Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  He rubbed a hand back through his hair and sighed. "Yeah. All right. Well, it's kind of obvious, isn't it? I knew you wouldn't stick around if you knew the truth, and I was already too in love with you to want to take that risk." He blinked with wide, guileless eyes, as if to say, "it's the truth."

  I watched him for a moment more, and once I determined that he wasn't lying, my shoulders relaxed at least a half-inch.

  "You should have told me," I said, to which Brandon nodded.

  "Yeah," he agreed. "I should have. Would have saved us both the last two months."

  "So what's the status on it?"

  "There's an arbitration meeting in three weeks," Brandon replied. He looked at me hopefully. "I swear it, Red, just three weeks."

  "Three weeks of what?"

  He twisted his mouth into an odd, uncertain expression. "Well...it probably would be best if you and I weren't seen together until she signs the papers, for one. You probably picked up on it already, but Miranda has a jealous streak, and it makes her...unpredictable."

  I pressed my lips together, remembering her contorted, angry face when she had walked in on me and Brandon in the most intimate of positions. But then she had been unnervingly calm. Miranda Sterling was the kind of person who obviously didn't get angry; she just got even.

  "Maybe we should just hold off until then," I said, even though it physically pained me to say it.

  I wasn't sure what we were deciding here, although clearly, we both wanted to be together. But I didn't want to be with someone who was still legally tied to someone else. And I didn't want to screw things up for Brandon either.

  "No," Brandon said vehemently, sitting up fully and scooting so he was close to me and his knees were touching my toes.

  I tucked my knees tighter against my chest. He tipped my chin around, forcing me to look at him. I pulled away, out of his grasp again, but remained close.

  "Please, Skylar," Brandon said, blue eyes searching, but a bit icy. "Don't run again."

  We stared at each other for a few moments, with tension between us so thick you could practically see it. Brandon's gaze broke first, drifting down to my lips, which parted almost instinctively in response. He leaned toward them. But just before our lips met, I turned my cheek. As much as I wanted to lose myself in his touch, it was just another form of distraction.

  "I'm just hungry. Can we eat?"

  "Um, yeah. Of course." Slightly confused, Brandon stood and helped me up too.

  He followed me back into the kitchen, where I went about taking Eric's plain white dishes out of the cabinets and setting them on the counter. Brandon put our food onto the plates, and watched with obvious approval while I shuffled around, setting the table, pulling out wine glasses, and putting on some music.

  "Hey!" he crowed happily when the familiar opening of "Thunder Road" came on. "Springsteen! My man!"

  I grinned from where I stood in the small living area, adjusting the volume on the mini speakers. "It's just an unplugged version. I figured the original would probably be a bit much for dinner."

  In response, all I got was another massive grin, the kind that made my heart speed up directly in response. When he looked at me like that, all the problems we had faded that much more.

  "Come here," Brandon said. He placed a broad hand at my waist and held my other hand so we were swaying slowly with Springsteen's soft melody. " 'Show a little faith, there's magic in the night'," he crooned gently into my ear.

  "'You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're all right'," I sang back. We were so cheesy, but I didn't care a bit.

  Brandon leaned back, clearly surprised I knew the words. "I didn't know you were a Springsteen fan, Red."

  I chuckled. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily. But everyone who grew up in the Tri-State area knows the words to 'Thunder Road'. And I went to school with a lot of kids from New Jersey who really like The Boss, Bon Jovi, and Journey."

  "Sounds like my kind of crowd," Brandon said, with a waggle of his dark blond brows.

  "God, you're old," I joked.

  He laughed and pulled me close so we could continue moving with the gentle guitar and Springsteen's earnest, raspy voice. I closed my eyes, content to lay my head on Brandon's firm chest. More weight fell from my shoulders as I breathed in his fresh scent. Brandon didn't just feel good; he felt like home. My skirt swished gently about my knees, and Brandon's hand tightened at my waist while the other dropped my hand and clasped behind my neck, cradling me close. I buried my face into his shirt, slipped my arms around his waist, and hummed, as content as I'd ever been in my life.

  As the harmonica sang at the back end of the song, Brandon framed my face with his hands and forced me to look up at him.

  "I really want to kiss you, Red," he said with a rueful smile as his thumbs fluttered over my lips. "Will you let me?"

  Something in my heart melted when he asked that way. Brandon was usually the kind of man to just take what he wanted, and it usually pissed me off. He had approached our relationship from the beginning with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. And here he was, requesting something as a benign as a kiss.

  Still, I could see the determination in his eyes, a hardness that wasn't there before. I wanted desperately for it to disappear.

  "Okay," I said softly.

  He bent down to touch his soft lips to mine, one arm wrapping tightly about my ribcage, the other hand weaving into the thickets of my hair. This wasn't a kiss that was just about sex, although it promised that and more, eventually. It was a kiss that was sad and happy all at once, tentative, passionate, tense, and yearning. Our tongues slowly mingled as our hands began to explore each other again. My hands slipped up his chest and into his thick curls.

  When we finally let each other go, I was surprised to see Brandon's eyes glistening as much as mine.

  I grinned. "You're such a softy," I teased, but didn't move my hands from his shoulders.

  Brandon gave a light-hearted shrug. "The man's a poet. And I've been listening to way too much 'Red-headed Woman'," he said. He kissed me gently on the forehead. "Now come on, let's eat."

  ~

  We finished our dinner quickly, and then Brandon insisted on helping me with the dishes. He was a bit clumsy washing them, and ended up getting quite a bit of soap and water on his expensive clothes. At one point, when I came back from taking out the garbage, I reentered the apartment to find him dabbing his tie with a paper towel, but while a large dollop of soap bubble bobbed in his hair.

  I giggled.

  He looked up. "What?"

  I walked in and reached up to wipe away the bubbles. "You made a bit of a mess of yourself here, Mr. Clean."

  I was expecting a sharp retort, but instead, Brandon quickly captured my wrist and pinned it behind my back as he walked me quickly against the wall.

  "Did I?" he asked as he leaned in to kiss me again.

  This kiss was far less gentle than the one before, and I couldn't help but moan slightly in his warm embrace.

  "How about we make a different mess?"

  I snorted. "Good one."

  "Do I sound like I'm joking?" he murmured into my ear before biting softly on the lobe.

  Lust immediately shot right to my core. Suddenly I was acutely aware of just how long it had been since we were together, last weekend notwithstanding.

  "Oh––" I breathed aloud as his teeth found the soft skin of my neck.

  Brandon dropped my arm behind my back and used both hands to pick me up, leveraging me against the wall so my legs were wrapped around his waist.

  "You wore the skirt on purpose, didn't you?" he asked before his lips captured mine again in a much more forceful kiss. "You know what your legs do to me."

  Before I could answer, he was kissing me again. He shoved me against the wall, pressing all of himself into me, only the fabric of his trouser between us.

  I gasped. "Brandon!"

  "Shh, baby, I got you," he murmured into my ear before plundering my mouth once more.


  "No," I gasped again in between breathy moans. "Brandon, stop."

  Breathing heavily, he pulled away with a strangled expression. "What? Red, what is it?"

  I bit my lip and took a deep breath, ignoring the pang of guilt in my belly. Regretfully, I slid my legs back to the floor and shuffled around the couch to put some space between us. Brandon turned to follow like a cat on the hunt, but stopped when he saw my expression. He stood on the other side of a small arm chair, his hands grasping its top so hard his knuckles turned white.

  "Skylar..." he said slowly, as if working to measure his patience. "Do we need to talk more? You need to tell me something, baby?"

  The guilt blossomed even more. Blue eyes or green? Did he know why I couldn't do this tonight? No, he couldn't know. He was just confused because he wasn't getting his normal reaction from me. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I didn't know how, but I could put him off. Somehow.

  "You want me," I said awkwardly and bit my lip.

  Brandon blinked and cocked his head. "You have no idea," he said suddenly, then gave me a look that clearly said if there hadn't been a leather loveseat in between us, I'd be back up against the wall.

  I cleared my throat, doing my best to ignored the throbbing between my legs. I flopped on the couch, pulled a cushion into my lap, and squeezed as I tried again.

  "If you thought...I wasn't planning to...I-didn't-invite-you-up-here-to-have-sex," I said all at once.

  I stared down at the pillow as I flushed bright red. When I finally looked up again, Brandon's eyebrows were raised in clear surprise, and his grip on the chair relaxed. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "Um...okay..." he said. "I don't want to say I wasn't expecting it, but..."

  "You were expecting it," I finished.

  "No," he said softly. Then, more strongly: "No."

  Brandon finally came to sit next to me, took my hands in his, and turned me so that I was facing him directly.

  "Tell me what's going through your head," he commanded.

  I gulped. This wasn't a conversation I ever anticipated having with him. In an odd way, the fact that I couldn't physically have sex for at least one more week was probably a blessing in disguise. Brandon and I would be forced to talk through our problems before we got lost in each other's bodies again. But the bad part was, I couldn't tell him just why we had to wait. I mean, I could...but a voice inside my head kept whispering: What if he doesn't forgive you? I was just barely getting him back. I didn't think I could take losing him all over again.

  Suddenly sick to my stomach, I took a deep breath.

  "It's like this," I started. "We have a lot to work through. And I want to make sure we actually do work through it before I–"

  "Risk getting your heart broken again?" Brandon broke in. His brow quirked. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

  I bit my lip. "So, you're okay with waiting a bit? Until we...you know."

  "Fuck like rabbits?"

  I rolled my eyes and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "That wasn't exactly what I was going to say, but, yeah, basically. I just...tend to get lost in you. That way."

  Brandon caught my hand and nuzzled it, then lightly kissed each finger, each knuckle, each pad of my palm.

  "It's been eight weeks and four days since I was last inside you, Skylar," he said solemnly before he held my hand to his nose and inhaled.

  I gulped. "Y-you counted the days?" I was suddenly finding it hard to find my voice as his tongue tickled my skin.

  Brandon lightly bit my knuckle before letting my hand drop back to my lap. He leaned in slowly, so that his lips just grazed the edge of my ear.

  "Baby, I've been counting the minutes."

  A pang of lust shot through me almost immediately at his words, ending right in that spot I knew I couldn't let him reach. I closed my eyes and hissed a breath out between my teeth.

  "But I'll wait," Brandon continued as he started massaging my hand as if nothing had happened. "If you need some time––" he stopped and gave me a sharkish grin. "And you can actually be that patient, of course––I'll wait. I'm not losing you again, Red."

  Before I could reply that he would never lose me––not if I could help it––the door to the apartment opened, and Eric stomped in. He was clearly a little worse for wear: fitted gray T-shirt wrinkled in places (likely from being left on the floor for too long), light blond hair tousled past the point of looking good. He stopped short when he realized I was on the couch with company.

  "Oh, hey, Cros, I didn't realize you had a date––oh, shit!"

  Eric almost tripped over his large feet when he got an eyeful of who was sitting next to me, one long arm stretched carefully around the back of the sofa, the other familiar hand on my knee. I looked down and tried to brush it off; Brandon's fingers took a stronger grip.

  "Hey, um, this is Brandon Sterling," I said weakly as I stood up, forcing Brandon to release my knee.

  Brandon immediately stood too and took the few steps across the room. "Hi there," he said with an outstretched hand to Eric.

  Eric stared at the hand for a moment, then seemed to come to his senses about who exactly was standing in the middle of his apartment.

  "Mr. Sterling, of course," he said in a hurry as he returned the firm handshake. "I'm Eric Stallsmith, your, um––"

  "Newest junior associate," Brandon finished kindly. "Pending your bar exam results, of course. We're happy to have you on board, Eric. Nice to meet you in person."

  "Thanks. I'm very excited about starting up after I take the bar," Eric said before catching my "get out of here" look over Brandon's shoulder. He turned back to Brandon and flashed his best interview smile despite looking like he had picked all of his clothes out of a laundry hamper. "Anyway, sorry. I can see you and Skylar are in the middle of something. I'll just...be in my room."

  He gave me and Brandon one last awkward glance before scuttling to his bedroom.

  "Um, good night," he said briefly, and shut the door behind him.

  Brandon turned back to me with an amused look, then slung an arm over my shoulder as I came to stand next to him.

  "I should probably go," he said regretfully. He glanced to Eric's bedroom and shook his head. "I can't stay here. Not with a new employee." Then, leaning down so his mouth was right next to my ear: "Not with the noises you make."

  I shivered, and not because I was cold. It was for the best. I couldn't go home with him yet since his ex-wife might be watching, and we had to wait regardless until I could really spend the night anyway. The pang of guilt blossomed again in my gut. Tell him, I thought.

  "It's okay," I murmured as I tipped my head up.

  "I'll see you tomorrow?" Brandon asked in between kisses that were steadily turning into something more.

  I laughed. "Tomorrow," I said, then gently pushed him away.

  As he grabbed his jacket off the rungs, he gave me that thousand-watt grin that blinded me to just about everything else.

  "See ya, Red," Brandon said as he snuck one last mischievous kiss, making me laugh out loud.

  I watched him circle down the stairwell until I heard his footsteps echo out of the building. Then I stepped back into my apartment and closed the door. I wrapped my arms around my waist, both recalling his touch and giving myself a bit of comfort. It was painful to see him go, but at least this time I didn't have to focus solely on the fantasies. This time I knew that eventually I'd have the real thing back, even if it scared me, still not knowing exactly what we were or how we were going to do it. But it also felt really fucking amazing to know that he'd be back again tomorrow.

  ~

  Chapter 11

  "Okay, so new house rule," Eric said the next morning as he finished making his coffee.

  He walked over to where I was on the couch, enjoying my own cup of tea and leafing through our assignment study materials for the weekend. I pushed my glasses up my nose. I was dressed in my typical Saturday morning attire: yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Out
side it was a fine late-spring day, and I was already a bit grumpy that I had to stay in and study.

  "Fine. What's the new rule?"

  Eric flopped onto the couch next to me and kicked his socked feet onto the small wooden coffee table. "No bosses in the apartment."

  I huffed and dropped my pencil into my open book. "Yeah. I'm sorry about the surprise. But honestly, we don't have anywhere else to go."

  "What are you talking about, Cros? I've been to that museum he calls a house. You telling me all ten thousand square feet are taken?"

  "No, no," I said. "It's because his divorce is in the final stages of mediation, and apparently his ex is having him tracked by a P.I. We can't be seen together, and his house is probably being watched round the clock."

  "So what, now you're fifteen years old, running around behind your parents' backs?" Eric said with a smirk. "Do we need to take shifts with a sock on the door? Your boyfriend owns the Earth, Cros. Tell him to book a damn hotel."

  I cringed. "Ew. Because that wouldn't make me feel more like a creepy mistress. It's bad enough he's still technically married." I turned to Eric with my best pleading face. "Come on. We can't go to his place for another three weeks. Then the papers are signed, and that's the end."

  Eric slurped on his coffee. "It's a good line, I'll give him that. I should use it the next time a girl wants to come home with me. 'Sorry, babe, but my ex has my place watched by a private eye.'"

  I slugged him halfheartedly on the shoulder. "Stop. It's true."

  Eric raised a light blond brow and scratched his chin. "You sure about that? Some guys will say a lot of things to keep women away from their places. I should know."

  I knew his heart was in the right place. A New Yorker like me, Eric was a cynic, convinced that everyone was a con artist. And it was true that Brandon wasn't always the most forthcoming of people. Some of his secrets had nearly destroyed us, and we weren't exactly out of the woods yet. But then I thought about how warmly he had invited me into his home before, even asked me to move in with him. No, it wasn't in him to make up tales just to keep me at arm's length; if anything, he had a tendency to go overboard bringing me close.