Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I had to do something. I had been serious earlier when I told him I wasn’t a charity case.
I shifted and he frowned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. A little achy but fine.”
He ran his fingers down my cheek. “You’re strong. Brave.” He smirked. “Sexy in my shirt. Even sexier out of my shirt.”
“I have to go home tomorrow.”
“I’ll take you and get some of your things.”
I frowned. “You can drive me home, but I’m staying there.”
His lips tightened, but he didn’t argue. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or not. I had to admit, I liked it there—with him. The building you couldn’t get into without a pass card for the elevator or walking past the concierge. The heavy doors and locks. Plus, him.
Julian.
He had made love to me again, this time face-to-face, our bodies moving together with an ease that shocked me. I had never enjoyed sex as much as with him. It was as if my body was attuned to his and we knew exactly how to bring the other pleasure. His touch was warm, his mouth addictive, and what he did when he moved inside me? Explosive. He took away the hurt, the pain, the constant worry. They evaporated, and the only thing left was him. Us. I had never experienced anything like it.
He studied me, then spoke, his question like a sudden explosion in the room.
“What are you hiding from, Tally?”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“What?”
“Something from your past has you scared. Tell me and let me help.”
There was nowhere to run. To hide. He was too close, his arm draped over my hip holding me there. His eyes saw too much, and after the other night, I knew he deserved an answer.
“My dad died when I was a baby. My mom passed when I was older. I lived with my grandmother.”
“In Quebec.”
“Yes.”
“My half brother lived there too.”
“Half?”
“My mother had been married before she met my dad. I was ten years younger than Dean. He lived with his dad until he passed, then he went to my grandmother’s. He was never very close with my mom. They argued a lot, from what I understood.”
“Were you close to him?”
I smiled sadly. “He was a good brother. Or at least he was until he started hanging with a biker gang.”
“Ah.”
“They came around one night and pushed me around a little, scared me.”
“Fuckers,” he growled.
“He left their gang but took up with another one—and they were worse. He got caught up in some bad stuff. It changed him. Even my gran noticed.”
He nodded. “That explains your dislike of bikers.”
My throat became thick, my vision clouding as tears built. “Dislike isn’t a strong enough word. Hate is more like it.”
“What happened, Tally?” he asked quietly.
“They killed him,” I whispered.
JULIAN
I stared at her, aghast. I hadn’t expected that answer. I wasn’t sure what had made me ask her about her past at that exact moment. Except she was soft and warm, pliant and relaxed after our lovemaking, and I hoped she would open up to me. And when she mentioned she had to go home the next day, I saw the flicker of fear return to her eyes. Felt her body stiffen slightly at the thought. I wanted to know why.
“Baby…” I tightened my grip.
“I was seventeen when I went to live with my grandmother. Dean was twenty-seven. He lived over the garage at Gran’s when I first got there. I had hoped to get to know him better, but he was pretty private. We got along well enough. He tried to help—he was always nice to me. He told me jokes and made me laugh. It was a hard adjustment for me, but I pushed through. I went to school, graduated, then took a couple years off to save money. My parents didn’t have much, and all my gran had was her house and her little pension. We lived very frugally.”
She shifted, wincing a little at her shoulder.
“I always knew I wanted to come here to study art. I worked and saved for the tuition. Dean became more and more distant. He moved out of Gran’s, and we hardly ever saw him. He’d drop by on occasion at the bar I worked at, but he never came to the house. And he never stayed long. He’d give me money for Gran and check up on me.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a mechanic.”
She wiped under her eyes. “The last few times I saw him, he was different. Cold. He didn’t look well. But he refused to tell me what was going on. Then my gran got sick, and she died—it happened really quickly. She left him the house in the will, but she told him she wanted me to have half if he decided to sell. And I could live there rent free until I went to school.”