The Heiress Rises From The Mud

Braden snatched the folder from her hands. He pulled it so hard that Anne's thin body stumbled forward a fraction of an inch. He tried to rebuild his wall of arrogance, but his eyes betrayed him. They kept dropping to the water pooling in the hollow of her throat. A single drop of water slid off her wet bangs and landed on her pale cheek. She looked incredibly fragile. Braden's jaw clenched. He grabbed his tie and yanked it loose. "Do you not know how to dry your hair?" he snapped, his voice rougher than usual. "You're going to ruin the rugs." Anne shrank back against the doorframe. "There was no hair dryer," she said softly. "Just one towel." Braden let out an angry breath. He pushed past her, his shoulder brushing hers, and stalked into her bathroom. He grabbed a dry, fluffy towel off the heated rack. He walked back to the doorway and threw the towel over her head. Before Anne could grab it, Braden's large hands clamped down over the fabric. He started rubbing her wet hair. His movements were stiff and awkward, but surprisingly gentle. Anne froze. She only wanted to play the victim, but the arrogant Wall Street executive was actually drying her hair. He was standing entirely too close. The heat radiating from his chest warmed her cold skin. The smell of cedar and bergamot from his cologne filled her lungs. Braden looked down. Because her head was tilted back under the towel, he had a perfect view of the long, elegant line of her neck. His breathing grew heavy. Anne heard the change in his respiratory rate. It was time to push him over the edge. She shifted her weight and purposely let her bare foot slip on the carpet. She let out a sharp gasp. Her body pitched forward. She crashed directly into Braden's solid chest. Braden dropped the towel instantly. Both of his hands shot out and gripped her narrow waist to stop her from falling. The physical contact was explosive. The freezing temperature of her skin and the shocking softness of her body under his thin silk shirt short-circuited Braden's brain. Anne pressed her hands flat against his chest. She looked up at him. Her green eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Braden's breathing turned ragged. For three agonizing seconds, neither of them moved. The heavy scent of cedar mixed with the dampness of her skin, paralyzing his usually sharp reflexes. He was just about to push her away when the elevator down the hall dinged. The soft chime shattered the trance. The doors slid open. Beatrice Montoya stepped out. Kash, the fifth brother, walked right beside her. Three maids trailed behind them. Kash looked down the hall. His eyes widened in pure horror. "Braden! What the hell are you doing?!" Kash roared. The shout hit Braden like a physical blow. He snapped out of his trance. He shoved Anne away from him so hard and so fast it looked like he was fighting off an attacker. Anne let herself fall. Her shoulder slammed hard into the wooden doorframe. She let out a painful cry and slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She curled her knees to her chest, playing the perfect, abused victim. Beatrice's high heels clicked rapidly against the floorboards. She stopped in front of the door and stared down at Anne. Her eyes locked onto Braden's shirt. Beatrice's face turned purple with rage. "You disgusting little rat," she hissed. "You haven't been in this house for an hour and you're already trying to seduce your brother?" Kash stepped forward aggressively. He grabbed the collar of the shirt and yanked Anne upward. "Keep your filthy slum tactics out of this house," Kash spat in her face. Braden stood frozen. His face was pale. He knew his actions looked terrible, but the immediate, vicious hatred his mother and brother showed toward Anne made his stomach turn. "Stop it," Braden said, his voice tight. "She tripped. I caught her. And she's wearing my shirt because Brenda didn't leave her any proper clothes." Beatrice slowly turned her head. She gave Braden a look so cold it froze the blood in his veins. Braden shut his mouth. The hierarchy of the family was absolute. Anne kept her head down. She let her body shake violently in Kash's grip. Tears spilled over her eyelashes and hit the floor. But behind the curtain of her wet hair, the corners of her mouth curled into a sharp smile. She had successfully planted the first seed of doubt in Braden's mind. "Get her a proper dress," Beatrice ordered the maids. "Have her downstairs in thirty minutes." Beatrice looked back down at Anne. "Tonight's formal dining will teach you exactly where you belong in this family."