Every Little Promise

by Lexi Ryan

  Her jaw drops. “Oh, Marston. I’m so—”

  “It’s a joke, Brinley. I have friends. I just don’t understand why you want to be one of them.”

  She folds her arms under her breasts and—dammit, I’m not going to stand here and look at her chest. “That’s not very nice, you know.”

  “I never claimed to be.”

  “Marston,” Lori says, pushing into the kitchen. My aunt is a big woman with chin-length black hair and the kind of eyes that always make it look like she’s smiling even when she’s not. I’d never guess she and Mom were sisters if I didn’t know—and not just physically. It’s hard to believe that two women so different could’ve grown up in the same house. “Oh, good. Brinley found you. I want you to help her cousin rearrange her bedroom furniture today, okay?”

  I lift a brow. Her cousin?

  “Smithy’s a football player,” Brinley says.

  Smithy. Great. A rich jock. On the bright side, at least I won’t have to endure the temptation of spending the day alone with Brinley.

  “You’ll like Smithy. Anyway, it’s solid wood furniture,” Lori says, “so you’ll want the extra help.”

  This time, there’s nothing about Brinley’s smile that says “Little Miss Perfect.” Instead, her lips curl into something more like a self-satisfied smirk. “Come on. I’ll show you my room.”

  Lori shakes her head. “No, Brinley, honey, I’m sorry. Your mom wants to take Brittany shopping today, so she needs you to go to the nursing home and check on your grandfather.”

  Lori was right about Smithy—the dude’s cool. But “heavy lifting” doesn’t quite cover the experience of moving Brinley’s furniture.

  “Oh, wow,” Brinley says, eyes wide as she walks into her room. She must have changed when I was out front meeting Smithy. Her sweatpants and loose T-shirt have been traded for a pair of fitted jeans and a silky pink shirt with skinny straps. “You’re done already!”

  Smithy wipes his hands on his jeans and looks around at Brinley’s white furniture now positioned in its new spots around the room. “You owe us big time. I about crapped myself lifting that bed.”

  Brinley wrinkles her nose. “Too much information.” She looks to me. “If it was too heavy, you should’ve left it. I could’ve asked Mom to get the movers to come back. When she wanted the piano in the ballroom for her party last spring, she had them come take care of it. I’m sure they could’ve done this too.”

  “It was fine,” I say, even though every muscle in my back disagrees. “We handled it.”

  Smithy rolls his head side to side. “Barely. I’m gonna go home and sit in the hot tub. Enjoy the new arrangement, Brin.” He gives her a quick hug, then gives me a clap-handshake. “See you later, bro.”

  “Thanks, Smithy,” Brinley says, smiling at her cousin’s back as he leaves.

  Then we’re alone.

  In her room.

  “I’d better see what Aunt Lori needs me to do next.” Well, I earn partial credit. I said the words, but my feet don’t move, and Brinley does.

  She smiles up at me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.”

  I can smell her flowery perfume. I normally hate perfume, but whatever she’s wearing is light and clean, and as pretty as she is. “It’s no big deal.” I swallow. Move your ass.

  I don’t move.

  “Do you feel this, Marston?” She presses a palm to my chest.

  “Feel what?” I ask, but I do.

  She smiles. She knows I’m dodging. In truth, I’ve never felt anything like this before—this instant chemistry, complete awareness of her, of us.

  “This,” she whispers, brushing her hand against mine.

  I want to close my eyes at that brief contact—to absorb it and relish it. But I keep them focused on her.

  “You kissed me on my birthday,” she whispers.

  As if I could forget. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “I don’t agree.” Her gaze settles on my mouth. “I’m glad you did. I just . . . I feel this thing every time I’m around you, and I think you feel it too, but I also think you want me to leave you alone.”

  This is it. This is the moment I tell her I wish she’d back off. This is the time to tell her it’d be better if she stayed away from me. But before I can open my mouth to say what I should, she lifts onto her toes and presses her mouth to mine.

  My reaction is one hundred percent instinct. I slide one hand behind her back and the other into her hair. Mom was an addict, and I thought I escaped that curse, but now I’m wondering if this is how it feels—a magnetic pull toward something that can only end badly.

  Brinley’s mouth is so damn sweet under mine, and when I taste her lips with my tongue, she lets out this soft little moan that makes me crazy. She presses one hand against my chest, and just when I think she’s going to push me away—since one of us should stop this—she fists her hand in my T-shirt and tries to draw me closer.

  I guide her back without realizing what I’m doing. The next thing I know, she’s against the wall and my hand is sliding up her side, under her shirt.

  I still my hand at her ribs and break away, breathless. She looks up at me with those big blue eyes, her lips pink and swollen from my mouth. Tentatively, I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear then graze my thumb down the side of her neck.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she whispers.

  I’m thinking this is crazy and incredible and that it can’t possibly be real, because I’ve never had anything this good for myself without stealing it. “I’m thinking you should stop trying to spend time with me.” My thumb skims along the band of her bra, and she sways toward me.

  “Brinley!” Her mother’s sharp voice comes from outside the bedroom.

  I jump away just before she enters.

  Brinley smiles at her mom, but it’s fake—because of her relationship with her mother, or because we were almost caught? “Hey, Mom. Like my room like this?”

  Her mom looks back and forth between us, a frown turning her patrician face sour. “What are you two doing in here?”

  “I was just thanking Marston for helping Smithy move my furniture.”

  “Is that right?” Mrs. Knox asks me.

  I don’t dare turn to look, but I can feel Brinley’s eyes on me, can feel her panic at almost being caught. Does she think I’m going to tell her mom what we were really doing just now? “Yes, ma’am. My aunt asked me to help. Smithy just left a minute ago, and I was about to leave too.”

  The expression on Mrs. Knox’s face as she looks me over is that of someone who’s found a pile of dog shit in the middle of her living room floor. She sniffs. “If you’re going to help your aunt out around here, I don’t want you and Brinley alone together. It might not be a big deal where you come from, but it’s considered inappropriate in our family.”

  My hands curl into fists and my chest churns with rage I can’t do a damn thing with. My hackles are up, but half of me knows there’s no fight here I can win, and that half wants to hide.

  “Mom, the door was open,” Brinley says, and I almost laugh, because the door was open and still I had her pressed against the wall with my hand up her shirt.

  “Marston, you’re dismissed,” Mrs. Knox says, those sharp, angry eyes on her daughter now. “Please leave me so I may speak privately with my daughter.”

  It takes every ounce of my willpower not to turn around and look at Brinley, but I’m afraid her mother would see too much if I did. I don’t know the punishment for “inappropriate behavior,” but I don’t want to risk Brinley suffering whatever it is.

  I nod and walk out of the room.

  I’m not three steps down the hall when I hear Mrs. Knox say, “Do you want everyone to think you’re spreading your legs for some trashy delinquent?”

  Chapter Seven

  Brinley

  Present day

  * * *

  “I think maybe I need some rules for tonight,” Marston says.

  “Rules?”
My voice cracks. We’re back in the limo and moving slowly through traffic on the way to the nightclub. I don’t want rules. In fact, what’s the opposite of rules? That’s what I want.

  Marston nods, his gaze flicking up to mine before dipping to my mouth again. “I don’t know where the lines are, and I’m sitting here wondering if half the things I want to do and say are allowed.”

  I laugh. “You literally just bought me the nicest lingerie I’ve ever owned. Say what you want.” I scoot closer and trace the back of his hand with my index finger. His hands were always big and rough, but they’re a little bigger and surer now, just like the rest of him. I wonder if they’d feel the same on my skin as they used to. “Do what you want.”

  His smile is tenuous, but his eyes are all over me. “Ten years later, and you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.”

  My breath catches. “Yeah. You’re definitely allowed to say those things.” I shift forward and bury my face in the side of his neck, breathing him in, then skim my mouth up to his ear, nipping lightly and making him groan softly. “You’re definitely allowed to kiss me.”

  His hand tangles in my hair and he brings his mouth to mine, kissing me deeply and with the kind of hunger that mirrors my own and only makes me want more. Something in the back of my mind warns me that I shouldn’t be doing this until we have a conversation, until I come clean about what happened after he left, but I tamp that down. I kiss him back and funnel all of my fear and guilt and worry about the future into that kiss.

  When he tears his mouth away from mine to kiss my neck, I realize there is some honesty I can offer, and the confession bubbles out of me. “I knew you’d be here. That’s why I was at the bar. Tonight wasn’t really a coincidence.”

  He looks into my eyes, and I want to pour my soul out on the floor of the limo, if only to be free of the weight of my secrets. But then his lips curve into a smile that reminds me so much of the boy I loved and lost that I know I won’t say anything tonight that could hurt him.

  “I looked you up and knew your latest project was reopening today. And then I stalked social media to find out what clubs you liked in Vegas.” I swallow. “I wanted to see you. You probably think I’m crazy.”

  He shakes his head, something like awe on his face. “Sometimes crazy is good.”

  I don’t even realize we’ve stopped until the driver opens my door and offers a hand to help me out.

  “You can leave those here if you want,” Marston says, nodding to my bags.

  There’s a promise in that offer—our night doesn’t end at the club—and the hours ahead glimmer before me with possibility. Reluctantly, I retreat from the warmth of Marston’s arms, and he follows behind me. On the sidewalk, he holds me close, leading me around the line in front of the club and right to the door. He flashes his ID to the bouncer, who checks his list, then lifts the ropes to let us through.

  Marston doesn’t lead me to his table but toward the mass of dancing bodies. He pulls me into his arms, his hands slipping from my hips—lower. I can feel the hard length of him through his dress pants. Just holding me turns him on, and I know if he were to slide his hand under my skirt, he’d find the same was true for me.

  “Tell me why you came,” he says against my ear. His mouth brushes lightly there, and at first I think it might be an accident, but then his teeth skim across my earlobe and he sucks it into his mouth.

  A shiver runs down my spine, and that touch of his mouth undoes me. Reaching up, I thread my fingers into his and roll onto my toes, bringing my mouth to his ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I decided it was time to prove to myself that I’d worked you up in my mind to be something you weren’t.”

  He dips his head, pressing his hot, open mouth against my neck just below my ear. “Had you?”

  I shake my head. “The second I saw you walking toward me, I felt it again.” I try for a second to figure out how I can explain what I mean by that, but he just nods and returns his mouth to my neck.

  “Tell me I get you all night.”

  “I don’t want to be anywhere but where you are.”

  The song is somehow both fast and sultry, and it makes me think of silken sheets and frantic hands, candlelit bedrooms and desperate mouths, of the slide of sweat-slicked bodies and passion. I miss passion. My thighs clench together, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  When he twirls me around, I instantly miss his heat, but then he pulls my back to his front and presses his palm flat against my stomach. This is good too—the hard length of him behind me, the heat of his breath on my neck.

  I don’t know what I’m doing here or why I thought seeing him would help me figure out what’s next for me at home, but I can’t regret it. I’ve missed feeling this—adored and beautiful, a way only he has ever made me feel. Maybe it’s as simple as chemistry, but what we have has always seemed more than attraction. Like the stars waiting behind the clouds. Like the promise of the sunrise after a long night. Like the sea rolling into the shore. Inevitable. Fated.

  When the song ends, I step out of his arms. My whole body is tense with need, but it’s a delicious kind of torture, and I’m not in any rush for it to end.

  He nods to the table. “Drink?”

  “Yes,” I breathe, relieved to break the intensity of this moment.

  We return to our booth to find all the food has been cleared away. Alec and Savvy are huddled together on one side. Alec notices us first, but doesn’t bother putting any space between himself and my friend.

  I catch Savvy’s eye. “You two having fun?”

  She grins. “Of course.” The music’s louder than it was when we left, and she has to shout to be heard. “Why would we choose anything else when fun’s a choice?”

  Marston holds my hand as he slides into the booth, pulling me in beside him and wrapping an arm around me. Savvy’s eyes track the movement, and her smile stretches wider.

  “Savvy’s never played at a blackjack table before,” Alec says, leaning toward Marston.

  “Only the computer,” she says with a shrug.

  “You’d love it,” I say, smiling. “Do you want me to take you to the casino?”

  Savvy shakes her head and waves me off. “Alec’s going to take me. I’m sure you two will be okay here,” she says with a wink. “Text me if you need me.”

  “Same,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

  Savvy climbs out of the booth, Alec behind her, then stops suddenly. “But first, let me see the new shoes.”

  I scoot to the edge of my seat and stick out one foot.

  She groans, hand to her chest. “Those are fucking hot, girl.”

  “Marston bought them for me.” I throw a smile over my shoulder for the man in question. “Even though I told him not to.”

  “You lucky bitch!”

  “She deserves it,” he says.

  Alec slides his arms around her, pulling her back to his front and whispering something in her ear that makes her grin.

  “Shoe shopping and then the casino,” Savvy announces. She waves goodbye with a wiggle of her fingers.

  “Behave!” I call after her.

  “Don’t behave!” she calls in return.

  “I think Alec is smitten,” Marston says.

  I shift around so I’m looking at him. “I hope so. Savvy deserves a night with a guy who treats her like a queen. She hasn’t had enough of that in her life.”

  Marston quirks a brow. “What will you think if Alec takes her shopping and buys her shoes, designer clothes, and jewelry?”

  “Can he afford it?”

  He chuckles. “And then some.”

  “I’ll think it’s great. He wants to spoil her, and she deserves to be spoiled.”

  Marston tucks a lock of hair behind my ear before leaning forward and asking, “So why is it so different when I do it for you?”

  I’m saved from trying to explain when the server appears at the table. />
  “What can I get you two?” he asks.

  “I’ll have a martini,” I say. I started with vodka. Better to stick with it.

  “The special edition Maker’s,” Marston says. “A double.”

  The server gives a sharp nod and then heads toward the bar.

  Once we’re alone, Marston looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “I assume you want to stay for a bit? We can always join Alec and Savannah in the casino.”

  “Staying sounds good. This is a change of pace for me.” I look around the club. “Is this your scene? Wild nightclubs where you can barely hear yourself think? Women scoping you out from every side of the room?”

  His lips quirk. “Jealous?”

  I return his smile. “Not as long as I’m the one sitting here with you.”

  He looks around, as if he’s barely bothered to register the space before now. “It’s not how I spend all my leisure time, but I enjoy the scene with the right company.”

  I lean forward. I don’t want to miss a single word he says.

  “Can’t hear me?” he asks.

  “Barely.”

  He wraps an arm around my waist until I’m thigh to thigh with him. Any closer, and I’d be in his lap. “Better?” he asks against my ear.

  I straighten as a shiver runs down my spine. He’s so close I can smell his cologne. The heat from his leg warms mine. Memories of his hand on me commingle with my promise to spend the night with him, and it all tangles up in a ball of need that sits low in my belly. “Better,” I say.

  The server returns with our drinks, and I take two long swallows of mine.

  Marston settles one hand on my thigh and cradles his bourbon with the other. He watches me from over the rim of his glass as he sips.

  “What else can I get you, sir?” the server asks.

  Marston’s hand slips under the hem of my dress, his fingers curling around my inner thigh. The feel of his warm, calloused hands tugs on that knot in my gut—loosens it until all that fear and heartache and hope and longing unravel.