Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
I knew there was a way to reach out and get in touch with him for an emergency, but thinking of laying that on him when he was on some deep, secret mission didn’t seem fair. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
By the time he resurfaced and popped up on email and chat, I’d already made all the plans. Already had a small funeral. And really, I couldn’t think about it anymore. I begged him not to come home. Told him it would break my heart to see him right then. He was going into another secret mission and coming home wasn’t an easy option anyway.
But it was more than that. Lots more. For now, I keep that buried—not to stop myself from thinking how much I miss them, but buried to keep myself safe.
Yet, from the buried place, I remember the black Mercedes that slipped away before the police could arrive.
My life depends on keeping that memory secret.
Even from Trent. Who I trust with my life. Who has protected me from so much.
“I’m fine,” I finally offer. “Really. But it hasn’t been easy. I didn’t need the money you sent, but thank you anyway. I told you a hundred times in the letters to stop sending it but I want you to know I appreciate it anyway. And I’m glad you’re back.”
“I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t come back when it happened,” Trent shakes his head.
“I asked you not to come. I don’t know why, but having it over and moving on helped me.”
He looks so tired, so much older than his 27 years.
I know he’s done things that no man wants to bear the burden of carrying. I read about these poor guys coming home with depression, PTSD, and worse; but it is so real now, being near to him. I can see it in his eyes. He’s spent, worn, and needs someone to care for him.
Not make everything worse.
I feel my emotions clutching around my throat. “Can we talk about something else?” I blink back tears.
“Shit,” Trent says. “Of course. How about…boyfriends. Got one?”
Oh great. This. “Your small talk has gone to shit.”
Trent chortles out a laugh. “True. But seriously. Look at you. I’m sure the guys at your work are falling all over themselves to get to you.”
I groan. The guys at my work are falling all over themselves to shove damp dollar bills into the thong straps of girls named Cindi and Porsche. “Not at all.”
He smiles a little on a soft snort. Smug. Maybe even… satisfied.
“Good,” he grunts, gruff and dark. From the corner of my eye I see him looking my way. His hands now on his spread knees, squeezing. “Otherwise there’d be some body bags to fill.”
A wave of desire bursts from my core, dampening my panties and making me grip the steering wheel as my nipples pull tight.
I’m blushing all the way to the hot tips of my ears. It’s time for a subject change. And quick.
“Okay. My turn. You’re the one back from two years away. Tell me what you want. A chocolate dipped cone? Waffle fries? Chicken wings with blue cheese sauce? Anything. You name it.”
He takes another long inhale as I steal another glance and see such desire in his eyes. Such heat. His eyes lower to my lap, then to my knees, following my legs down to the pedals and then back up over my hips, locking on the three open buttons at my chest.
If he says You are what I want, I’ll run us off the road. I know I will.
He turns away on a painful little grunt. His close-cropped golden-brown hair shows off a long pink and silver scar that runs behind his left ear, still fresh enough to see the tiny dots from where the sutures held it together. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“The first thing I want is a shower. In a clean bathroom. With no interruptions. And no schedule. And no douchebags telling me to Move it, Reynolds, you asshole.” He leans his head back, his eyes falling slightly, deep in the fantasy of a long, hot, steamy...
A wave of tension clutches me between my legs. Thinking of that night before he left.
He’s your brother, I tell myself. Let it go. Let. It. Go.
“One hot shower,” I choke out. “Coming up.”
He punches in the address of the new house into my phone, then watches the screen. He signals for me to get off the highway, toward the exit for the lush rolling expanses and mansions of Elmond Estates.
I take a hard right turn down a long oak-lined driveway, flanked by iron gates. The house sits back over lush green lawns, peeking out from behind sky-scraping pines.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, as I slow the Jeep, grinding the gears as I downshift.
“This neighborhood doesn’t suck, right?”