Page 26 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

“How did you find this place?”

“Yelp.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “I thought we could try something a little different.”

She grinned back. “It’s different, all right.”

He rubbed his chin, ruffling his four-day beard, and her fingers itched to follow suit. “Good different or bad different?”

“Definitely good. I haven’t played pinball in ages.” Before Mallory had gotten sick, they’d had a summer house in Wildwood, New Jersey. Rainy days meant hours spent in the arcade on the boardwalk. She’d held the record on Orbiter 1 for almost two seasons.

“Me, either. Thought it might be fun.” He took a handful of coins out of his pocket and jangled them. “So, what do you say? Winner gets to pick the pizza toppings.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” She trailed a finger down his arm.

He shivered under her touch, and when he spoke, his voice was low and smoky. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

She rose up on tiptoe and brought her lips to his ear. “Winner gets to decide where and how we have sex tonight.”

He grabbed her wandering hand and tugged her over to the nearest machine. “You’re on like Donkey Kong.”

…

If there was one thing Brooke hated more than Sunday brunch with her family… Strike that. There was nothing Brooke hated more than her parents’ monthly excuse for putting her through the wringer. The only redeeming thing was her sister Mallory smiling at her from a table across the restaurant when Brooke entered.

“Hey, Mal.” She crossed the room and greeted her sister with a warm hug. Was it her imagination, or did Mallory seem thinner, more frail than usual? Brooke gave her one more squeeze before releasing her and taking a seat at the otherwise empty table. “Where are the ’rents?”

Mallory sat next to her. “On their way. They hit traffic on the Cross Island Expressway.”

“Good. That gives us some time to catch up.” Brooke motioned for a waiter. She was going to need a mimosa to get through this meal with her self-esteem intact. Or a bloody mary. Or both.

Her sister blushed. “Until Hunter gets back. He’s in the lobby, answering a call. You probably walked right by him.”

“The doctor you’ve been seeing?”

Mallory nodded.

Brooke screwed up her forehead in concentration, trying to picture who she’d rushed past in her hurry to find her family. Heaven forbid she show up late and give her parents—her mother, especially—more ammunition to attack her with. Like they needed help in that department.

Brooke gave herself a mental smack upside the head and focused on remembering who she’d seen on her way into the restaurant. After a few seconds, she snapped her fingers. “Got it. Dirty-blond hair, charcoal suit, cell phone glued to his ear?”

Mallory bristled. “Hunter is a highly respected oncologist. Tops in his field. And he’s on call this weekend. People are depending on him.”

“Relax, Mal. I’m not criticizing him.” Yet. Brooke would reserve judgment. Although the fact that their parents had given Hunter their seal of approval was already a huge-ass strike against him. “Just describing him.”

“Sorry.” Mallory gave Brooke a wan smile and smoothed the skirt of her gray silk Yves St. Laurent sheath dress, which she’d paired with a strand of pearls, matching earrings, and black patent leather pumps. She exuded class, style, and sophistication, a stark contrast to Brooke’s retro burgundy dress, beige cardigan, cable knit tights, and brown leather ankle boots. “I really want you to like him.”

“It’s not me that has to like him, it’s you.” Brooke gave her sister a playful poke. “Besides, you already know my opinion on this subject. No man’s good enough for my baby sister.”

The waiter came by, and they ordered their drinks—the aforementioned bloody mary for Brooke and an orange juice for Mallory.

“No alcohol?” Brooke asked when he was gone. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” Mallory unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “Hunter doesn’t approve of drinking in the middle of the day.”

Strike two against Hunter, and Brooke hadn’t even met him yet. “That’s all well and good for him, but there’s no way I’ll make it through an entire meal with Mom and Dad without a little liquid courage.”

“Come on, they’re not that bad.”

“To you.” Their perfect, miracle child. The one who survived cancer and graduated top of her class at the Culinary Institute of America. The one working her way up the ranks in the kitchen of the Fifth Avenue Worthington, the family chain’s flagship hotel.