Brenton's protective grip loosened as his hand fell to his side. After leaning against the brick wall, he bent forward, resting his palms on the tops of his knees. “Do you want to press charges?”
“What?”
“I'll stick around for the cops if you want to press charges against me. I started the fight. I'm the reason you were hit.”
A tight ball of unshed tears lodged in my throat, preventing me from responding immediately.
At my perceived hesitancy, his shoulders drooped, and he stepped toward the door we escaped through.
I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “No, I don't want to press charges. And you didn’t start it, B. You were defending me. Getting that drunk ass off me. You had no idea I’d step into the middle of it. Nothing that happened was your fault.”
“But still—”
The gravel shifted under my wedges as I moved close enough to grip his face between my hands. Grief and anger swirled behind his eyes as I stared into them. “I know you, B. I trust you. It was an accident. Come on, let's get out of here.” When he didn't move, I dropped my hands and shrugged. “Fine, go back in if that’ll make you feel better. But I'm not, and I'm too drunk to drive home, so you have to choose. Let me drive home like this alone while you go back inside, or you drive.”
There was no doubt which option he’d choose, but I still blew a relieved sigh past my lips when his steady footsteps sounded behind me halfway down the alley.
Not a word was spoken in the truck on the way back. The radio stayed turned off, only the full blast AC blowing and the pinging of gravel kicked up by the tires filling the silence.
We pulled along the circle drive to the main house instead of driving toward the back to Daddy's place.
“Okay, here's where I draw the line. I’m not walking back in these shoes,” I said with a smirk, knowing full well what his intentions were but hoping it would invoke a verbal response.
It didn't.
Instead, Brenton shut off the engine and climbed out of the cab.
Damn, wish he would snap out of his mood, because I was fucking happy. The tequila had made everything fuzzy and warm and fun.
My eyes slammed shut to prevent them from being blinded when the bright overhead light snapped on.
“You're staying with me,” he stated, leaving no room for negotiation.
Like I would.
“I love you bossy,” I responded with a smile.
Not even a smirk or a grunt at my comment before he scooped me from the seat.
I gave a high-pitched squeal. “Brenton, I can walk.” I laughed as he shut the door with a boot against it.
“No.”
Fine by me.
I snuggled into his arms and took a deep breath of his intoxicating masculine scent. “You smell nice,” I said. Focused at his neck, I leaned forward to drag my tongue along his soft skin. “You’re tasty too.”
“Damn you're drunk,” he grumbled, with no anger or frustration in his tone.
His grip tightened to stabilize me in his arms as he climbed the stairs to the main house. I closed my eyes, relishing in the strength, the way he made me feel lighter than I was and protected. Safe. Even after everything that happened tonight, I was safe with him.
That was what Ryder didn't understand. Hell, no one could. Passion. Heat. Jealousy. Possession. All of it described who we were together, what we felt.
Through the front door, he stomped past the living room, down a hall, and turned into his childhood bedroom. Craning my neck, I searched the walls to see what all had changed since the last time I’d been in that same room, but I couldn't see a damn thing in the dark.
Almost like I was his most precious possession, he gently laid me on top of the soft comforter.
“Brenton—”
“Stop it, would you? Just let me do this without a fight. Can't you see what tonight did to me?” he growled. “You're hurt because of me, and I don't give a damn if it was an accident. It happened.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he shoved away from the bed and stormed out before I could formulate a response. Okay, he was taking it hard. Not sure why since he wasn't the one who hit me, but I guess he felt responsible since he started it? Which was crazy. That jackass started it when he wouldn't leave me alone.
Once my vision adjusted to the dimly lit room, I took it all in. A large dresser stood on the opposite wall, and bland pictures like you'd buy at any home goods store accented the walls. Nothing personal, not a single thing that made it look lived in.
I curled my fingers, clenching the soft and probably expensive comfort. Everything looked the same. Boring. No feeling. Hollow.
My heart ached for Brenton’s empty life. Even with Daddy being a chauvinistic ass, I still had some happy moments. Most of those were due to Brenton, but I had friends too, good friends.
Tears welled at the thought of Ryder. My best friend who’d had enough of my bullshit. I knew I should call her, but what was there to say? She thought she knew what was best for me, but she didn't. Ryder had gone on ultraprotective mode the moment Brenton stepped across the county line, and it’d only intensified when I told her I wasn't planning on telling him the whole story of our last night.
What did it matter at this point anyway? He didn't remember, and honestly, I didn't want him to. What if he remembered it all and realized he made the right choice to walk away?
“You're crying,” Brenton said in a horrified tone. “Does it hurt that bad? Do you need to go to the hospital? Fuck!”
His knees landed with a thump at my feet. Damp cloth in hand, he reached up and pressed it against my injured cheek.
“I'm so sorry, Beks. I didn't know that would happen, didn't think it through.” His rapid breaths brushed across my neck. “I would never let anything happen to you. You know that, right? I'd rather kill myself than hurt you.” The tremble in his voice sent more tears rolling down my cheeks.
“I'm crying because of Ryder and what she said. And because of you. And because of us. And because—” A sob shook my shoulders, stealing my next words.
“She was right.” Warmth enveloped my hand as he wrapped his hand around mine, bringing it up to replace his hold on the cool cloth. I wrenched open my eyes to search his, not understanding what he was saying. The first step he took away from the bed had my stomach dropping with fear. The second step ignited more anger than dread.
“The fuck are you talking about?” I snapped and stood.
“Ryder, what she said—”
“I get that part, you moron. I'm asking what the fuck are you talking about agreeing with her?”
Not a single corner of his lips twitched up as he said, “Good to see that hit didn't stop your smart-ass mouth.”
“I know something you can shove down my smart-ass mouth to stop it,” I replied with a seductive smile. “How are your balls, by the way?”
“We're not talking about my balls, or me shutting you up with my dick down your throat.” Heat flared behind his eyes, showing me he might not 100 percent agree with that statement. “How many times will you let me do this, Beks?”
“Well, I'd like to say as many times as you want, but my jaw might get tired.”
“I'm fucking serious,” he seethed. At his side, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “I hurt you back then, and now, tonight, I'm a selfish bastard asking for your help when I know—”
“Know I agreed to all this after you laid it all out there? You made it clear that you only needed my help to get over your head shit. And by the way,” I sighed, then sat back on the bed, “you didn't pass out tonight.”
Both his dark brows shot up. “You're right, but here, when I saw you crying, the symptoms came back. I could barely breathe when I was by the bed staring at your injured cheek.” His gaze shifted to the door, moving away from me for the first time since he came into the room with the rag. “It was like a replay, but I couldn’t see anything. Like a déjà vu feeling without knowing why.”
Unease settled in my gut at my guilt. I turned my gaze from him to focus on my clasped hands and prayed he didn't press the topic any further.
Chapter 19
Brenton
I LOOKED AT MY BEAUTY on the bed. Air caught in my throat at the sight of her rounded shoulders, eyes downturned and focused on the hands clasped between her pressed thighs. Apprehension now rolled off her when moments ago, she’d joked about stuffing my dick down her throat.
Shit. I had to stop thinking about that, and mentally replaying what happened in the truck over and over. If I didn’t, my stiff cock would pop out of these damn jeans in search of the mouth she willingly offered up.
The night couldn't have gone worse. No doubt whatever happened between the two girls after we got there had to do with me, which sent Beks straight to the bar. Thank fuck she sat by the old man instead of the hundred assholes who were posted up watching her every move. Of course, she didn't notice all the eyes on her, but I did. Fuck, did I.
How in the hell did she go out and not get hit on every two steps? Maybe she did, which made the deepening feelings for her that much worse. Flying for the Night Stalkers required months away from home at a time. How could I leave a woman like her at home? It would drive me insane, wondering who was cozying up to her, only too eager to take my place between her legs.
That was another reason I knew I shouldn't tell her how I felt, or thought I felt, about her. We wouldn’t go anywhere with my jealous streak and inability to trust anyone around her. Which was fine. It wasn’t like I loved her. There was no way the gnawing in my gut or her always being on my mind was a signal of love. Not that I'd know, I guess. But no way love was the reason I couldn't focus when she was gone, or even when she was close. Or why the only time I smiled or laughed was due to her. Love wasn't the reason I was dreading two days from now when I had to head back to Kentucky.
It was all happening too fast. The feelings, the intensity, the desire for only her—ever. How could that develop after only a couple of days? Love didn’t happen that fast. Lust did.
It was lust. She was fucking beautiful, sexy as hell, plus that damn hilarious, crude mouth of hers. That was what attracted me. What I lusted after.
Attraction didn't mean love. It meant sex.
She knew I was leaving and understood it was a short-term thing.
I was fine.
I needed to get a fucking grip. She made me weak, and that was the last thing I needed.
“What do you mean like déjà vu?” she asked with a whooshed breath, like it took all her willpower.
Those soft brown eyes flicked up and found mine in the dark room. I took a single step, then another, needing to shorten the space between us.
“It means you, our past, us, now it’s all connected. I can't figure it out. You know how much I need control, and with you, the second you walk into the damn room, all the control I have vanishes.”
“What does that tell you, Brenton?” Hope lifted her tone and brightened her damp, sad eyes.
No, I wouldn't lead her on. Not again.
“It means you're sexy as hell and I want to fuck you every time we're in the same room.”
Her eyes never left mine. “Is that all?”
“That's me, Beks. I'm a selfish, arrogant bastard.”
The disappointed shake of her head hurt worse than her friend’s hit to the balls.
“Right, I guess things never change.” She wiped her hands down her bare legs, drawing my attention before reaching up to tuck her long hair behind her ears. “This is only about your head thing and sex. Thanks for the reminder.”
The small, sad voice stole the air from my lungs.
“Beks....” I paused, not knowing what to say. No way in hell could I tell her the truth.
“It's fine, Brenton.” A broad, fake smile was planted across her face when she finally looked up. “So, what can I do to help? Want me to verify if some of the things you’re remembering are real or not?”
The relief that seeped in when she didn't press the topic further confirmed I was a selfish prick.
I shrugged and sat on the bed beside her. “I think after everything that happened tonight, I need to know that I never hurt you on purpose. And I'm not just talking about the wreck. I need to know I was a better man than my father. Maybe that I am a better man than my father.”
My eyes widened at the brush of her thigh over mine to slide on to my lap. After nestling her knees on either side of my hips, she gripped my face between her clammy hands.
“You were never and will never be your father. You hear me, Brenton Graves? You might share his last name and his DNA, but you are nothing, nothing like that awful man. Tonight was a complete accident, and still you felt utter shame. I saw it. I saw how defeated you were at the thought of me hurt because of you. And I know it’s not just me. It would be the same with any woman. You're not your father's son.”
I weaved my fingers into her hair and pulled her forehead to mine.
A long pause of comfortable silence filled the large bedroom before she spoke again.
“You flew to Dallas to help me. That night. I texted you something, and you came. Never in a million years did I expect you to come that night, but you did. It was a shitstorm in our house when you got there, but it didn't faze you. You marched right past my belligerent father into my room, packed my bags, and grabbed my hand on the way out.”
“Then why did—or do—you hate me so much? The wreck was my fault, and your injuries, but if I was there with the right intentions, why be so pissed all these years?”
Her arms and legs tightened like I was her lifeline.
“That night, your dad, your grandfather, my father—everyone found out about us. What we’d been doing behind their backs. I was seventeen, Brenton, and you were almost twenty-one. You were the grandson of an oil tycoon, and I was the help's daughter. No one approved of us, and we knew that, which was why we never told anyone.”
“Okay, but—”
“They gave you an ultimatum after the wreck. Your trust fund or me. You chose the money.” Hot tears rolled down my neck as her body trembled on top of me.
“No,” I bit out. “No, Beks. You had it wrong. I would never have done that. I would never choose money over anyone, especially not you.”
“You didn't even have the balls to tell me to my face. You had your damn attorneys write up an agreement, and then they marched into my hospital room, threw it on the bed, and told me... told me you didn't want to see me again. That we were a mistake.”
“I didn't. I wouldn't.” Tension seized my lower back and crept up my spine. “If you say I'm not my father and believe that, then you know I wouldn't have done that. I know I can't remember, but you have to believe me, Beks, I wouldn't have done that.”
“I do,” she cried. “A part of me never believed you were the one to make the choice.”
Arms wrapped around her back, I rolled us so my weight pushed her against the soft bed. Resting on my elbows, I held her face between my hands and waited for her eyes to open.
Watery, they finally met mine, and I said, “You have every right to hate me.”
Wet lashes fluttered, and a small smile pulled at her lips. “You're a moron if you believe that, Brenton. I might’ve thought I hated you, but no matter what, I always loved you more.”
“No,” I said, horrified. Anger, hate, resentment—I could handle those feelings, but love wasn't an emotion I'd ever felt or been shown except by the woman beneath me.
“Unfortunately for me, and you too by your response, yeah I do. I did then too. It was why it hurt so bad. Over time, that love grew hard and jagged, which looked like hate, but underneath it all I still loved you. Still love you.”
Maybe it was to stop her from saying it again since my heart raced each time the words “I love you” passed her lips, or perhaps it was to show her how I felt since I couldn't voice it. Either way, I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips against hers.
In a desper
ate request, I slid the tip of my tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for her to open. With a moan, her soft lips parted, giving me full access. Hand in her hair, I urged her harder against me as I angled my lips to deepen the kiss. Every other kiss before was fucking nothing. This right now, devoted to each other and communicating the taut connection neither of us could explain, was the world.
Beneath me, her legs wrapped around my hips and her heels dug into my ass. I groaned into her mouth when her sweet scent floated up from between us. My hips flexed, pushing me harder against her tender spot.
Beks’s lips pulled from mine. “Brenton, stop being a damn tease.”
“We're taking this slow, baby.”
Her loud, frustrated whimper shot a bolt of electricity straight to my throbbing cock. My hands found the hem of her white T-shirt and dragged it over her head. It hadn't hit the floor before her bra was off as well.
Damn, I loved her tits.
Resting my weight on her pelvis, I wrapped both hands around her breasts, savoring the way her eyes shuttered closed with each pass of my thumbs over her peaked nipples.
Her back arched off the bed at the first flick and pinch between my fingers. Unable to hold back a second longer, I sucked a pebbled nipple between my lips. A thick desire-filled chuckle vibrated against her sensitive skin as her hand wove into my hair, pushing me closer.
“So bossy,” I murmured against her soft skin, then took a small nip. Her tremble and groan pushed the thought of going slow aside.
The bed squeaked beneath my shifting weight. Elbow on the mattress, I kept my mouth on her while I skimmed the tips of my fingers down her side, sinking lower with each pass. Heat guided me to the spot she urged me toward with the bucking of her hips.
I stifled a groan of my own with my mouth against her neck at the slickness I found waiting for me. At the first dip of my fingers, she shifted in a silent request for more. Each push rewarded me with a lift of her hips and a soft curse from her lips.
“Brenton, I want you,” she begged. “Please.”
Desire filled every inch of my soul at her splayed out beneath me, her long dark hair strewn across the bed, her eyes soft and fixed on me. With each deep breath, her fantastic tits rose and fell, her perfect nipples hardening further under my focused stare.
Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel Page 14