“Shit.” He immediately turns the TV off and brushes away my tears with a thumb. “I’m sorry, Zo. I should have been more sensitive.”
My skin prickles at his tender touch. I quirk a little smile to let him know I’m okay. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know how I’d react. And with Mama’s murderer on my mind, I think I may be overreacting.”
His eyes stay locked on mine. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m good. That was a great movie. I just wish Vesper didn’t have to die like that.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” concurs Brandon, his expression relaxing.
We share a brief moment of silence until I break it, never losing eye contact with him.
“I think you’d make a great James Bond, Brandon.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.” The image of him in a tux on the night of the Golden Globes flashes into my head. Nobody does it better. He’d bring a whole new level of sexiness to the role. Those mesmerizing violet eyes would make a box office killing.
“How’s this for starters?”
“Go for it.”
“The name’s Bond. James Bond,” he says with an utterly sexy and perfect British accent that makes me melt.
“That’s brilliant!”
He smiles that million-dollar smile and renders me breathless. Then, before I can blink an eye, he scoops me into his arms and carries me away.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“Taking my Bond girl to bed,” he answers, maintaining his alluring accent.
Me a Bond girl? I’m more like Miss Moneypenny. Goosebumps pop along my flesh while hot tingles dance between my legs. Taking his words at face value, I instantly fantasize Brandon as Bond seducing me. Transporting me to his bedroom and ravaging me on his bed. Devouring every ounce of me with his masculine prowess.
“It’s almost midnight,” he says. “You need to get a good night’s sleep.”
My fantasy is short-lived. But I relish being back in his arms. Over the past two days, he’s been so kind, sweet, and funny. And so open.
“Why are you being so nice to me, Brandon?” I finally ask while he tucks me under the yummy covers. Maybe he has something up his sleeve. Or is putting on a good act. Or he’s simply bi-polar.
“Because, believe it or not, I actually like you, Zoey. And care about you.”
His words unnerve me. What does he mean? And does he really mean it? Before I can say a word, he hits me with an out of the blue question.
“Are you coming to my wedding?”
My heart clenches at the last word. Over the last forty-eight hours, I haven’t given much thought to his upcoming marriage to Katrina.
“I wasn’t invited,” I mutter. The bitch didn’t bother sending me an invitation though unknowingly she spared me the pain of opening it.
“I want you to attend.” Brandon’s voice is a soft command.
“As your assistant?”
“No, as my guest. I want you to be there for me.”
My stomach churns at the mixed message his words send. I may wake up sick that morning. I can’t bear the thought of watching Brandon and Katrina exchange their forever vows.
He flicks my nose. “Promise me you’ll be there.”
“Promise.” My voice is so small I can barely hear myself. I refrain from asking him if my “boyfriend” can come. What’s the point?
With a wistful smile, he turns off the light, and after he leaves, I close my eyes and enter the world of happily never after.
Brandon
My life as Agent 007 is about to end. And it hasn’t even begun.
I blink my eyes and take in my surroundings. I’m bound in a rope from head to toe and hooked to some kind of pulley.
Agent or rather Double Agent Katrina Moore is in my face. She fooled me. Her goddess-like beauty beguiled me. She knew I was a sucker for a beautiful woman. I should have known she was as fake as her silicone boobs. f*ck
ing her should have been a clue too. After my showdown with her boss, the nefarious Piranha, she drugged me and tied me up and then took me to his headquarters, a decrepit warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Her feline eyes glow green with evil.
“Say goodbye to your life, James,” she purrs. Wearing a skintight metallic jumpsuit and stilettos that match the color of her platinum hair, she leans into me, her jutting hipbones bruising me. The cloying smell of her cologne sickens me. I squirm as much as I can in the tight ropes.
She smiles wickedly. “I don’t think your Olympic swimming skills are going to matter much.”