Page 22 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

This Place is Sexy

It’s strange being here, standing beside this person I’m not supposed to like, feeling like there’s something more than a healthy work rivalry between us as he’s sweet enough to hold my hand to help me out onto his balcony.

Like kissing him will be the elixir I need to be safe out here.

He’s been a little quiet since I arrived, and I’m surprised. I thought being at home would put him more in his element, something I was interested to see. But to tell me he wasn’t ready to say goodbye…I’m not sure what he means by that, and I’m positive I’m too scared to ask .

I chug down my glass of wine, which is likely not my brightest move since I showed up riding on the wrong side of sober as it was.

I set my glass on the little table he has between two chairs perched out here, and I walk over toward him, surprising us both, I think. Shocking myself, to be honest.

I set my hands on his chest, and I move my body up against his.

If I hadn’t had that wine, I’m certain I never would’ve gotten up the nerve to do this—both because we’re out on a balcony seventy-five stories up in the air and because I’m seducing Madden Bradley.

“Well, I’m here now. What are you going to do about it? ”

He stares down at me, his nostrils flaring as he starts to breathe a little heavier at my proximity. What is he going to do?

I’m dying to know. I move my face so my lips are mere inches from his. He only needs to bend down to close the gap, and I’m suddenly blind with lust for him.

He’s still holding his beer, which he moves to set on the table beside us, and then he moves back into place, resting each of his hands over mine where they lay on his chest. He slides one of his hands around my neck, and he leans down at the same time.

His nose brushes beside mine the way he did that first night we kissed outside the bar.

It’s sexy. It’s nearly a tentative move from this disciplined, confident man. It’s unexpected, and it gives me a second to breathe. I suppose it gives me a second to run, too, but running isn’t on tonight’s agenda.

Unless he gives me a reason to.

“I didn’t take my time with you at the gala.

It was rushed. I had to get it out of my system.

Get you out of my system,” he murmurs, pulling back just slightly, though still too close for these confessions.

He brushes my lips with his, and I close my eyes and lean into him.

“It didn’t work. One time just made me want more.

” He brushes my lips again, and his hand that’s still covering mine on his chest moves down toward my waist. He wraps that arm around me and hauls me into him, and then he kisses me.

He really kisses me.

His mouth opens to mine, and our tongues dance as his hold on me tightens. He flattens the hand he has on my back and starts to move it, exploring my curves as his mouth holds me captive. He reaches down to squeeze my ass, which only has the effect of pulling my body closer to his.

I move my hands from his chest and around to his back. His body is firm and solid everywhere, and I hope this time I’m lucky enough to see his naked form as he hovers over me.

The thought sends a searing pulse of need straight through me, and as much as I want him to take me right out here on this balcony, I’m too scared for that to happen tonight. I’m not closing the door on the possibility of it forever, though.

I reach down and squeeze his ass, too, and holy hell is it firm. This man is just firm everywhere , and I’ve never been with someone so fit. He’s a professional athlete, so I get it, but hot damn. I’m not sure I can keep up with this.

He stops the kiss first, and he pulls back, not moving his arm from around me. His eyes focus on mine for a beat before he moves away, and it’s almost as if he’s double-checking that he’s not offending me. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable out here, so let’s go inside,” he suggests.

I melt. It’s hot and heavy out here, and yet he stopped it because he was worried I might be nervous out on this balcony.

I am. But in his arms, I feel safe.

And that’s a wholly unexpected feeling.

I nod, and I bolt inside first. He chuckles as he grabs my wineglass and his beer bottle, and he follows me inside. He fills my wineglass without me asking, and he tosses his beer bottle into a bin in his pantry and grabs himself another.

I take this moment to explore a bit. His layout is interesting, with a huge family room on one side, the balcony doors in the middle, and a living room space on the other side that appears to have been converted into an office-slash-game room.

It has a poker table in the middle and a desk along one of the windows looking out over the view.

The entire place is encased in glass, an acrophobic’s worst nightmare, but somehow being here with Madden makes it seem not as terrifying.

And really, the view is lovely. I bet it’s even prettier in the daytime when he can actually see out over Lake Michigan. He can sit on his balcony and watch the boats in the summer, or keep an eye on the Ferris wheel, or watch the traffic with all its mesmerizing red taillights.

It’s neat, I notice only now. The family room side has a couch with several comfortable-looking chairs around a coffee table, all pointed at a television mounted on the wall with a fireplace beneath it.

The couch is white, and the accent pillows and throw blankets are gray and black.

The coffee table is black with some small silver decorations sitting on top of it.

There isn’t a cup out of place or a magazine to make it look lived in. Instead, it looks like some sort of model home.

He returns and presses the wineglass back into my hand, now filled, and I hold it up and tap it to his beer bottle before I take a sip.

“Do you actually live here? Or is this some staged model you bring all the girls to?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Come here,” he says, and I follow him through the kitchen and into one of the bedrooms. “This is where I work out.” I glance at the equipment, and it looks standard enough, but it’s the stuff hanging on the wall that tells me this does, in fact, belong to Madden.

Framed photos of John Madden are on one wall, mostly of his college playing years, along with what must be a very rare signed jersey.

There’s also a huge framed blow-up of a video game cover with what looks like a screenshot from the game and a guy that looks like a video game version of Madden in his Bears jersey with Bradley 80 on the back .

“Okay, this is more what I was expecting. But, like…do you use this room? Because it smells good in here, and there’s not even a towel out of place.”

“Yes, I use it,” he protests. “Daily. Usually multiple times a day. And I confess, I’m a self-diagnosed neat freak.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he says with a wink.

“Show me the rest of your place.”

He glances at my wine.

I hold up a hand as I giggle. “I promise I won’t spill.”

He seems to really think it over before he nods, and I probably shouldn’t make promises I’m not totally sure I can keep since I’m not exactly the most graceful person to ever exist, but I take a long, healthy sip so there’s less to spill should that happen.

He takes me through the two guest bedrooms that look mostly unused, and then he shows me the primary bedroom.

It’s simply breathtaking. It’s in the corner of the penthouse with wraparound windows.

One side looks out over the lake, and the other shows some of the city.

A gray couch sits along the windows across from the bed, and the bed itself looks plush and inviting with about a thousand pillows and the softest-looking gray blanket I’ve ever seen draped across the foot of the white comforter.

My brain immediately goes to sex. Sex on that couch. Sex on the little ottoman that’s used as a decoration beside the couch. Sex on the bed. Sex up against the windows because if he’s inside me, I don’t think I’ll be worried about the heights thing.

He shows me his bathroom, and yep. Sex in that tub for sure. And in the glass-encased shower with multiple shower heads and a bench.

Yeah…this place is sexy.

Madden Bradley is sexy.

“Wow, Madden. This place is amazing. ”

“Thank you,” he says, and he ducks his head a little as if he’s nearly embarrassed at my compliment. He must know how great this is since he lives here.

And I live with my parents.

Suddenly it feels mortifying to admit that.

Clem and I were saving for something better, but it just didn’t work out. I’m sure he would understand, and I’m sure he wouldn’t care. But I do. It’s another reminder that I failed.

We head back to the kitchen, where he pulls out a chair at the round table and offers it to me to sit.

“You’re quiet,” he muses.

“So are you,” I counter.

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m not used to giving gorgeous women a tour of my place.”

“You don’t invite women back here all the time?” I tease, though I suppose my tone is a mix of surprised and skeptical.

He shrugs. “Once in a while.”

My synapses seem to fire with anger as I put the pieces together. “And you invited me here because you’re trying to prove I can trust you. But why, Madden? What do you want from me?”

I’m expecting his answer to be business. He wants the trade secrets from his father’s biggest rival—as if I have any to offer.

His next words, however, completely blow that thought out of my mind.

“What do I want from you?” he asks quietly. He finally glances up from his beer bottle at me. “That’s a complicated question, Kennedy.” He glances out the window, and when his eyes return to mine, they’re full of fire. “But the more time I spend with you, the more I want everything.”