Minutes upon minutes later, the cab pulled under the covered drive of the resort, allowing me to exit in the much-appreciated shade. With an assuming smile, I handed the driver cash for the fare and a generous tip. I confidently placed my high-heeled sandals on the steaming pavement and walked toward the resort. With the efficiency of a drill sergeant, I moved dauntlessly toward my objective. Merely a pretentious nod of my head and the door was opened. A crisp one-hundred-dollar bill at the bellman’s desk and I was armed with the key to a suite on the eighteenth floor. Walking toward the elevator, I shifted my gaze, daring anyone to question my presence. No one did. I’m Mrs. Stewart Harrington.
Within less than a minute, I was ascending the tower toward the eighteenth floor. Although I was confident that Brody had chosen the hotel suite with other goals in mind, that wouldn’t happen today. I’d opened myself up—a little—to him for one reason: it wasn’t sex.
It wasn’t as if I always denied him sex. As a matter of fact, we had an array of locations littered throughout the city where I hadn’t denied him, but honestly, there was something about Brody that made me uncomfortable. Sex was a mechanical act for me, a time to leave my body and zone out. Each time Brody and I were together, that was increasingly difficult. I didn’t want to face that reality or even the internal questions that it raised.
As I disembarked the elevator and peered down the long hallway, the fleeting sense of anticipation took me by surprise. Rarely did I find myself aroused. However, as I realized that it had been almost a month since I’d been alone with Brody, my insides involuntarily tightened.
Brody Phillips, esquire, was, among other things, my informant. As a junior partner at Craven and Knowles, the prestigious law firm that handled all of Stewart’s personal legal needs, he was privy to information that affected me. The common good ol’ boy attitude shared by most in the firm was that as Stewart’s wife I didn’t need to know, or couldn’t possibly understand, the legalities that affected me. Thankfully, I’d found an ally who disagreed. After all, it was my name, Victoria Conway Harrington, on the documents. Despite my husband’s obstinacy, I had a right to know.
Our alliance had started slowly. Every man was suspect, especially anyone within Stewart’s circles. I hadn’t planned on allowing Brody to get to know me—few people did. However, with time and patience, he pulled me into a sense of camaraderie. Unlike the men who saw me as nothing other than an available fuck, Brody spoke to me with sincerity. It was years into our clandestine friendship before we took it to the next level. However, once we did, turning back wasn’t an option.
A quick swipe of the key and the lock mechanism clicked. Before I could fully open the door, Brody’s strawberry blonde hair and smiling eyes stopped me momentarily in my tracks. He was the perfect man next door: innocent and sweet. Yet I knew from experience, he was equally cunning and shrewd. There was no way he’d have survived in the world of Craven and Knowles if he weren’t. However, there was something about his eyes. From the first time we’d met, I was fascinated. His eyes were unlike any I’ve ever seen. They weren’t the color blue nor were they green: they were more of an aquamarine hue. It wasn’t only the color that pulled me in: it was the way he looked at me, really looked. With a glance, even in a crowded room, he made me feel vulnerable and exposed. That did strange things to me, things I didn’t like. It was as if he could see a side of me that no one else could: he could see through my façade. Taking him in, the small lines at the corners of his eyes and the slight gleam, implored my gaze to travel lower to his raised cheeks and welcoming smile. Involuntarily, the tips of my lips moved upward.
With his suit jacket and tie missing, my eyes traveled down his starched, fitted button-down shirt to his trim waist. His dark gray Brooks Brothers’ slacks accentuated his long legs and firm physique. Hearing the sound of his voice returned my attention to his remarkable eyes.
“Vik-ki,” he said, elongating my nickname. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.” The temperature of the room increased as he reached for my shoulder and leaned near. His lips brushed my cheek with the teasing promise of more. The lingering scent of his aftershave filled me with memories of freshly laundered sheets, so unlike the heavy masculine cologne my husband wore. I fought the urge to reach up and stroke Brody’s cheek, to feel the slight stubble beneath my fingers.
Taking my hand, he led me inside the spacious suite. The wall farthest from the door was nothing but windows filled with the familiar blue. Though there were many things about Miami that I detested, the view of the water going on forever was not one of them. Now it momentarily took my breath as well as my response away.
“This is stunning.”
“Not as stunning as you,” he said, removing my sunglasses and staring deeply into my steel-gray eyes.
“Brody, I can’t—”
His lips captured my words as his firm chest pressed me toward the wall. The tingle of anticipation I’d felt moments earlier grew like a fire—wind to a spark on dry grass. I gave into desire and moved my petite hands to the sides of his face, feeling the stubble I’d longed to touch. My fingers lingered as our tongues united. I didn’t want to admit that I was afraid to let go, afraid of not remembering the feeling smoldering inside of me. The sound of our breathing filled the suite, as my beating heart echoed in my ears, momentarily drowning out reasoning, filling me instead with hunger for what he could provide.