Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats Book 1), page 25
The movement pulls my shirt tight across my chest. I notice, but more than that, I notice him noticing.
His gaze lingers.
Brief. Sharp.
Then his eyes flicker, jaw tensing slightly, and he shakes his head once. Like he’s brushing something off. Like he’s reminding himself don’t.
So he’s not completely immune.
The thought flares and fades just as fast.
“So, Broderick.” I stretch his name out, shifting in my seat. “Can I ask you something?”
He leans back, one arm draped casually over my chair. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“When did you and Mr. Montgomery get so…cozy?”
He doesn’t flinch. “He’s a business acquaintance. We’ve worked on a few projects and initiatives together. I’ve worked with Phil, too.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.
“So you work for The Montgomery Group?”
“Not exactly.” He shifts slightly. “I’ve got my own company—Goodman Enterprises.”
“Wait, you own Goodman Enterprises?” My jaw falls to the floor. He’s in his early thirties and owns a billion-dollar company.
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “But some of the work I do aligns with The Montgomery Group. It’s good business.”
He pauses, then adds, “Your father’s been somewhat of a mentor. He sits on our board.”
My brain scrambles to catch up. Broderick owns Goodman Enterprises. My father mentoring Broderick. Sitting on his board? It doesn’t compute. Or maybe it computes too well.
And I don’t like it.
“Mentoring you?” It feels dirty leaving my mouth.
Broderick doesn’t flinch. “Your father’s a shrewd businessman. El, I get that you don’t like him, but there’s no one better to learn from.”
Oh, he picked up on my dislike for Mortimer. If Mortimer was shrewd, so was he.
“Aww, do you guys golf together and wear matching polos?” I shoot back, leaning into the bite.
“Yeah,” he says, deadpan. “I think we have a matching plaid set.”
We both laugh.
Fine. Mortimer Montgomery runs a billion-dollar empire. Anyone in business would probably claw their own face off to be mentored by him. I can’t blame Broderick for the hustle, even if he is from money. That’s how rich people stay rich: brush shoulders with the rich, or richer, and keep climbing.
I tilt my head, eyes narrowing.
“So…what exactly is good business?” I ask, softer now. The question feels like it matters more than I want it to.
From the gala, I gathered they build stuff around the world. But his venture—it has me curious. I want to know what makes Broderick tick.
“Major redevelopment projects around the world. Ethical housing. Urban renewal, especially in third-world countries. Major infrastructure. Stocks. I also fund a few successful tech start-ups—mostly proprietary tech for property management.”
He says it like he’s rattling off lunch options. No ego, no showmanship. Just facts.
I study him.
There’s something disarming about the way he speaks. How open he is. No pretense. No careful calculations or smoke screens.
When I asked Alex the same question, he’d dodged it—eyes flashing, lips curving around half-truths. Sure, he was trying to keep his identity hidden. But still. The comparison doesn’t go unnoticed.
“What?” I exclaim. “That’s kind of a big deal.”
“Not really.” He shrugs, casual as ever. Like owning entire city blocks and rebuilding countries is no more impressive than remembering to water his plants.
I narrow my eyes.
Liar.
I pull out my phone and quickly type his name into the search engine.
My eyes widen instantly.
Article after article floods my screen.
On him.
On his work.
“The billionaire builder with a heart of gold,” I read aloud, my lips curling into a teasing grin.
“El—” he protests, looking almost embarrassed, reaching for my phone. I stand, walking away, laughing.
“Oh, look at you, hot stuff, ‘Forbes Under Thirty-Five,’” I announce with mock excitement, waving the phone just out of his reach.
He lunges forward, and I lean back further, nearly tripping.
He could easily grab it if he wanted to, overpower me, but he’s being respectful. The challenge of pushing him to the edge excites me.
“Social Entrepreneurship Award, two years running!” I continue dramatically, still scrolling. He wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me toward him as I squirm playfully.
“Viral TED Talk on Housing Dignity—wow, Broderick, so humble,” I tease breathlessly, giggling even as his fingers brush my ribs, tickling softly.
“Enough,” he growls, voice low. His eyes dance with humor, but I dodge again, eyes glued to the screen.
“Oh my God,” I gasp theatrically. “Graduated summa cum laude from Columbia with a double degree in Business Management and Engineering?” I raise a brow at him, impressed despite my playful tone. “Wow, you’re actually a nerd.”
“Okay, seriously, stop.” He chuckles, tightening his grip. I twist away, but he’s quicker, pinning me gently against the edge of the table, reaching again for the phone.
“Wait, wait—there’s more!” My heart races, cheeks flushed. “Leader in sustainable housing initiatives, investor in renewable energy startups, founder of numerous global crisis relief projects…” I trail off, breathing heavily as he finally manages to pry the phone from my hand.
But he doesn’t step back.
He holds my gaze, close enough that the warmth of his body melts through my clothes. Our laughter fades slowly, replaced by ragged breaths and something charged. My pulse thrums, echoing in my ears, as his eyes trace my features. His gaze dips to my lips, lingering.
I brush my tongue over my lips. I don’t move away. Neither does he.
Time pauses, suspended in that fragile sliver of silence between us. His fingers brush a loose tendril from my cheek, lingering softly, warm against my skin. The rough pad of his thumb grazes along my jawline, sending tiny sparks tumbling through me.
My heart slams violently against my ribs, so loud I’m certain he hears it.
Kiss me.
The thought comes swiftly, unbidden, terrifyingly honest.
What? No, I shouldn’t—but I can’t think clearly. Not with him standing this close, the air thick, pulsing with something dangerous and inevitable.
His eyes lock onto mine, deep green, endless. Slowly, he lowers his face toward me, close enough that the heat of his breath whispers against my lips. My eyes flutter shut, pulse roaring, every muscle in my body singing as I wait, breathless, for his lips to finally touch mine—
My phone rings sharply in his hand—loud, intrusive, and unapologetic.
My eyes fly open as reality crashes back. Fuck. I squirm from under him, pressed against the table, breath ragged, skin burning. He takes a reluctant step back.
I can’t believe that almost happened.
It was the edge I was toying with, but hadn’t expected.
He glances down at the phone ringing angrily in his palm, his expression a tortured mix of longing and pent-up frustration. Then he flips the phone over, glances at the screen, and something shifts, his face dropping sharply. Disappointment flickers, raw and undisguised.
Wordlessly, he hands me the phone, stepping back and dragging his fingers roughly through his hair.
I look down, heart sinking into my stomach.
Alex.
Broderick clears his throat, breaking the silence. My phone feels hot and heavy in my hand. I turn away slightly, tapping the button.
“Hi,” I answer, my voice higher, breathier than I want.
“Hello, Älskling,” Alex replies, voice smooth and soothing, sliding easily over my nerves. “The photos of you from the gala look incredible. I like you in red.”
My heart hums erratically in my chest, dancing between the lingering heat from Broderick and Alex’s easy compliment.
Which is it? I honestly don’t know.
A lump of guilt forms in my throat. “Do you?”
He chuckles softly, rich and knowing, a sound that pulls a reluctant smile onto my lips.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asks gently. “Can I come see you?”
My gaze darts instinctively toward Broderick. He’s still standing there, seemingly unbothered, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.
No. Not now. Definitely not now.
I step quickly into the kitchen, craving distance, privacy, space to think and breathe.
“Actually, I’m just wrapping up a meeting. I can come to you instead?” I offer quietly.
“That sounds good,” he replies, his voice gentle. “Have you eaten? We can make dinner if you’d like.”
“If gummy bears count as food,” I joke weakly.
He laughs again, softly amused. “Ah, no. Let me take care of you Darling.”
His offer sounds so tender and sincere. He wants to take care of me, while my skin is still scorched from Broderick’s touch.
“Okay,” is all I can manage through the shame.
“See you in an hour?”
“See you then,” I say, ending the call quickly.
Smoothing my shirt down, I straighten my spine and flip my hair back over my shoulder. I try to scramble my composure before walking back into the dining room, forcing my breath to steady.
“Hey, sorry about that.” I wave it off, casually.
“All good.” Broderick’s eyes flick up from his phone, his voice guarded now. “The boyfriend?”
“No, not exactly,” I snap, sharper than intended. Alex and I haven’t exactly defined things. I’m not even sure how it works. Does he formally ask me? Is there some kind of ceremony? Do we wear matching name tags? The whole thought makes me uncomfortable.
One thing I am sure of, though—whatever happened now between Broderick and me can’t happen again.
“About before,” I start awkwardly.
“Yeah, sorry—that was—” he interrupts, equally awkward.
“Yeah.”
We stumble over our words, sentences half-formed, broken, neither of us able to fully acknowledge what nearly happened. My teeth sink into my lower lip. We almost kissed.
Almost.
Did I want it? I’m not sure. What if Alex hadn’t called?
“It’s cool, El,” Broderick says, shrugging easily, his smile faint but forced. “We’re cool. Sorry about all that.”
“I’ve got to head out,” I announce quickly.
“Hot date?” Broderick asks, voice carefully casual, eyes searching mine for an answer he doesn’t really want.
“Something like that,” I reply softly, forcing a playful shrug.
I try to ignore how his smile falters, how disappointment flickers briefly at its edges before he manages to conceal it.
“We good?” I ask, my voice gentle now, a little uncertain.
“Yeah, we’re good,” he echoes quietly.
But the look in his eyes—the subtle strain beneath the surface—doesn’t quite convince me. I open the door, ushering him out, my stomach twisting as he brushes past me.
We’re anything but good.
The thought of being alone with Broderick at the Hamptons feels loaded with temptation.
Maybe Alex could come along. I think it’s his birthday that weekend, anyway. We could spend time together. I could get Broderick off my mind.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter 19
Radio
As soon as Broderick is gone, I dash to my bedroom, already pulling my T-shirt over my head as I go. My clothes hit the floor without ceremony. I stand there, unsure of what to wear.
I like you in red.
I can’t wear the gown I wore to the gala, obviously, but I do pick out another dress hanging in the back of my closet, compliments to Rio, saved for an occasion such as this—tight bodice, cinched waist, and flaring out and cutting above the knee, the perfect balance of cute and sexy.
I smooth the fabric over my hips, glancing at myself in the mirror.
I hope he likes this.
I busy myself, desperate to shake off the remnants of what almost happened with Broderick, even as the echo of it lingers. I focus instead on what might happen tonight.
The last time I was alone at Alex’s place, he touched me like no one ever had before. Like I was something rare.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for more tonight.
The memory flashes—his lips on my skin, there—and the way my name sounded in his mouth.
I blush, warmth blooming across my cheeks.
At the vanity, I apply a touch of makeup—not too much. Enough to make me look and feel like I haven’t been pacing emotionally between two men all night.
I run a brush through my hair, tossing it back off my shoulders. Lip balm. Perfume. Wallet. Keys.
Then I pause.
My eyes drift toward the drawer beside my bed. I open it slowly.
Condoms.
I stare at them. Maybe. I hesitate, then grab one and slip it discreetly into my purse.
I should probably look into going on the pill, I think absentmindedly, zipping my bag.
Just in case.
I settle into the cab heading toward Noho, to Alex’s place. Before I can invite him to the Hamptons, I should ask Philippa first.
Pulling out my phone, I settle on a text.
Elena
Hey Pip, can I invite Alex to the Hamptons?
I hit send, then lean back, watching the city flash by—alive and pulsing as we move through the night traffic. Windows blur with neon and taillights. My phone dings.
Philippa
Alex? Your Alex?
He’s not my Alex.
Not really. Not yet.
I type back quickly.
Elena
Yes, please. It’s his birthday that weekend too.
I stare at the screen, the message hovering in my lap like it might change everything.
Another ding.
Philippa
OKAY.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I’m giddy. A little breathless. She agreed. Now all that’s left is Alex.
By the time I reach his building, my pulse is already ticking faster. I ride the elevator in silence, the mirrored walls catching the red of my dress, the flushed pink in my cheeks.
The butterflies are already fluttering, wildly. Heat gathers low and slow beneath my skin.
The elevator hums toward the top floor.
I press the buzzer. The door opens a moment later, and there he is.
White T-shirt. Loose gray sweats. His hair damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. He smells clean, fresh. His skin glows, flushed from the heat.
He looks so good. So sexy.
“Hi,” I squeak.
His eyes widen as they take me in, sweeping from my heels to the hem of my dress, then climbing slowly, deliberately, up my body. They stop at my chest. He lingers.
He likes what he sees.
“You dressed up for me?” he asks, voice low, rough. His gaze darkens.
I nod, lips parting, but I don’t get the chance to speak.
He yanks me by the waist and lifts me clean off the ground. I gasp, arms looping around his neck as my legs wrap easily around him. My purse slips from my shoulder, landing somewhere on the floor.
He kisses me. Hard.
Urgent. Hungry. Like he’s been waiting all day.
His fingers grasp the nape of my neck.
I melt into him, breath stolen, every nerve lit, and don’t care that we haven’t talked. That things are undefined. That this might not be a good idea.
All I know is his mouth, his hands, the heat spiraling fast and unstoppable between us.
Then my stomach growls.
Loud. Immediate. So obnoxiously human, it breaks the moment clean in half.
He pulls back, eyebrows lifting as he stares at me. Then he grins.
“Hungry?”
“I guess so.” I giggle, embarrassed, cheeks flushed as I cling to him.
He sets me down gently, his hands lingering at my waist. “Let’s get you fed then.”
I reach for my purse, scooping it off the floor as we head inside. The lights are low and warm, “I Only Have Eyes for You” by the Flamingos playing softly on his record player. The kitchen is already alive—pots bubbling gently on the stove, fresh ingredients neatly lined up.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask, hovering near the island.
“No, Älskling,” he says, turning toward me, that lazy grin back on his lips. “Let me cook for you.”
He moves in close, hands slipping around my waist as he lifts me onto the counter with effortless ease.
“Sit here on display like the sexy little thing you are,” he murmurs, planting soft, lingering kisses along my neck. Each one makes me gasp, my breath catching as goose bumps rise across my skin.
“Wine?” he asks, pulling back to meet my eyes.
“Yes, please,” I whisper, still a little breathless.
He opens a bottle of rosé with practiced ease, the cork popping gently before he pours the blush-pink liquid into a glass. He hands it to me, fingers brushing mine.
“Thank you.” I take a sip. It’s cold, sweet, and crisp—the perfect distraction.
“Good?”
I nod. “It’s perfect. How was your day?”
He turns back to the stove, sprinkling sea salt over thick cuts of salmon. “Busy. We got our scripts for the next season of filming.”
“Oh, that’s exciting.” I swirl the wine in my glass, letting the words hang lightly.
“Yeah.” He nods, focused on the stove. “They’re also doing final rounds of edits on The Kingmaker. Should be out in theatres soon.”
His voice dips for half a second, like there’s something else he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pivots.
