Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"Is that why Daniel started as your assistant?"
He nods. "Guess he figured if I was going to be working with the prick every day, I'd need reinforcements."
"He sounds like a good guy."
Brantley snorts. "Baby, he's a pain in my ass. He's the worst goddamn assistant I've ever met. But yeah, he's been useful in other ways. He keeps my head on straight when I need it."
"I'm glad you have him."
He flashes me the hint of a smile. "I'll deny saying it if you repeat it, but me too. I like the fucker. And there's no goddamn way I would have survived the last four years without him."
"I'm so sorry for everything Bellamy put you through, Brantley," I whisper, pressing my forehead up against his. "You're allowed to hate him for it. You're allowed to never forgive him. You're allowed to feel however you feel about him. Your mom is too."
"You're killing me, little bird."
"I don't mean to."
"I know. That's exactly why you're doing it." He angles his head, brushing his lips against mine in a soft kiss. "You don't even realize how fucking magical you are, baby." He kisses me again. "How sweet this mouth is." And again. "How much I'm enjoying being this close to you."
"I'm enjoying it too, Brantley."
His nose bumps against mine. "Good. I want you to enjoy it, Isla."
"I…like you," I whisper.
He grins at me, his eyes far lighter than they were just a few minutes ago. "Keep telling me things like that and you may never get rid of me."
"Maybe I don't want to get rid of you." I hug him to me, squeezing. It's a ridiculous thing to do—hugging him like he's a freaking stuffed bear or something—but he seems to enjoy it because he groans and pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair.
For long moments, we lay just like that before I feel compelled to speak again. "Are you okay now, Brantley?"
"Yeah," he says roughly, clearing his throat. "I'm good, little bird."
"You were dreaming about him, weren't you?"
He sighs. "I always thought the nightmares would get better eventually, but they never really did. The shit still wakes me up most nights. It's ironic really. They're worse now that he's dead than they were before."
I squeeze him again, wishing I could crawl inside him and take up residence there, chase them away for him. "I guess I'll just have to keep them at bay for you," I murmur against his throat. "They'll have to go through me to get to you."
"Yeah? You're going to fight my nightmares for me, little bird?"
"Yep."
"You going to let me fight yours for you? Slay your dragons?"
"I slay my own dragons, Brantley."
"Of course you do." His body shakes, and for a minute, I think he's laughing at me, but then his eyes meet mine. I see the softness there—the emotion—and I realize that isn't the case at all. I think he…admires me.
"You've got me feeling things I shouldn't, Isla," he breathes, staring at me so intently it's like I'm looking inside him, seeing all those pieces of him that he doesn't show to anyone. The world looks at him and sees a failure, someone who fell into addiction because he's a problem. But that's not who he is. He's so much more complicated than that.
He's just a man who lived through hell and tried to survive it, one who fought his way back and found his way. One who sacrificed his own peace of mind to protect his mom. And one who still sacrifices to protect her. He's a man worthy of respect. I wish he saw the same thing because he deserves to see that man. He deserves to feel like him. And I'm not sure he's ever felt like him.
"Why not?" I whisper, guiding him to his back as I crawl over him. When he momentarily freezes, I pause, remembering what he said earlier, about never touching people before me. "Is this okay? If it's too much, I can–"
He sits up beneath me, his hands clamped around my hips as he chases my mouth with his. "Don't you dare," he growls. "You're perfect right where you are. More than perfect."
"You said you didn't like people touching you."
"You're different. You can touch me anytime, anyplace." His tongue slips into my mouth, tangling with mine in a kiss that sends me spiraling. I grasp his shoulders, whimpering as my core clenches, heat rocketing through me in a delicious wave. Good grief. He's frightfully good at that. Or maybe we're good at it together. I'm not entirely sure. But I like the way he tastes. I like the way he growls and clings to me like he wants me as close as possible. And I really like the way he rocks me against him as if he's unable to stop himself from doing it.