Our Love Unhinged (Reluctant Hearts Book 4)

by Brighton Walsh

  “I don’t hate it. I love it.” And I do. Whenever I pictured Winter walking down the aisle toward me, I never had a clear idea of what kind of dress she’d be in, but the one she picked—the one that shows off all her curves, that hugs her body and makes her look like a fucking goddess—is perfection.

  Moving her hair out of my way, I kiss down her back until I’m on my knees behind her, trying to get my overgrown fingers to work with these toddler-sized buttons. She’s no doubt exhausted after the day she’s had—hell, I am, too. That’s one thing people don’t mention when talking about the wedding night. Honestly, I’d be happy just to have her fall asleep in my arms and wake up with her next to me. But if I can do all that after being inside my wife, all the better.

  “You want me to help you?” she asks.

  “No.” I press a kiss to the indentation of her spine, just above the small of her back. “I’ll get it.”

  She shudders, goosebumps covering the skin I can see. Reaching back, she tugs me closer to her and says, “Well, hurry up. I’m impatient to fuck my husband.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Apparently all I needed was a little incentive, because I get the buttons undone and the dress off in four minutes flat. And then she’s standing there in front of me in the tiniest pieces of white lace lingerie I’ve ever seen. I think my cock might actually find a way to escape the confines of my dress pants without any help.

  Especially when she steps toward me, her breasts directly at eye level. Her nipples are hard, already straining under the sheer lace. Leaning forward, I suck one into my mouth through the material as I try to get out of this suit as quickly as possible. Winter’s moans only spur me on faster, especially when she brings one hand to the back of my head and holds me to her while the other delves into the front of her panties. I’ve managed to rid myself of everything but my pants and boxers, but I can’t wait anymore.

  I grip her under her ass as I stand, carrying her toward the bed. “You did that on purpose,” I say as I toss her onto the bed, then cage her in under me.

  “Did what on purpose?” she asks, looking at me with a glint in her eyes.

  And, Christ, I never thought I’d be so happy to see a teasing expression on her face, but the relief is palpable. All day, throughout the ceremony and then the reception, I watched her. Looking for signs of nerves. Of uncertainty or regret. And all I saw was happiness radiating out of her.

  Lowering my head, I nip at her bottom lip. “You know exactly what you did, Mrs. Maxwell.” I suck her lip into my mouth, then let it go with a pop. “Your husband wants to be the one who gets this pussy worked up, so stop playing with it.”

  She breathes out a laugh as I make my way down her body, until my shoulders are parting her thighs and I’m hovering right over exactly where I want to be. Her laugh turns into a breathless moan as I lick her through the lace of her panties, pulsing my tongue right against her clit.

  “Cade,” she says, all breathless and wanting, and the sound manages to harden my cock even further.

  Normally, I’d work her up—tongue her pussy until she comes against my mouth, until she’s begging me to fuck her—but the honest truth is I can’t wait tonight. I can’t wait another minute to find out what it feels like to be inside my wife.

  After shoving the pants and boxers from my legs, I strip her until she’s bare under me, and then I’m rocking into her, sliding into all that perfection.

  “Jesus.” I grasp her hip with one hand and slip my other underneath her back to grip her neck, balancing my weight on my forearm. Rolling my hips, soft and slow, I stare down at her. Her breath is coming out in pants as she digs her fingers into the flesh of my shoulders, my arms, my ass.

  “Cade,” she breathes. “Faster, please.”

  I’d normally respond to that request on her lips by snapping my hips forward. But not tonight. Tonight, I want slow. Tonight, I want to take in every tiny detail so I can remember it forever. How her lips part as she pants my name. The feel of her breath against my face. The look in her eyes as she stares up at me. How her declaration of love gets cut off as her climax slams into her. The utter perfection of how she feels pulsing around me.

  “Fuck, you feel so good.” I brush the hair back from her face, kiss her slow and deep as I continue the unhurried rocking into her. “Think you’ve got more in you?”

  She breathes out a laugh, then wraps her hand around my neck and tugs me down. “I think you’ll probably make sure I do.”

  “Damn right I will. You better hang on, baby,” I say, then thrust into her fast and hard, just like she asked me to earlier. Her increasing moans only spur me on more. “We’re gonna see how many times I can make you come your first night as my wife. Any guesses?”

  Her answer is cut off as I reach down and press my thumb to her clit, her body bowed off the bed as she comes again. How fucking lucky am I that this is my life? That I’ve now got this amazing, strong, brave, confident, independent woman to call mine? The thought and the way her body feels around me hurtles me straight toward my climax, and I thrust deep, spilling myself inside her, her name a groan on my lips.

  Who would’ve thought a chance encounter at a shitty bar two years ago would lead to this? That a douchebag with grabby hands would be the catalyst for finding the love of my life? And that I get to spend the rest of my life showing her every day exactly what that means.

  “Mine,” I whisper into her neck, unable to keep the thought to myself.

  She runs her hands down my back, then presses her lips to my ear. “Yours.”

  Many years later

  winter

  Seventy-six days.

  The number repeats over and over in my head, the rhythm matching Noah’s heartbeat.

  Seventy. Six.

  Seventy. Six.

  Days have a totally different meaning now. They’re endless and too fast all at once. They are everything I’ve been terrified of my entire life, and yet they’re everything that makes me happy.

  It’s not just the days that have a different meaning, though. Life has a totally different meaning now. I never thought I’d be here, and the change didn’t happen overnight. Even after our wedding, there were issues I fought. But I learned to fight them with Cade, not against him. Seeing my name on his finger, peeking out from under his titanium wedding band, was a constant reminder that he found in me exactly what I found in him.

  A home.

  It’s three in the morning, and we’re lying in bed, our son nursing while Cade spoons me from behind, his lips pressed against my shoulder as he keeps constant eyes on Noah. His hand engulfs the baby’s head, his thumb rubbing soft circles over downy brown hair.

  “Maybe tomorrow he’ll decide to go through the night.” Cade’s voice is deep with sleep, rasping out in a low rumble.

  I look down at Mister Every Three Hours Like Clockwork and smile, running a finger down his cheek. “Somehow I doubt it.”

  Cade brushes his lips across my shoulder. “You know, I can feed him the milk you’ve pumped. You don’t have to get up every night.”

  “I don’t mind.” And I don’t. I just don’t know how to explain it to Cade. How to put into words the bond I feel every time I hold our child in my arms. Every time I look into his eyes. Every time his finger grasps mine. How, even though I’m dead tired, I actually enjoy these middle of the night wake-up calls, when everything is silent and still and it’s just the three of us in this tiny cocoon of ours.

  My whole life, I’ve been scared of what it would mean if I ever became a mom. Of how I could handle it. How I could actually do the job when I never had a role model worth anything.

  How could I ever be a mom when my own didn’t want to stick around long enough to be one to me?

  Finding out I was pregnant was the second scariest day of my life, inching only slightly behind the day we brought Noah home from the hospital. I didn’t understand how the doctors and nurses were just going to let me go home with this perfect little package, all
seven pounds, fourteen ounces of him. Didn’t they know my mom was a screw up? That I was a screw up who knew exactly nothing about being a mom? About taking care of a living, breathing human being?

  Somehow, though, we’ve managed.

  We’ve stumbled through, Cade and I adjusting to our new normal. And that was what was so refreshing to me. Knowing that even though he helped with Haley when she was born, this—being a parent for the first time, the bone-deep terror mixing with the overwhelming love that fills every ounce of your body—was as new to him as it was to me.

  I realized very early on that I didn’t have to compensate for the horrible person my mother was. It was the revolving issue that haunted me through most of my relationship with Cade. Like somehow I was predisposed to be just like her because we shared the same DNA.

  That couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Despite the terror at finding out I was pregnant, I’ve loved Noah since he was just an announcement on a tiny plastic stick. I loved him through every obstetrician appointment, through every ultrasound. Through every late-night bout of munchies, every kick to the bladder and knee to the ribs. I loved him even before I met him, and it was that thought that kept me going, even when I was terrified.

  Later, after Noah’s finished eating and is burped and changed, Cade asks, “You want me to take him back to his room?”

  “In a minute,” I say, and snuggle back into Cade’s warm and comforting arms, which he wraps tighter around me, his lips finding mine even in the dark.

  It’s been seventy-six days since I heard our baby’s first cry. Since I felt his skin on mine, looked into his eyes, touched his tiny toes. Since my life was turned upside down.

  It’s been seventy-six days since Cade and I brought a child into the world. And for once, I’m not counting down, but counting forward.

  I can’t wait to see what day seventy-seven brings.

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  OTHER TITLES BY BRIGHTON WALSH

  Caged in Winter

  Tessa Ever After

  Paige in Progress

  Captive

  Exposed

  Plus One

  Season of Second Chances

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Paige in Progress!

  paige

  Being a blonde with a nice body and a rockin’ set of C’s isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. People tend to take in the packaging and not concern themselves with what’s underneath, underestimating me and comparing me to Barbie before I even open my mouth. Before they know anything about me other than how I appear on the outside. They think because I’m beautiful I don’t also have brains in this head of mine…that I’m just another girl with lofty goals and nothing with which to back it up.

  Which is why it’s always so goddamn satisfying to watch the faces of those fuckers who underestimate me as I blow their assumptions and preconceived notions out of the water.

  Sitting across a worn, oak desk from one such fucker right now—a fucker who will, hopefully, become my boss in the near future—I have to work to maintain my calm. Outside, I am the picture of serenity. My face is impassive…bland, almost. My posture is relaxed but confident. But inside…oh, inside, I’m dancing the fucking Cha Cha Slide, because I just wowed my potential-probable-boss with my knowledge of the criminal investigative field. A field I’ve never worked in, but one I’ve immersed myself in for as long as I can remember.

  As I spoke, his body language changed from someone appeasing me—allowing me in here for an interview as a favor to my older brother, no doubt—to someone interested. And not just interested, but nearly salivating at the thought of what I could offer to the team, not only during the internship, but in the future as a bonafide new hire.

  “Well, Paige, I have to say I’m impressed,” Captain Peters says.

  My lips lift in an amused smile. “You sound surprised by that.”

  He becomes visibly flustered, broken words escaping his lips before he shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no. Tanner assured me you were the real deal. I’m just glad he wasn’t bullshitting me.”

  I nod. “You can’t always believe my brother, I understand that. But I’m happy I proved him right this time.”

  The Captain relaxes back in his chair, his beer belly protruding over the belt of his pants, his full mustache twitching almost like he wants to smile but he refuses to do so. “In all honesty, I think you’d be a real asset to the team dynamic we have here. It’s obvious you wouldn’t be coming into this starry-eyed and unaware of the pressures and responsibilities of the field. You know your stuff, and I think that would only help you be able to really jump in with both feet during this internship.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  He pushes up from his chair, and I follow his lead, shaking his hand when he offers it. “I hope to get this wrapped up by the end of the week. I’ll let you know one way or another by Friday.”

  He’ll let me know I’ve got the internship is what he means.

  Instead of saying that, I nod. “Sounds great. I look forward to your call.” I grab my messenger bag and purse and walk out of his office and through the station. My brother said he wasn’t planning on stopping by headquarters today, otherwise I’d hunt him down before leaving. Thank him for giving me this in, because even though I’m certain I’ll get this job based on my own merit, I’m also not an idiot. I know exactly how much pull he has after being a cop in this city for so many years. I also know the reason I even got the interview in the first place was as a favor to him.

  My heels click against the floor as I make my way toward the elevator, and I’d have to be blind, deaf, or both not to notice the people noticing me. And I’d be willing to bet each and every one of them are underestimating me. Scoffing at the thought of me working here with them. Probably assuming I’ll get the job thanks to my rack—that, admittedly, looks amazing today—or the sum of my parts. When I push the down button, I let the smile I worked hard to keep hidden finally emerge, overtaking my face, because I know the truth.

  I’m going to get this internship. I can feel it in my fucking bones. I’m going to get it, and I deserve it. I’d work harder than anyone else they could get, and I have no doubt I want it more than anyone. This is the last step before I get my master’s. The last step before I get my dream job as a criminal analyst.

  Despite all the crap piled on me, despite having a wrench the size of a semi-truck thrown into my life plan, I busted my ass and got shit done. And here I am. Twenty-three and happy. I’m living in a city I love near people I love, and I’m so close to getting everything I’ve wanted, I can taste it.

  A brief flash from the corner of my eye causes my heart to flip-flop, my pulse speeding as I whip my head to look at the silhouette I glimpsed. As I do so, flashes come to me unbidden. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Height and muscles to feast on for days. Except the person I was hoping—no, not hoping, never hoping—I’d see isn’t there. It’s just some nameless guy walking down the hall, his back to me. He doesn’t have the right stance. The right walk. The right build. He’s all wrong.

  And the fact that he’s all wrong should be right.

  Except it feels anything but.

  I should be thinking about anyone—anyone—other than the guy who’s haunted my thoughts for the past five months. The guy I’ve tried diligently to get out of my mind, but the same one who keeps creeping in, popping up unexpectedly when I’m just going about, minding my own business. I’ll be on a date with a nice and interesting guy, a hot guy, and suddenly an image of a head covered in dark hair and piercing blue eyes looking up at me from between my thighs comes to me. Or I’ll hear the exact cadence and tone of dirty words he whispered in my ear as he took me from behind. Or I’ll feel the rough wood of my door pressed into my shoulder blades as I wrapped my legs around his pumping hips. And when all of that happe
ns, I can’t dive into a new guy fast enough. Just to avoid. Just to forget.

  Because the last person I need taking up every waking—and non-waking—thought I have is the one guy I shouldn’t have been with in the first place.

  The one guy who’s all wrong for me.

  The one guy I can’t get out of my head.

  Adam Reid.

  . . .

  A couple days later, I let myself into my best friend’s house, throwing open the door and bursting into the living room, bellowing, “It’s celebration time!”

  Except the living room is empty. As is the dining room—no trace of Tessa or her boyfriend, Jason. I toss my purse on the couch and peek around the corner into the kitchen—empty, too. There’s a thud down the hall, and I turn around, narrowing my eyes at the darkened hallway. Their house is small enough that noises carry easily, but it’s eerily silent for a place that houses a walking, talking, five-year-old pixie stick. I’m not sure where Tessa’s daughter, Haley, is, but it’s clear she’s not here or a screeching tiny person would’ve already assaulted me. As I listen harder, a rhythmic thumping reaches my ears, and I spin on my heels and head back to the living room. I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV, cranking up the volume to overpower the sounds coming from the master bedroom that no best friend should ever have to listen to.

  One-and-a-half episodes of Forensic Files later, Jason comes strolling down the hallway, his lips quirked up on one side in a cocky-ass grin, his brown hair sticking up in all directions. At least he’s fully clothed, his jeans and rumpled T-shirt fitting his frame better than should be allowed. He tips his head toward me in acknowledgement and continues into the kitchen.

  Propping my arm over the back of the couch, I call after his retreating form. “You can’t spare me a hello? What, did you fuck all the sound out of your vocal chords?”