Now it looks like Julian’s asshat behavior is going to work in my favor.
I smile as I read the text again.
Brinley: I don’t think Kace wants to hear us banging, so can I be uncouth and invite myself to your place tonight?
Truth is, since I had her in my bed Sunday night, I’ve thought of little else but having Brinley under my roof. I’ve done so much thinking, in fact, it would be fair to call it fantasizing.
Brinley in those tiny black sleep shorts . . . and then out of them.
Brinley in the middle of the four-poster bed in the master bedroom, her legs parted and nipples swollen as she watches me lower myself and push into her.
Brinley swimming in the heated indoor pool at the back of the house . . . I’m half hard and adjust myself at my desk before replying.
Me: Tonight. Any night. You up for going to dinner first or want to get naked and stay that way until morning?
Brinley: Tough call, but we should probably carb-load before the naked-all-night part? Wouldn’t want you to be short on stamina.
Me: Is that a fucking challenge, woman?
Brinley: Maybe. ;)
* * *
According to Kace, Bella’s Café is the best Italian restaurant in town. I remember how much Brinley enjoyed pasta when we were younger, and she’s the one who made the joke about “carb-loading,” so it seemed like the obvious choice.
I open the passenger door for Brinley, helping her out of the car by the downtown restaurant. She takes my hand and smiles up at me. “Is this okay?” I ask.
“Of course. Bella’s is my favorite, and since my trainer had me off pasta for the last two months, I could eat my weight in pasta carbonara.” She gazes inside as we pass the big front window, then comes to a stop and back-pedals on the sidewalk, away from the doors.
“What’s wrong?”
“My parents,” she says, then winces. “I thought they were going to Atlanta tonight, but their plans must’ve changed.”
I know I need to move toward the car, but I can’t make myself do it. “I’m not afraid of them, Brinley.”
She shakes her head, sadness darkening her blue eyes. “It’s not worth it, Marston. I’ve seen him tear you down before. I won’t let him ruin tonight.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” I say again. I don’t think she believes me. “You say the word and I’ll walk in there and tell him we’re married, or tell him nothing at all and just enjoy our dinner. Let him say anything he wants.” I slide a hand into her hair and run my thumb along the edge of her jaw. “The night you agreed to marry me, we knew there’d be consequences. We don’t exist in a bubble.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I know, and as much as I’d love to see the look on Dad’s face when we tell him, I’m not up for it tonight.”
Then when? It’s been over a decade since Brinley first told me she was mine, and we’re still hiding from her parents.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marston
May 28th, before
I’m so nervous I think my stomach is going to flip inside out.
“Marston!” Brinley’s eyes go wide as I lead her into the candlelit room. Rose petals are scattered across the four-poster bed, and the jetted tub on the opposite side of the room looks out over Lake Blackledge.
I’ve spent weeks preparing for our single night here—our stolen time. I planned every detail, from the champagne Smithy snagged from his parents for us to the chocolate-covered strawberries waiting in the small fridge. Everything is perfect, but I’ve never been so nervous.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“How . . .” She shakes her head. “We get to stay here?”
“Your parents think you’re staying at Stella’s tonight, right?”
“So does Stella,” she says, laughing.
I slide my hands around her waist and pull her close to me. “No, Stella was in on my plans. She knows you’ll be with me.” I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her.
A whole night with Brinley. I’ve wanted this for so long, and I’m practically shaking now that it’s finally happening.
When she breaks the kiss, she looks around the room again. “Marston, this is too much. You didn’t need to spend—”
I cut her off with a hard kiss. “Shh. You’re my girl, and I’ve loved every second we’ve stolen together, but I want your first time to be special. You deserve more than a blanket in the woods.”
“I liked the blanket,” she says, cheeks pinkening, and I know she’s remembering the same thing I am—the first time I touched her, put my mouth on her. I told myself I’d wait, but we were there, and she was so sweet and responsive.
“I did too,” I whisper. I hold her face in my hands. “But that doesn’t change that you deserve better. Someday I’ll be able to give you the fairytale every day, but until then, I’ll settle for giving you a tiny piece of it tonight.” I kiss her again. “Tell me you like it.”