Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
The moment my brain registers what box he’s looking at, I lunge for him and smack a hand over his eyes. I intentionally put that box in my car, separate from the others. And I forgot.
Brayden’s chest rumbles with laughter, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Brayden Jackson just saw my entire vibrator collection.
He gently pulls my hand away, revealing eyes full of mischief.
I squeak. “Don’t look in that box again.”
His lips twitch. “But I really, really want to.”
I point a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He presses his lips into a thin line, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he asks, “Are they all pink?”
“Shut up!” My cheeks are on fire.
His voice is the softest caress of a whisper when he says, “Molly, your cheeks are almost as pink as your vibrators.”
I smack both hands against his chest. “You did not just say that word!”
“Vibrators?” He grins. Not one of his smirks or half smiles, but a grin, and damn me and my stupid chemical attraction to this man, because it makes me want to slam the bedroom door closed and climb him like a tree. “If you don’t like the word, why do you have—”
I throw my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. We agreed we’d keep our relationship professional—that’s what we both wanted. So don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.” Then, because I realize his lips are pressed to my palm and it reminds me too much of our night in New York when his lips were everywhere, I back away.
The warm amusement in his eyes turns to heat. “First of all,” he says, his voice like silky steel, “those were your rules, not mine. I agreed for you, not because that’s what I want.” He drags his gaze over me, and my heart pounds so fast it feels like a hummingbird’s trying to escape my chest. “Second, even if I tried not to think about you using your little collection of pink toys, I’d fail miserably.” He dips his head, and I can feel his breath against my ear as he says, “I’m already thinking about it, and I will be for a long time yet.”
I swallow and try to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly, dipping lower. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
With a shrug that seems to say too bad, he winks at me and leaves my room.
As soon as he goes, I press my hands to my hot cheeks.
I take the box and hide it in the back corner of the closet, but I can’t stop thinking about the way Brayden looked at me, about his words. “I agreed for you, not because that’s what I want.”
What does that mean? Just yesterday, he was telling his brother he thought I was broken, but now he wants more from me? I don’t understand what he feels about me, but something tells me that trying to figure it out will put me in dangerous territory.
Mom’s on her way over with Noah, so I push my embarrassment and confusion to the side, head up to the attic loft, and put Noah’s Batman bedding on the bottom bunk. I make the bed and line his favorite stuffed animals up along the wall. The second I hear his happy screech of delight, I grin and rush to the stairs.
Noah’s already on his way up. “I want to see my room!” he shouts as he flies past me.
I let him go and smile at my mom, who’s making her way up behind him. “He certainly has a lot of energy,” she says, pride in every word.
“How was he last night?”
“Perfect, of course.”
I snort. Noah could be a holy terror, and Mom would still think he was perfect. I’m so grateful for that. For her unwavering adoration of her grandson. “Did he sleep through the night?”
“He got up around three for a drink and then went right back to bed. This morning, he helped me make muffins and ate three while they were still piping hot.” She glances down the hall toward my bedroom. “It’s nice of your boss to let you stay here.”
“It is.” Please don’t ask if this means something more. Please don’t make me talk about my feelings for Brayden.
“I’ll find a bigger house,” she says, surprising me. “As soon as everything’s settled with Nelson’s estate.” Her calm expression falters when my stepfather’s name passes her lips, and my breath catches and my eyes burn.
Originally, I planned to keep what her husband did to me a secret forever. I never wanted her to know about those years of feeling dirty and scared and ashamed—as if the abuse was somehow my fault. As if it was my fault when he raped me again, years after I thought I’d escaped him for good.