by Lexi Ryan
“That sounds like someone running from an abusive relationship.”
Shay turns up her palms. “I know, right?” She snaps her mouth shut again and looks at Teagan.
Teagan gives her a soft, sympathetic smile before continuing. “It killed him. He tore himself up trying to figure out what he did to make her feel like she needed to disappear like that.”
Shay turns back in her seat to face the road, and I barely hear her when she says, “He’s never been the same. Never moved on or wanted to . . .” Her eyes are sad when she slowly turns back to me. “Until you, Molly. Until you.”
Brayden
The stars shine so brightly tonight that I can almost forget about the bitter wind wrapping around me and threatening to seize my bones.
The back door clicks behind Molly as she joins me on the patio. After my breakfast with Sara, I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of my evening at the office. I wasn’t ready to face Molly or to think about how easy it was for her to downplay our relationship, as if she’d be happy to help me reconnect with Sara, happy to step aside. To leave.
By the time I got home, Molly and Noah were in the middle of their bath-and-bedtime routine. I went for a run on the treadmill in the basement, and when that didn’t clear my head, I came out here.
Molly offers me a tentative smile and hands me a beer. “I thought you might need this.”
I take it and study the label as she settles into the seat beside me. “Thanks.”
“Do you want to talk about Sara?”
I want to talk about you. I search her face for any indication that she might understand what’s really gotten under my skin, but I see none. “Ten years ago, Sara up and left me, and I didn’t know why. Today, she explained.” I swallow. “So, now I finally know, and . . .” I squeeze the back of my neck, but it does nothing to release the tension knotting there.
Molly puts her beer down and stands behind my chair. Her hands settle on my shoulders, her thumbs rubbing circles on my neck. I close my eyes and feel the tension leak away. Not just because she’s massaging my tight muscles, but because she’s here.
I bow my head to give her better access to my tight spots. “I can almost understand why she did it. She knew I would’ve walked away from everything to be with her. Not just the family business, but Jackson Harbor. And she knew how important my family was—is—to me. She needed to get away from it, and I was so blind to her battle with alcoholism that I didn’t even know.”
“She hid it? The alcoholism?”
Shame washes over me. “I like to think I’d have seen it if we’d lived together, but we didn’t. She didn’t want to move in until after we were married, and I never questioned her wishes.” I sigh as I see those days through a new lens. “I knew she could get out of hand when she drank. Sometimes it was hard to pull her away from the booze at parties and out at the bar, but we were young, and I told myself it was only sometimes. She was in law school, for Christ’s sake, and at the top of her class. It was easy to write off any passing concerns I might have had, because other than those bad nights, her life seemed great. Seemed is the keyword, I guess.”
“If you weren’t living with her and she worked to hide it, I’m not sure how you could have known.”
“I didn’t want to know. That’s on me. Until today, I had no idea how much she was struggling. I caught her sleeping with her law professor a few days before she left, and even that didn’t clue me in. I thought they were having an affair, but she confessed this morning that she’d agreed to sleep with him if he’d change her grade. It’s just one more piece of evidence proving I had no idea what was really going on with her when she left.”
“Brayden,” she says softly. “She hurt you. You couldn’t have been expected to see through such a betrayal when you were in the middle of dealing with it.”
“I saw what I wanted to see—the woman who made me relax, who helped me cut loose when I was stressed, and who dreamed of the same future I did.”
Molly stills behind me, and her touch goes lighter. “What did you dream of?”
“The normal stuff. A family, kids, to stay in Jackson Harbor and turn my father’s business into something so big the whole world could see how talented he was.” I blow out a breath and watch it cloud in the cold air. “I can take responsibility for not looking closer at what I sometimes suspected might be a bigger problem for her, and I can understand why she thought leaving was the best thing for me.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
I’m glad she’s behind me. I’m glad I don’t have to see her face when I admit, “I wanted to be enough for her to be selfish. I wanted to be so necessary to her happiness that she could have at least given the choice to me, let me decide if the sacrifice was worth giving us a chance.”
“She . . . wants you back?” Was that a hitch in her voice or just wishful thinking on my part?
“Yeah. She does.”
“Maybe you’d feel better if you talked about it.”
I reach back and take her hand, squeezing her fingers in mine. “There’s not much to talk about.”
I swallow. The truth is, between the time Sara left until last spring when the job with Jackson Brews brought Molly into my life more regularly, I thought I wouldn’t ever feel like that for someone again. I’ve avoided any relationship that would make me that vulnerable. I didn’t want to give anyone the power to hurt me like Sara did. But I know without a doubt I’d happily hand that power over to Molly.
Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I already have.
Molly
Brayden fell asleep holding me, and I look at the clock by his bed and give myself ten minutes before I have to go up to my own bed. Any more, and I risk falling asleep myself.
I rest my cheek against his chest and close my eyes as I soak in his heat and the strength of him. He moans in his sleep, and his hands slide around to rest on the small of my back. Joy flutters to life in my stomach. Even with all the hustle of work and preparing for Christmas with Noah, I can’t deny the last three days have been a bit of a dream. Honestly, my life was a dream before. I had an amazing job, great new friends, and Brayden’s quiet but rock-solid support through every day—at work and at home. And now I have Brayden too. His hot eyes on me, his seductive whispers in my ear.
Soon, Christmas will be over, the New Year will be here, and it’ll be time to move out. I won’t have an excuse to have morning coffee with Brayden or evenings soaking with him in his hot tub. The plan was that we’d end this when I left, and if I don’t want to end it—if I want us to try to be something—I’ll have to do it without an excuse. I’d have to be willing to admit it’s what I want, and be willing to risk it all falling apart.
Brayden’s breathing is steady and deep, and I watch the clock tick through the minutes, feeling my allotted time coming to its inevitable end. I don’t want it to. I want to stay here in his arms. I want so much I’ve never let myself imagine before this week. And because it scares me—the intensity with which I want it, and all I could lose if I make the leap and miss—I pull out of his embrace and climb off the bed.
“Molly?” He pushes himself to sitting.
“You don’t need to get up.” My thoughts sink into my stomach and twist into a knot. One end is yanked tight by everything I want—the fairytale, the unlikely happy ending—and the other by everything I know I’ve done and who I know I am.
Maybe we all make mistakes, and maybe I’ve had my reasons. Maybe I’m not to blame for being so fucked up and broken, but it doesn’t change that I am. And Brayden deserves more than a broken mess who doesn’t even know how love works.
I dip my head and press a kiss to his jaw, to the shadow of stubble there, and when I pull back and meet his eyes, I see his thinly veiled pain. He wants me to stay. To sleep with him.
I press a second kiss to his jaw, wondering if I could do it—if I could be brave enough to ask for more. I don’t think he’d deny me. I think he’d try. Even if it’s not what’s best for hi
m, if I wanted everything, he’d do his best to deliver.
Brayden doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s what makes him so successful. And maybe it’s what scares me.
Brayden
I didn’t think seeing a woman at the stove could ever get me hard so fast, but I learn otherwise Wednesday morning when I find Molly in my kitchen. She’s in fuzzy socks that come up to her knees, a T-shirt that barely covers her ass, and a thong. Her hair is wet, like she just got out of the shower. My mouth goes dry, and my cock strains against my fly.
I’d blame my reaction on the fact that this is still new between us—so new that I locked us in her office yesterday and spread her out on her desk because I couldn’t wait to get home before tasting her. Or I could blame it on the fact that she left my room too soon again last night, that she still insists on waking up in her own bed in case Noah wakes before her. But the truth is I could have a month alone with her and never get enough.
Only when she shakes her ass to a song I can’t hear do I realize she’s wearing earbuds. I let myself stand there while she cooks her eggs, watching her dance from side to side, my thoughts torn between how much I want to touch her and how much I want . . . more. This. Her in my kitchen, in my shower, in my bed. Not just for now, and not just for sex.
But she’s made it clear what she can offer and what she can’t. I have to respect that, even if I don’t like it. And that means I can touch her, taste her, take her to my bed and try not to hope for more, or I can take nothing at all . . . and still never know what it’s like to wake up with her in my arms.
She must catch sight of me from the corner of her eye, because she startles and turns from her pan. “Oh, hey! I thought you had a meeting with an investor this morning.”
I tuck my hands into my pockets. She switches off the stove and slides her eggs onto a plate. “It was canceled. Cute outfit.”
She snorts. “My dress is in the dryer. I’m not planning on going to the banquet center like this. I promise.”
“That’s a shame.”
She throws me a grin over her shoulder, completely unselfconscious about her clothes. Or lack thereof. “Want to have breakfast with me? I actually had my shit together this morning and ran on the treadmill right after dropping Noah at school. Now I can enjoy the rest of my morning instead of wasting it dreading exercise.”
I laugh. “The guys asked after you at the gym.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll come back after I get a full night’s sleep.”
I smirk. “I have no intention of letting that happen anytime soon.”
She blushes. “Are you hungry?”
So hungry, but not for breakfast. “I already ate.” I stalk toward her. I’ve watched long enough. Now I want to touch.
She braces her hands on the counter, her back to me as she watches the toaster. When I come up behind her, she stills and closes her eyes. I stop before our bodies touch, but I’m close enough that the smell of her strawberry shampoo fills my nose.
“I was hoping you’d be home,” I admit, my voice rough as my hands drift to rest on her hips, on the satin strips of fabric over each one. “Noah’s at school?”
She arches into me in invitation. “Yes.”
“I threw the bolt on the front door in case we get any unexpected visitors.” Sweeping her wet hair to the side, I press a kiss to the crook of her neck. She shivers as my fingertips skim her bare hips then circle around to sneak under her T-shirt and over her navel. Her eyes float closed, and she leans her head back against my shoulder, submitting to my touch and asking for more. “Too bad I didn’t make it home sooner,” I whisper into her ear. I inch my hands up and cup her breasts, growling in the back of my throat when I realize she’s not wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard, and I roll them under my palms. “I think I’d have enjoyed meeting you in the shower.”
She hums in approval, then circles her hips and rubs her ass against my cock. “What on earth would you have done with me in the shower?”
“Should I demonstrate?” I drop to my knees behind her and nip at the rounded cheek of her ass. She hisses out a curse, and I cup her between her legs, slipping forward to stroke her clit as I mark a path across her backside, nibbling and sucking across her lower back and over each hip.
Gasping, she rocks into my hand and grips the counter. “Brayden . . .”
She whimpers as I withdraw my hand, but wiggles to help me when I peel her panties down her legs. I grip her hips and pull her back, bending her at the hips to give my mouth better access to her sweet center. I dart out my tongue and stroke her. I revel in her gasps, the way she shifts into my mouth, unashamed to let me please her.
I love the taste of her. The sounds she makes. The feel of her skin under my roaming hands. I keep one hand on her clit and slide the other up her shirt again, rolling her nipple between two fingers until she cries out, arching her back and giving my mouth a better angle.
“Please,” she gasps. “Brayden, please.” She reaches behind her and tugs on my hair to pull me up.
I’m mindless as I obey her command. Standing, I unbuckle my jeans and shove them down my hips with my boxers. I grip her hips and drive into her, watching the way her arms brace against the counter and her back arches, listening to the desperate noises slipping from her throat.
When she looks over her shoulder, her blue eyes blaze as they meet mine, and pleasure is written all over her face. I wrap my arm around her waist to stroke her, and she clenches so tightly around my cock that I could come apart right there. I slow my thrusts, teasing her by nearly pulling out before driving deep again.
Her knuckles whiten where she grips the counter, and I draw tiny circles across her clit until she bucks in unbridled pleasure, crying out as her release rips through her. She reaches behind my neck and leans against me as I come.
Afterward, I run kisses down her neck and across her shoulder blades. We’re half-dressed in the middle of my kitchen, and my chest is tight with tenderness I know she doesn’t want to see, and my heart is clogged with words I know she doesn’t want to hear.
Love. Somehow it’s there, whether we’re prepared for it or not. It grows whether it’s wanted or not.
Molly
Brayden scoops me into his arms, and I yelp. He grins down at me and carries me to his bedroom, laying me out on his big bed. His eyes burn into me with so much lust that it’s like we didn’t just have sex. He looks at me like he’s starved. Like he hasn’t touched anyone in centuries and is desperate for the feel and taste of skin. My skin. My touch.
Five minutes ago, I was convinced he couldn’t possibly wring another ounce of pleasure from my body, but now it flicks back to life one cell at a time under the heat of his gaze. I hold out a hand. “Are you going to get in bed with me or just stand there?”
He grins again. “I intend to spend most of my morning in bed with you.” He pinches my ass hard enough to make me yelp. “But not yet. I’ll be right back.”
I watch him, my gaze on the way his unbuttoned jeans fall low on his hips. He disappears down the hallway. I let my eyes float closed and nestle deeper into his blankets.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of silverware clanking on a plate. I force my eyes open and see a steaming plate of eggs and toast as Brayden sets it on his bedside table.
“Fresh breakfast,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Since the one you made went cold, thanks to me.”
I smirk. “I didn’t mind.” I sit up in bed and take the coffee in my hands, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. “God, this is good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So why did the investor cancel your meeting?”
“He didn’t.”
I frown. “But you said—”
“I canceled it.”
“You canceled a meeting? You, Brayden?” I do my best to keep my jaw hinged. “Why?”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes darken. “Because I c
an’t stop thinking about how it feels to be inside you. Or the sounds you make when you come.”
My thighs clench, and heat pools in my belly and tugs lower, begging for a repeat performance of the magic show he worked on my body in the kitchen. I lick my lips and give him my best sultry grin. “Who would’ve guessed that quiet, all-business Brayden Jackson has such a dirty mouth?”
He arches a brow. “I don’t remember you complaining about my mouth yesterday.”
A shiver races through me at the reminder of being propped on my desk, the sight of him lowering to his knees as he shoved my skirt up my hips and—as he promised that day in the pantry—kissing me through the lace of my panties until I was screaming his name. “Who said I was complaining?”
He smirks and opens his mouth to say something, but his phone rings from the bedside table. He closes his eyes and buries his face between my breasts. “Ignore it.”
I grab it. “No. I won’t be responsible for turning you into a delinquent.” My grin falls away when I see the name on the screen. “It’s Sara Jeffers.”
He stiffens. “Just let it go to voicemail.”
I should shove the phone in his hands and encourage him to take the call. Instead, I put it down on the bedside table and slip from his grasp to climb out of bed. “I need to get ready for work.”
“Molly?”
“What?” I keep my face blank as I turn back to him.
“I don’t know why she’s calling.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
The look in his eyes says he knows it’s not fine at all, but he lets me walk out of his room, and the entire time I’m dressing for work, I’m thinking of our conversation Monday night.
He loved Sara because she wanted the same things he did—a family and kids. A future.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he wants those things now. So why is he wasting time with me when I can’t offer any of that?
