Filthy Rich

by Raine Miller

  “Mmm-hmm.” I took her face in my hands and went for it. Slowly at first, with just lips touching . . . but it wasn’t enough.

  I doubted I would ever find enough with her. The instant I had her mouth against mine I only wanted to experience more of her. I pushed in tentatively with my tongue and paused for her reaction, praying she would let me in. If I didn’t find a way inside her somehow, I would probably fucking die. It sure felt that way.

  Soft. She was soft when she opened her mouth against my invasion. I tasted her pumpkin latte from earlier and groaned into her mouth. Spicy. Sweet. And so fucking soft as she responded to me. I played with her lips, sucking and pulling on them with just a scrape of teeth, over and over again. She liked it. I could tell. Beautiful Brooke kissed me back, her tongue tangling with mine as she explored me at her own pace—and allowed me to do the same. Her hands found their way into my hair where she buried them in and tugged me closer. Oh, that felt fucking good to have her hands in my hair.

  I held her in my hands and enjoyed the very best kiss of my lifetime. Kissing Brooke held no comparison to anything that came along before—

  She pulled away abruptly, and that did not feel so nice. As I fought off the unpleasant feeling of the loss of her lips against mine, it took me a second to register we weren’t alone—that someone was speaking in the room. Shock was more like it. I’d been so into kissing her I hadn’t even heard Isaac come in. Brooke had heard him, though.

  “Sir, where would you like Miss Casterley’s purchases to be delivered?” Isaac asked from behind me.

  “The room across the hall from mine.” I answered him without turning around. I stared down at Brooke’s soft pink lips instead and liked seeing them puffy from what I’d just been doing to her. Then I got a good look at her eyes and saw how they revealed the evidence of passion in their fiery golden depths as she gazed up at me.

  I fucking loved that.

  I reached for her again, but she stopped me with her palm against my chest. I could feel a slight tremble in her touch as she held me back. “I think we should watch Inside Out now.”

  “Okay,” I said, remembering my vow to let her set the pace. It had to be that way or this wasn’t going to work. I did understand clearly now after her revelation at dinner. Brooke was a woman who needed some level of control over her situation because the terrible loss of her husband and baby had afforded her none. I got it.

  “I just—I’d like to be comfortable while we watch it.” She gestured down to her boots.

  “Of course. You should change and get comfortable. I’ll show you to your room and then just come back out here when you’re ready. I’ll change, too. We want to enjoy this together.”

  She nodded and did that thing where she rolled her lips together as if she was suppressing a smile. I knew it because her golden eyes still smiled at me.

  At the door to her bedroom, she turned back toward me, looking a little hesitant but still determined. “We’re just going to watch the movie, Caleb.”

  Ahh . . . the rules for the night were being set. I could live with her rules as long as she kept letting me in a little bit at a time. I could be patient.

  I couldn’t resist brushing her blushing cheek with my thumb, though. “We’re just going to watch the movie, Brooke.”

  She smiled at me, and I fell a little bit more in love with her.

  THIS evening had to be one of the most interesting I’d ever experienced. For one thing, I’d never done anything like it before. My agenda with women after we’d retired behind closed doors was all about getting naked and fucking. End of. Once it was over, I went on my way. I never stayed the night with any of them. Janice had “slept” here a total of two nights in six months, and she was the only one who had ever received an invitation.

  I’d never worn sweats and a T-shirt while cuddling on the sofa to watch an animated film. I don’t think I’d watched anything animated since Toy Story when I was eleven, to be honest.

  Brooke was still gorgeous, even with her hair in a long braid and thick gray socks on her feet. The pink flannel pants she’d picked out at Target swallowed up the shape of her killer legs but I liked knowing she was comfortable and warm after a long, cold, rainy day.

  Inside Out was a total surprise. More so the enjoyment I got from watching Brooke watch the movie. She knew it by heart, but she didn’t do anything spoilerish to ruin it for me. She let me hold her close against me with my arm around her so I could get my fingers woven into her thick braid. I already had a fascination with her hair and ached to have it spread out with my hands buried in it. We played the dancing fingers game with my other hand. I’d never done that with anyone before, either.

  But I would have happily danced fingers with her all night long.

  It was close to midnight when the credits started rolling, and I knew it was time to end the party. Bedtime. She was falling asleep and I was almost there myself. I wasn’t disappointed, though. Was this what normal couples did? The boyfriend-girlfriend thing? The whole evening with her had been better than anything I’d ever done, and I’d happily accept any more evenings like this one that she might generously throw my way. I knew I’d get to see her in the morning, too, and I couldn’t fucking wait to experience the whole breakfast-before-work thing with her.

  So I helped her up from the couch and delivered her to the guest room with only one sleepy kiss goodnight. “Thank you, Caleb, for inviting me to stay here,” she said while stifling a yawn, “and for being patient . . . with me.” She held the side of my face with her hand and studied me with her beautiful amber eyes. “I love that you are always such a gentleman.”

  Again, something I’d not been before—not with any woman I’d ever wanted sexually at least. Even as I had the thought, I understood it was far more than sex with Brooke. It was just a driving want to be with her.

  “Thank you, Brooke, for accepting my invitation to stay here tonight,” I whispered against her lips because I liked to mimic her words. “And for giving me the chance to deserve you whenever you’re ready,” I added before stealing another kiss.

  The conversation we had before saying goodnight was pretty damn surreal when I stopped to think about the topic—to fuck or not to fuck. The contrast between how strange, and how normal it felt to discuss it with her, was starting to mess with my head.

  No. Not true. My head was messed up from the minute she first spoke to me.

  HER crying woke me sometime later. Once I figured out what I was hearing, I listened in like a voyeur, imagining the reasons she was plagued by terrible grief.

  A shout of anguish, so great it gave me pain just hearing it, cut a path straight into my heart. Then softer sounds of crying followed, burrowing underneath my skin until I couldn’t take it another second.

  I bolted out of bed and threw on the sweats I’d worn earlier. And then I went into her room and scooped her up into my arms. She didn’t even protest when I carried her across the hall and put her into my bed. Or when I crawled in next to her and pulled her against my body.

  She just cried. And let me hold her and run my fingers over her hair.

  It was the most natural thing in the world, and so I just went with it, figuring she would start talking if she wanted to.

  “I dreamed of the accident. I never have before . . . that I can remember,” she said eventually.

  “Tell me about your husband.”

  “It’s not a nice story. I don’t think you’ll want to hear it because you won’t feel good afterward.”

  “But I want to comfort you. Help you feel better. Will talking about it help, Brooke?” I breathed in the flowery scent of her hair and focused on the sensation of having her against me.

  “It will probably help me to feel better, but not you,” she said.

  “How can you know that?”

  “I know, Caleb. What you said at dinner about my aura of sadness is correct. It’s there with me. I’ve learned that being honest and open about the reasons for it is what
works for me. I don’t keep it a secret. People know what happened to me, and I am sure they feel very sorry for my pain. It’s a totally normal response for them to feel that way. But it doesn’t help me to deal with my sadness. It’s just something that’s with me now and I’ve learned to embrace it, and I’ve also learned how hearing the story of my loss is uncomfortable for most people. I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “You won’t be doing anything to me, Brooke. Why don’t you want to tell me?”

  “Because I like you very much.”

  “I like you very much, too, and I’m here to listen if you feel like talking about it.” I kissed her forehead and just held her, grateful she allowed me.

  In time she started to tell me her story . . .

  “The last words I remember saying to him were, ‘Marcus, you’re drunk—let me drive.’ A punishing grip to my chin and throat came immediately after my comment. ‘Don’t,’ was all he said to me. Don’t was the last word Marcus ever spoke to me. It was all he needed to say. The rest of his cruel message was written in his pale-blue eyes that had always looked gray to me. My punishment would come once we were out of sight from the prying eyes of his family, and the few compassionate souls who knew of his perverse mind fucking, but were powerless to do anything to help me.”

  A chill settled on me as I grappled with what she might say next.

  “It would be more of an emotional punishment than a physical one, because that was just how Marcus was. He never beat me outright, but he loved to scare me, and make me frightened of what he might do. When I went to put on my seat belt, he blocked my hand, forcing me to leave it off. He did it to make me afraid, because he knew I didn’t trust his driving, and because it was putting the baby at risk. My first punishment for the night. But it turned out to be a gift instead. The last good thing he ever gave me. It ended up being my ticket to freedom.”

  No . . .

  “I didn’t even see what caused the crash because I’d closed my eyes as soon as he drove away. I never knew whatever it was that caused him to veer off the road, nor did I hear anything other than the excruciatingly loud music he put on. I’d closed my eyes and willed it all away because that was how I conquered my fear.”

  I held her a bit tighter.

  “That’s all I remember before I woke up in hospital three weeks later. My injuries had nearly healed completely by the time I woke from my coma—a badly lacerated right knee and calf, and also cuts to the right side of my head at the hairline as I was ejected from the car upon impact. Marcus was wearing his seat belt, so he remained in the car as it exploded and burned.”

  Just like the vile fucker deserved.

  “When the doctor told me my husband had died in the accident, I wept deeply as one would expect. When that same doctor held my hand comfortingly and told me the severe blow I’d suffered as I was ejected from the car had brought on preterm labor they were unable to stop—making it impossible to prevent the birth of my baby daughter at only twenty-three weeks gestation. Not enough development time to survive outside of my womb, he said. Her little life was over before it ever began. I cried even harder and longer for her loss, but inside I felt the most intense relief. I rejoiced that she had escaped what would have been a hellish nightmare, being born into that evil family. I wouldn’t have been able to protect her, and that would have killed me slowly bit by bit. The fact I’d lost Marcus’s baby was the only reason his family let me go. If I’d managed to stay pregnant, then I would have been bound forever—inescapably owned by a family of criminals to whom blood meant everything. I owed my baby thanks for her gift to me even more so than her father. She made it possible for me to start over.”

  She’s been through so much. Too much.

  “So I stayed in California for another six months, recovering. Physically I was fine, but I needed some time before I was ready to come back. I didn’t want to face the many expressions of sorrow and the heartfelt condolences for my loss when it had really been my only way of escaping the hell I’d been in for a year. I couldn’t tell them that I’d hated my sociopathic husband who’d impregnated me against my wishes when I was barely twenty-two years old.” She burrowed her face into the crook of my neck and shoulder, and sighed deeply as if she was breathing me in. “That—that’s all I can talk about tonight,” she said. “It takes me back there and I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward now, Caleb.”

  So do I. I had been holding my breath listening to her story, and now needed air. For breathing—so I didn’t asphyxiate.

  Holy fucking shit was about the extent of my immediate reaction to what she’d just shared. “I am so sorry, Brooke. I hardly know what to say.” And I didn’t. Christ, what a harrowing journey she’d been on in her short life. I could barely process all she’d just told me, let alone imagine how she managed to hold herself together most days. Brooke had certainly been dealt a shit hand of cards in losing her parents at fifteen, and then this—this—ordeal she’d endured, and for which there were no motherfucking words.

  “There isn’t much to say, Caleb, and anyway, I feel your sympathy and that’s enough,” she said softly.

  “Was your grandmother’s surgery the reason you came back to Boston?” I doubted there was much to have brought her back here otherwise.

  “Yes. Actually, I think it was Nan’s terrible worry for me that led to her fall down the cellar steps in the first place. She wasn’t even notified I’d been in a coma. Nan didn’t know anything until after it was over. After the fall she needed me, and so it was time to come home to the island. Having a purpose has helped me so very much. Coming back here five months ago was the very best thing I could have ever done. It is healing me back into my former self. I’m not a sad person, Caleb, I’ve just had some very sad things happen to me. I love my job, and I love my cottage on the island, and I love my . . . friends.”

  “Brooke?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am so fucking glad you came back home.”

  “Me too, Caleb.”

  We stayed close in the bed for a while. Quiet and just breathing in and out. Peaceful.

  “Caleb, I want to ask you something,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  “My story—now that you’ve heard it, do you still want to be with me?”

  I held her a little closer and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, Brooke, I want to be with you more than you can imagine.” I want to be the one to make you forget him. I want to be the one who loves you how you should have been loved in the first place. To make you feel safe, adored, cherished. “The harrowing story you’ve just told me changes nothing about what I think or feel. If anything, I am in awe of you. You are brave. Very, very brave, Brooke Casterley.”

  “You are a wonderful man with a generous heart, Caleb Blackstone, and don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.” Then she sighed deeply and detached herself from me with a small, sexy moan.

  Fuck! She was going to leave my room and go back to her bed now. I didn’t want her to go because I wanted to sleep with her in my arms for the rest of the night. Hell, I needed it after the terrifying tale she’d just told me.

  Her second question surprised me. “Would you mind if I used your shower? I just need to clear my head and I think the hot water will help.”

  “Please do whatever will make you feel better,” I said, mentally castrating myself in advance for all of the filthy dirty thoughts I was going to have about her once she was wet and naked in my shower. My cock would suffer, but it would survive being denied.

  “Thank you,” she said softly as she left my bed and padded toward the bathroom.

  The light came on and then a few seconds later, the water. It took a moment for me to realize she’d left the door wide open. I could see everything as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, completely still and staring back out at me using the mirror’s reflection.

  Holy. Fucking. Hell. She wanted me to see her. Me. Her. No one had ever so gently and yet confident
ly offered themselves to me. She wasn’t using me. She wanted me. She wanted me to want her. I would never forget this for as long as I lived. It was all for me. For me.

  I knew why she did it, too.

  Brooke did it to let me know she wanted me the same way I wanted her. Fuck. Me.

  If I am so lucky to live a long life, I will always remember how absolutely fucking beautiful she was when she stripped in my doorway—backlit in soft white light—just so I could watch every graceful movement . . . as her clothes fell away to reveal the most perfect vision in the world. Her. Naked. Mine.

  Brooke

  Caleb could help me forget. Even if just for this one night, it would be a gift I would treasure forever because he was the first to make it possible for me after Marcus. I might never have had sex again in my life if I hadn’t met Caleb.

  So, when I made my decision to be with him, it was for the hope of healing that last part of me still broken.

  Caleb was unique and I realized it right away. He had the magic combination I needed in order to take this step with someone. There was the desire for me that I recognized, and my attraction for him, of course—but, it was the way in which he was so patient and careful in showing me he wanted me which allowed me to trust him. I’d never felt as cherished as when he pulled me into his arms and brought me to his bedroom.

  Somehow, I knew I could trust Caleb with my body. He would make me forget the horrible nightmare of Marcus. He would give me pleasure. He could make me whole again, and he’d do it all without trying to trap me, or control me, or hurt me. I didn’t want to think about anything more than just this night—my first with a man who made me feel like a desirable woman instead of a whore to fuck.

  And I wanted him.

  As he’d held me close in his huge bed, stroking over my hair and touching me with tenderness I’d never really known from anyone before, I knew what I wanted to do.