Damn! Why hadn’t she thought of using a fake number? Whatever. It wasn’t as if she would ever respond to his messages.

Brady’s driver, Greg, pulled up in front of the valet station a second later. The valet opened the door for her and she slid into the backseat. Greg stared back at her through the rearview mirror with a smile. “Pleasure to have you back, Ms. Carmichael.”

Greg rolled up slowly in front of a brick two-story house in the very back of a gated neighborhood in a Raleigh suburb. It was dark outside, but the front porch light was on, allowing Liz a better view. The house was traditional-looking, with bay windows in the front and a large porch with a porch swing. She knew that Brady had neighbors on either side of his house, but the generous portion of land, curve of the cul-de-sac, and abundance of tall pines obscured the view of any of the surrounding lots.

Liz exited the car after Greg pulled into the driveway and opened the door for her. She thanked him for his time, and he got back into the car and drove away. She couldn’t believe she was actually standing in front of Brady’s house. She took a moment to relish that fact.

As she walked across the sidewalk up to the front door, she took in the smell of freshly cut lawn and pine that permeated the air. His house was far enough off the road that she could hear crickets and cicadas chirping in the woods, and the stars were bright with life overhead. The temperature had dropped some after nightfall, and a breeze blew in. She had an overwhelming feeling of peace, like the first night she had spent with Brady on the lake.

Liz removed the key from her bag, pushed it into the dead bolt, and unlocked the door. She turned the handle and pushed inward. The foyer was lit overhead, revealing a giant staircase leading to the second floor. The entranceway was all hardwood floors leading off in three different directions. She closed the front door and took the opportunity to look around the house.

She could make out the outline of a square wooden dining room table off to the left. The room to the right had sliding double doors that led into a library, with an oversize wooden desk taking up the majority of one wall. The bay window was actually a small nook, with a cushion over the seat and bookshelves underneath. She stared all around at the books and wondered whether he had actually read all of them. Where would he find the time?

She backed out of the office and walked into the living room. Dim lighting cast shadows up into the high vaulted ceilings. The living room was nearly the length of the house, save for the kitchen, which she could just make out in the dark. The room was well furnished, and a giant area rug covered the center of the room. Glass doors led out to a back deck used for grilling, and beyond that were trees as far as she could see in the darkness.

Liz wondered whether she should go upstairs. It felt kind of nosy to snoop around his place. She knew that he had given her the key, but this was different from the lake house. This place had Brady written all over it. The house even smelled like him.

Deciding she couldn’t help herself, she picked her dress up in one hand and wandered up the stairs. She opened up two guest rooms before locating the master suite. The room was so Brady she had to stop and stare all around her. Navy blue and tan accented the dark hardwood furniture. A picture of the lake house was framed on one wall, and an oil painting of a sailboat on stretched canvas was mounted over his bed. Along a waist-high dresser stood a collage of picture frames. She bent down and examined them, finding some as old as pictures of him and Clay as babies, one with Brady holding what must have been a baby Savannah in his arms with Clay pretending to punch him in the ribs, and some as recent as his college graduation and election to the State Senate. It was like a picture catalog of his life, and it made her smile. She hadn’t seen any pictures at the lake house.

Liz tore her eyes away from the pictures and walked over to the tall bed. She ran her hands along the comforter, knowing it was down and likely very expensive, and on the right side of the bed was a note sitting on top of a pillow. She held in her giggle as she took it in her hands, flipped it open, and read the contents.

Baby, it’s good to finally have you here.

—B

Liz bit her lip and smiled. He had planned the whole thing out. He would have had to plant this note before he left for the night, which meant he had been intending to give her a key and bring her back here all along.

It still didn’t make it okay that he had brought someone else to the gala…especially when he hadn’t told her about it. But it sure lessened the blow, knowing this was all for her.

Liz removed her constricting dress, located one of his white button-downs, and pulled it on over her head. She hung the dress in his walk-in closet that was full of expensive suits, dress shirts, and ties. Then she wandered back downstairs to wait for Brady.

The sound of the garage door opening made Liz jump up from the couch. She hadn’t been sleeping; she had been much too alert for that. But she hadn’t known when Brady was going to be back, and waiting had made her antsy.

Liz lounged back on the couch, not wanting to look flustered, and popped one of her knees up. She took a deep breath.

A door off of the foyer opened and closed, and she heard footsteps approach the living room. Brady was shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket when he stepped through the archway. A smile broke out on her face at the sight of him.

His eyes landed on her, and he smirked. “Nice shirt.”

She extended her long, lean legs out on the couch toward him and tugged lightly on the material. “Thanks. I think it’s a little big.”

Brady slung his jacket on the arm of the couch, kicked off his polished shoes, and loosened the bow tie at his neck. “I heard you had another chat with my brother,” Brady said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and sliding his hands into his pockets.

Liz shrugged and stretched her arms overhead. Was this really the time to talk about this? “He was outside when I was leaving.”

“And you decided to give him your phone number?” he asked, his eyes staring intently at her.

“Decided is the wrong word,” she told him, propping herself up on her elbows. She had left the top two buttons undone, and cleavage peeked out from her change in position. His eyes dropped to her chest. “I would use coerced. But either way it was only because your driver was about to pull up. I thought it would be better to give him the number and have him leave me alone than have him watch me get into your car. Was I wrong?” She stared up at him through her thick, dark lashes.

“You weren’t wrong,” he said, “but why does he now know you as Liz Carmichael?”

Liz furrowed her brow. Carmichael. Clay shouldn’t know that name. Then it came back to her. “The valet called me Ms. Carmichael,” she told him.

Brady tsked and walked forward to sit next to her on the couch. He ran his hands up her thighs with an urgency that said he had wanted to do it all night. He stopped at the edge of her shirt.

“That’s supposed to be my name for you,” he said, lowering his lips to kiss across her thighs.

“Only for you,” she whispered, her chest rising and falling. Her body was heating from his skilled touch. “Are you still angry with me?” Her voice came out hoarse and strained.

“Very,” he growled, nipping her leg.

She squeaked as her whole body tensed. “Are you going to forgive me?”

“I’ll let you make it up to me.”