Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  Brandon shrugged and rubbed my back meditatively. "A lot has changed since then. Six months ago, the most important thing to me was keeping my companies intact. But now I'll probably have to divest anyway, not to mention..."

  I watched curiously as he trailed off. "Not to mention what?"

  He cocked his head shyly. It made me want to tackle him onto the bed, except I wanted to know the end of his sentence.

  "Not to mention that now I have more important things to fight for," he said with a hopeful gaze. "Maybe there are things worth keeping if they are important to you too. To us."

  "Oh."

  We gazed at each other, letting the gravity of his words, those others "things" sink in.

  I looked around at the room. "So, the decor, then..."

  Brandon gave me a lopsided smile. "Would you believe me if I said I pored over design magazines trying to find the perfect lamp?"

  In response, I just raised my eyebrow. He laughed and dropped a kiss.

  "I bought the property as is," he said. "I'll tell the previous owners you like it."

  With yet another brief kiss, he released me from his embrace and took my hand again.

  "You hungry?" he asked.

  As he spoke, my stomach let out a loud growl. He laughed again, and it filled the room with even more light.

  "Come on," Brandon said. "Let's feed you, and then I can show you the grounds."

  ~

  We spent the next few hours exploring the property while Brandon pointed out all of his favorite spots: the cluster of driftwood that was perfect for reading on nice days and the tennis court where we could play doubles with Janette and Maurice. My eyes grew wide at that one; I'd played tennis maybe three times in my life.

  "Don't worry, babe, I'll teach you," Brandon said with a laugh.

  I couldn't help but laugh with him. He was different here, somehow. Lighter. Happier. It was infectious.

  He led me into a small grove of oak trees on one edge of the property's bluff. At the end, there was another set of several deck chairs and a dining area underneath the of the trees. A tire swing had been hung from one of the trees.

  "Indulging your inner child?" I asked as I hopped on it and swayed back and forth.

  It was the kind of swing any kid would have dreamed of. As a city kid myself, I had often imagined living in rural place like this, with a swing of my own from this kind of tree. I closed my eyes in the sunlight shining through the leaves.

  "Or one I might have one day."

  My stomach dropped with his words. The slight squeak of the swing's chain fill the sudden silence.

  "I think about it with you." Brandon came to stand in front of me, letting the swing come to a stop against his thighs. He held the chains that anchored the tire in each of his hands. "Do you ever think about it with me?"

  I gulped. He was watching me very carefully, and I prayed the sudden guilt that had bloomed in my belly wasn't written all over my face––or at least that Brandon wouldn’t be able to read it as clearly as he could normally. I forced myself to inhale and exhale. Brandon cocked his head.

  "Too much?" he asked. He shook his head with a bitter laugh and rubbed his chin. "Of course it's too much. We just got back together a few weeks ago." He gave a sardonic smile. "'Too much' is my middle name, isn't it?"

  The disappointment and obvious sadness on his face broke my heart.

  "No," I said forcefully.

  I slid off the swing, and pulled him close to me by his shirt, standing on my tiptoes so I could wrap my arms around his head.

  "I think about it too," I said, hoping our faces were close enough that he wouldn't be able to see all of the conflicting emotions I felt. "I think about it all the time."

  "Yeah?" Brandon looked out meditatively over the blue water. A few seagulls cried out in the distance. "Sometimes I think it's crazy. What would I know about being a dad? I have absolutely nothing in the way of model. My father's still in jail for one of his many crimes, and Ray, well, you've met him."

  He bit his lip, and my heart practically cracked in half.

  "Hey." I picked up his hand and brought it to my lips. "You don't need models. Look at you. You are one of the kindest, most generous people I've ever met. Brandon, you'd be a wonderful father, I know it."

  Even as I said the words, my heart physically throbbed. He would be a wonderful father one day. And in another life, he might have been on his way by now.

  Blue eyes or green? Now was the time to tell him. We were alone, there was nowhere to run, no one to interrupt us.

  "Brandon, I need to tell you something," I said, feeling sick even as I said the words.

  Brandon looked down at me, eyes gray-blue and broody, but...maybe not surprised. "What's that?"

  Do it, you coward! My conscience screamed at me, sounding irritatingly like Jane. I opened my mouth, but when I caught his wide blue gaze, nothing came out. I choked.

  "Last May..." I tried again.

  Brandon's brows quirked in confusion. "Yeah?"

  I shut my mouth, then opened it again. "I was so...I was...miserable. Without you. I just realized...Brandon, I just love you. So, so much."

  Chicken. No, I was going to do this. I had to.

  But before I could speak again, Brandon swept me off the ground and sat us down in a surprisingly smooth motion, pulled me on top of his lap so that my knees straddled his hips. His hands settled on my waist, thumbs stroking lightly over the thin fabric of my cotton dress.

  "Are you trying to fix me again, Skylar?" he asked in a low voice, echoing the same question he had said just after the first time he'd brought me to meet Ray.

  I'd given him praise then too. The question had let to our frantic first coupling in the stairwell of the MIT electrical engineering building, a forceful condemnation of any suggestion of charity. In his own way, Brandon was even worse than I was at taking compliments or gifts. This time, however, I wasn't afraid to say how much I felt for him. I could at least be honest about that.

  I cupped his face gently, gazing into the blue eyes that were subtly riddled with a life of pain that Brandon worked so hard to overcome.

  "Aren't you trying to fix me too?" I asked softly, running my thumbs over his cheekbones. "Aren't we trying to fix each other?"

  Brandon gazed, blue eyes unblinking, his jaw set tight. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slightly. His hands rose up my back, and he pulled me in for a kiss that started slowly, then quickly grew into something much more passionate.

  "Yes," he said hoarsely as he tried to get closer. "Yes, we are."

  He kissed me again, with lips that quickly turned primal. It was so easy to lose myself in the tongue that wrapped around mine and made me forget where I was.

  A His hand slipped around the back of my head, tangled in my hair while the other drifted over the rise and fall of my breasts through the cotton. Brandon's fingers whispered over the fabric, plucked at the buttons until one by one, they fell open, baring my breasts in the late afternoon sun. He looked down to where he palmed both my breasts lightly.

  "You are so incredibly beautiful," he pronounced while his thumbs drifted over my nipples.

  Although his touch had me aching for more, I still looked around, aware of the fact that the only protection we had from prying eyes was our relative isolation and the scattering of trees.

  "Relax, baby," Brandon said, reading my mind again, as was his uncanny talent. "This property is ten acres. There's no one around."

  He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the ground, then drew me back so we were skin to skin in the cool grass. I burrowed in the cocoon of his chest, the warm muscles against my skin, the familiar smattering of hair soft against my face. I kissed the divot between his pectorals, and he shuddered.

  He rolled me onto my back, and his mouth trailed down the side of my neck, nipping and biting while he twisted his tongue with some mystery of sweet torment. Eventually he returned to my breasts, and pulled one taut curve between his te
eth, causing a ripple of tension to vibrate through me.

  "Brandon," I moaned.

  My hands threaded into his hair to keep him close. One of his hands drifted lower, pushing up the hem of my skirt to find the flesh beneath. He was so big, blocking out the rest of the world. Keeping me safe.

  "Skylar," he murmured against my breast before switching to the other side.

  His fingers found the edge of my panties and pulled them off.

  "Please," I whimpered against his ear before I seized the edge of it between my teeth and bit lightly.

  Brandon hissed, then unbuckled his own pants. When the heavy weight of him was freed in the damp warmth between my thighs, we both gasped at the sudden contact. Brandon took my mouth, sucking voraciously on my lower lip as he adjusted his hips until––aaaah!–––he found entry.

  "Fuuuuck," he swore as he sank into me, slowly, surely.

  I gripped his shoulders as my body adjusted to his girth, but sighed into his warm skin. Nothing felt better than him. Nothing felt better than this.

  "Tell me what you need," he croaked as he pressed me further into the grass. "Tell me what you want."

  From my vantage point, I had the full, sun-drenched view of his impressive physique. I ran my hand over him and rotated my hips, taking him deeper and causing him to hiss again.

  "I just need you," I said as I slipped one hand between my legs. Brandon's eyes zeroed in on the moment, dilated sapphires as he watched my fingers find my clit and move in tandem with his hips.

  Our bodies had reunited before, but this was different. It was slower, less frenzied. No forceful joining in his bed, no frenzied coupling in a public bathroom. No withholding, no games. Our eyes met, and neither of us could look away as we found our rhythm together, bodies rocking, joining, warm and light and free under the open sky.

  As if of its own accord, my other hand ran up Brandon's chest to cup his face, torn as it was between pain and ecstasy.

  "Brandon," I whispered.

  He thrust deeper, and the lines on his brow deepened. "Skylar."

  The fingers on my clit twitched. I gripped the edge of his jaw, forcing him to look at me.

  "I love you," I breathed, the words floating on the air between us.

  Brandon's eyes flew open, and his entire body clenched in response.

  "God!" he cried, matching the calls of the seagulls looping through the sky behind us.

  He throbbed within me, and I arched in response. I pressed hard on my clit, and Brandon took one, two, three more deep thrusts before we both exploded together, our bodies joining in a tangled mass of light and love.

  "Skylar!" he called as he collapsed against my shoulder.

  "Brandon!" My body shook under him.

  And we trembled, slowing to shudders, until there was no more Brandon, no more Skylar. There was only us.

  ~

  The sun was a warm blanket over my shoulders, and the distant sound of waves and seagulls combined with the hushed breeze through the grass-covered dunes lulled me partially to sleep on Brandon's chest. That feeling was finally back––that one we had worked so hard for before everything had come crashing down last spring. In this moment, I was perfectly content.

  Before I had found out about Miranda, and before she had found out about us, Brandon has asked me to move in with him. And despite how overwhelmed I was by his wealth and his life––feelings that I would probably struggle with for a long time––the answer had been easy. I had wanted to share a life with Brandon, share a home with him, because somehow, I had known that Brandon was my home. He was where I belonged.

  I didn't know if he would ever ask me that again, although he had mentioned it in passing. Likely not until he had his life straightened out, until he was fully divorced and determined his future in politics. But if he did, I knew the answer would be the same. No matter where he was, where he needed to be, I'd want to be there with him. He was home.

  Which made what I needed to do all the more difficult. And all the more necessary.

  Oh God, I thought as a ball of fear took root in my stomach. I pressed myself up, causing him to groan against the movement.

  "Don't," he mumbled, already half asleep in his equally content, post-coital haze.

  I kissed him lightly on the chest, but still sat up.

  "Why?" he asked as he opened one lazy blue eye.

  I smiled nervously and twirled a few strands of my hair. "I have to tell you something," I tried again.

  A dark blond brow quirked. "Now?"

  I took a deep breath. I might lose everything, or I might gain everything. But either way, Jane was right. I couldn't keep it to myself if I wanted us to be real. I opened my mouth to speak.

  The sound of a loud car horn broke through the air.

  Brandon tipped his head toward the house, then smirked back at me. "Looks like the cavalry has arrived."

  I wilted. Shit. My mother really did have the best timing. The car honked again insistently, and I tugged my dress back over my shoulders.

  "I'm coming, I'm coming," I mumbled to myself.

  Brandon chuckled while he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. The car honked a third time, and now I could hear Janette's "helloooo"s echoing over the lawn along with Annabelle and Christoph's curious voices.

  "On our way!" Brandon shouted with a laugh as he slipped on his flip-flops. Then he looked back at me with sudden concern. "Wait. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

  Tying my hair on top of my head, I froze, mouth open.

  "I...just that I love you. Again."

  The words came out before I could stop them, and immediately the ball of fear shrank to a tiny clenched fist. That wouldn't go away, I knew. It had been there for the last month and a half. But this wasn't the right time to talk about it, and I couldn't bring myself to kill Brandon's happy mood.

  Brandon's megawatt smile lit up the entire wood despite the fact that we were out in the direct sunlight. He leaned in to give me a hearty, all-encompassing kiss and didn't release me until the car horn blasted for a fourth time and we were both completely out of breath.

  "I love you too, Red," he said with another brief smack. "Now let's go welcome your family before they burn the place down."

  ~

  Chapter 27

  The weekend passed smoothly, almost to the point where I forgot I was spending it with my estranged mother. Annabelle and Christoph happily spent most of the time in the pool, watched over by Marie, the middle-aged French nanny. Janette seemed happy to sketch while she sunbathed on the deck, and Maurice was delighted to find another tennis player in Brandon. I was able to spend the mornings studying in Brandon's office, interrupted only occasionally when he would check on me with a cup of tea. Only one kiss turned into something else that we needed to lock the door for.

  When I came out to the yard around lunchtime on Monday, our last day, Brandon and Maurice were finishing their usual morning match. Janette was lounging at the pool while the children dove for rings at the bottom. She peered up at me through a pair of oversized Chanel sunglasses, poised in a sleek black maillot like Bridget Bardot.

  "Back from studying. Amazing, a daughter of mine could be such a bookworm."

  I pulled off my light gray cover-up and tossed it onto the other lounge next to her. "I didn't know that was a bad thing."

  "Well, at least you've kept yourself nice and trim." Janette looked up and down my body with blatant inspection. "Of course, you've got those genes on both sides, haven't you? Danny always was a handsome little thing."

  I fought the urge to put back on the cover-up. I had noticed her making remarks about Annabelle's slightly round, eight-year-old physique and meant to say something it about it anyway, but Brandon had suggested that it wasn't the best way to continue rebuilding my relationship with my estranged mother.

  "Is that what I'm doing here?" I had asked in bed last night.

  He'd shrugged. "What else?"

  What else indeed?

  "Do you kno
w, I think you would look perfectly marvelous as a blonde," Janette continued. "With our green eyes...it's just a shame you inherited your grandfather's hair. And skin, as it were. Let's hope if you and Brandon ever have children, those genes skip another generation."

  I looked down warily at the light speckles that decorated the skin my modest blue-gray bikini didn't cover. Despite the umbrella-sized straw hat I wore in the sun, the last two days of playing on the beach and in the pool had caused an avalanche of freckles to erupt all over my normally olive-toned body. Normally I wasn't too conscious of them, but Janette's frank appraisal made me more aware than usual of my Irish complexion.

  "You know, there are procedures that can remove freckles, darling," Janette said, pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead to examine more closely some of the spots on my thighs. "I'm sure we could find a top-notch dermatologist in Boston to take care of them for you. I'd pay, of course."

  "Don't you remove a single spot, Janette," Brandon interrupted. "She's perfect as is."

  He loped up the deck and scooped me to his side for a sweaty kiss. Janette watched us with keen interest, then slid her glasses back over her porcelain nose.

  "Who won?" I asked as I stepped away from Brandon, more just to benefit from the view than because I didn't want to touch him. His white tennis shirt and hairline were both damp from the game, and the shirt stuck to his lean muscles.

  "I tried to let Maurice have it in the end, but he forced me to take it. Straight sets." He looked back at Maurice. "You all right back there, Maury?"

  I had to stifle a laugh at the familiar nickname, which seemed more appropriate for a used-car salesman than a suave French businessman. Maurice approached, looking considerably worse for wear. His normally immovable gray hair stood up in a few places, and his tanned face was bright red under the sweat that also soaked through his blue shirt.

  He grimaced. "It was a good match."

  Clearly, Maurice didn't like losing. I didn't blame him, but I could have told him two days ago that Brandon, one of the most competitive people I knew, not to mention a natural athlete, never lost. I had learned that the hard way more than once.

  Brandon hopped from foot to foot, swinging his racket toward a phantom ball. "It was a good match," he repeated. "What do you say, Red? You up next?"