yet nor did she expect it to ever happen. “Not to me. Last night, she gave me an hour-long lecture on my responsibility as a Muse. Thanks for that, by the way. Now that you bought into her delusions, she’s more determined to convince me.”

“Just keep your eye out for her when you do see her. She doesn’t take care of herself.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Her sister scrutinized her the same way her mother did. “So, had any strange dreams yet?”

Was it tattooed on her forehead? She tried to act casual. “Why would you ask that?”

Portia scratched the cat’s belly. “Because if you remember, that’s what happened to me. I started dreaming about loving Ryan in a different life before I actually loved him in this one.”

Heat pinged around in her chest like a bouncing ball. Love? Not in the cards for her. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about Braden,” she declared a bit too loudly to be casual.

Her sister smiled. “Braden, huh? I had a feeling about you two the first night I met him. I asked Ryan all sorts of questions about him . . . made Ryan jealous as heck.”

She shook her head. Her will was stronger than that little thing called fate. “I’m sure I’m having the dreams because we’re forced to spend so much time together.”

“If you say so,” Portia said with a laugh.

She didn’t want her sister to get the wrong idea. Despite how things worked out for Portia and Ryan, Lola didn’t believe in happy-ever-after. “No matter what happens between us, we won’t end up together. At the end of the thirty days, I’m leaving Michigan.”

It was the only way Lola knew how to live.

CHAPTER 9

My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand

what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

William Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night,
act 3, scene 1

“So, you and Lola? I didn’t see that one coming,” Ryan said as he hauled the last box to Portia’s new Jeep.

“Believe me, neither did I,” Braden mumbled under his breath. “The only way she’ll be ready for those auditors is if we spend every waking moment together—if she shadows me at
Acropolis
, works in the kitchen, manages the receipts, makes the orders. You know how much is involved in the restaurant business.”

Ryan slid the box in the backseat and slammed the door. “Believe me, I know. I get exhausted just thinking about how much work it takes to run
Acropolis
, especially without a general manager.”

Since money wasn’t an issue, Braden could’ve hired a general manager and a couple of assistant managers to run the restaurant while he oversaw the daily operations and took care of the business-end of the restaurant. The fact was, he enjoyed working and it was his reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

Now back inside the house, they threw their coats over the banister of the staircase. Braden faced Ryan with a wry smile. “I’m enjoying doing it myself. Sure, I might stretch myself too thin some days, but at least if something goes wrong, I have no one to blame but myself. Plus, I get to meet all the beautiful patrons of my establishment.”

Ryan slanted him a glance. “Yeah, but you barely have time to date.”

“I don’t need to date them to have sex.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but said nothing. A few months ago, he would’ve laughed and pounded him on the back in agreement. How the mighty have fallen.

Braden stopped in the hallway several feet from the living room so the sisters wouldn’t overhear what he needed to say to his best friend. “Before Portia, you felt the same way. You didn’t date. You may have asked someone to attend one of your family’s fundraisers and you slept with her afterward, but you never had any intention of it developing into a relationship and neither did they. It was a convenient hook-up.”

Concern flashed in Ryan’s eyes. “Is that what my future sister-in-law is to you? A convenient hook-up?”

Braden thought about how close he and Lola had gotten to getting naked with each other in the last couple of days only to be interrupted each time and laughed. “No. Nothing with Lola is ever convenient.”

“Listen, you’re both adults and you’re both part of my family. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt or make the family gatherings tense because you two can’t stand to be in the same room together.”

Braden raked his hand through his hair. “I promise if that happened, I’d bow out.”

“You’re my family, too. Hell, I’m closer to you than my own brothers. The point is, I don’t want it to come to that.”

“It won’t,” Braden asserted. As long as she never discovered this thing between them had started because of the lease, everything would be fine. They’d part as friends and see each other at Portia and Ryan’s wedding and the occasional holiday.

As he and Ryan continued walking toward the living room, Lola’s husky voice carried into the hallway, “It’s not as though I’ll fall in love with him.”

His gut clenched with something unfamiliar, something bordering on the edge of pain.

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him and grinned before crossing into the living room. “Ready to go?” he asked Portia, offering a hand to pick her up off the floor.

A woman in love, she smiled brightly at him and accepted his help, then hugged him tightly when she’d gotten to her feet as if they hadn’t seen each other in years rather than minutes.

Lola hopped to her feet and threw her arms around her sister, who stood about a half-foot taller. “Thanks for the chat. Now you two crazy kids go home and start practicing on making me a niece or nephew to spoil.”

“Give us a little time. We’re not even married yet,” Ryan said.

“That’s why I said
practicing
,” Lola said with a wicked grin. “Ah, look, my sister’s blushing.” Sure enough, crimson stained Portia’s cheeks.

They said their goodbyes, leaving Lola and Braden alone once more. She flopped down on the couch and rested her head on the arm, spread out like a banquet upon which he wanted to feast. Soon.

He clapped his hands together. “No time for napping. We’ve got beautiful music to create together.”

She growled and sat up to glare at him. “Fine.”

“Would it make you any happier if we were to do it in the music studio?”

“Heck, yeah.” She walked past him and stopped in the hallway. “Are you coming? You haven’t given me a tour of this monstrosity you call a home, so I don’t even know where it is.”

He followed her out and took her hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you everything.” Not wanting to waste time, he gave her a quick tour, pointing out rooms such as the gym, but not bothering to go inside. She asked a few questions, but remained quieter than normal.

He knew she thought she didn’t belong here in a mansion, but then again, who did? Him? He didn’t have family to fill the rooms and spent all of his time at
Acropolis
. None of the stuff he filled the house with meant a damned thing to him.

In the basement, they passed the wine cellar and in-law apartment until they came to the last closed door on the end. “And the music studio.” He threw open the door and stepped back to allow her first entry.

She gasped. “Holy mac and cheese. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He watched the joy spread on her face as she took in the studio. Braden had paid extra for the previous owner to leave behind the instruments and equipment, figuring it was an investment. Lola’s excitement made that investment worth every penny.

The studio was split into two rooms: one for the musician and the other for the producer. It was a music artist’s wet dream. Several acoustic, bass, and electric guitars hung on the wall, giving users a selection in styles and brands. A built-in, dark brown storage cabinet with glass panels held a myriad of wind instruments and brass instruments. There were two different drum sets, four different keyboards, and a few standing microphones. In the far corner of the room was his favorite item, a large ebony Steinway.

She zeroed in on something in the cabinet. “A harmonica.” Her laugh, tinged with sadness, echoed against the walls, sounding louder than it was. “I had a harmonica when I was younger. I loved that thing. One day, when I was about thirteen, I came home—well, a homeless shelter—and it was gone from where I had hid it in a laundry bag beneath my underwear. When you don’t own much, you appreciate the things you do have.”

He sat on the piano bench. “What did you do?”

“I was so angry I threatened to beat up every kid in the shelter until the one who took it came forward. I wouldn’t have done it. Part of the side-effects of growing up with a pacifist like Reina. But it was enough to convince the thief to admit to it. A little girl with brown curly hair pulled on my sleeve and dropped it in my hand. She was about seven-years-old. She didn’t say she was sorry or give me any excuses. Just stared at it as if it were the most precious diamond in the world. I gave it back to her.” She shrugged and walked away from the harmonica on display in the cabinet and leaned on the side of the piano. “I never did get another harmonica, but I guess you can say I traded up when I started playing guitar.”

“That was nice of you. You’re welcome to help yourself to any of these instruments, including the harmonica. In fact, you have full reign of the house. What’s mine is yours.”

“Thanks,” she responded absently, smoothing her hand over the piano.

“I’ve kept the piano tuned.” He played a few chords to confirm it.

Her pierced brow shot up in an arch. “You play?”

“A little.” His parents had arranged for a teacher to come once a week and give him and Rosalind lessons until they’d each turned eighteen. His sister had hated every minute of it, but he found comfort in the sound of the notes and would get lost in the cadence of the music.

With a bump of her hip, Lola nudged him further down the bench, giving him the impression she’d sit next to him. Instead, she used the bench as a step stool and perched herself on top of the piano. She tossed her legs over the edge so they hung over the side, and leaned back resting her weight on her arms, thrusting her gorgeously full chest out like she was sunbathing on a rock in the middle of the ocean.

His breath caught in his throat. He tinkered with a melody to give him a moment to regroup. “Do you have any ideas for lyrics?”

“Well, I was thinking. I need a hook, something that stands out from everyone else. Take Katy Perry for example. Here you have this nice, all-American girl next door. She has talent, ambition, and even a record contract. But she didn’t get noticed until she sang about kissing a girl and liking it. I need to write a song like that.”

He played the notes to the song, causing Lola to laugh. “I don’t agree.
You
are the hook. Your pink hair, tattoos, and piercings are a good start, but it’s the part of you that you’re hiding that gives you the hook. The woman who can memorize a textbook about accounting, who’s willing to give up her most valuable possession to a younger child without a second thought. The one who smells like lavender and whose kisses taste like heaven even when my cock is in agonizing hell with jealousy of my tongue.
That’s
the Lola you need to show the music producer.”

“You want me to kiss him?” she asked innocently.

He stopped playing.

“I’m kidding, Romeo.” She laughed at him. “It’s music time.”

His pants grew uncomfortable at the vision of her laid out on his piano. An idea formed and he smiled. The hell with music time. He couldn’t pass on this opportunity. “Who are some of your musical influences?” he asked.

“Stevie Nicks, Heart, and John Lennon,” she answered without hesitation, her feet dangling off the edge of the piano.

He slipped off her right shoe. “Why?”

She blew out an audible breath and paused. “Their lyrics speak to me. The words are honest and raw. They tell it as they see it.”

“So, not because Stevie Nicks wore lacey dresses or because Heart was made up of two sisters like you and Portia or because John Lennon was a pacifist, but because of the honesty of their words?”

“Yes,” she replied in barely a whisper.

He grabbed her right ankle and twisted her around so her feet hung over the keys of the piano and gently removed her left shoe. “You connected with the soul underneath the image.” He rubbed the sole of her foot, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. “Give that music producer the real you and the rest will fall into place.”

“How . . . would you know? You don’t work in the music industry.” Her breath came out in choppy pants. “By the way, that foot massage feels really good. Don’t stop.”

He moved to work on her other foot and chuckled. “I promise I won’t stop until you are completely relaxed.”

She lay on her back allowing him to work his magic on her feet. He pressed his thumbs firmly into both arches, dragging toward the bottom of her soles and she inhaled audibly. He cupped her ankles in each of his hands and massaged the firm flesh, admiring her tattoo of a dolphin jumping out of the ocean. How many other tattoos could he discover before she stopped him?

Thank goodness she wore a skirt.

His fingers continued to drift higher, gently squeezing the muscles of her calves and feeling them soften under his hands. A driving need to continue the exploration of her body caused him to yank her by the knees to give him better access. She gasped but didn’t refuse him and he couldn’t see her face. It killed him not to watch her reactions, but he listened closely to the patterns of her ragged breathing and the little moans. He felt the goose bumps under his hands as they worked their way up her legs to dig deep into the muscles behind her knees.

The scent of lavender permeated from her skin, calling to him. He lifted himself up from the bench, just enough to let his tongue join his fingers as he licked his way from her calf to her knee. Her body shuddered, but still, with the exception of the soft gasps, she remained silent.

“
What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter. Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty,
” he muttered against the silkiness of her calf.

“What did you say?” she asked weakly, sitting up on her elbows and allowing him to finally see her flushed face.

He pushed back the piano bench and stood, wrapping his hands around the outside of her knees. “It’s from Shakespeare’s ‘Twelfth Night.’ I’m sure you’re familiar with it. And it means we shouldn’t waste time when we both want the same thing.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, her voice deep and husky.

“This.” He slowly spread her legs and watched her eyes for the reaction.

They blazed with intensity and curiosity, but her jaw was rigid. “I’m not sure . . .”

With his fingertips, he caressed figure eights on her inner thighs. “Call this a full-service massage. Don’t think. Don’t stress. Let go. Let me take care of you.”

She swallowed hard and gave her permission, falling back onto the piano and dropping her arms to her sides. From her ankles, he slowly and deliberately dragged up her long skirt inch by agonizing inch, revealing her perfect skin to his gaze, including a small tattoo of a rainbow. It was like a scavenger hunt for tattoos. He wondered if she had any ink a bit higher. His palms skated along her thighs and bunched her skirt around her hips.

All the blood rushed from his brain into his cock and he swayed on his feet. The woman didn’t wear panties.

“Surprise,” she whispered.

“And it’s not even my birthday,” he responded, staring at the dark curls between her legs.

She choked out a giggle and that’s when he went in for the kill. He used his thumbs to part her for his view. “Beautiful,” he said to reassure her and also because it was true. The scent of lavender intensified as he lowered his tongue to tease her. With gentle licks, sucks, and nibbles, he used his mouth to drive her higher and higher. The taste of her intoxicated him, made him feel as though he’d drank a bottle of wine on an empty stomach, dizzy and euphoric.