APPEAL: Esquire Black Duet #2

by Faiman, Hayley

  “Must have been some night,” she mutters.

  “Brooklyn and I got into it. I got drunk and behaved like an ass.” I shrug.

  Peg narrows her eyes slightly before she speaks. “Fix it,” she states.

  Those two words tell me everything I need to know. Peg more than likes Brooklyn, and Peg is a fucking great judge of character.

  I’m the goddamn asshole here.

  No way around it.

  But I’m not going to let Brooklyn off scot free, she fucking ran, like a child.

  “I will.”

  She nods and hands me a folder with the information for the meeting that is about to begin. I feel like I’m back in law school as I scan over the document as quickly as possible, trying to retain all the information.

  I can only hope that this shit ends quickly so that I can catch Brooklyn before she leaves the office and heads back to wherever she stayed last night.

  I frown, pissed at myself for not getting to know her friends or her habits before I came barreling into her life.

  I have no fucking clue where she’d even go.

  Chapter Twelve

  BROOKLYN

  Lucas doesn’t call, text, or email me throughout the entire workday. I know by the time six o’clock rolls around that he’s slept off his drunken evening and has more than likely found my note, my car gone, and the key on the counter.

  I frown to myself. This is what I wanted, right? I’m the one that left. I shouldn’t care if he contacts me or not. Biting my bottom lip, maybe I wanted him to chase after me.

  Shaking my head once, I sigh. I did. I wanted him on his knees, apologizing for his words and begging me to come back.

  Unsure of what that makes me, I close my eyes and just breathe. We are fucked up. Both of us. This is a nightmare, a self-induced nightmare.

  At least Lucas has admitted he has no experience in relationships. I haven’t even admitted that little fact to myself. It’s true though, this is as new for him as it is for me.

  I sigh as I start closing down my computer for the evening. Kay has been keeping a close eye on me throughout the day but hasn’t approached me, and I’m glad. I might just burst into tears or scream. I’m not sure which yet.

  Once my things are all put away and my computer is off, I grab my keys and my purse before heading out of the office for the evening.

  I dread going back to that shitty motel room.

  My eyes burn and ache, I’m so tired, but that bed and room hold zero appeal to me. I want to be back at Lucas’.

  The parking structure is empty, but I feel something, or someone, watching me. It’s not like it’s obvious, I can’t actually see anyone, but I have a definite feeling. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I look around.

  That feeling of being watched, or followed, it doesn’t go away. I keep glancing in my rearview mirror as I drive toward the motel, but I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Traffic is always kind of crazy and busy in the city, and it looks like a normal Tuesday.

  Parking in the spot right in front of my room, I hurry out of my car and unlock the motel door, slipping inside before locking and chaining the door behind me. I let out a breath, laughing as I shake my head.

  I’m acting crazy.

  I’m overtired, too.

  I place my bags down on the little table by the front door and head toward the bathroom. My plans for the evening include two things and two things only. A shower and a bed.

  Food doesn’t even appeal to me at this point. I just want to sleep. I want to forget both mine and Lucas’ stupidity. I want to rest and wake up tomorrow with a clear head and a plan on what I want for the future.

  I can’t just walk away from Lucas, I tried that once and it didn’t work out too well, plus, I really don’t want to, not because he said a few hurtful things to me when he was drunk.

  Stripping out of my clothes, I start the shower and let out an annoyed groan. The water pressure is so shitty that I probably won’t even be able to wash all the conditioner out of my hair, which will leave it greasy looking.

  I hear a thud and I jump, stilling with my hands in my wet hair. I try to calm myself down, telling myself that it was just the neighbors. This motel isn’t the quietest in the world, the walls aren’t the thickest.

  Nevertheless, I hurry and finish my shower anyway. Wrapping a thin towel around my body, I grab another to wrap around my hair as I step into the main part of the room.

  I freeze when I see what’s on the bed. A scream also freezes in my throat at the sight. My heart begins to race and my body begins to tremble in fear.

  There in the middle of my bed is a plastic-wrapped bouquet of red roses. Frantically, though my body is still frozen, my eyes search the room for a person, anything else that is out of place, but nothing else is different.

  Even my purse is exactly where I left it.

  Everything inside of me screams to reach for those flowers and throw them out of the front door, but I remember what the detectives said when this all started.

  I recall how pissed they were when they found out that Lucas had thrown the flowers away at my condo.

  Quickly, I put some clothes on and root through my purse until I find my phone. With shaky fingers, I search through my contacts until I find Detective Anderson’s name.

  “Anderson,” he grunts into the phone.

  “This is Brooklyn Myers. I got another bouquet,” I whimper.

  He asks me where I am. Closing my eyes, I give him the name of the motel and the room number. I feel embarrassed that the detectives are coming here, seeing where I’m staying and by the end of this evening, they’ll know I’m homeless. He tells me to hold tight and he and Detective Warner will be right there.

  I close my eyes and try not to cry. Inhaling deeply, I let my breath out with a cleansing exhale, just like I do in yoga. My phone suddenly rings in my hand and I jump, letting out a scream. Snapping my lips closed, I look down at the caller ID.

  Tears fill my eyes, it’s Lucas. My brain screams at me not to answer, but the fear bubbling up inside of me overrides that, and I do. Whether I want to admit it or not, I need him.

  I’ve needed him for far longer than I’ve had him, for far longer than I care to admit. Running scared isn’t the answer when it comes to us. I need to stay, he means too much to me to just hide from him.

  “Kitten, where are you?” he asks, sounding tired.

  I suck in a breath before I tell him what motel I’m staying at. “There was another bouquet in my room, Lucas,” I murmur. “I called Detective Anderson.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Stay where you are,” he commands.

  The call ends, and I stumble over to the little dinette chair and sit. I stare at that damn bouquet of roses the entire time, waiting for them to spring to life. It seems like only seconds later, I hear a pounding on the door. Lucas’ voice booms from the other side, demanding that I open.

  On shaky legs, I stand and slowly walk over to the door. Luckily, it isn’t very far away from the table and chairs. Once I unhook the chain, and then the door, I start to slowly open it.

  Lucas doesn’t wait for me to open it completely, instead, he pushes his way through the door and immediately wraps me up in his strong arms. He holds me so tightly against his chest that I find it hard to breathe.

  “Lucas,” I wheeze.

  He releases me, but only a fraction, before his hand fists in my wet hair and he tugs my head back so quickly that I can’t hide the look of shock on my face as I’m forced to look up into his eyes.

  Not only is his expression serious, it’s also tortured. My heart breaks at the sight of him in front of me, of what my childish leaving him, again, has done, to both of us.

  “Fuck, Brooklyn,” he curses before his lips gently press against mine.

  I feel his tongue trace my bottom lip, but he doesn’t deepen our kiss. He lifts his head, his eyes darkening before he opens his mouth to speak. A knock on the door causes me to
jump and his lips to snap closed.

  “Sorry to barge in,” Detective Warner announces with a smile on his face, looking anything but sorry.

  I take a step back from Lucas, but he doesn’t allow me to go far. He wraps his hand around my waist and tugs me against his side.

  Detective Warner lifts his chin toward the door and Lucas laces his fingers with mine as he guides me out of the room.

  We walk outside while the detectives look around the room. A few minutes later, they join us under the outdoor covered hallway.

  Detective Anderson has the flowers and a note in a sealed bag, but there’s a frown on his face. Detective Warner looks similar with a matching frown, but his eyes are focused on Lucas.

  “There was no forced entry that we could see. You didn’t let anyone in?” Detective Anderson asks.

  Shaking my head, I look from one detective to the other. “I had the door locked, and the chain in place. I was in the shower and heard a thump. I thought it was the room next door,” I explain.

  “The staff says that the rooms on either side of yours are vacant. There are only fake cameras set up in the parking lot, so we have no way to know who came or how they got in,” Detective Warner explains.

  A chill runs throughout my entire body, causing goosebumps to appear on my skin. Lucas must feel something as well, or maybe he notices how upset I am, because he tugs me a little closer to his side.

  His hand moves from my waist to rub my arm. It’s comforting. I shouldn’t be taking the warmth or the comfort from him, but I’m selfish and needy. I’m woman enough to admit that I need him—desperately.

  The detectives tell me that they’re going to take the flowers and note into the station and see if they can get any prints from them. They don’t tell me what the note says, and I don’t ask. I honestly do not want to know.

  Basically, there’s absolutely nothing that they can do, once again. They tell me to be careful and watch my surroundings for anything or anyone unusual.

  None of it makes sense. Curtis is in jail, the notes, flowers and overall torture had all but stopped, now it’s back, why?

  “Get in that room, Brooklyn,” Lucas growls once the detectives leave us.

  My shoulders slump a little, and I know this is where he tells me we’re completely finished. I can practically taste his anger, and he would be right to tell me he never wants to see me again.

  I was immature for running, just as he was for his cruel drunken words. We are a mess together. A beautiful mess, but a mess nonetheless.

  Walking inside the room, I allow him to follow me, but I don’t turn around to face him. I don’t want to look into his gorgeous face or his sparkling green eyes, not when he tells me we’re done. I press my lips together and try to fight the tears.

  “Kitten, I’m a fucking ass,” he announces before I feel his body surround me. His lips touch the side of my neck. My body jolts slightly from his words. “I’m not used to any kind of rejection, and you seem to have no problem telling me no,” he continues. “I said some mean things.”

  Lucas’ lips continue to kiss the side of my neck, I try as hard as I can not to be affected by his kiss, or the way his tongue tastes me. I try—and I fail.

  No matter what, I’ll always be affected by anything and everything that is Lucas fucking Black. What I don’t do is immediately respond to his words.

  “Forgive me, Brooklyn. Come home,” he murmurs.

  One of his hands slips beneath my shirt traveling up to cup my breast, over my bra. He gently squeezes me, his mouth still tasting every inch of the side of my neck.

  “Home?” I whisper.

  He grunts, and I feel his chest vibrate against my back. My eyes automatically slide closed, waiting for his gentle touches to become firmer, begging for him to take me the way that I know only he can—to own every inch of my entire body the way that he does.

  “Yeah, home, Brooklyn. Your home, our home. We had a fight, and now we’re moving on.”

  I quickly pull away from his grasp, he allows it, but not without a grunt of displeasure. His hands fall away as he lifts his head, his green eyes zeroing in on me and never leaving my own gaze.

  Spinning around, I cross my arms over my chest and look at him. It aches to see his face, his gorgeous face, but I can’t do this with my back to him.

  We need to talk about the things he said, the way he said them and how they made me feel. I need to know if he truly thinks those things about me or not.

  “You called me a gold-digging whore, Lucas. That’s not just a fight,” I deadpan.

  Lucas flinches. To his credit, he looks really sorry that he said it to me, but it doesn’t negate the fact that those words slipped from his lips. I’ll own my part in it all, but only if he does as well.

  “I was drunk,” he says as if that gives him license to say what he did.

  I let out an unladylike snort. “It’s my impression that people speak hidden truths when they’re drunk.”

  He growls in frustration and reaches for me, his large hand wrapping around my waist before he yanks my body against his chest.

  I’m pressed against him, all of me to all of him. I can’t hold back the small whimper that escapes my lips.

  Looking up, I notice that his jaw is clenched, a muscle in his cheek jumps, before he opens his mouth to speak.

  “I was a fucking ass, okay? I didn’t mean any of it. I woke up this morning, alone and full of regret. What do you need me to say that will make this better? I wasn’t the one who ran in the middle of the night,” he says, arching a brow as he cups my cheek.

  I try to fight the tear from falling down my cheek, but I fail. His thumb swipes at the wetness, and his eyebrows knit together.

  “This is why I don’t really drink. I’m a mean fucking drunk and I know my cruel words have the capacity to cut deep. Fuck me, I wish I could take them all back, kitten,” he murmurs.

  LUCAS

  Seeing that tear fall from her eye, that one lonely tear, it fucks me up inside. Keeping her plastered to my chest, feeling her warmth and the softness of her tits pressed against me, I hold her.

  I’m never letting her go. If she thinks I am, then she’s got another thing coming. She can’t run from me, not anymore, and if I have to make her stay. I will.

  “You’re not staying here, Brooklyn,” I announce. She tries to jerk away from me, but I hold on to her even tighter. “It’s not safe. No way is my woman staying in a shitty motel, especially when someone broke in while she was naked and in the fucking shower.”

  “Nothing happened, Lucas,” she attempts to defend.

  My hand slides from her cheek to tangle in her damp hair, and I tug her head back, enjoying the way her gorgeous neck arches.

  “This time. Nothing happened this time. Kitten, if you think I’m just going to walk away and give this sick fucker an opportunity to do this again, you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  “I’m not going to just forget what you said to me,” she states stubbornly. I expect her to stomp her foot, but she doesn’t.

  I press my lips to hers, shutting her up and showing her how I feel about her. She doesn’t have to forget shit. I’ll never expect her to, but she’s going to forgive me, and she’s fucking coming home. I won’t forget that she runs at the drop of a hat either, but I’ll try not to hold it against her.

  Pressing my forehead against hers, I close my eyes and breathe. “Come home, Brooklyn. Let me make it all up to you. Let’s make it up to one another.”

  “You can’t just make it up to me with sex,” she grinds out, attempting to push me away.

  My fingers tighten in her hair, I try to tamp down my irritation, but it’s there bubbling on the surface. I want to spank her sweet ass and force her to remember why she’s mine. I will too, but right now after the night we had last night and then this shit tonight, I know that I need to tread lightly.

  “No sex, yet. Just come home,” I offer, my jaw clenched as I attempt to stay calm and reasonable.


  She watches me for a moment, and I can tell she’s processing. If I have to, I’ll carry her out of here, throw her in the car, and force her home. Luckily, she sighs and gives me a nod.

  “Okay, I’ll come back—but I’m sleeping in the guest room,” she says, in an attempt to hold me at arm’s length.

  It doesn’t work.

  I smirk with a shake of my head. If she thinks she’s going to make some kind of bargain with me, she’s lost her fucking mind.

  “You’re coming home and sleeping in our bed. I already told you no sex, tonight. Now pack up your shit and let’s go.”

  She silently relents, I can see it in her gaze. I watch as she turns around, giving me a view of her delectable ass. I reluctantly release her and wait by the door as she shoves her shit in her bags.

  Once I have her stuff in her shitty car, I wait for her to pull out of the parking stall, following behind her to ensure that she’s going to our place and nowhere else.

  Before we arrive home, I call in an order for a couple of pizzas on the way. I’m fucking starving and after all the alcohol in my system, I need some serious food.

  Tonight, I’d love to make Brooklyn come, but to be honest, I’m fucking exhausted. I had to sit through that meeting with a raging hangover and worried about Brooklyn the entire fucking time. She looks dead on her feet as well.

  I just want to eat, wrap her in my arms, and fucking sleep.

  Tomorrow, it’s on.

  Tomorrow I’m making her come a dozen times, wearing her out and reminding her just who the fuck she belongs to. I’m going to keep her so goddamn sore she physically cannot run from me again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  BROOKLYN

  I shouldn’t be as happy as I am. Especially after everything that went down with us. Yet, here I am, practically bouncing with excitement.

  It’s been three days since I moved back in with Lucas. Since we were separated for less than twenty-four hours, I’m not sure if I can really call what I did moving out.