Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
That smile vanished, though, when they pulled in at the house. Brand had barely pulled the car door open for him and helped him out with a guiding hand before the front door of the house opened and his mother spilled out, pushing his father in a wheelchair—only to abandon the chair and tumble down the walk to pull Ash into a tight hug.
“Ash,” Amiko gasped. “When we got the call from the hospital, I—just—you’re all right?”
Ash stood still. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her back, right now. This sudden concern, this…presence, he just…didn’t know what to do with them. “Nothing broken,” he said tightly. “Not even bleeding. I’m okay, Mom. Promise. The car’s in worse shape than I am.”
His father shifted in his chair as if he would try to stand, then slumped, this bag of brittle bones. “Son,” he said gruffly.
“Really. I’m all right.” Ash forced a smile. “You don’t need to worry. I just need a day off to rest, and then it’s back to work tomorrow.” He caught Brand’s eye almost desperately and tossed his head toward the door. “Forsythe.”
“Young Master,” Brand replied smoothly, gliding around him and pulling the door of the house open.
Ash flashed his parents another weak smile, then ducked inside, moving quickly toward his suite. Brand caught up with him in a few long strides, hovering at his shoulder.
“You were rather short with your parents.”
With a shrug, Ash slowed his stride, glancing back. “Mom and Dad both…” He sighed. “Suddenly they want to talk to me about…being parents. When before they were more like silhouettes on the other side of a screen.” He grimaced. “I’m twenty-three. I don’t need a mother and father now, but…I don’t hate them for it, either? I just don’t know what to do with it.”
They paused so Brand could hold the door to Ash’s suite for him, only to follow him inside. “Was there ever a time when you did need them?”
“Maybe when I was ten and wondering why my father sent me to boarding school in fucking Liverpool, and my mother was suddenly on the other side of the world.”
With a sigh, he flung himself down on the bed, reaching up to loosen his tie—only to freeze when Brand brushed his hands aside. Ash stared up at him, eyes wide, pulse ticking hard against his throat as Brand gently began to unknot his tie. Even the smallest things carried so much more weight now, knowing that when Brand did something so simple as tug his tie away, the hiss of silk on cotton so loud in the silence…
It meant more, to him.
Brand slowly wound Ash’s tie around his fist, smoothing it meticulously. “Do carry on,” he said softly.
Ash swallowed, searching for his train of thought again when his mind was intensely riveted on the hard play of Brand’s knuckles against his gloves, the firm surety in each movement, almost menacing.
“Um,” he managed. “I…no. I’ve…never really needed that. I know…I know what I must look like to you. This helpless mess careening everywhere.” He smiled faintly. “But all I’ve ever been dependent on anyone for was money. I guess because I was too busy avoiding responsibility, so I wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone for anything else. I’ve just…never needed anyone.” He reached for the top button of his shirt—just so Brand would stop him; just so Brand would capture his hand, pulling it away. “Not the way I seem to need you,” he admitted.
Brand laced their fingers together, one at a time—then pushed Ash’s hand up over his head, gently pinning it to the bed; his breaths hitched, everything inside him drawing tight as Brand leaned over him, gloved caress stroking his throat as he slipped that one button open…then trailed his fingers down, until he found the buckle of Ash’s belt and meticulously slipped it open.
“You did hire me for a reason, young Master,” Brand murmured.
“…yeah.” Ash bit his lip, then reached up with his free hand to trace Brand’s lips. “Can we talk about anything else, right now? Anything at all?”
Brand’s eyes gleamed. His fingers tightened on Ash’s. “We can talk about this erroneous idea that you are taking today off.”
Heat vanished instantly. Ash groaned, thunking his head back against the bed. “…goddammit, Brand.”
“You are working from home today, but you are still working.”
“…can I at least work from bed?”
“My bed.”
Ash grinned, sitting up, scooting toward the edge of the bed and dragging his grip on Brand’s hand with him. “I can work with that. Now get me out of these fucking shoes. They pinch.”
With a snort, Brand rolled his eyes, sinking to one knee. “As my young brat commands.”
IF BRAND WASN’T CAREFUL, HE was going to crash the car.
He couldn’t seem to stop watching Ashton in the rear view mirror of the sleek black Dodge Jeep that had taken the place of the wrecked Mercedes, for now. Then again, he’d hardly been able to take his eyes off the young Master since Monday night. First that fear that he had almost lost him, that limp and lifeless form spilling out of the smoking car, the terror that his breaths might stop at any moment…