by Sam Mariano
It doesn’t make him angry, though. He laughs a little before kissing the shell of my ear. “No. We both know I’m the one who put that baby in you, Alyssa. No need for the lie when it’s just us.”
It’s not a lie. I want to fling angry words at him, tell him he’s not a fraction of the man Brant is and, as far as I’m concerned, Brant is the baby’s father now in every sense.
It wouldn’t matter, though. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I know he doesn’t actually care.
“But back to what we were talking about before. How did you get here, Alyssa? Hm?” he murmurs, burying his face in my hair and sliding the hand covering my breast lower, to my stomach. “I send Brant to kill you, and next time I see you, you’re wearing his ring. I’m genuinely curious. Did you know why he was approaching you when you met him, or did he lie?”
“Brant doesn’t lie,” I mutter a bit resentfully. “You’re thinking of yourself again.”
Ignoring my jab, he says, “So you knew? Huh. Interesting. Did he come to threaten you at all, or did he take one look at you and decide to fuck you instead?”
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “He showed up to threaten me, I don’t think he planned ahead of time to fuck me, but… maybe, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he asks, sounding a tad surprised. “Does that mean your first time with Brant wasn’t very nice?” His hand drifts lower until his palm is pressed between my legs, cupping me through my jeans. “Did you give him a taste of your pussy, Alyssa, or did he take it?”
Helpless tears well up in my eyes and I’m so furious when one slips out and slides down my cheek. Fighting to keep any more from falling, I tell him angrily, “He’s going to kill you, you know. He’ll be home any minute, and he’s going to kill you.”
“I don’t think he will. I don’t think you’re gonna tell him.”
“What could possibly possess you to think that?” I ask, aghast.
“Because if you do, I’m going to tell Bri I fucked you. I’ll tell her you’re pregnant with my baby. I’ll tell her Brant knows. It started out as my secret, but now? Now it’s his. Funny how that worked out, isn’t it?”
I swallow down the lump gathering in my throat. “You won’t get a chance to,” I tell him lowly. “What makes you think he’s going to let you leave?”
“Oh, I’ll be gone when he gets home,” Theo assures me, pulling the button on my jeans free.
“No. Please,” I say through gritted teeth, hating to plead with him but desperate to keep this from going any further. “Please don’t. Just leave now, and I won’t tell Brant you were here.”
Ignoring my offer, he unzips my jeans and pushes his hand down inside. I push my head back against his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut.
He didn’t push beneath my panties, just into my pants, but now he presses against me, pushing the tips of his fingers inside me with only the thin barrier of the fabric between his flesh and mine.
Whatever he’s planning to do next, I don’t find out. The sound of Brant’s truck engine revs real fast like he’s speeding up then dies abruptly, followed by a slamming door.
“Shit,” Theo mutters, yanking his hand out of my pants. Squeezing the chain tight against my throat, he says low in my ear, “Do not say a fucking word to him, Alyssa. I mean it.”
The chain falls and Theo’s weight pressed against me is suddenly gone. I lean forward, bracing my body against the barn wall and trying to collect myself as Theo opens the man door and hurries through it.
The big barn door shudders open and light comes streaming back in. Scout rushes inside with Brant right on his heels.
I turn my body, angling it away from him as I lean against the wall and quickly reach down to button and zip my jeans back up. My heart is racing and I don’t know what to do. On one hand, I need to tell Brant what just happened, but on the other hand, what if Theo wasn’t lying? What if he really would tell Bri?
If I tell Brant and he rushes right over there, Theo’s going to know I told him. Bri won’t let Brant in the house, but Theo will still tell her, and then what?
“Alyssa?”
I lean my head back against the wall miserably for just a second, but there’s fear in Brant’s voice and I want to ease it. Quickly swiping under my eyes to brush away any remaining tears, I turn to face him.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, opening my arms.
Brant grabs me and pulls me tightly against his chest. His big hand gathers my hair in a fist at first, then he releases it and pets the back of my head, bringing his lips to the crown of my head for a hurried kiss. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” I assure him, wrapping my arms around his strong midsection and squeezing him tight.
“Where is he?” he demands.
“He’s gone. He heard you pull up and he ran.”
“Fucking coward,” he mutters. Then, a little less worried now that he has me in his arms, his voice hardens. “What the hell was he doing here, Alyssa?”
My insides cool and a chill sweeps over me, as if the temperature in the barn has dropped several degrees. A little voice inside urges me to tell Brant everything, replaying his command to never lie to him and desperately wanting to obey it.
But my fear has a voice, too. It’s not me I’m most afraid for if Theo tells Bri the truth, it’s Brant. Like Brant said when he told me we couldn’t be together, being with me despite what I did meant he took on all the risk. If Bri knew everything, of course she would be angry at me, but it would be so much worse for him. He’s her brother, her constant protector, and if she knew he fell for me and chose me knowing what I did with her husband…
I can’t do that to him. I can’t make him pay for my mistakes more than he already has.
My tongue is heavy with the weight of all the truths I’m keeping in, but I try my best to sound convincing when I tell him, “He was just dropping off some galvanized buckets for the reception.”
“Dropping off buckets?” Brant yanks me back, looking down at me with a thunderous scowl on his suspicious face. “Then why was the barn door closed? Scout was going crazy trying to get in.”
I don’t have an answer for that, and I’m not a good enough liar to come up with one on the spot. I’m afraid he’ll misread my hesitation. I hate that there’s a hesitation at all, but I can’t for the life of me think of what to say.
“Alyssa,” he says firmly, gripping my shoulders and glaring at me expectantly.
Speak! I scream at my brain to make words, but I can’t think of a single one.
Brant scowls, looking at me more closely now. His gaze sweeps over me, searching everywhere for something amiss, but stops when it hits the floor. I look down to see what he’s staring at and see the chain lying there by my feet.
Brant lifts his gaze to mine, wordlessly questioning me.
“I dropped it,” I finally say, breaking my silence.
I can see on his face he doesn’t believe me, not for one second. His features harden and fear slices through me. I grab him, terrified of him slipping away. I wrap my arms around him again and bury my face in his chest, wordlessly begging his forgiveness for lying.
There’s no forgiveness without confession, though, and I don’t confess.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against his chest.
His voice is as hard as steel and as cold as ice. “For what?”
A shard of fear stabs me right in the heart and I hold on to him tighter. “Being alone with him,” I say, even though it’s not the whole truth. It’s hard to breathe, and every second I feel the anger vibrating off of him, I become more and more of a nervous wreck. “He just showed up and I didn’t know what to do.”
Brant stands there for a long moment while I cling to him, not touching me or in any way returning my embrace. I don’t let go, though, and after what feels like a lifetime, he finally wraps one arm around my back to hold me against him.
Hard. Unforgiving. Cold.
These aren’t the wo
rst things I know Brant is capable of, but they’re the worst for me. I never want to trigger any of those feelings in him. I never want him to look at me with doubt because I’ve actually done something to deserve it, and I feel dangerously close to crossing that line. I don’t know what to do, though. Brant doesn’t back down, especially not from Theo. I can’t tell him what Theo threatened; it will only infuriate Brant even more.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper, rubbing his back while I continue hugging him tight, like I’m afraid to let go.
His tone is gruff, but it’s more resigned than angry. “I’m not mad at you.”
Despite his words, he lets go of me and puts his hands on my shoulders, pulling me off him. My stomach drops until he tips my chin up and makes me look at him, then he cradles my face in his big, warm hand. For the space of a few heartbeats, he just stares at me, then he finally breaks his silence.
“I’m gonna teach you to shoot.”
That’s maybe the last thing I expected him to say, and I can’t help rearing back a little. “What?”
“I have an extra handgun upstairs. It’s yours now. I’m gonna show you how to use it.”
“Wh—why?” I stammer uncertainly.
“Because I see genuine fear written all over your face right now, and I don’t like it. I don’t know if he put it there or I did, maybe some combination of both of us, but whatever caused it, someone has frightened you. I don’t want you to ever be genuinely afraid of any man, myself included. You’re pregnant, so I can’t teach you self-defense right now, but I can teach you to fire a gun. A man ever scares you like this again, you pump a couple of bullets into that miserable bastard.”
I’m so startled, a nervous laugh escapes me. “I’m not sure I could.”
“You could,” he tells me with unreasonable confidence. “You’re a mama bear, protective of your own. If someone forced your hand, you could pull the trigger. I’m gonna teach you how, so you don’t get hurt if you ever need to.”
He drops his hand, but I continue to stare up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t have to say anything.” Then, changing his mind and cradling my face again, he reaches around and pulls my body snugly against his. “I’m never gonna hurt you, Alyssa. No matter what you do.”
It makes my heart ache that he has enough doubts to consider I’ve done anything, but I ignore the ache and bring my own hand up to cradle his against my face. Looking up at him, I promise, “I’m never gonna hurt you, either.”
24
Alyssa
In the days following Theo accosting me in the barn, the memory of that day casts a pall over the house. Brant’s not home as much. Says he’s at work, but he changed his work schedule so he could be home more, so I’m not sure if that’s true. I spend a lot of time alone, so I throw myself into what remains of the wedding planning.
There’s not a lot left to do at this point, though, aside from the actual day-of set-up.
It’s late when Brant finally comes home to find me curled up on the couch with a notebook, Scout lying on the floor in front of me.
“Hey,” he greets as he closes and locks the door behind him. His tone is subdued, like it has been a lot since he caught me in the barn with Theo.
“Hey,” I say, more enthusiastically than necessary in my poor attempt to make up for his monotone greeting. “How was work?”
“Long,” he answers, kicking off his boots.
I start to sit up, but I can’t put my feet back on the floor because Scout is sleeping where I would place them. “Are you hungry?”
Brant shakes his head, walking toward the couch. “I’m fine. You don’t have to get up.”
With a pout I’m only barely feigning, I tell him, “But I want to hug you.”
His lips curve up a little and he sits down on the empty end of the couch, sprawling out and opening his arms. “Well, come here, then.”
I don’t hesitate to accept his invitation, setting my pen and notebook on the end table and peeling off the comfy blanket I was snuggled under. I crawl across the couch so I can climb into his arms. When I do and he wraps them around me, it feels as if all is right in the world again.
“Hi,” I say.
His dark eyes twinkle with the faintest spark of amusement as he looks down at me. “Hi.”
Reaching up and passing my hand over his grizzled jawline, I tell him, “I missed you.”
His gaze drifts away from my face, dropping lower and raking over my chest.
I worked at the yoga studio this afternoon, and my uniform is so comfy, I’m still wearing it—a pair of black yoga pants and a pale pink tank top with Namaste in a loopy scrawl across the chest.
“Did you work today?”
Normally, he knows my schedule, but I only worked today because someone called off. Without bothering to offer that explanation, I nod my head.
Frowning a little, he says, “I thought you had today off.”
“Call-in,” I explain, since he’s so curious.
He nods woodenly, then asks, “Did you go anywhere after?”
I don’t allow my guards to rise, but an instinct passes through me to let me know I probably should. I’m already tired and I don’t feel up to his jealousy tonight, but I know he has a reason to be suspicious of me now, so I answer him anyway. “I went to the grocery store, then I came home.”
“Since you were in town, you could’ve stopped by the bar and said hi,” he remarks.
“I didn’t know if you’d be there,” I answer honestly.
Scowling, he asks, “What do you mean, you didn’t know if I’d be there?”
I shrug noncommittally, not offering anything more. I’m disinterested in this line of questioning anyway, so I change the subject before he has a chance to further grill me. “I had an idea I wanted to run by you. You know how we couldn’t decide what to give to the wedding party for gifts? Well, you know those gorgeous coasters you made, the ones I saw in your workshop? I was thinking maybe you could make a set of coasters for each attendant. Obviously I don’t know how hard those are to make, so if that’s too much work and you don’t have time, just tell me and I’ll think of something else.”
He doesn’t seem for or against the idea, but he says, “I can make those, if you want me to.”
“I thought it would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not.” He loops an arm around me and hauls me off his lap, back over onto the cushion beside him so he can stand.
“I didn’t mean right now,” I say lightly, unsure why he’s getting up.
He glances back at me but doesn’t move to sit down. “It’s been a long day. I’m gonna go take a shower.”
“Oh. Okay,” I say softly, watching him disappear into the kitchen and feeling myself deflate a little as soon as he’s out of sight.
I hate this. I hate this distance, and I don’t know what to do with it.
For a few minutes, I sit there feeling sorry for myself, second-guessing choices I’ve made and agonizing over whether or not I’ve ruined everything by not making different ones.
After a few minutes, though, I pick myself up off the couch, grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, and head upstairs. I can hear the shower already running in the master bath when I step inside the bedroom, so I make quick work of undressing. I uncap my water and take a quick sip, then I put it down on the nightstand and pad across the room.
As I ease the bathroom door open, I’m greeted by a warm mist of fragrant steam. He just got in a couple minutes ago, so he must be taking an especially hot shower tonight.
I step into the room softly and carefully close the door behind me so as not to draw attention, then I sneak over to the sink and take out my hair clip. I see Brant already got a nice, soft towel out for when he gets out of the shower. I pass my hand over the fluffy material as I put my hair clip down on the countertop, then I turn around and fix my gaze on the fogged-up glass in front of me.
More s
pecifically, on the sexy specimen on the other side of that fogged-up glass.
I expect to catch him off guard when I open the door and step inside the shower with him, but as I slide my arms around him from behind and press my breasts against his back, I can tell he’s not surprised.
I move my hand up and down over his wet abdomen, resting my face against his muscular back. “Hello, future husband.”
He glances over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Hello, future wife,” he says to humor me.
I lift my head and flash him a little smile. “I hope you don’t mind the company.”
“Of course not.”
“Good. You once told me if you ever turned down a shower with me to shoot you, and I didn’t even bring my gun.”
He cracks a smile at that but makes no move to touch me. That’s okay. I just want to be close to him, and I am. With my arms locked securely around him from behind, Brant moves the soaped-up washcloth over his muscular chest and arms. If he minds my clinging, I certainly can’t tell.
Easing the faintest of concerns that maybe he does and he’s just being nice, after he finishes soaping up his upper body, he passes the cloth into my hand and tells me, “Why don’t you make yourself useful.”
Warmth spreads through my lower abdomen and a smile claims my lips. “Ooh, yes, sir.”
I adjust my position and stop hugging him so I can reach forward, using the washcloth to spread soapy lather over his slick abdominal muscles. When I finish, my hand drops lower and I run the cloth along his pelvic bone. Then I move it even lower.
I know he wants me to touch his dick, so I slide my hand over and start soaping up his inner thigh instead.
“Tease,” he murmurs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes while I wash him.
“You have such strong, sexy thighs. They deserve a little attention, too,” I inform him.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, unconvinced.
Once I’ve adequately washed his right thigh, I reach across his body, allowing my wrist to graze his dick, and start to soap the other one.
That doesn’t last long. Brant’s strong hand locks around my wrist and he holds onto me while he switches our positions, backing me up against the shower wall.