“You will?”
She sits up and I watch her as she lifts her hand and traces my lips with her fingertip before she speaks. “Baby, I am so sore that I’ll probably be walking funny all day today. You truly, and properly, fucked me last night.”
“Kitten,” I rumble, my chest filling with pride.
Brooklyn smiles widely and leans forward to press her lips to mine, whispering. “You’re such a Neanderthal, Lucas,” she laughs.
She places her lips to mine in a chaste kiss then slips out of the bed. I watch her sweet, round ass, as she walks toward the bathroom.
I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes when she does, indeed, walk funny. She stops at the door and turns around to face me.
“Come and kiss me better, baby,” she calls out.
Her offer is too tempting to deny, not that I ever would. Brooklyn could ask me every single day for the rest of our lives to fuck her, to kiss her, to eat her cunt and I would never turn her down.
Without hesitation, I stand, stripping off my clothes as I begin to make my way toward her. A few minutes later, I have her back against the wall.
It’s my turn to be on my knees, as the water from the shower beats down against my back. I lick and suck my woman until she comes on my tongue.
I don’t fuck her, promising to take her later tonight, but her only response is a whimper as she buries her face in my wet chest, attempting to catch her breath from her recent orgasm.
The thought I have playing on a loop in my head is the word, love, over and over.
Fuck me.
I love her.
I don’t think that I do. I know without a doubt that I love this woman.
Chapter Eleven
BROOKLYN
I jump when a file is slammed down on my desk, right in front of my face. I was in a daze. A complete and total daze—a Lucas daze.
I’ve been in a Lucas daze for the past week. His family party last weekend was like a dream.
His family was completely wonderful. They were sweet, kind, loving and just plain fun. Especially the three kids.
It was like being in one of those Hallmark movies.
I didn’t want it to end. I don’t understand how Lucas Black came from that group of people, but selfishly, I can’t deny that I’m glad that he did.
“I need you to look over these files and type out a summary of the case before the end of the day. I’ll review it and then tell you how I’d like to proceed,” Aaron McDonald announces harshly.
Since the Dunning case has closed, his sexual advances have stopped, but so has the gentility he’s had toward me.
In fact, he acts as though he hates me. It’s not the best feeling in the world, but I have to admit that I like it way better than his touches and leering.
I nod as my answer. He walks away without another word said, of which I’m grateful. I spend the rest of the day working on the case he’s handed me.
It doesn’t take me long to read, do a little preliminary research, and then write my summary. By the time six o’clock has rolled around, I’m printing out the review.
Hurrying to drop it off at Aaron’s desk, I make my way back to my own desk and grab my purse. Once I have my bag hitched over my shoulder, I look around and let out a sigh.
It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t received any flowers or notes since Curtis Dunning was arrested. I let out a sigh of relief that maybe, maybe, all of this is over. It cements my belief that it was Curtis trying to intimidate me all along.
Making my way outside, I don’t see Lucas’ car, but pause when I see him standing in front of a silver two-door Mercedes instead. My steps falter, and then I freeze, my eyes widen in shock.
I watch as he pushes off of the car and makes his way toward me. He stops so close in front of me that I have to tip my head back to look into his dancing green eyes.
“Happy Birthday,” he murmurs. His cocky smirk in place.
I blink slowly before I speak. “Happy Birthday? Lucas, my birthday isn’t for another month. What is happening?” I ask, feeling on edge.
“That piece of shit car you have, it isn’t you, kitten. This is you,” he announces as he points to the sleek, sexy, and completely ridiculously expensive car.
I love it.
I adore it, but there is no way that I can accept the car.
Biting my bottom lip, I attempt to keep my cool. He’s just trying to be nice. He wants to give me something, even if it’s completely outrageous. My eyes shift over to the car, then back to him, before I shake my head once.
“I cannot accept a car from you, Lucas. You’ve already replaced my wardrobe, with clothes that cost quadruple what my old ones did. You allow me to live in your house and won’t accept any form of payment for anything. A car is just too much.”
He takes a step back. His eyes turn from happy to pissed immediately, right in front of me. I watch as his chest puffs out, his stance becoming rigid.
“I allow you to live in my house?” he asks on a dangerous sounding whisper.
“Well…yeah.” I shrug, which seems to do nothing other than piss him off a little bit more.
His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare before he speaks. “You’re my woman. Or at least I thought you fucking were. Being my woman means you live in our home, ours. If I want to buy you things, I’ll fucking buy them for you.
“There will never be a moment where you’ll force me to do anything for you, Brooklyn,” he spits. I jerk back slightly at the way he’s said my name. “Obviously, we aren’t on the same fucking page.”
“Lucas, you can’t get mad at me over this,” I plead as I reach out to take his hand.
His angry, green eyes meet mine, shaking my grip from his hand. “Take the car home. I’ll be there later, and I’ll take it to the fucking salvage yard,” he announces before he tosses the keys at my feet.
I watch, in shock, as he turns away from me and swiftly walks down the street. My body jolts when he’s almost to the end of the block.
Reaching down, I pick up the keys before I take off after him. I call out his name, but he doesn’t even falter with his steps.
I’m not fast enough.
My high heels are slowing me down, and he’s around the corner before I’m even halfway down the street. By the time I get to the corner, I look down in the direction he turned, but he’s gone.
Tears prick my eyes. I don’t know what to say or do. It’s starting to get dark, and my office building isn’t in the best part of town. I decide to take the car home, to Lucas’ home, our home, and wait for him.
My hands shake, and I press my lips together, hard, trying to stay calm on the drive back to Lucas’ place. His house is empty when I arrive. So empty and cold, lonely.
Making my way over to the sofa, I sit down on the edge of the seat, watching the front door, waiting for him.
The hours slowly tick by, and I keep a tight grasp on my phone. He doesn’t call. When I attempt to call him, his phone goes straight to voicemail. He also doesn’t read or respond to my texts.
I wait.
And wait.
And then wait some more.
The front door handle finally jiggles. My heart pounds in excitement before I look down at my phone to see that it’s after three in the morning. Emotions rush through me, I’m a mixture of mad and relieved.
Lucas stumbles in, and I immediately know that he’s tanked. I’ve never seen him drunk. I’ve seen him drink dark amber colored liquor, but never have I even seen him tipsy.
“Lucas,” I mutter as I stand, and take a step toward him.
His angry gaze swings to me as he slams the door behind him. “This shit right here. This is why I stayed single all these years,” he announces.
My body jerks back as if he’s hit me. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“It means,” he sneers. “Here you are living under my roof, pretending to be my woman. You’re fucking using me, Brooklyn. Using me for a place to stay, a gold-digging
whore, just like the rest of them. Only, you play sweet a lot better than they do. You take the clothes and shoes I buy you, you take my cock, but anything bigger, and you act all innocent. It’s all a game, it’s all bullshit, and I can see right through you.”
I open my mouth to speak but snap it closed, deciding that fighting with him right now would be fruitless. He’s inebriated, he’s not making any damn sense.
Anything I say right now would fall on deaf ears. I’m a firm believer that truths come out when people are under the influence, and now I know the truth.
Lucas thinks I’m using him. He thinks I’m some young gold-digger looking to hook him, pretending to be something I’m not. It hurts.
No, it’s fucking crushing.
I love this man.
He pursued me. I knew he was trouble the second my gaze connected with his. I wanted him, and then I fell in love with him, like an idiot.
“I’ll be in the guest room. Live it up in the master, princess,” he throws out before he walks past me to the staircase and stumbles and bumbles up the stairs.
I watch him go, hoping he doesn’t fall and kill himself, as tears slide down my cheeks. I’m so stupid, so head-over-heels crazy in love with him, stupid.
He’s crushed it all because I felt that I couldn’t accept his large gift. To me, that’s acting as opposite as could be from a gold-digger. I don’t understand him, and I probably never will.
I’m left watching after him, jumping when he slams the door behind him. I wonder how on earth he could think such things about me, as if he doesn’t know me at all. He obviously doesn’t, if he thinks that I’m here playing games with him.
If he doesn’t believe that my feelings are genuine, then what’s the point of me being here?
Slowly, I make my way upstairs, passing by the guest room only pausing to place my palm on the closed door. Inhaling deeply, I turn toward the master and make my way there.
Once I’m inside, I pull out my small overnight bag, the one I originally had with me when my condo burst into flames and Lucas opened his home to me, demanding that I stay here with him.
I pack my things, but only the clothes that I came here with, and nothing that he purchased for me.
Whatever this was between us, we each thought it was something different, apparently. I thought that we were falling in love, building a future together, and that one day we would hopefully be married.
Stupidly, I was beginning to see nothing but hearts, flowers, and happiness with him. He, however, was not having the same visions.
It’s better to know now, before I fall even more in love with him. It hurts like hell, but it would have hurt a lot more a year from now.
Hitching my bag over my shoulder, I reach for the small notepad he has next to his bed and grab the pen.
Lucas,
I’m sorry. I never intended to hurt you in any way.
Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for everything.
-Brooklyn
I rip the piece of paper off and place it on his pillow. I glance at the clock and blink at the time. It’s already four-thirty in the morning. I have just enough time to find a motel, shower, and change for work. I will be damned if I miss work over this asshole.
Quietly, I hurry out of the house, placing my house key on his bar before I walk out of the front door, closing it behind me.
I don’t cry as I drive my crappy car to the motel and check in. I’m numb to everything, numb to him, numb to my own feelings.
The motel that I find is fairly shitty, but the price is low enough that I can afford it for a few days while I try and figure out what I’m going to do. And I don’t think I’ll be gunned down and mugged in the brightly lit parking lot.
I’m homeless.
The insurance company said that they would give me money to rent somewhere while my condo is being rebuilt, but I hadn’t given them an answer yet. I didn’t need to. I suppose I’ll be calling them now.
I shower, no tears falling, still completely numb on the inside. I try to hide the fact that I didn’t sleep all night with makeup, but I fail. Grabbing my laptop, my phone, and my purse, I look around and sigh at my new home.
I leave the briefcase that Lucas bought me in the room, fully intending on sending it back to him when I get a day off. Hurrying out of my room, I have just enough time to grab a coffee on the way to work.
LUCAS
My head pounds. I can’t open my eyes. My mouth feels like cotton and grimy dirt mixed together. Attempting to crack open one eye, I glance around the room slowly, surprised that I’m in the guest bed and not my own. I sit up, the single move has me rushing to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach.
“Fuck,” I groan.
The echo of my voice in the bathroom has me clutching my head. Grabbing onto the vanity, I pull myself up and cringe at the man staring back at me. I look like goddamn shit. I feel even worse.
Splashing my face with water, I rinse out my mouth, too. Cursing, I know there’s no other way to rid the foul taste from my mouth other than to brush my teeth, which means I’m going to have to walk across the house.
Slowly, I walk into the master suite, hoping not to run into Brooklyn. I don’t remember what I said last night, but I know it wasn’t nice.
Admittedly, I’m not the nicest drunk on earth, which is why I don’t drink in excess. Why I haven’t since college.
Shoving my hand in my pocket, I bring out the little box. I don’t open it. I know exactly what’s inside. It’s a ring. I’d planned on proposing last night. It was going to be picture fucking perfect. A new car, and then a ring.
She doesn’t know that I have no intention of actually marrying her, I wanted to give her something to show my commitment, though. I can tell the way she looks at me that she doesn’t believe this is going to be a long-lasting thing between us.
Little does she know that it is. She’s mine and I won’t ever let her go. Although I’m not sure about the whole marriage ceremony thing. I do want her to know that I am committed to her, to us, and making this work.
I’m sure she’d eventually want a wedding, but I don’t know when I would be ready for that. I want her to know how important she is to me, and that I love her.
I brush my teeth before stepping into the shower. I need to wash the scent of booze off that’s emanating from my pores.
With my towel wrapped around my waist, I find my discarded jeans on the bathroom floor and dig through them in search of my phone, only to find it completely dead.
The bedroom is empty, and I wonder what time it is? Maybe Brooklyn’s already left for work.
Making my way toward my nightstand, I plug my phone into the charger and wait for it to power back on. Something catches my eye on my pillow, with a frown, I reach for it.
My teeth grind together, finding a note from Brooklyn. A fucking apology note that reads exactly like a goddamn Dear John letter.
I crumple the paper in my hand and reach for my phone. There aren’t any new notifications, no missed calls, no voicemails, and no texts.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
I close my eyes and try to remember what I said to her, but I’m drawing a blank. Leaving my phone to charge, I walk into my closet to find all of her shit still there. Whatever I said, maybe it wasn’t enough to really piss her off too much.
Maybe she’ll be back tonight? When I look closer at her things, I discover that everything hanging in the closet is what I bought her.
I rush back into the bathroom to find all of her products completely cleared out. I stumble backward until my shoulder slams into the wall.
Holy fuck.
I made her leave.
She fucking ran from me again.
Quickly, I grab my clothes, throwing on jeans and a t-shirt, ignoring my pounding head, I shove my phone in my back pocket, then hurry downstairs. I stop in my tracks when I see something glint in the sunlight off of the countertop.
It’s her key to my place.
Fucking shit.
I snatch that and shove it into my pocket before I lock the front door and hurry out to my car. The brand-new silver Mercedes coupe is parked directly behind mine, mocking me.
At the sight of the car, everything comes back to me. The words I said to her on the street, then the words I slurred when I was drunk early this morning after I stumbled home. They all come back, and my stomach rolls at the memories.
I fucked up.
I fucked up—huge.
But she ran.
With a shake of my head, I get in the silver car and speed out of my driveway. I have to get her back home. There is no excuse for her running, what I said were words of a drunk person. She rejected my gift, rejecting me just like she always seems to do.
She knows I’m an asshole. She’s called me one more than once. She’ll forgive me.
Glancing at the clock, I curse at the time. I slept half of the fucking day away. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I plug it into the charger and speed toward Brooklyn’s office. I’m about five minutes from her parking garage when my cell rings.
“Black,” I growl.
“I’m not going to ask why you didn’t make it into work today with no warning. That would be rude of me, as your secretary. I will say, however, that there is a mandatory partners meeting in about twenty minutes, and you are expected to attend,” Peg announces.
“Fuck,” I curse.
She grunts. “About how I’ve felt all day long, Mr. Black,” she clips.
“I’m sorry, Peg. I had an awful night and even worse morning,” I mutter, swinging the car around to drive toward my office. I’m forced to ignore my desire to bring Brooklyn home sooner, rather than later.
“Get here, get this meeting over and done with, and start a new day tomorrow,” she says.
Her voice has softened and she’s lost her irritation. I can only hope that Brooklyn is as easy to forgive as Peg.
It only takes moments to pull into the parking lot of my office, shifting the car into park, I jog toward the office a few minutes later.
Peg’s eyes widen at the sight of me. I know I look haggard as fuck, plus I’m not wearing a suit, which is standard for me.
APPEAL: Esquire Black Duet #2 Page 11
