Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Brom,” I say in a breathless gasp.
He stares at me, his eyes midnight black, and I’m brought back in time to the last night I saw him before he disappeared. How could this man be any different? How could this not be the Brom that I know?
“Can I come in?” he asks. His voice is gruff, but the tone is soft.
I hesitate, my mind reeling over the headless horseman.
“Please,” he says. There’s desperation there, and with one look into his eyes, I see how tortured he is. My Brom, who always felt too much, wore his heart on his sleeve. I can’t say no. I’ve been pushing him away all week, leaving him in the cold, and the guilt is getting to me.
I step away from the window, and he climbs through with ease. Gets to his feet beside me in the bedroom, and I feel all will and resolve, even fear, melt away. Because this feels like us. His large body, that immense power in his muscles and bones, the darkness inside him that’s always been there from day one.
He sucks in his breath, the candle in my hand flickering, and I feel the air leave my lungs. The tension between us is a tight line of energy that crackles like a lightning storm, the intensity rising until I can’t breathe at all. The hair on my arms raises, heat building in my core.
This man is my thunderstorm.
“I’ve missed you,” Brom whispers, taking a step forward, his hand at my cheek.
I close my eyes, leaning into the familiar feel of his palm. Warm, calloused, protective. This is him. This is the man I know. This is the man I’ve been waiting for.
“I’ve missed you so much, daffodil,” he says.
My eyes fly open at the sound of my old nickname. I gaze up into his eyes, and I’m swept away by the storm in them, how dark they are, how beautiful.
He leans in, brushing his lips over my cheek. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers again, his voice raw, and the candlestick starts to tremble in my hand, the flame flickering.
Goodness. How will I survive him?
“Brom,” I say, but then he’s kissing me. His mouth is warm but tentative, unsure, as if he’s holding himself back. He parts my lips with a dip of his tongue, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
The candlestick falls to the floor, the flame going out, and Brom runs his hands up into my hair, holding me in place. His kiss deepens, licking into my mouth, long, slow strokes of his tongue that give me goose bumps, that make my whole body shake.
He’s so different than Crane in this way. While Crane is composed and aloof most of the time, he is wild in his fucking. While Brom is wild and moody most of the time, he is sensual in his kiss.
And it feels so good to be kissed by him. Something both familiar and new. I grab his shirt, my fingers wrapping around it and holding tight as I realize I finally have him back. My insides are burning up as he kisses me deeper now, this slow pull of our mouths, like we have all the time in the world. I never want this kiss to end. I want to drown in this sweet desire. I want to revel in our return to each other.
“Kat,” he says against my mouth as he pulls back slightly. “I never stopped thinking about our night together.”
Our lips break away, my breath hard, and I look at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Do you remember thinking about me?”
He gives his head a small shake, his eyes squinting in anguish. “No. I don’t remember. But I know. I know I was. How could I not? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I came back to Sleepy Hollow.” He presses his forehead against mine, his hands leaving my hair and ghosting over my neck, my collarbone, over my breasts, my nipples pebbling under my thin nightgown. “We were so much younger than we are now, but you left your mark on me. And now you’re fully a woman, Kat, and I want you. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. You make me such a desperate man.”
He continues to slowly rub my nipples through the fabric until the heat between my legs pulses hungrily, and he leans in, kissing my collarbones. It feels like being brushed by butterfly wings. “I think I might die if I can’t have you for my own,” he murmurs against my skin.
My eyes roll back in my head. I swallow hard, unable to stop from speaking the truth. “You can’t have me for your own. I belong to Crane too.”
He tenses, his fingers pinching my nipples hard as I bring my gaze to meet his. His nostrils flare, eyes flashing with contempt. “I had you first.”