Rachel Haimowitz & Cat Grant - [Power Play 1] by Power Play Resistance Read Free Book Online Page A

work night isn’t good for you, how about this Friday?”
    Persistent little bugger, wasn’t he? But what the hell . . . the sex
    was good, and so was the food, and he supposed the company wasn’t
    too unbearable. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said. “Sometimes
    jobs run long.”
    “All right.” If Bran had disappointed Jonathan, he didn’t show it.
    He sipped his drink again, buttered a piece of toast. Cut the crust off
    before he ate it.
    God, what a waste. Bran sighed and plucked the crust off
    Jonathan’s plate. “This is the best part.”
    “See?” Jonathan said, grinning wide. “We’re a perfect fit.”
    Bran grimaced and put the crust back on Jonathan’s plate,
    irritation rising at Jonathan’s frown. What the hell did he expect?
    They’d only slept together twice—or technically, once—for fuck’s
    sake. Not exactly cause for picking out china.
    He went back to his fruit. Jonathan went back to the paper. A
    few minutes passed in silence that looked much more comfortable
    to Jonathan than it felt to Bran. He picked up his mug, drained his
    coffee. Flicked the handle with his thumb. Jonathan looked up at him
    over the paper and arched one eyebrow— everything okay?
    “I just . . . I don’t get it,” Bran said, then wished he hadn’t.
    Jonathan put the paper down. “Don’t get what?”
    “You. This.” He waved around at the greenhouse, the half-eaten
    breakfast, the silk robe. “All of it. I mean, look at you. Why—?”
    Jonathan just smiled. “Why not? You’re an interesting man. I’d
    like to get to know you better.”
    “You’ve already gotten to know me about as well as a guy can.”
    “On one level, yes. But I’ve a feeling there’s a lot more to you than
    a tight ass and a pretty face.”
    Bran felt his cheeks heat, but he put on his best scowl and said,
    “Gee, thanks a lot.”
    Jonathan flashed him that smug smile again. “You’re blushing.”
    Fuck you, asshole.
    “You’re very cute when you blush.”
    With an ice pick.
    And damn Jonathan for being so adorable when he smirked. Even
    worse, he clearly knew it.
    “There’s more to me than my money, you know. Come, Brandon.
    One more dinner. I’ll even cook.”
    “ You can cook?”

    “Like I said, I didn’t inherit all this. And I much prefer a home-
    cooked meal to opening a can.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Bran said. He picked up his napkin and
    wiped his mouth, just to have something to do with his hands. Plus,
    it felt surprisingly good to toss it back to the table. “Listen, I should
    go. Got anything to wear that won’t be six inches too short?”
    Jonathan narrowed his eyes— Ha, hit a nerve, fucker! —then
    recovered his composure and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
    Bran didn’t doubt it. Everything the guy owned was probably
    tailored. Even his damn socks.
    “But your suit ought to be ready by now. I instructed my maid to
    leave it in the bedroom. Shall I check?”
    Bran shook his head and stood. “Nah, I got it.” Bad enough the
    guy had bought the suit; he didn’t need to fetch it for him too. “So,
    I’ll uh . . .” He hesitated, stuck his hand out for Jonathan to shake.
    Jonathan stood with another raised eyebrow and shook back with
    both hands—and yeah, okay, maybe shaking hands was ridiculous
    after the sex they’d had.
    “My driver will take you home,” Jonathan said, still clasping Bran’s
    hand in both his own.
    “That’s not—”
    “I insist.” Added, softer, “Please.”
    “Fine,” Bran grumbled. It’s not like Jonathan didn’t know where
    he lived already anyway.
    Bran showed up at work early on Monday morning. Why not? He
    hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s sleep with his last conversation
    with Jonathan still rattling around in his brain. So he stood around
    in the early-morning cold, drinking coffee and checking scaffolding
    until his crew showed up.
    “Looking kinda ragged, buddy,” Mike said the second he climbed
    out of his van.