Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  His fingers rubbed small circles, then suddenly grasped my clit and squeezed. The ache in my belly burst, and I unraveled in series of shudders and shakes, completely falling apart under Brandon's large, merciless form. He pistoned in and out of me at breakneck pace until both hands grabbed my ass again and squeezed hard enough to leave a bruise.

  'FUCK!" he yelped.

  I fell forward, and he fell with me. His big form shook until slowly, finally, his body relaxed on top of me.

  "Oh God, Skylar. I love you," he moaned as he released himself into me. "I love you so much it hurts."

  I welcomed his mouth on my neck, welcomed his body on mine, welcomed his essence into every pore of me, into this place where nothing else existed but two of us. My head was a fog; the fact that Brandon had just done something to me that no one––not Patrick, my ex, not anyone––had ever done just was starting to register. He could have every part of me, and he did. Love didn't even begin to cover it.

  ~

  I flipped open my laptop while Brandon was in the shower, pulling up a packing list I often used for long trips. Almost immediately, my Facetime started ringing: Jane, looking to video chat, likely out of guilt. No doubt Eric had informed her of our conversation yesterday.

  "Hi Jane," I answered as I pushed my glasses further up my nose and my hair out of my face.

  "Well, hi there, Sunshine. You look like you had a nice night. And by nice, I mean exhausted because a tycoon was banging your lights out."

  Jane grinned lasciviously into the camera, and I rolled my eyes. In the small picture-in-picture, I could see the tired circles under my eyes and the way my hair basically bunched around my face in that "just-fucked" sort of way. Well, wasn't I?

  "I had a great night," I said with a grin. "And morning. And probably afternoon too. You?"

  "Well, I'm about to head into day two here of the exam."

  Jane turned to her phone to show me a blurry scan of the University of Illinois Chicago campus. She flipped back to her tired-looking face and took a drink from a paper cup.

  "Is that coffee or vodka?" I joked.

  "Ha fucking ha. Coffee, thanks. Although a shot probably would do some good right about now. My nerves are done."

  I checked the clock on my desk. "When you start?"

  "Thirty minutes. I should go in, but I can't with all the nervous energy in there. Was it like that for you, all these uptight almost-lawyers basically shattering the windows with their vibes?"

  I chuckled. "Pretty much. But you're going to do fantastic. You'll kick ass, like you always do."

  Jane shrugged, but her teeth ground audibly through the small phone speakers. "I tell you, I'm going to need a month to recuperate after all of this. Two weeks won't do it."

  "Well, I'm sure Eric can help you out with that," I said with a sly smile. "He seems very eager to help you unwind. Starting Friday, apparently."

  Jane bit her lip and cast one eye downward. "Are you mad I didn't tell you?"

  I shrugged. Maybe I was a little disappointed that Jane hadn't confided in me immediately, but she was entitled to her personal life as much as anyone else.

  "Nah," I said. "I just hope you guys are being careful."

  "Oh, don't you worry about that. I make the boy double-bag it."

  "I meant with your heart, Janey," I said with a roll of my eyes. "And I hope for Eric's sake you're joking."

  Jane didn't quite look into the camera, just covered her mouth with a smile she was obviously trying to hide. Maybe she and Eric weren't willing to admit it, but it was clear that whatever was going on between them was more than just screwing around.

  "Anyway," I continued, knowing she wasn't about to spill her guts out minutes before walking into her exam. "You can make him wear as many condoms as you want without worrying about me walking in on you this time."

  "What? Don't tell me we're forcing you to live in the ice palace. I'm coming as much to see you as my sex Viking."

  "Aannnd now I'm imagining you and Eric while he's wearing a Viking hat. Thanks for that."

  "That's not a terrible idea," Jane said, tapping her lips. She grinned. "Ooh, late graduation gift!"

  I chuckled. "Just disinfect the couch before I get back, all right?"

  "And where is it that you're going?" Jane demanded, all thoughts of Viking hats clearly gone.

  I grinned. "Oh, you know. Brandon's taking me to France for two weeks."

  Jane's eyes bugged through the screen. "Whaaat? You lucky bitch. So, you're finally going to let him use all that money to do something fun for once?"

  I blinked sheepishly. "It's not like that."

  "I know, I know, Sky," Jane waved away my concerns. "I just mean, I'm glad you're finally letting him spoil you a bit. It's about time. That man is so damn crazy about you, and you deserve to be loved like that. I'm happy for you, friend."

  I couldn't help but grin a little at her words. "Thanks, Janey. I'm pretty happy too."

  Things were still so complicated, and we hadn't even come close to sorting out all the issues in both of our family lives, but that was the truth. And today, nothing seemed like it could get in the way of that.

  "So, are you going to tell him...you know...now that the pressure is off?"

  Through the wall, the wall the water turned off in the bathroom. I glanced back at the computer and shook my head vehemently, all the bliss of our conversation now evaporated.

  "Not the time right now, Jane."

  "But, Sky, you said that––"

  "Not the time, Jane!"

  She frowned into the screen, worrying her lips together before she finally sighed.

  "Fine," she said. "I'll say no more. Just do it. Soon. You promise?"

  I just blinked, then nodded my head. She was right, I knew, but I didn't want to ruin what was finally finding its rhythm again. It had taken this long for Brandon and I to rebuild what we once had. It was too precious.

  My bedroom door swung open, and Brandon came back in wearing nothing but a towel, water droplets dewing over his shoulders and chest, his mop of wet hair curling more than usual around his ears.

  "Thanks for the towel, man," he called back to Eric, whom I could see clearly through the doorway, focused completely on his coffee, thin shoulders hunched over like he wanted to disappear.

  Brandon kicked the door shut, then flopped next to me on the bed, which poked his lean form into the frame. "Oh. Hey, Jane," he said.

  "Shit!" Jane's voice exploded as her head shook so hard her glasses came loose. "For Christ's sake, warn a girl, Casanova. You could put someone's eyes out with those abs."

  Brandon tipped his head back and laughed, the movement causing his already defined muscles to bunch into tight ridges. It really wasn't fair. The man was three years from forty and looked like he had been photo-shopped.

  On the screen, Jane's eyes turned wistful. She waved a hand in front of the camera. "Will you get him out of there? I don't need that in my head while I'm testing. Otherwise, all I'm going to see is A) Brandon's abs, B) Brandon's pecs, or C) Brandon's biceps. Thanks a lot, Sterling. If I fail today, it's because of you!"

  "I'm moving, I'm moving. Good luck, Jane." Brandon went to where he'd stashed his stuff on top of my dresser.

  "I see that dreamy look on your face, Sky," Jane teased, causing Brandon to leer back at me as he pulled on a pair of clean briefs.

  The heat in his gaze caused me to blush all over again.

  "Right," Jane said. "I think that's my cue to go." She quirked a smile and tipped her head. "I'm glad you're happy, chick. And Brandon?" she called out.

  "Yeah, Jane?" Brandon replied as he pulled on a pair of shorts.

  "Take care of my girl in France. Don't forget, Don Juan: you mess with her, it's your balls on a platter, courtesy of moi."

  Popping back into the frame, Brandon rolled his eyes and grinned. "Loud and clear, Jane," he said before leaning down to grab a T-shirt from his overnight bag.

  "Good luck, friend," I told her.
"I'll see you when we get back."

  "You better, chick. Love you, Sky."

  "Love you too, Janey. So much."

  ~

  Chapter 31

  Our flight was at ten the next morning, so I spent the rest of the day packing and making sure I was leaving everything settled at home. I was a bit worried about leaving, but Bubbe assured me Dad was attending his therapy like clockwork and that Katie Corleone was still nowhere to be seen. He'd even continued his tinkering on the piano, and the doctors thought he would be able to go back to work in another month. Brandon had requested additional security to watch the house while we were gone; there wasn't much more we could do.

  "He can barely play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'," Bubbe recounted Dad's progress. "But his fingers are on the keys, and that's the important thing."

  I wholeheartedly agreed.

  Brandon had told me to pack for a variety of activities, so when David pulled the car up in front of my building at eight a.m., I was standing next to my biggest suitcase that carried supplies for every possibility I could think of in South France, from lounging on the beach to hiking through the Pyrenees.

  Brandon stepped out of the car to help me and looked at the suitcase with an amused expression.

  "You know," he said as he kissed me on the cheek, "I didn't peg you for the kind of girl who would pack her entire wardrobe for a short trip."

  "It's two whole weeks," I countered as David hefted the suitcase into the trunk. "And you wouldn't tell me our plans."

  Brandon grinned. "That's because we have no plans, Red. It's part of the charm."

  "Exactly," I said. "I need to be prepared for anything."

  "You do realize that if we didn't have something, we could just buy it?"

  I scowled. "No, you could just buy it. I come prepared."

  Brandon just rolled his eyes, and with a hand on my back, escorted me into the car. "I forgot. I'm traveling with Ebenezer Scrooge."

  I smacked him on the shoulder, and he laughed.

  "I resent that," I said. "Just because I don't like to spend unnecessary money on myself doesn't mean I'm not generous with others."

  "I know, I know. Take it easy." Brandon gathered me in and pressed a kiss on my lips before I could continue my protestations. "Now let's get going. Plane's waiting."

  I was in for another surprise when the car pulled up at the small private airfield next to Logan International––the same airfield where I had left Brandon on our first official date, where he had tried to fly me to France once before. The memory of that night was seared into my memory. Dinner in Paris had been a lovely idea, but it was also misplaced, far too ostentatious for a first date, and had only pushed me away.

  I found him watching me, looking slightly nervous.

  "I thought we had tickets," I said. "Why are we here?"

  Brandon grinned sheepishly. "Did you really think I want to fly commercial? This is so much easier. We'll be there in six hours instead of ten. Plus, I can try my luck with the mile-high club."

  He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made him look like a horny puppy. I burst out laughing in spite of myself, and Brandon joined me. His excitement was contagious.

  "Come on, Red," he said as David opened his door. "Let's see if I can get you on a plane this time without slapping me."

  "Ha fucking ha," I retorted, but allowed him to help me out of the car.

  A flash from outside the gates of the small airport pulled my attention to the road. A cluster of photographers was there, all of their lenses pointed directly at us.

  "Mr. Sterling! Brandon!" They called. "Where are you going? Who is your friend?"

  I glanced up at Brandon and found him looking at the photographers with a hard scowl.

  "Who are they?" I asked as he guided me into the airport, which thankfully had tinted windows.

  I wondered if they were installed partly because of the wealthy, sometimes famous people who used private airfields like this. In the plush lobby, the agents took our bags and passports.

  Brandon grimaced and his broad shoulders tensed. "Paparazzi. They've been starting to follow me a bit the last few weeks, since there has been more speculation in the papers about whether or not I'm going to run. Apparently, my whereabouts are more important than things like, you know, the economy or public healthcare."

  His voice dripped with sarcasm. It was clear he wasn't happy with being surveilled this way, and I couldn't blame him. I hated it when we suspected that a PI was following us around. Now we had to deal with the press too?

  "Have you decided?" I asked, unable to help myself.

  I hadn't pressured him much about the decision––in the last few weeks of studying for the bar exam, I honestly hadn't had time to think about it, and he hadn't mentioned it at all. But obviously, it was an issue that needed to be discussed, and soon.

  Brandon shook his head, the small lines at his eyes crinkling as he frowned. "Not yet." He turned an awkward smile at me. "Although Cory has been riding my ass about it."

  I masked a scowl at the mention of Cory, Brandon's would-be campaign manager. I hadn't spoken to him for long at the benefit last month, but I hadn't liked him very much. He was snippy and superior––basically the complete stereotype of someone who worked in politics. The idea that he would be a consistent presence in Brandon's life wasn't very appealing.

  The agents announced that our plane was ready to board. Brandon took my hand with a squeeze that melted away all my reservations.

  "It's time," he said. "Campaign stuff can wait. You ready for some downtime together?"

  Was I ever.

  I grinned. "Let's go."

  ~

  Seven hours later, we arrived in Marseille. Five hours ahead of Boston, it was nine o'clock in the evening by the time the plane pulled to a stop on a private runway at the Marseille airport.

  Brandon, as it happened, was incredibly well traveled. This shouldn't have surprised me, considering how extensive his business interests were, but it did. He always seemed like such a local boy dressed up in nice suits. So it was somewhat of a shock when he spoke to the customs officers in surprisingly decent French.

  "And here I thought I was going to have to translate," I said as we were waved easily through the gate.

  He looked down at me and flashed his thousand-watt grin. "I'm not fluent or anything, but I've at least learned to say thank you when I travel," he said.

  He leaned in and kissed me, a long, lingering kiss that sent sparks down to the bottom of my toes.

  "Welcome to France," he murmured against my lips.

  I smiled into his embrace. "Bienvenue a France," I whispered. "Merci, monsieur."

  Brandon leaned back with a sly grin. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you to do that some more, baby. Preferably naked."

  My heart thrilled, and I practically skipped out toward the street where another car was waiting for us, swishing my hips a bit more than I normally would. "Avec ton plaisir, mon cher."

  Brandon slammed a palm to his heart, watching me in faux pain. "You're killing me, Red. Let's get you inside before I molest you in front of customs agents."

  "They won't care," I said. "They're French."

  ~

  We pulled up in front of a house that belonged to Mark Grove, the other name partner at Brandon's law firm. I didn't know Grove well, having only seen his brusque face occasionally while I had served as an intern at the firm last year, but for some reason, the fact that he was a Francophile surprised me.

  "Big time," Brandon said when I said as much. "He comes here every chance he gets. All of his wives have been French too."

  "Wives?" I asked. "Just how many has he had?"

  Brandon chuckled. "Oh, I don't know. Four or five, I think." He gave a sheepish shrug, like he was embarrassed on his partner's behalf. "What can I say? He's a better attorney than a husband, I guess."

  "I guess," I echoed.

  Brandon unlocked the door to the villa and walked inside, hefting our bags up a
short flight of stairs that led us directly into the living room. Huge by European standards, the house was fairly small in contrast to Brandon's properties, with most of the first floor taken up by the living area and adjacent kitchen.

  But the house made up for its lack of space with opulence; it was absolutely stunning. Done in the typical Mediterranean style of stucco exteriors and pink clay roof tiles outside, the interior was light and airy, floored with pinkish Spanish tile in an open design that made the most of the limited space by allowing the kitchen, living room, and dining area to flow together in one high-ceilinged room, punctuated by carefully chosen modern furniture. Gauzy drapes floated over picture windows at the far end of the living room, which looked out onto a wood-framed pool and a view of Chateau d'If, the sixteenth-century island fortress that was the setting for the Count of Monte Cristo.

  Brandon came to stand behind me as I gazed out at the view, entranced by the moonlight flickering across the Mediterranean, glittering on the white hulls of the boats bobbing in the harbor. A gull sounded somewhere in the distance, and I sighed as Brandon slipped his hands around my waist and pulled me against his tall, strong form.

  "All human wisdom is contained in these two words, 'Wait and Hope'," he quoted softly as we looked out to the harbor.

  I turned in his arms, surprised. "I didn't take you for a Dumas fan."

  Brandon shrugged. "I always liked the Count of Monte Cristo," he said. "It's a pretty kick-ass story. Guy gets mistakenly locked in a prison for twenty years, comes back, makes his fortune, and sticks it to his enemies before he takes off with the girl." He grinned at me. "Doesn't sound too bad."

  The obvious parallels between his life and the count's sent ripples down my spine.

  "Is that what you're doing?" I asked as I placed my palms flat over his broad chest. "Are you the Count?"

  Brandon snorted. "Hardly. I'm not much for vengeance, Red. You know that."

  I traced the line of his jaw. "I'm glad."

  It wasn't a characteristic I liked. Vengeance had nearly cost my dad his life. I was more interested in peace.

  "How about this one?" Brandon asked quietly as his hand came up to thread through my hair. "'Woman is sacred; the woman one loves is holy'."