Page 25 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

Chapter Seven

Brooke read the tile sign on the station wall as the subway train slowed:Greenpoint. “For the hundredth time, where are you taking me?”

Eli gave her the same secretive smile he’d given her every other time she’d asked the question on their forty-five-minute underground journey. “For the hundredth time, be patient and you’ll find out.”

“You’re the newcomer. Shouldn’t I be the one showing you around town?”

“You have.” He stood as the train came to a stop, and she did the same. “You took me to that little Italian restaurant where the ninety-year-old owner still makes meatballs by hand every day. Introduced me to the joys of walking the Brooklyn Bridge in a snowstorm. Now it’s my turn. They say you never take advantage of what’s in your own backyard.”

“A few flurries hardly amount to a snowstorm.” She jockeyed for position next to him as they waited with a cluster of noisy teenagers for the doors to slide open. “And almost an hour on the subway’s not exactly my own backyard.”

“Close enough.” He extended a gloved hand, and she took it with her own. Two layers of fleece and she could still feel the heat that erupted between them at even the most innocent touch. Not that there had been many of those. It seemed every time they got their hands on each other they wound up naked and horizontal. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’m sure it will.” If there was one thing she’d learned in the weeks since Eli had fixed her plumbing—pun intended—it was that no time spent with him was wasted. He had a way of turning the most mundane things, like washing dishes or grocery shopping, into special occasions.

Or maybe it’s not the occasion that’s special, a voice in her head taunted.Maybe it’s the man.

She ignored it, the commitment-phobe in her not ready for the feelings Eli was stirring up, and followed him up the stairs to the street. Their breath made little clouds in the crisp, clear evening air as they walked the few blocks to Manhattan Avenue, where Eli pulled up short in front of an unassuming storefront. The sign above the door identified it as the Sunshine Laundromat and Cleaners. Someone inside obviously had a sense of humor because another sign in the window read: “Try our gourmet vegetarian washing machines and vegan dryers.”

“Here we are,” Eli announced, sounding as proud as if he’d won Olympic gold or ended global warming.

“There must be a hundred Laundromats between here and Sunset Park,” Brooke observed. “And it’s going to be hard to wash our clothes when they’re back at home.”

“Who said anything about washing clothes?”

“What else is there to do at a Laundromat? Watch strangers’ unmentionables get tossed around in the dryer?” She tightened her scarf around her neck and blew into her gloves. Damn, it was cold. Spring couldn’t get there soon enough. Brooklyn came alive when the weather warmed up. Hunting for bargains at the Brooklyn Flea Market. Playing bocce in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Feeding the goats at the Prospect Park Zoo.

Maybe some people didn’t take advantage of what was happening in their own neighborhood, but not Brooke. She loved the quirky, offbeat vibe of the borough she’d chosen to make her home. And so did Eli, clearly. She could picture them in summer, watching the sun set over Manhattan from—

No, no, no, no, no.She wasn’t doing that. She wasn’t thinking past today. This was about the here and the now and nothing more.

“Cold?” Eli put his arm around her, drawing her tight. “Let’s go inside. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“By a Laundromat?” She burrowed into him. The guy radiated heat like a furnace. Sleeping next to him was like spooning with the sun. “You’ve seen the huge pile of dirty clothes in my closet, right? Doing laundry isn’t my jam.”

“I told you, we’re not doing laundry. And this isn’t your typical Laundromat.”

“What have they got in there?” She peered through the window but couldn’t see much of anything. “Salsa dancers? A bowling alley?”

“No and no.” He pulled the door open and gestured for her to lead the way inside. “But I’ll add those to my list of possible future outings.”

He had a list of possible future outings? Her heart stuttered, but her inner commitment-phobe stepped in again and tamped it down.

Here and now. Nothing more.

She obeyed his unspoken request and crossed the threshold. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A row of washing machines on one wall, dryers against the other. Those metal carts for transferring laundry. Tables for folding. A couple of late-night customers sat in uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs watching the Rangers game on a flat-screen TV. The only things out of place were two ancient pinball machines in the corner.

“Pinball?” She eyed the machines, which looked like they’d seen better days. “Do those things even work?”

“Sure do. But that’s nothing.” He followed her inside, letting the door close behind them, and led her past the lines of washers and dryers to the back of the building. “Wait until you see what’s behind here.”

He stood in front of what looked like two driers built into the wall, one on top of the other.

She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Behind where?”

“Here.” He tapped the top dryer. “Push.”

She did. A hidden door swung open, and she stepped through. What greeted her on the other side was a pinball lover’s ultimate fantasy. Vintage machines with names like Medieval Madness, Attack from Mars, and Tales of the Arabian Nights ringed the room. At least half of the twenty-plus machines were in use, bells clanging and lights flashing as scores mounted. At the far end of the room, a bar served wine and beer.