Be My Wife: A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 6)

by Nia Arthurs

  I suck in a deep breath.

  I’ll tell her.

  Tonight.

  Hopefully, she’s in a better mood by then.

  “How did she find out?” I ask.

  “Her fiancé’s friend is working at the firm that’s handling your grandmother’s will.” Elizabeth turns accusing eyes on me. “I heard you were pushing to get the liquidation of assets down from seven days to five.”

  “Not me. Levy.”

  “Still, you must be happy.” She glances forward again.

  “Of course.” Steph can get the surgery she sorely needs. The difference of just two days could save her life.

  “I’m happy too,” she snaps.

  “Okay…”

  I feel Elizabeth’s heated stare. When I glance over, I catch a hint of tears in her eyes before she croaks, “The sooner you get your money the better.”

  “Liz,” I reach over to take her hand, but change my course when she frowns at me, “what’s wrong? Did Novah threaten to tell your family about us? Did she blackmail you into doing something illegal?”

  “You think my cousin’s a criminal?”

  “No, I—”

  “You think just because we’re black, we’re all shady?”

  My jaw drops. Elizabeth did not just pull the race card with me. I’ve never, for a second, thought about her family within black-and-white stereotypes.

  “She’ll keep it quiet,” Elizabeth mumbles. “She has nothing to gain from that.”

  “You trust Novah now?” I growl, still annoyed by her previous comment.

  “Do I have any other choice?” She lifts her chin. “Besides, she’s family. It’s better than trusting a stranger.”

  A stranger.

  Like me.

  It’s another shot that hits its target.

  As soon as I park, Elizabeth throws her door open and stomps inside the building. I follow, confused and annoyed.

  We get into the elevator.

  I stare at our stiff reflections. It’s the complete opposite of how warm we were this morning. I had her nestled in the corner. She was staring up at me, eyes brimming with affection and happiness.

  Now, it’s so damn cold.

  The elevator opens.

  We step into the house. It’s quiet. Mom’s staying with Steph tonight so we’re alone for the first time since Elizabeth moved in.

  I run a hand through my hair. “Look, Liz… what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She yanks her purse off her shoulders and crosses the room.

  I follow her to the kitchen. “That comment about your family—”

  “That was out of line.” She pours herself a drink. “Sorry.”

  It’s an apology.

  A resolution.

  But it doesn’t feel like this fight is over.

  Not with the way she’s still glaring at me.

  “You’re upset.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Let’s talk.”

  “What the hell are we doing now?”

  My lips twitch. How is it that I still find her so damn attractive when she’s scowling at me?

  “Liz…”

  “Do you want some water?” She tries to escape to the fridge.

  I capture her hand and hold her close. “You’re beautiful to me.”

  She glances away.

  “Everything about you.” I run my knuckles down her chin. “I like being with you. Making you smile.” I lick my lips, realizing I’m botching this confession. “Well, what I’m trying to say Elizabeth is that I l—”

  She cuts me off with a frantic kiss to my lips.

  My eyes widen.

  Hers flutter closed.

  Slender arms wrap around my neck.

  Her slim body presses against mine.

  She thrusts her hips forward, making her intent crystal clear.

  I ease her off, stunned. “Elizabeth—”

  “No talking,” she snaps.

  Desire wells in me, combatting my rising confusion.

  Elizabeth desperately wrenches her skirt down.

  I watch her, my heart thundering.

  She snapped between cold and hot so fast my head is spinning.

  I can’t keep up.

  Reaching for me again, she kisses me.

  Frantically.

  As if this will be the last time.

  My lips seek hers.

  Sucking.

  Nuzzling.

  I grab her by the back of the head.

  Bunch my fingers in her thick curls.

  Yank her head back to expose her smooth brown neck.

  Drop kisses over her.

  Down to the hollow of her throat.

  Past her jaw.

  Her soft cheek.

  Up to her ear.

  I take her lobe into my mouth.

  Suck on the nub.

  “Elizabeth…”

  “No. Words.”

  Fine.

  If that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.

  I let the doubts go.

  My body roars into gear.

  Takes over.

  Hunger blinds me to the voice in my head warning that something’s extremely wrong.

  I drive Elizabeth back against the island counter.

  Hear her pleasured gasp mixed with pain from the force.

  I grab her by the waist.

  Tear her panties to her knees.

  Bend her over so her face presses into the counter.

  Damn.

  She’s so beautiful.

  I can’t concentrate on anything else.

  Except making her groan.

  Making her scream for me.

  I grapple to undo my belt and shove my pants down.

  We’ll talk after this.

  Twenty-Eight

  Elizabeth

  I listen to Brogan’s steady breaths as I stare at the bedroom ceiling.

  One of my hands are resting above my head, the other is on my stomach.

  The mattress is warm beneath me.

  Damp from sweat.

  Steamy with the fragrance of our desire.

  I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to move. My body’s sore from all the positions Brogan twisted me into. My throat’s hoarse. My head is foggy.

  Damn.

  I inch my thighs together.

  They’re heavy.

  Like I’m moving through jello.

  My legs are cramped.

  From being wrapped around Brogan’s waist.

  Suspended over his shoulders.

  Balanced on my hands and knees.

  The insides of my thighs quiver.

  I remember the feel of Brogan’s hands on them.

  His tongue.

  His mouth.

  A buzzing sweeps beneath my skin.

  A warning.

  That I’m lost.

  Forever ruined.

  Brogan has stretched me to his capacity and branded me to his unique brand of pleasure.

  No one else will do.

  Damn him.

  And damn my heart for not following the rules.

  I wanted one last night.

  Pure physical bliss.

  Nails scraping against skin.

  Bodies bucking.

  Hearts out of the way.

  He gave me exactly what I wanted.

  At first.

  But after…

  After, Brogan changed the script.

  We weren’t supposed to connect emotionally.

  This night was supposed to be frantic.

  Two animals exploding in lust.

  No thought.

  No care.

  Just touch.

  Taste.

  Oblivion.

  But he disarmed me.

  Powerless, I gave in to all his demands.

  I wanted to rush, but he savored.

  So I let my inhibitions go and allowed him to caress me.

  I wanted hard, rough and dirty all night long, but he was increasingly
gentle.

  So I slowed to his pace and let him consume me.

  I wanted to keep my eyes closed.

  He kept his open.

  Demanded that I do the same.

  In that deep, commanding voice he told me to look at him.

  Only him.

  Always him.

  So I watched him as he touched me.

  I held him so tight I thought he’d cry out.

  I opened myself so wide I thought I’d split apart.

  I almost bawled when he descended on me.

  Gathered me up.

  Took me into him.

  Filled me to the brim.

  Then he carried me away on a heart-breaking and tender rhythm.

  His kisses stole my breath.

  His strokes stole my sanity.

  When I thought he couldn’t push me any more, he whisked me to new and higher heights of pleasure. Planes I never experienced even in the depths of our wildest passions.

  Something deeper.

  A taste I can’t get enough of.

  Even now…

  I touch the corner of my eye and feel the tears forming.

  Stupid girl.

  It’s just sex.

  Amazing sex.

  Mind-blowing.

  Addictive.

  But hollow.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  It’s no different than hooking up with a stranger at a club.

  Both knowing it won’t last.

  That they’ll never see each other again.

  Except this man isn’t a hook up on a wild night out.

  He’s my husband.

  My husband.

  But not for long.

  I roll out of bed, glad when Brogan doesn’t stir. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I close the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair stands straight up like a lion’s mane—courtesy of Brogan’s restless fingers.

  A flush covers my brown skin.

  My lips are bruised. Not surprising given how hungry our kisses were.

  I turn my neck back and forth, surprised that there are no other bruises on my delicate flesh. It felt like Brogan was trying to leave his mark all over me tonight. I was sure it would be purple from the neck down.

  With a sigh, I turn the faucet on.

  The water is cool in my palm.

  I collect it and throw it on my face, washing away the musk of our desire.

  His scent is still strong in my nose.

  Still branding me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Feel the water drip off my jaw.

  More.

  I need more water.

  I scrub my face with soap.

  Chasing the fragrance of our night together makes me feel more in control of myself. I wet my hair next and pull it into a puffy ponytail. There. I no longer look like a woman who was just ravished within an inch of her life.

  I look like Elizabeth Garcia.

  Like me.

  Like the woman who was determined to live her life alone and didn’t trust any man. Especially one who’s glad to be rid of her.

  This farce has gone on long enough.

  It’s time to wake up and face reality.

  I dry my face with a towel and return to the bedroom.

  My eyes fall on Brogan.

  He’s sleeping on his side, his broad shoulders and muscular arms pale as moonlight.

  I take a second to memorize his face.

  The red beard.

  Strong jawline.

  Straight nose.

  Thick red hair.

  I won’t allow myself to miss him.

  It’s over.

  It—these feelings… they should have never begun.

  I cross around to the other side of the room and grab a new pair of panties and a bra from the suitcase. It’s funny. I’d stupidly started to unpack recently. As if my short stay warranted space in Brogan’s closet. Half of his drawers. Half of the vanity dresser.

  Stupid.

  Looking at how deeply I’d integrated my life with his now, I can see exactly where it all went wrong.

  It was right there.

  When I put that first lotion bottle down.

  If I’d been stricter with myself and my boundaries, this would never have happened.

  Reaching out, I quietly pick up the bottle of lotion and then set it back down. I don’t want to tip Brogan off that I’m leaving already. Grabbing a smaller bag, I pack only the essentials and then call Gerard.

  He shows up in under five minutes.

  I blink, surprised when I see his SUV slowing to a stop in front of me.

  He hops out and opens the back door.

  “Gerard,” I approach him slowly, “I told you not to rush. I already feel bad enough dragging you out of bed at this hour—”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Harrington. I’m always available to you.” He tips his head at the open door.

  Biting back my tears, I get in.

  Gerard slams the door behind me and jogs around to the other side.

  “Where to, Mrs. Harrington?” he asks, pale fingers gripping the steering wheel.

  “Please call me Elizabeth.”

  “Mrs—”

  “It’s Elizabeth!” I shriek. Then I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “Is something wrong, ma’am? Should I call Mr. Har—uh… Mr. Brogan?”

  “No.” I brush away a tear even as I force my chin up. “And don’t tell him that you picked me up tonight either.”

  He dips his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  At least he’s not calling me Mrs. Harrington.

  I stare out the window as he drives.

  Familiar landmarks meet my eyes.

  The store where I get all my groceries.

  The gas station.

  The park.

  The shabby homes.

  I wind the window down and inhale deeply.

  This is me.

  This is my world.

  The lonely, quiet place where I belong.

  Gerard slows to a stop in front of the apartment building.

  “Thank you, Gerard,” I say quietly.

  “Ma’am, may I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Retreating.”

  He arches an eyebrow.

  “I’m leaving him before he can leave me, Gerard.”

  “But—”

  “Are you about to offer advice?”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Please don’t.”

  He nods slowly.

  “I’m assuming you kept all of the previous Ms. Harrington’s secrets?”

  “I did.”

  “You’ll keep this one too, right?”

  He hesitates.

  “Right, Gerard?”

  He nods. “Your secret’s safe with me, Mrs…” He stops. Corrects himself. Tries uncertainly. “Elizabeth.”

  I smile.

  Gerard opens my car door for me and watches me until I’m safely inside. I smile as he leaves, thinking that the biggest perk of being a Harrington—more than the private elevator or the huge suite or the fancy title—was getting to meet Gerard and Gwen. I’ll miss them.

  After opening my door, I step into my apartment. It’s a culture shock—going from the huge place I escaped from to this cramped and dusty room.

  “Get a grip, girl. You love this apartment.”

  I did.

  I do.

  Setting my duffel on the ground, I take a seat in my living room chair and bury my head in my hands.

  This ache in my chest will fade, right? Since I got out early, I protected most of my heart. The layer that got smacked upside the head will straighten out eventually and I won’t feel so desolate anymore.

  Right?

  With a sigh, I head to the shower so I can get ready for work.

  Somehow, I’ll forget about Brogan.

  Somehow, I’ll get back my old life and everything will be okay.

  Twenty-Nine

  Brogan


  When I wake up, I immediately reach for Elizabeth.

  My hand falls on empty space.

  I glance over at her side of the mattress and see rumpled sheets.

  Thinking she’s in the bathroom, I ease up on my elbows and call for her. “Liz!”

  No response.

  “Liz?”

  Silence.

  Covering my yawn with a hand, I roll out of bed, pull on a pair of boxers and move to the closed bathroom door. Knocking on it, I call her name again, expecting to hear her voice snapping back at me.

  It stays quiet.

  Worried now, I wrench the bathroom door open and look inside.

  Marble double sink.

  Folded towels.

  Empty shower stall.

  No Liz.

  Turning, I sprint into the kitchen, calling her name. “Liz!”

  I have a sick feeling in my chest, but I refuse to give into it. Rushing back to the bedroom, I survey the vanity dresser and spot all her lotions and hair things there.

  A memory of her smiling as she explained the difference between hair moisturizers, deep conditioners, leave-in and gel pops into my head.

  Elizabeth made it seem like she couldn’t live without her hair products. There’s no way she would have left them here if she’d run away.

  Relieved, I perch on the edge of the bed and call her.

  It goes to voicemail.

  Anxiety chews me up like a dog with its favorite toy.

  I dial Elizabeth again.

  I’m trying not to panic, but I can’t help thinking about last night. She unleashed something deep and dark inside her. Came at me like we were going down with the ship.

  There was something panicky, almost desperate about our lovemaking. As if we were stepping off the edge of a cliff. As if she thought it was the last time she could hold me.

  I curse.

  That frenzy is the source of my unease. But I thought I handled that.

  As frantic as she was last night, I made sure to slow her down. I took the time to savor the moment. To really show her what I felt about her. I came just short of saying the words, knowing that an ‘I love you’ in the middle of such a rowdy, passionate embrace wouldn’t have the same impact.

  I didn’t want her questioning whether I’m being genuine. So I promised myself I’d tell her in the morning. After she calmed down.

  Maybe that was a mistake. I should have gone with my gut and said the words.

  What if I don’t get the chance again?

  Desperate to shake off my apprehension, I call Mom and check up on Steph.