Handcuffed and with a hard-on to cut steel, Brent almost, almost, started to cry. Game, set, match. Nothing killed a woman’s mood like her mother. His theory was proven two seconds later when Hayden stumbled to her feet and danced around as though looking for somewhere to hide him.

“Good luck finding somewhere to stuff my six-foot-five ass.”

“Keep your voice down! And I can think of a few things I’d like to stuff in your ass.” Wringing her hands, she shook her head. “That came out wrong. You know what I meant.”

“Sure I do. You’ve got a fetish. I totally get it.” He nodded toward the door and gave a quick chuckle to hide his arousal avalanche. After all, she was, for all intents and purposes, prancing around in front of him naked, no bra, no panties, skirt hiked up to her waist. Kill me now. “What’s the play, duchess? You going to introduce me?”

Knock, knock. “Hayden! Are you in there?”

Tentatively, she walked toward the door, pulling her skirt back down to her knees as she went. Unmanly tears threatened once more as he watched her beautifully shaped ass disappear from view. I’ll never forget you, ass. Don’t forget to write.

“H-hey, Mom. I’m here.”

A pause. “So then open the door, Hayden. I’m standing out here like a ninny.”

“I, uh, can’t open the door. I have the flu.” She coughed. “I don’t want to give it to you.” Brent rolled his eyes and she flipped him the bird without even turning around.

“The flu! But we have that dinner party tomorrow night at Stuart Nevin’s house. We told him weeks ago you’d be attending. He’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Brent watched Hayden’s posture deflate, her head drop forward against the door with a thud. Obviously she wasn’t looking quite as forward to seeing this Stuart. Who was the guy, anyway? Probably some rich asshole with a bank account that could sink an oil tanker. He felt a flash of annoyance over having used even an ounce of brainpower to think about Stuart. Or whether or not he’d ever taken Hayden out on a date. Or whether Stuart had ever been treated to Hayden’s Freaktastic Peep Show.

“I think it’s just a twenty-four-hour bug.” Cough. “I should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Drink plenty of fluids and rest. I’ll come by in the morning.” A loud sigh. “I hope this isn’t just another ploy to avoid the poor man, Hayden. He’s very successful, you know. You’re very lucky he’s interested in you.”

Brent’s eyebrows rose at that backhanded insult, but Hayden couldn’t see him. Her spine had stiffened, no doubt mortified over him overhearing this private conversation. He couldn’t blame her. They tended to use every ounce of ammunition at their disposal against each other. She likely assumed this would be no exception. Then and there, Brent decided he wouldn’t use this particular bit of ammo, ever. He didn’t, however, intend to explore the why behind his decision. Only knew that it wouldn’t feel honorable.

“Lucky. Huh.” She smoothed a hand over her hair in a familiar gesture. Right in front of his eyes, he watched her transform back into the ice princess. Her back straightened, she tucked her hair neatly behind her ears and crossed her arms over her breasts. “See you in the morning, Mother. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Hayden. No alcohol tonight. It makes your face puffy.” Hayden didn’t respond as Brent listened to the sound of her mother’s heels clicking down the front steps. She snatched her bra off the ground in front of him and put it on, her motions jerky. Next came the shirt. Bye-bye tatas.

When she’d finished dressing, she pierced him with a look. “What? No comments from the peanut gallery? You’ve gone thirty seconds without shooting your mouth off. It’s got to be some kind of record. Shall I call Guinness?”

Clearly, she needed a fight. Something to take her mind off the conversation with her mother. In his current state, he was all too happy to give it to her. “Maybe you should call a goddamn shrink, instead. You’ve got me handcuffed here with my family jewels hanging out, in case you somehow forgot. And you think you have any grounds to be pissed off? If I recall correctly, one of us had a screaming orgasm and it sure as shit wasn’t me.”

Her face reddened, probably matching his own. Her mother had upset her, then he’d finished the job by completely knocking the wind out her sails. Why he suddenly gave two shits about her mood, he couldn’t decide.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Hayden—”

She held up a finger to quiet him. “Hold on. I just had an idea.”

“Oh, really? Does it involve releasing me from unconstitutional imprisonment?”

“No.” She pursed her lips. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Why are you asking?”

“You like dinner parties?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Me? Dressing up in a monkey suit and listening to your friends’ amusing stories about their latest tropical vacation? Not going to happen, duchess.”

Hayden shrugged off his rejection. “Fine. Thought you might relish the chance to crash one of the stuffy, overblown snooze-fests you’re always teasing me about.” She smoothed her skirt again. “I guess eating your weight in caviar and dropping backhanded insults on a bunch of rich stiffs doesn’t appeal to you.”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that did appeal to me. What would be in it for you?”

“I get you as my bodyguard for the evening,” she replied simply.

Brent’s smile disappeared. Something unpleasant moved in his chest. “Why the hell would you need a bodyguard?”

Hayden waved off his serious tone. “I don’t need one, per se. However, I’d like someone to keep Stuart away.”

Brent could practically see the wheels spinning in her head, and braced for whatever would come next.

“If you happen to be your loud, irreverent self while we’re there, thus pissing my mother off in the process? Well, I probably wouldn’t mind that either.”

“I see,” he responded, berating himself for not anticipating the request. “You want to bring the working-class jackass from Queens along for your own personal amusement.”

Her lips parted, she shook her head. “Wait—”

“Unlock the goddamn handcuffs. Now. The keys are in my pocket.”

After a brief hesitation, she knelt down beside him. As she fished the keys from his pocket, their gazes met, but she quickly looked away. Having her close, her soft hand moving inside his pants, stiffened his cock once more, only serving to inflate his anger further.

She gasped when she saw that part of him stir, as though it should come as a surprise when he’d been primed for sex only minutes earlier. With the keys in her hand, she moved to unlock the handcuffs, then stopped. “When I take them off, you’re not going to…I mean…”

“What? Throw you down on the floor and see if you fuck as hot as you kiss?” When she flinched a little, he reined himself in with a deep breath. “No. Even blue-collar jackasses have some boundaries. You’re safe.”

When his hands were finally free, he snatched the cuffs from her and carefully zipped his pants. He needed to get some air, clear his head. Which wouldn’t be happening around her. As he yanked his shirt over his head, an idea of his own began to form. She expected him to show up to her ritzy party, acting like a knuckle-dragging ape? Hell, maybe he would put on a show. Just not the one she expected. Brent made sure the smile on his face stayed well hidden as he turned back to her, one hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t have a suit. If you can get one in my size—and good luck with that, by the way—I’ll go to your fancy dinner party tomorrow.”