Page 34 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

Chapter Nine

“David asked me to bring this stuff up to you before he left.” Charise held several strings of white lights in one arm and a matching bolt of tulle under the other. “Where do you want it?”

“Over there.” Brooke pointed to Eli, who stood on a ladder under the canopy frame he’d built from PVC pipe, where, in a couple of days, David and Chris would say their vows. He’d proved surprisingly handy for a desk jockey. When she asked him about it, he’d brushed it off, repeating his claim about flipping houses back in the day. “How’s the seating chart coming?”

Charise wrinkled her nose. “The list of who won’t sit with who is longer than the phone book. It’s like an episode ofThe Young and the Restless.”

“Let me know if you need any help.” Brooke shoveled a spade full of dirt around the base of a dwarf cypress and patted it down.

“I can handle it,” Charise insisted. “You’re busy enough as it is. But thanks for offering.”

She delivered the lights and fabric to Eli and headed back downstairs.

Brooke put down her trowel and stood, surveying their progress. She was almost finished with the planter boxes. Eli had the canopy under control. Charise was dealing with the dreaded seating chart. David and Chris were off getting fitted for their tuxes. And the Feingolds were waiting in the lobby for the rental company to show up with the chairs and tables, probably squabbling the whole time over whose turn it was to take out the trash or whether the toilet paper was supposed to hang over or under the roll.

All in all, things were coming along nicely. Sure, there’d been the snafu with the photographer, who’d accidentally double-booked himself. And she had to call five florists before she found one who could track down snapdragons in the colors David specified. But they’d been minor inconveniences, swiftly handled.

The easiest call had been to the caterer. No one knew more about food—or weddings—than her sister. The Worthington had at least one a week, more during the busy months in the spring and fall. And Mallory had been more than happy to help David and Chris on their special day.

“Hey, Brooke,” Eli called from his perch on the ladder. “Can you come over here and take a look at this?”

She wiped her dirt-covered palms on her jeans and went over to him. He’d fashioned a sort of curtain from the tulle, hanging it from the top of the canopy frame then gathering it and securing it to one corner with wide, silver ribbon.

The man was a marvel. Was there anything he couldn’t do with those magic hands?

She banished all thoughts of his appendages—yes, that one, too—and gave him a thumbs-up. “Perfect.”

“Great. I’ll finish hanging the tulle and string the lights.” Eli climbed down the ladder and moved it to the next corner, giving her butt a quick and dirty squeeze through her Levi’s as he passed. She shot him a warning glare and looked around to make sure no one had joined them on the roof. A relieved sigh escaped her lungs when she saw they were still alone.

It wasn’t like they were sneaking around. Hell, half of Candy Court had probably heard their bedroom antics on more than one occasion. The walls weren’t three feet thick, and they weren’t exactly quiet about it.

But sex in the privacy of one’s own domicile was one thing. PDA was another. It somehow seemed more intimate. A declaration to the world that they belonged to each other. A declaration she wasn’t sure either one of them was ready to make.

“Sounds like a plan.” Brooke took a step back, needing to create some space between them, and gestured to the gardening tools and bag of potting soil she’d been using. “I’m going to put this stuff away and make sure the Feingolds haven’t killed each other.”

Before she could finish gathering her tools, the door to the roof swung open and Mallory stepped out into the surprisingly warm for mid-March sunshine.

“Mal.” Brooke dropped the shears she was holding into a bucket. “What are you doing here?”

Mallory cocked her head then shook it. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m surprised, that’s all. You didn’t text me you were coming. How did you get in the building?”

“The nice old couple downstairs let me in.”

“Nice?” Brooke snorted. “They weren’t at each other’s throats?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I interrupted something. But it wasn’t an argument.”

Brooke shuddered. “TMI, little sis. TMI.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I’m not sure I can. The image is burned in my brain.” Brooke grimaced. She needed to change the subject. Stat. “You never answered my original question. What brings you here?”

“I figured you could use an extra hand with the preparations. And I wanted to get a feel for the space before finalizing the menu.”

“In that case…” Brooke picked up the bucket and handed it to her sister. “You can help me put this stuff back in the tool shed.”