I clicked the link to see the sexy deity himself on the beach when lo and behold, blinking to the right as the breaking news alert in red block font you couldn’t miss if you were blind: Bradley Rainshaw. Spotted.
My heart caught in my throat as I saw him. Him. Oh my word. Mary, Joseph, help me. Hell, let all the saints help me!
There he was, the teenager now turned man I tried with every fiber in my being to not only avoid in physical proximity but virtual proximity. But I did not live in 1950. I lived in the glory age of digital technology and paparazzi vigilantism. Moving to a completely different continent did not do the trick for the very man I was trying to forget wasn't your average Joe. And he wasn't from your average family. He did not have average looks. Bradley Rainshaw was a living, breathing embodiment of sex dreams on legs.
A sexy one with a seven figure modeling contract he’d had since he was seventeen, because he was that damn sexy.
But living with your nose in a book and eyes glued to a computer with wifi shut off, living as a practical hermit ensured me the freedom of living life without a reminder of my past or of his existence.
But today I was reminded. And reminded greatly.
I wanted to swipe the article off but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. He looked really good. Holy fuck, as in really. This whole businessman-grown-up thing really suited him.
He was dressed in a tailored grey suit that hugged his fit body, which rivaled Chris’s bulging muscles and tight physique. He had his hand running through his perfect brown locks, with his head down, but his eyes were barely lifted, revealing a sadness in him that panged my heart and nearly touched my soul. His free hand held his shades he no doubt was about to throw on fast for privacy from the media. This saddened me. No one should have to have every ounce of their life photographed. Especially not the day you find out your father died.
No. I exhaled and said out loud. “No, no, no, no…” I wouldn’t let this soften my hardened feelings. I wouldn’t let the crush I had on him years before I even became his family rule the endorphins crashing my logic. I wouldn’t let his sea foam eyes make me silly.
Oh his legendary model eyes? Against his olive skin, his sea foam eyes stop strangers in their tracks to take a good look. I’ve only seen such color on a solid gray cat. Glowing green eyes. Heck, he was known as “the eyes.” Such striking features landed him the Georgio Armani campaign and Times Square housed stories-tall photos of him dozens of times.
It was as if God saved up a handsome account and poured it right into his genes. Sea foam. Those were the same eyes I saw in my dreams and in my fantasy world. Those were the eyes I stared at every night before I went to bed as a teenager on my ceiling shrine. Oh, don’t act like you didn’t have one of JTT, Mark Paul Gooselaar, Johnny Depp, Mario Lopez, or Freddie Prinze Jr. There was some heartthrob no doubt somewhere in your room, or if not physically, in your dreams. Mine just happened to be of someone who became too close to home. He was the guy I pretended actually liked me and wanted to take me to prom. Being fifteen, I was silly and star-struck, just like all my friends. He was a celebrity! Someone I was never supposed to meet or personally know.
As soon as I received the sudden announcement, not only was I shocked about the ending of my parents’ marriage, but I didn’t know how to process the whole thing; major crush on a celebrity never-in-a-million-years-was-I-supposed-to-meet to okay, now you’re my stepbrother. Well, as of today, former stepbrother.
Heat mixed with nervousness, lust, and anger flooded through me all at once. A dichotomy indeed.
* * *
Playboy Bradley Rainshaw spotted at town square hours after the reports of his father’s death. TMZ is the first to report this.
* * *
Holy hell he looked good. “Miss? Is there anything I can do to make your take-off comfortable?”
“Bloody Mary, please. And uh…can you make that a double? And it may just end up the whole bottle. Just saying. We do have twenty hours.”
Chapter 2
BRADLEY
* * *
The hot bulb flashes were in overdrive, clicking away like a hungry monster with a ferocity greater than any capacity I had ever seen before.
“Why the fuck can you just not leave me alone, assholes,” I called out at the paparazzi, not giving a fuck who quoted me.
I wobbled my way out of the club and shoved my sunglasses on. Nobody would see my hazy eyes, the eyes that stung from tears that wanted to fall at any given moment. Yet I was raised to be strong, that’s what Rainshaws are and that’s what they do. But this. This unexpected sudden loss, well I couldn’t guarantee that poker face for our brand and company. I couldn’t risk looking weak to our investors. And I hated looking too cool for school during the day and in the dark lights of clubs and bars sporting shades, but it is what it is. I slid the shades on to conceal my feelings, my truth, and held my breath to make it through the sea of great white hungry media sharks.
My bodyguard securely guided me past the frenzy with his arm on my back and his other free hand fielding recording devices. “There will be no questioning Mr. Bradley. No pictures. Come on guys. Please respect his loss.”
It would just be three more seconds of chaos before the limo would disappear with me in tow into the maze of cars that famously dressed the hustling and bustling streets of New York City. It would be straight to the airport where I would board our copter back to our estate in the Hamptons.