Page 204 of Broken Brothers

When we got in the Uber, I spent so much time in her ear, whispering all sorts of flirtatious yet naughty things, that she couldn’t help but have her hand on the inside of my thigh, very far up my leg. I didn’t quite get to the level of saying the kind of things I would in bed, but that was part of the fun—let it build up, let the tension rise, and then unleash it all at once…

Tonight, though?

You’re not doing a very good job of positioning yourself to follow your own rules.

Oh, well, it’s not like the end of the world if you don’t follow your own rules.

“Just you wait,” I whispered at one point. “By the end of the night, you’re going to be craving Chance Hunt unlike you ever have before.”

“Oh, goddamnit, Chance,” she said, her hand grasping my thigh tightly. “Don’t you dare tease me like that if you’re not going to deliver.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, putting my hand on her thigh, under her skirt, and tracing up… and up… and stopping just before I got to her underwear. “I think you’ll find that I’ll deliver just fine.”

At that, I motioned up to her and showed her where I was taking her. It was Elmer’s Steakhouse, a five-star restaurant on the sixtieth floor of one of New York’s skyscrapers. Layla’s eyes widened in surprise, first at me pulling away, and then at the gesture. Elmer’s Steakhouse usually required months of reservations; let’s just say it was a real nice feeling to know that sometimes, the Hunt name came in quite handy.

I grabbed her hand and escorted her out of the car, letting her put her arm around mine as we headed to the elevator.

“Chance,” she said, practically gasping. “What changed? Why are you so much sexier and better now than Monday?”

I laughed at her bluntness.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going slow relative to what I want to,” I said with a wink. “But going slow doesn’t mean not going at all.”

As the elevator rose, Layla’s hands got more and more exploratory, running over my chest, my stomach, the area just above my junk… it was like she was taunting me, daring me to break my rule.

And what did I have to lose, really, if I violated the rule? I suppose I’d be going against my own self-control, which wasn’t necessarily a great feeling. I’d have to face up to some worse heartbreak if things didn’t work out. There was the risk I could hurt Layla in the process.

But the rewards that could have come…

Just moments before I grabbed her ass and squeezed, the elevator dinged, signaling it had arrived at the top floor.

“Let’s be good while we’re here, shall we?” I said.

“Never,” Layla said as she patted my ass.

“That a girl.”

We walked forward like just any other couple, the front waiter having no idea how, if the elevator ride had been five more floors, we probably would have been caught in the act already. I smiled, gave him the name, and he took us back to a private table overlooking Central Park from afar.

“Chance…” Layla said, gasping.

“Not too bad, huh?”

“Not only not too bad… I’ve never had a view like this before. Not a dinner like this.”

I smiled. There was probably some exaggeration with that, but now was not the time and place to correct her. Now was the time to just enjoy what I had.

Immediately, a waiter by the name of Francesca came forward and introduced herself.

“Can I interest you in some drinks?”

I eyed Layla, who eyed me back. My will to follow my first rule was diminishing by the second.

“Yeah,” I said with a groan, giving Layla a satisfied smirk. “Let’s do it. Give me a whiskey cocktail and a gin for the lady please.”

Francesca thanked us and headed out quickly, perhaps picking up on the tension between the two of us. Layla arched an eyebrow at me when I looked at her.

“You’re a very naughty boy for breaking your rule,” she said. “If you let me, I might just have to punish you later.”