Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  Billy’s eyes moved between mine, his eyebrows pulling together, like maybe he thought he’d misheard me. “He did? He told you it was safe?”

  “Yeah. He said that since I was under his family’s protection and we were married, the Wraiths would leave me alone.”

  In a flash, all traces of warmth and softness in Billy’s expression were replaced with barely restrained fury. “He told you . . .” he started, stopped, his breathing now different, shallower. Abruptly, he stood and paced away, limping. He paced back and I wasn’t sure if the grimace on his face was because of his hip or my words. “Ben told you the reason Razor left you alone was because of the McClures? You were under his family’s protection?”

  Before I nodded to confirm, I mentally repeated his question, ensuring I wasn’t missing anything. “Yes. I mean, if you think about it, it makes sense, right? Everyone in East Tennessee knows the McClures. If something had happened to me, it wasn’t going to be easily swept under the rug, like when I was just MC trash, living at the compound.”

  Billy clamped his jaw shut, staring at me, giving me the sense he wanted to say something but was holding himself back by the smallest sliver of a thread. “That makes no sense,” he finally spoke, his eyes blazing down at me. “You know your father better than anyone, what he’s capable of. Do you really think Razor would’ve given a second thought to cutting down Ben McClure if the mood struck him?”

  Standing, I dusted off my backside with my palms, wracking my brain for what I might’ve said that caused Billy’s sudden mood shift. “What other explanation could there be?”

  “I can’t believe you trusted him.” He turned away again, pushing the fingers of both hands into his hair. “This is your life.”

  “I—yes. But why wouldn’t I? He never gave me a reason not to trust him.”

  “Oh. Really?” Billy turned, giving me his profile. Not looking at me, clearly still very pissed off, he seemed to be doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Ben never gave you a reason not to trust him? What about sneaking into your bedroom on your eighteenth birthday and—”

  I recoiled, a chill settling over my shoulders. His words felt like a slap. Folding my arms over my stomach, I turned and faced the other wall, needing to clear my throat before saying, “You know, maybe we should be quiet and just wait.”

  I heard his footsteps move closer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t bring this up. But, Scarlet, what he did wasn’t right. He never asked. He just took what he wanted without—”

  “Please stop.” I held myself tighter.

  Billy exhaled an anguished sounding sigh. “Honey, maybe you never said no, but he never asked. Why don’t you hate him? You should hate him, not yourself. He tricked you into marrying him at fifteen.” The way Billy said this sent shivers down my spine, like it was torn from him and he mourned for me, for the child I was.

  “I’ve already explained why I married him at fifteen, you just don’t want to—”

  “Yes. Actually, yes. Okay. That makes sense to me now.”

  My head whipped around and I peered at him. Agog. WHAT? “It does?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, no longer looking angry, only restless. “When I thought about it after, when I calmed down, I understood. Getting married to change your name, to be emancipated, that makes total sense. But what never made sense to me is that you stayed married to him, when you so obviously weren’t in love with him and he treated you like garbage.” Billy lifted his hands, as though he was 100 percent certain he knew what I was thinking. “I know you hate it when I say that, but it’s the truth.”

  “Well, he—” I struggled to find the right words. “I was nineteen, okay? I owed his family everything.”

  Billy clamped his jaw shut, glaring at me silently.

  I huffed, scratching the hot, prickly patch on the back of my neck, glancing over Billy’s shoulder to the elevator doors. “I was nineteen and—and Ben was selfish.”

  A moment passed. And then another. The word selfish seemed to bounce off the walls and between us. Now I was breathing funny again, shallow, but not because I was trapped in a room with Billy Winston. It was because I’d finally spoken a notion I’d had for years but felt like a traitor every time I’d thought it.

  “What?” Billy’s tone demonstrated the tremendous nature of his incredulity. “What did you just say?”

  “Ben was selfish,” I repeated, finding it easier to say the second time. “And spoiled. And arrogantly entitled.”

  “What?” He took a step back, like my words crowded him. “What are you—what?”

  “I’ve been doing some self-reflection.” Waving my hands through the air in wild circles, feeling oddly harassed, my voice was louder than I’d intended. “I’m working through some things, okay? Trying to be a healthier version of myself.”

  “You—you—self-reflection?” He sounded so confused.

  “I’ve been going to therapy, if you want to know the whole truth.” Realizing I’d been flapping my arms like a bird, I placed my hands on my hips. “And that’s what I was going to tell you the other day before you told me to ‘keep my distance.’” Because I felt uncomfortable and exposed and therefore salty, I used air quotes.

  He reared back, blinking at me like I was something new. But he still seemed to be at a loss for words.

  “I see now,” I added conversationally, “that as far as childhoods go, mine wasn’t a good one. My foundation for what constitutes a healthy relationship was skewed.”

  “You’re just seeing that now?” Billy blurted, seeming to choke on a stunned laugh, shaking his head and still looking at me like I was something new, and maybe something wonderful.

  “No. I mean, I always knew.” I tutted, my cheeks heating with embarrassment, and I found myself laughing too since his laughter sounded like the friendly kind. “Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “When it’s your own, it’s your normal. My childhood was my normal. And I was so grateful to Ben and his family for saving me from that, and they did. I have to give credit where credit is due. Sleeping inside, in a bed, without fear. Knowing every day that I’d have food, clean clothes, warmth, shelter. They did that, they saved me from my father. And Ben didn’t trick me into marrying him at fifteen.”

  Billy’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth—probably to say something nasty about Ben—so I added, “HOWEVER! I shouldn’t have felt indebted to him so much that I felt like I had no choice but to marry him later on, or sleep with him when he wanted. And that is how I felt. I felt like I owed him, like his happiness mattered more than mine, like maybe I could love him like he wanted if only I tried hard enough and gave him more. I’d convinced myself I was broken and wrong, and if I could just love him, I’d be whole. It was stubborn and stupid of me, but I have to forgive myself for that. And I have to forgive myself for never loving him the way he wanted me to. So . . .” I straightened to my full height, looking everywhere but at Billy. “There you go.”

  After a long moment, during which I sensed his eyes continue to examine me and I tried to own the words I’d just spoken rather than hide my face, he asked, “That’s what you were going to tell me last week? When I cut you off and told you to keep your distance?”

  “Yes.” I deflated, sneaking a quick peek at him as my mouth curved in a partially sad, partially embarrassed smile. “But I get it. I do. We’ve been on this merry-go-round for a long time, you and I. And I understand your desire to step off. In fact, I encourage it. You should’ve moved on from my broken, pathetic ass a long, long time ago.” I chuckled.

  He did not.

  Again, another long moment passed, and with it the air of open conversation shifted, became something else. Something less simple. Something charged.

  “Scarlet,” he said, my name more breath than voice. “What are you saying? You want me to move on?”

  “I’m saying . . .” I crossed my arms, affixing my stare to the ground but determined to speak loud and clear. “I’m saying that I wanted to
see if there was a way we could—we could get to know each other again. After Christmas, and you were so lovely to me, and I was so pitiful, I just got so tired of hating myself. Feeling terrible about myself all the time. I’d become numb to it, it was—was a habit. So I sought professional advice.”

  “Therapy.”

  “Yes. Therapy. And my therapist is helping me see that there was nothing I could do about the fact that I didn’t love Ben like he wanted. I was young, vulnerable—and I’m not excusing what you and I did, I’m not excusing it. Meeting in secret behind his back, I should never have done that. I was the one who was married, that was on me. But I had no road map and I was doing the best I could. And to beat myself up for the rest of my life about something I did, for decisions I made when I was running away from my abusive father, decisions made in fear, well, I’m not going to do that anymore.”

  Like before, my words seemed to bounce off the walls and between us, but this time I felt my neck and cheeks flare red and hot. I’d revealed more than I’d intended, and now I didn’t feel at all safe.

  Needing to say something, since he was saying nothing, instinct and self-preservation had me backpedaling. “But, if you’ve moved on, then—goodness—keep on walking. You deserve so much happiness. You’ve always deserved so much better than me. I’m still trying to figure things out for myself, I’m still a mess, so it’s probably best if we just stuck to your original plan of—of—”

  He was moving. I looked up, tensing at his severe and determined stare. Not trusting myself to back away without taking a wrong step off the plank, I held still, waiting for him to come. My brain unable to detangle his intentions, his long fingers and coarse palms slid against my cheeks, his thumbs tilted my chin up, and his mouth lowered to just inches from mine.

  His eyes held mine hostage. “I mean this with all my heart,” he said, the words gravelly and fierce.

  And then he kissed me.

  Chapter Eleven

  *Billy*

  "Now look, your grace," said Sancho, "what you see over there aren't giants, but windmills, and what seems to be arms are just their sails, that go around in the wind and turn the millstone."

  "Obviously," replied Don Quijote, "you don't know much about adventures.”

  Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

  Her eyes closed and her body immediately relaxed, pressing forward, seeking mine, surrendering.

  I remember this. Chasing windmills.

  It was always this way with Scarlet, this easy. As though my touch erased the tension in her body and she couldn’t hold on to both the fear and to me. The temptation had always been there, to kiss her, make her mindless, and then make her mine. But then after she wouldn’t truly be mine, not in a real, lasting way.

  Scarlet gripped my shirt at my sides and tugged, her lips parting, welcoming, inviting. I battled the desire to devour and demand, knowing she needed my gentleness, not my greed. Slow, deep kisses punctuated by her soft moans and hitching breaths.

  Where she touched, I touched. That had been my promise so many years ago and I’d broken it only once. As much as my body screamed and begged to move faster, take more, slide my hands down her curves, untuck her clothes and touch her bare skin how I craved, I would not make that mistake again. Definitely not now.

  She’d opened a window. Come hell or high water or famine or the end of days, I was climbing through that damn window. But I was moving slow. I wasn’t giving her any reason to shut it, not ever again. I swore to God, I was going to be a fucking saint.

  Which was why, after one more savoring slide of my tongue and sucking bite of her lip, I pressed my forehead to hers and tucked my chin to my chest, striving to cool my mind and the building urgency in my body. My palms hadn’t moved from her face. I was touching her, she was touching me, she wanted me, I wanted her, and that was enough. For now.

  We stood like that—close, our hands on each other—for a time. I got the sense she was afraid to move or speak, and I knew how she felt. But I wanted her to know this was real and, God willing, it was just the beginning.

  Lifting my head, I pushed my fingers into her hair, encouraging her to give me her eyes. She did. Hazy and trusting, hopeful, they traveled over my features.

  Inclined to let her look, I pressed her open palm against my heart and kept my voice low as I said, “Scarlet—”

  Ding!

  She tensed. A second later, the unmistakable sound of those elevator doors opening tore through this new beautiful reality we’d just created, and I muttered a curse.

  But before I could separate us completely, she grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me forward, stealing one more kiss just as my brother Duane said, “Oh, uh. Damn. We can leave.”

  Leaning away, her gorgeous gaze hooked into mine, a little giddy, a little desperate, and she smiled. “No. It’s all right. We were just, um, just—”

  “Y’all were kissing,” Cletus announced, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, wanting to strangle him. “That’s what y’all were doing. We have eyeballs and brains and they both work just fine.”

  Scarlet rolled her lips between her teeth and covered her face with her hands. Unable to stay the instinct, I gathered her in my arms, wanting her to tuck her head under my chin and against my chest. A surging satisfaction rumbled through me as she accepted my embrace, a sense of searing rightness.

  “Can you give us another minute?” I turned my head in profile.

  “Actually, we can’t. They’ve opened the museum for normal tours.” Duane sounded truly remorseful. “And we got tickets for the Uffizi next. They’ll expire if we don’t get over there in time.”

  I threaded my fingers through the fine silk of her copper hair. “Fine. Go on. We’ll come up right after, assuming the button works this time.”

  “Roger that. Come on, Duane.” I heard the shuffle of footsteps, another ding, and I tightened my arms around her, placing a kiss on top of her head. Then Cletus added, “For the record, I take credit for this,” just before the doors slid shut.

  Scarlet’s shoulders were shaking, she was laughing, and the sound eased a restive part of me, anxious for a sign of her happiness.

  It took me a few seconds to realize I was laughing too.

  “Now he’s never going to stop.” Her words were muffled.

  “No. I reckon he won’t stop.” I couldn’t help but think, good. I didn’t always want or appreciate my brother’s brand of assistance, but in this case, good. Obviously, we’d needed all the help we could get. “But I’ll talk to him, see if I can get him to ease up a little.”

  “So.” Her arms came around my chest and she bent her head back, gaze wide, still looking hopeful but with a heavy dash of uncertainty. “What happens now?”

  “Now . . .” I took a moment to memorize her like this, just in case, and I had to forcibly stop myself from saying, Now, irrevocable commitment. Assurances. Legal ones. Contracts. Marriage. Today. Right this minute.

  Reminding myself to be a saint—in patience and intentions—I swallowed the demands, instead saying, “Now we do things right.” And even though it required smothering every instinct and desire within me, I added, “We take things slow.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  With considerable reluctance, I tore my eyes from Scarlet’s back and glanced at Cletus. “Don’t push it.”

  “Of course I’m going to push it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his frown severe. “Y’all’re moving at a snail’s pace.”

  “At least we’re moving.”

  He grunted. Then he grunted again. “If you look at today’s events, the only time you made any progress was when we stepped in and forced the issue. If we didn’t push it, then you’d still be attempting to merely coexist with the woman.”

  “Coexisting is a good first step.” I faced forward again, my attention moving over her. Walking arm in arm with Shelly, her step light, Scarlet hadn’t stopped smiling all day.

  She smiled as we walked to the Uffizi. S
he smiled as we meandered about the great museum, pointing things out she thought were wonderful, asking me what I thought. She smiled when—mindless for a moment and overcome by the brilliance of her spirit and smiling eyes—I reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. She also blushed.

  Then she smiled all through lunch, helping Ashley and Drew with Bethany by entertaining the little miss while they ordered and used the bathroom. Now we were walking back to the train station and she was still smiling. To me, therein lied the real progress. A happy, carefree Scarlet was the ultimate goal, and I’d do whatever it took to keep her happy.

  “I don’t want y’all to coexist. I want y’all to co-ha-bi-tate.” Cletus threaded his fingers together as though to illustrate his meaning, earning a quick glare from me. And then, as though his only goal in life was to make my blood boil, he made a circle with his thumb and index finger. I stopped his other index finger before he could complete the lewd hand gesture.

  “Cletus. Stop.”

  He dropped his hands. “If it were me, I’d try the caveman carry again. There’s a time for yielding and there’s a time for charging, and this is definitely the latter. You should see the way she looks at you, like you’re one of my sausages.”

  “I appreciate your efforts, Cletus. But now you need to let us figure this out on our own.” Nothing was simple. Maybe we were inching toward each other, but there still existed an entire universe of reasons to proceed with caution, not the least of which was the FBI investigation waiting for me back in Tennessee.

  I didn’t think they had enough to charge me. If I kept quiet, they had no case, his word against my silence. And yet, I hadn’t decided whether or not to be silent, even if it meant giving up the senate race and everything else. Part of me wanted to confess.

  But if Scarlet were to give us another chance—no. I would not make my decision her responsibility.