Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (12 page)

CHAPTER 15

Wherefore are these things hid?

Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em
?

William Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night
, act 1, scene 3

On her way to
Acropolis
, Lola cranked up the music in her car. Seriously, having Rose discover her in Braden’s house was more than awkward. Rose was technically an adult, but she was also Braden’s little sister. It wasn’t exactly a secret Lola had temporarily shacked up in his mansion, but as far as she knew, everyone believed it was to meet the conditions of Alexander’s Will. No one knew they were . . . whatever it was they were doing.

Rose couldn’t have faked the surprise in her eyes at finding Lola in Braden’s house, and she obviously had come to the right conclusion about their involvement. Not that Braden did anything to stop her. He’d thrown his arm around her as if declaring her his possession and announced they lived together. How could he have done that to her?

He knew she didn’t live anywhere. She was a nomad, a woman without a home, and she didn’t set down roots. His behavior, his voice, the gleam in his eyes,
everything,
told her he’d conveniently forgotten who she was, or had convinced himself she’d changed. Didn’t he realize that come next week she’d leave him behind for California and never look back?

Her chest tightened making it difficult to breathe. She worried about Braden. He trusted her not to hurt him, and even though she hadn’t lied, she felt as though she’d break that trust simply by doing what she said she’d do—leaving. At least he’d have his sister and Ryan for support.

She parked in the lot across from the restaurant and made her way over, keys in hand. The lights were off, so she knew she was the first to arrive. Good. She needed some peace and quiet to study. She walked in and turned on the lights.

She shrieked and her hand flew to her chest as if to keep her suddenly racing heart from escaping.

Legs crossed and eyes closed, Reina sat on the floor in the middle of the restaurant.

What was it with the surprise visits from family this morning?

“Mother, what are you doing? How’d you even get in here?” she asked, dropping her purse on the bar.

“Shh. You’re messing up my Chi. And I picked the locks, dear,” she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

Her mother was crazy. There was no denying it.

“Mom, you can’t just go around breaking and entering. You’ll get arrested.”

Eyes open, Reina stood and bent, placing her hands on the carpet in downward dog. Her mom was doing yoga in the middle of a Greek restaurant. “They wouldn’t arrest a middle-aged lady like me. Besides, George wouldn’t allow me to spend a single night in a jail cell.”

Oh, Lord, her mother was having an affair with the short attorney. Wonder what Reina inspired in him?

“Well, just promise me you’ll stop committing crimes, and if you do, don’t let me find out about it, all right?”

“Whatever you say, dear,” her mother said, her butt sticking out in Lola’s direction.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, hoping for an explanation other than ‘to do yoga.’

“I came to speak to you. I received a message from the earth that you needed me, and since you won’t come to the apartment, I came to you.”

She sighed. Why did the earth have to stick its nose in her business? She was fine. “I don’t need you. Everything is good, so you can continue your meditation and yoga somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”

Reina stood straight and smiled knowingly. “How have the dreams been going? Have you accepted your responsibility yet?”

She realized she hadn’t dreamed of Euterpe and Demetrius since she’d begun sleeping in Braden’s bed. “I haven’t had any dreams, and the only responsibility I have is to take care of myself. It’s the same responsibility I’ve always had.”

Her mother pulled a water bottle from her large bag. “Don’t deflect. I know you don’t feel I took care of you, but believe me, you could have had it a lot worse. Plenty of kids are neglected and abused with a permanent roof over their head.” She took a sip and walked over to sit on a bar stool watching for Lola’s reaction.

The words echoed her earlier thoughts about how Braden and Rose were raised. With money, but no love from their mother and father. Reina had made sure she and Portia always knew they were loved and wanted. They might not have gotten many material items, but what they did get came from the heart.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she said, bowing her head. Her mother sat as still as a statue as she waited for her to continue. “I assume you were referring to my responsibility as a Muse.”

Reina nodded. “It’s a gift to inspire creativity. In our previous lives, we’ve inspired great men such as Van Gogh and Picasso and Schumann.”

“Didn’t they all go insane?”

Her mother
tsked
. “They were misunderstood. Artists often are. Why, when William Shakespeare couldn’t have me because I was married, people thought he had gone crazy, and look at all the brilliant plays and sonnets he wrote in my honor.”

Lola rubbed her temples. “Are you telling me you had an affair with Shakespeare?”

“Not me, of course, but in my past life, yes. He was a dynamo in the sack. Not quite as inventive as George, mind you—”

“La La La,” she sang loudly. “Too much information. I don’t want to know about your sex life now or any from the past.” She looked at her mother and wondered, not for the first time, how she knew all the secrets to the universe. She was finally brave enough to hear the answer. “How do you know? Do you remember all your past lives?”

Reina took her hand. “From my dreams. I’ve dreamed of several of the men I’ve inspired throughout my lifetimes. I didn’t make love with all of them, you know. Some men I inspired simply by engaging in conversation. But all of them remain imprinted in my soul.” She squeezed her hand. “Have you begun inspiring Braden?”

Every time they’d made love, Braden came up with new lyrics, each song better than the last. “Yes,” she answered, probably blushing from her thoughts.

“I can tell by the way he looks at you that you are more than just his Muse. You are his soul mate.” Reina guzzled her water. “He had no problem accepting your ability of pheromone manipulation. I don’t see why—”

“Pheromone manipulation? What are you talking about?”

Her mother frowned. “I thought you and Braden would’ve discussed it. Remember last week when all those people started arguing in the restaurant?”

The night she’d fought with Braden, accepted his apology, chickened out, then left with Jon. Not her proudest moment. “How could I forget?”

“It was because of your
moussaka
. When you cook, you transfer your emotions to the food through a chemical process called pheromone manipulation. Very few Muses are born with the ability, but you’ve always been special,” her mother explained, pride in her voice.

“That’s crazy.”

Reina gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe, but it’s also true. That’s why Braden had you make the chocolate fondue. Worked as soon as the customers ate the first bite. They apologized and that was that.” She clapped her hands.

Talk about manipulation. Her mother and Braden were in cahoots,
compadres
in insanity. “You’re saying they apologized because of me? And that Braden knew this?”

“Don’t be angry at him. He’s trying to save his most valuable possession.”

She nodded. How could she forget? Everything she’d done this month was for him. “I know.
Acropolis
.”

“No,” her mother said softly. “You.”

Braden walked in the front door then with a scowl on his face. Reina patted her knee and slid off her stool. “Well, I’m glad we got the chance to talk. Don’t forget we’re going shopping for Portia’s wedding dress tomorrow. Braden, good to see you again.” She grabbed her bag and coat and hummed as she left them alone.

Lola wanted to confront him on his failure to tell her about the pheromoney thing, but she had a different idea of how to get the truth out of him. For now, she gave him a hug instead. “How’s your sister?”

He relaxed against her and rubbed her back. “She’s a survivor. I offered to let her stay with us.”

She tensed and pulled away. “Of course.”

He yanked her back and kissed her softly. “But she declined. She’s going to stay at our father’s house.”

“That’s silly. If she’s uncomfortable, I can stay at my apartment.”

“No.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “That’s not an option. I want . . . we still have too much to go over before the audits.”

What had he started to say? A ton of bricks weighed heavily on her shoulders. “Fine, but if she changes her mind, you have to tell me. I don’t want to come between you two, especially since this thing between us is only temporary.”

He jerked back and released his hold on her as if she’d slapped him. “Right.”

She’d hurt him. The last thing she wanted to do. But better now than later. So what was this sensation of pressure on her shoulders and in her chest?

She tugged him by the collar. “Hey, are you going to make some bread this morning? You promised you’d teach me, but you haven’t let me cook anything since the
moussaka
. Are you intentionally keeping me out of the kitchen? The whole point of this is so I can learn everything you do. What if the auditor asks me to bake bread? I’ll fail. And you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

She waited for him to clue her in on the pheromone thing. He wouldn’t risk giving his customers food she’d prepared, would he?

His cupped her chin. “You won’t fail,” he stated as a matter-of-fact. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to the kitchen. “Come on, we can make
horiatiko psomi
. They still make the crusty bread in outdoor ovens back in my family’s village in Greece. It takes several hours, but it’s worth it.”

As Braden lectured her on the chemical reaction in bread making, they dissolved yeast in lukewarm water and added flour and milk, forming a thick liquid which didn’t resemble bread at all. She tried to listen, but frankly, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s contention that Lola could put her emotions into food. She wanted to test the theory.

Braden added flour and salt in a large bowl then added oil, honey, milk, the yeast mixture and water. She dug her fingers into the sticky mess, mixing it until it became a big ball of dough. As she worked it, she imagined her and Braden making love. The feel of his soft satiny skin stretched tight over hard muscles. The callous on his thumb brushing over her clitoris. The face he made the second before he came.

She spent the hours waiting for the dough to rise, sitting in Braden’s office, reading over the Michigan Industrial Occupational Safety and Health Administration guide, but her mind kept drifting to yummier things such as Braden’s head between her thighs.

When the dough was ready, she kneaded it further on the floured counter, pouring all of that arousal into the food—if it was even possible, which she doubted. Guess she’d get her answer tonight. By the time they stuck the loaves of bread in the oven, she was drenched and crazy with the need to come.

“Why are your cheeks red? Are you hot?” Braden asked her, concern in his eyes. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “No fever.”

She wanted him. Now. “Can you give me a hand in here?” She motioned with a wave to the storage closet.

His brows crinkled. “What do you need in there?”

She gave him a secret smile. “Come,” she said, leading him by the hand. They only had a few minutes before Christopher would arrive to prep for lunch.

She walked in the closet, the smell of oregano in the air. She clutched his shirt, yanked him inside, and slammed the door closed, enclosing them in darkness.

“Let me get the light,” he whispered.

“No lights. This one is for me. My rules, got it?” she said, her entire body shaking with need and power.

She heard him hiss. “You want to take control.”

“Yes,” she said, unbuttoning his pants. Her hand encountered his bulge, large and getting larger by the second. “Will that be a problem?”

“Since you asked so nicely, no, it won’t be a problem. What are you going to do with me?” he teased, his breath coming in pants.

She fell to her knees and pulled his pants and underwear to his ankles, then sucked him into the back of her throat.

A
thud
echoed in the closet. He must have thrown his head back and hit it on a shelf. She didn’t stop to check on him.

“Lola, stop. I’m too close,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

She released him from her mouth and stood. “Fuck me,” she commanded. She giggled as she heard him fumbling to get a condom from his wallet.

“Here.” He placed the condom in her hand. “You put it on me.”

A breath away from coming, she tore the package with her teeth and unrolled it over his hard length, desperate to feel him deep inside her. He seized her mouth and the room spun, as it always did in his arms. Suddenly, he lifted her like he was going to carry her, but he pushed her back against the shelves and thrust inside her before she could regain her bearings. She came instantly.

“Oh, Lola. You’re so wet for me, so ready. You feel so good squeezing my cock,” he cried as his body shook and climaxed. “Lola, you’re mine. You’re mine.”

Tears pricked her eyes and her chest tightened. Making love with Braden meant more than entangled body parts. She felt it in her heart and all the way to her soul.

She loved him.

“What brought that on?” he asked, kissing her neck, her cheek, her lips.

She loved him.

“I don’t know.” She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I just . . .”
Love you . . .

She heard the music system come on and someone whistling.