Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (6 page)

“We’re not living together,” Portia and Ryan simultaneously chimed.

“You two practically sound married already,” her sister commented, eyeing Ryan as though he were the last piece of chocolate in a sugar-free world.

Ryan returned the smile. “And you must be Viola.”

He sounded exactly like Braden had when he’d introduced himself to Portia—only smarmier. Something sour and hot twinged in her chest and she lightly rubbed the spot. The fish must have given her heartburn.

What did she care if he hit on her sister? It wasn’t as though she wanted anything to happen between them.

“Lola,” her sister corrected. “Only my sister and Reina call me Viola. Please sit down.” She motioned for the men to join them.

Braden slid into the booth next to Viola leaving Ryan no choice but to sit next to Portia. She hated feeling like a consolation prize. It wasn’t her sister’s fault that everyone preferred her bubbly personality and pink hair to Portia’s predictability.

“Anything I should know about your sister before we move in together?” Ryan asked.

His knee brushed against hers and she glanced down at his hands which drummed against the plastic cushion of the booth, making her aware of how close they sat. His presence unnerved her, woke her up better than a Grande cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, and at the same time gave her a sense of tranquility, as if nothing could go wrong in his presence.

Viola pretended to consider the question, her fingers pressed against her lips. “She hogs the blankets. Oh, and she talks in her sleep.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “I do not! Besides, we’re not going to be sharing a bed. Ryan and I already discussed the matter. For the next three months, we’ll work together fixing up the house, but otherwise, we’ll lead completely separate lives.” She turned to Ryan for confirmation, but he threw up his hands and shook his head, refusing to back her up.

“If you say so,” Viola said in a singsong voice.

“Ryan has a life?” Braden quipped.

She laughed as Ryan grunted a “thanks man” at his friend.

Viola ignored Braden and jumped in to add her two cents. “No offense, sister-mine, but you don’t even have a car. How are you going to get around? It’s not like New York where you can hop on the subway or hail a cab. And as much as I love you, I can’t chauffeur you around every day.”

“I’ve got a couple extra. I’d be happy to lend you one until you can make other arrangements.” Braden reached over the table, picking something white and fuzzy off of Viola’s Violent Femmes T-shirt.

“No, my sister doesn’t want your—” Viola said, swatting at Braden’s hand.

“That would be great,” Portia interrupted cheerfully. “I can pay you. Not much, but a little—”

“Nonsense. I can only drive one car at a time. Would you prefer a Lexus or a Jeep? You seem more like a luxury type of girl, so I’d guess Lexus.”

Her? A luxury type of girl? She’d lived in a Brooklyn apartment the size of a closet and shared it with two other girls. Tonight’s dinner was the first she’d eaten in a restaurant in more than a year. Yes, she’d occasionally attended a formal reception for the patrons of the theater, but she’d rented those dresses, and her accessories were all bought secondhand. Growing up with a mom who’d dressed them in medieval dresses, kilts, and lederhosen, she’d learned to appreciate plain old T-shirts and jeans. And cars? She’d never owned one. Any car was a luxury in her world.

“The Lexus would be lovely. Thank you,” she said, smiling at Braden to show her appreciation.

“Anything you need, day or night, you call me and I’ll come running.” He returned a smile which typically would cause flutters between her thighs, but today—nada. Her nether regions were apparently under the misguided belief they belonged to the man sitting next to her. Ryan only had to flex his pinky and she practically had a mini-orgasm.

“Portia mentioned you’re a singer,” Ryan said to Viola, a slight scowl on his face.

What was his problem?

Braden squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Viola sings here five nights a week with her band, Wicked Muse.”

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Ryan threw his arm around Portia’s shoulders and tugged her in closer, confusing the heck out of her. “Maybe Portia and I will come back to hear you one night.”

She and her sister seemed to be caught in the middle of some kind of pissing match between the two bro-friends, and she was not pleased about it. The slick flesh between her legs, on the other hand, was having a party in response to his touch. She clenched her thighs together and dug her nails into her palm. “I don’t know. Viola doesn’t even start her first set until ten and we have that curfew. Plus we have a lot to do.”

Braden winked at her. “I’m sure Lola could accommodate the schedule for her sister and her cousin. Friday night we offer an earlier show at eight. Advertise it as the early bird special. Early enough that the old geezers can stay awake for it. Lola does have a thing for the old folks.”

Her sister’s jaw tensed and her eyes blazed with fury. Portia felt as though she’d stumbled into a foreign land where everyone spoke the language but her.

Viola shoved Braden out of the booth. Visibly irritated, she slapped down money for dinner at the same time she got to her feet. Portia hadn’t seen her this angry since one of kids in the shelters stole her harmonica. “It was nice to meet you, Ryan. Braden, as always, I would have preferred to get my teeth drilled without Novocain. Portia, I’m really glad to have you back. Since Ryan’s here, can he give you a ride home? I’m going to join my band members at their table and see if we can have a short meeting before our set.”

She would have rather gotten the chance to talk with her sister about what was going on between her and Braden, but she didn’t want to inconvenience her.

Ryan nodded. “No problem. It was nice meeting you too, Lola.”

Her sister leaned down and gave Portia a quick hug before running off to her friends.

Braden watched her walk away then returned his attention to the table. “Well, I should check on the kitchen. You can come by tomorrow and pick up the car. Ryan, I’ll leave the keys on the table in the entryway. Portia, it was a pleasure meeting you.” He trekked away with a smile of satisfaction on his face and once again, she felt as though she was missing something.

Ryan’s arm slid off her shoulder, leaving her feeling surprisingly cold and bereft. “Are you ready for our first night together?”

She gulped, tamping down the buzzing excitement those words fueled inside her. No matter what, she couldn’t forget at the end of the day, Ryan and she wanted very different things. She’d do almost anything to convince him to keep the house. But how far was she willing to go? She had a feeling, she’d soon find out.

Chapter 6

What if my house be troubled with a rat,

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats

To have it baned?

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice
, act 4, scene 1

Ryan wanted to kill Braden. Wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze the narcissistic life out of him. He’d grilled Ryan about the house and Portia and then actually dared to flirt with her in front of his face. Not that it should surprise him. He flirted with anyone who had breasts over the age of twenty-one. But Braden knew the situation between Ryan and Portia was . . . complicated.

In fact, not ten minutes before they’d sat down with the Dubrovsky sisters, Braden had advised Ryan to use the sexual attraction between him and Portia to his advantage, suggesting he should spend their three months together in his bed, gaining her trust then convincing her to sell. Then Braden had gone and flirted with her, and even worse, she’d flirted back.

The whole time he he’d been forced to sit next to Portia in the restaurant with the heat permeating from her body, her vanilla scent tantalizing his senses, his dick had ached. He’d wanted to growl at Braden and mark his territory so everyone would know she belonged to him. But what did he do? A big fat nothing. He’d smiled and played casual, keeping his hands to himself, making polite conversation with her sister.

On the ride back to the house, she’d asked him if something was going on between him and Braden, but what could he say? That the next three months would be hell living with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen but couldn’t touch? That the thought of anyone, especially Braden, getting their hands on her was like a knife twisting in his gut? Considering they’d met only twelve hours earlier, she’d probably think he’d lost his grip on reality. And, hell, she might be right.

Instead of answering, he’d laughed it off and started talking about the house. Her face had scrunched up as if she’d figured out he was purposely changing the subject, but she’d pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from her purse and started a list. He’d bet she made a lot of them.

Now, dangerously close to curfew, they stood in front of their broken front door, each of them with a suitcase in hand. He dropped his and scooped her up in his arms, just before kicking the door down.

“Ryan, what are you doing?” she yelled, twisting in his grip. “I’m too heavy. Put me down.”

With her pressed against his chest, he crossed the threshold of their new home. “Just seemed like the thing to do when you move in with a woman.”

“That’s only when you get married,” she said, laughing. “Now put me down and let’s grab our suitcases. It’s been a long day and I’d really like to get a good night’s rest before we start working on this place in the morning.”

He lowered her to her feet and brought both pieces of luggage into the house. He’d packed light, only bringing a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries. Most of his stuff remained over at Braden’s. “Did you leave the rest of your things at your sister’s?”

She stilled for a moment then tugged on a strand of her hair. “No. Everything I own is in that case.”

“Oh. Sorry.” A sharp pang of guilt shot him straight in the heart. For some reason, he’d thought she’d exaggerated when she explained her current financial situation.

She shuffled to the wall next to the doorframe and ran her fingers across the wall. “It’s awfully dark in here. Where’s the light switch?” She found it and flicked it up and down. “Uh, Ryan. Did anyone make sure this place had electricity?”

He strode into the great room and tried that switch. Nothing happened. “I guess I assumed George took care of it. Didn’t think to check this afternoon.”

She crouched on the floor and dug into her purse. “I’ve got a pen light in here attached to my keys. That will have to do for tonight. Come on. Let’s go to bed.” The moon shined bright enough to witness the blush creep onto her cheeks. “I mean . . .”

He knew exactly what she meant, but the image of lying naked under the covers with her did nothing to cool his ardor. “I know what you meant.” Too bad one part of his anatomy didn’t.

She aimed the light at the stairs while he returned the door to its upright position then followed behind her, dragging both suitcases as they walked up the stairs.

“I love the staircase. It reminds me of
Gone with the Wind
.” She whipped around and dramatically flung the back of her hand to her forehead. “Rhett, if you go, where will I go? What will I do?” she said in a very bad Southern accent.

Unlike Rhett, he didn’t think he’d ever walk out on her. “Don’t give up your day job, sweetheart. Stick with dancing.”

She frowned. “I told you I retired.” Turning back around, she proceeded up the stairs, subtly swaying her hips. “So remind me, how many bedrooms does the house have?”

“Five. But after his Alzheimer’s got worse, Uncle Al started storing . . . things, and sold off the bedroom sets to make room for it all.” Aw, man. The bedrooms. He stopped climbing the stairs and laughed under his breath. This was not going to go over well with Portia.

“What kinds of things?” She continued up the steps, oblivious to his silent moment of clarity about the sleeping arrangements.

Good thing it was after curfew. She couldn’t run out of the house once she learned the truth. He forced one foot in front of the other. “You ever watch the Home Shopping Network? He became an addict. Bought everything they sold. We’ll go through it all and see if we can sell it on eBay. Might be able to make some cash from it.”

They made it to the landing of the second floor. She shined the flashlight illuminating the long white banister overlooking the great room and the hallway, showcasing door after door of junk-filled rooms. Tomorrow, she’d no doubt want to explore the multitude of photographs decorating the walls chronicling years of family history.

She pivoted toward him and the light hit him in the eyes, practically blinding him. “Why didn’t your family do anything to stop him?”

He held his hand over his eyes and squinted to make out her figure behind the light. “They decided as addictions go, his was pretty benign. It didn’t hurt anyone and he had plenty of money. Plus, it made him happy.” His hands on her shoulders, he swirled her around to face the other direction and blinked back the residual floating stars in his eyes. “His bedroom is at the end of the hall.”

She took a couple of steps then stopped. “Which room is mine?”

This was going to be fun. “His room.”

“Which is yours?”

“The same.”

She twirled, knocking into him and he put his arms out to steady her. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t have a clue how to platonically sleep with a woman, but he figured it couldn’t be much different than bunking with a guy. Except the guys he’d slept in close contact with didn’t smell like a sweet dessert he’d give anything to taste. “What do you think I mean? I told you Uncle Al sold off all the bedroom sets to make room for his jewelry, grills, and cookbooks. There’s only one bedroom. One bed. But don’t worry. It’s large enough for us both.”

“No way.” She waved the flashlight around, giving him a glimpse of the less than pleased expression on her face. “I’m not sleeping in the same bed with you.”

“We don’t have a choice. It’s not a big deal, Portia. You can trust me not to jump you in the middle of the night.”

He practically heard the wheels cranking in her head. What was she so afraid of?

“Can’t you bring your bed?”

Wow. She really didn’t want to share a bed. Was it because she didn’t trust him or because she didn’t trust herself?

He continued down the hallway, and huffing a sigh, she followed. “I don’t own one. I’ve been living in Braden’s house and the furniture is his.” He’d sold off everything he owned when he lost his money.

“Can’t you buy one?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

Now at the end of the hallway, he opened the double doors to the master suite and a waft of Old Spice hit his face. His uncle’s cologne. Even with his billions, he’d never bothered to change it, believing once you found your scent, it became a part of you. That’s why Ryan never wore any fragrance. He didn’t want to commit to anything before he was ready. “Yes, but not tonight. We’ll only have to share for a day or two.”

They both entered the room, and she passed the light over the huge bed. “You can sleep on the couch.”

“You’ve seen the couches. Does it look like anyone could sleep on those?”

“No.” She sighed. “Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He could just imagine his uncle watching over them, shaking his head. He’d call Portia “a silly, hysterical woman” and tell Ryan to “sleep on the floor like a dog because as the man, he must ensure the female’s comfort.” Of course, he’d speak in Greek.

He wandered past the wall of dressers, leaned the suitcases against the wall, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be silly. If you’re really uncomfortable about the sleeping arrangements, I’ll sleep on the floor. I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of not being a gentleman.”

“I’m the one who won’t share the bed. The least I can do is take the floor.” She sat next to him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He didn’t know a lot about her and her family. His Aunt Tina joined the family when he was seven and he didn’t remember Uncle Al’s first wife, who died when he was a toddler. Tina hadn’t talked much about her sister. When he was a teenager, he overheard her tell his mother that she wished Reina would accept the money she offered. It had surprised him because he’d never heard of anyone turning down money. He laughed to himself. Tonight, Braden had once again offered him money, this time to fix up the house, and Ryan had again refused. How he’d changed these last couple of years.

A large fist squeezed his heart. He shifted on the bed, his thigh brushing against hers. “You’ve slept on the floor?”

She pointed the light toward the floor and her legs straightened out in front of her. She began making circles with her feet, one at a time. “Sometimes they didn’t have enough beds in the shelters, so we’d throw our sleeping bags on the floor. At least they had heat, which was better than some of the communes we lived in. Our tent wasn’t half bad, but even Florida can get cold at night.” Her feet stopped moving and she coughed. “Please. I’m sure your sense of chivalry is protesting allowing a woman to sleep on the floor, but it’s my choice. I promise you I’m not going to hold some residual resentment and then go all postal on you tomorrow. It’s been a long day and I’d just like to get my pajamas on and sleep until the sun comes up.”

He hated how nonchalant she was about her history of sleeping on the floor. Everyone deserved a bed.

She was right. His uncle’s voice wasn’t the only voice in his head telling him to take the floor. “While I believe you, I’m not some spoiled rich kid who doesn’t know how to rough it. Not that sleeping on this plush carpeted floor is a hardship.” He stood, threw a pillow on the floor, and began pulling the duvet cover from the bed. She got off the bed to allow him to continue, and he dropped the large blanket below the pillow. “See? I’ll wrap myself like a burrito and it will be as good as if I were in a bed.” He’d prefer to be in bed with her, but he didn’t want to start their cohabitation on the wrong foot. “Besides, didn’t you mention you slept on the bus last night? Come on. Take the bed.”

The moon shone through a crescent-shaped window over the draped sliding glass door. He slipped past her and moved around the bed to pull back the curtains and expose the natural light.

“Wow. This bedroom is huge.” Her lithe body twirled around as she took in her first view of where they’d sleep. He couldn’t make out everything on her face, but he caught her widened eyes, no doubt awed by the extravagance. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her hand rested on her chest. She gave him a shy smile. “I’m going to get changed for bed. Where’s the bathroom?”

He crossed the room, took the flashlight from her hand, and pointed to the area behind the wall of dressers. “If you go behind there, you’ll find his and hers closets and then the bathroom. There’s plenty of room to change in the closet. It’s more of a dressing room.”

She chuckled and retrieved the light. “Of course it is.” She lit the way and sauntered toward the closets, grabbing her suitcase along the way.

With her out of the room, he took the opportunity to ready for bed. After removing his pants and shirt, he laid his head on the pillow and wrapped the blanket around him. Not bad. He flipped over, closing his eyes and relaxing. Chirps and whistles of the animals living in the wetlands behind the house soothed him and began to lull him to sleep.

“Thanks again for taking the floor,” Portia said, startling him out of relaxation. The bed squeaked as she got under the covers. “Ah. This is heaven.” She sighed and he heard the sounds of the sheets rubbing against her skin. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

“The floor’s fine. Not exactly heaven, but I’m too tired to care.” He waited a beat and not hearing a response said, “Goodnight.”

Strange to sleep in a room with a woman and not consider having sex. Not that he’d turn her down if she offered, although he agreed it would complicate their living situation. Unlike a woman, he could have sex and keep his heart to himself. Love and sex were two different animals, and only once had he experienced both with the same woman. But he’d smartened up since then. The female gender tended to confuse the two making it somewhat difficult to have sex with someone and not have it mean something. He was careful about who he chose to take to bed, and even then, he’d only have sex a couple of times with them before he broke it off. Usually, they didn’t care.

But as he’d observed from the moment he’d seen her, Portia wasn’t one of those kind of girls. He’d bet she never had sex with someone she didn’t love. If they had sex, she’d consider them in a—God forbid—relationship. No way, no how.