Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,9

with it."

I stiffened. God, what a total asshat.

Okay, so he was loaded. Big freaking deal. Obviously, the money hadn't bought him any maturity whatsoever.

"Well, that's nice," I said. "So now you're rubbing your money in my face?" I forced a laugh. "What, you wanna toss some cash onto the floor so we can roll around in it?"

At the image, I almost cringed. Good Lord. What was I saying?

His eyebrows lifted. "Is that a request?"

I drew back. "No."

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not interested."

So I'd heard. I made a sound of annoyance. "Do you realize that's the second time you've told me that? What is it? You think everyone in the world wants to sleep with you? That's a little arrogant, don't you think?"

"Not if it's true."

I started to object, but then thought better of it. Probably it was true. I mean, just look at him. The money aside, he was hot as sin, with the face to match. Probably he had a line of girls a mile long, just waiting to get a piece of him.

Good.

They could have him for all I cared.

"For your information," I told him, "I'm not interested in you either."

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not into crazy chicks."

My jaw dropped.

Crazy?

Chicks?

At this, I think I might've growled. "If I'm crazy – and that's a huuuuuge 'if' – it's only because of you. You ever think of that?"

He paused as if thinking. "No. I can't say that I have."

"Right," I shot back. "Because you never think about anything. Nooooo. Not you. You just waltz through life, and everything turns out all peachy-keen."

I lowered my voice an octave and continued. "Oh, look at me. I'm Brody Blast, and I'm a billionaire. And I'm hot, too. And everyone wants to sleep with me, even though I smash historic houses for no good reason."

He stared down at me.

I stared up at him.

We were still staring when a sudden gush of water poured down between us. With a yelp of surprise, I jumped back. What the heck?

But then, I slowly looked up. As I did, my stomach sank. Oh, no. That dark spot in the ceiling was now officially a hole. Not a dent. Not a ding. But a real undisputed hole about the size of a dinner plate.

And through that hole, a steady stream of water was pouring down between us, splashing onto the faded wooden floor of the hallway. As my gaze bounced from the ceiling to the floor and back again, I literally groaned.

Brody said, "Told ya."

Asshole.

I wanted to lunge for him. But I didn't. Because I was too horrified to move. The wet floor between us was littered not only with bits of busted plaster, but also with scattered clothes – my clothes, the ones I'd tucked under my arm on my way out of the bathroom.

They weren't tucked anymore.

No. They were lying there, all spread out, like someone had gotten naked in a hurry. I saw rumpled jeans, a ratty sweater, plain white panties, and the pink bra that Brody had nearly stomped on earlier.

How totally humiliating.

Especially the panties.

They were old, ugly, and decidedly unsexy – even more so now that they were nestled in clumps of soggy plaster.

Brody said, "If you're waiting for me to pick those up, forget it."

"Oh, for God's sake," I snapped. "I wouldn’t let you near my panties."

He laughed. "I meant your keys."

"What?"

He pointed. "Your keys."

I looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, my small ring of keys was lying near my left foot. Crap. They must've fallen out of my pocket – maybe even out of the pocket of my discarded jeans.

As far as the specifics, I didn't know, and I didn't care.

With a muttered curse, I squatted down and gathered up the keys and the clothes. I shoved the keys into my front pocket and then wadded up the now wet and grubby clothing.

I tucked the clothing back under my arm and stood to give Brody a long, withering look, which only made him smile like he knew something I didn't.

Fine. Whatever.

I returned my attention to the ceiling.

From somewhere above us, rainwater was still coming down – now more a trickle than a gush.

Still, with ever-growing concern, I looked once again to the floor. Already, water was pooling at my feet and seeping into my cheap red sneakers.

I didn't care about the shoes. But I did care about the house.

A lot.

It was in that awful moment that I realized something. Even if I could've purchased the house on my