by J. E. Parker
“Clara—” she started.
“Hey, do you think I could get him to bang me on his desk? What should I do? Just bend over it and hike my skirt up? Think that will entice him enough?” On a roll, I didn’t stop to take a single breath. “If not, I could leave a pair of still warm panties on his desk. Maybe send him a few nudes. Seriously, Shelby, there is no way I should pass this up. Have you looked at Brantley? I guarantee you he has a big—”
I snapped my mouth shut when a throat cleared from behind me.
Mortification set in.
I didn’t need to look to see who it was.
I already knew.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
Wide-eyed, Shelby nodded. “Uh, yeah.”
Mouth drier than the Sahara, I turned and came face-to-face with a smirking Brantley and a mortified looking Pop.
Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, I thought.
Pop pointed toward the door. “Now that I’m scarred for life, I’m heading home for the night.”
Shelby burst into a fit of laughter behind me.
I flipped her off in return.
“Sorry, Pop,” I said, embarrassed half to death. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Obviously. Jesus, Clara. You’re like a daughter to me. Now I have images stuck in my head that I’ll never be able to get rid of.”
Still laughing, Shelby grabbed her purse from the top of a moving box by the far wall. “Wait for me, Daddy. You can walk me home.” Walking up to me, she pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Just so you know, I will never let you live this down.”
Of that I had no doubt.
“Go home, Blondie, before I strangle you.”
More laughter.
Then, “Love you, Clara.”
“Love you too, nutjob.”
She walked forward and stopped next to Brantley. “Take care of my girl, B.”
“Always,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.
A second later, Pop and Shelby walked out, shutting the door behind them, leaving Brantley and I alone… well, except for our three sleeping kids.
Tension filled the room, making the air thick. I didn’t know where to look or what to say. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t think straight.
Brantley suddenly stalked toward me.
Trying to evade him—which was pointless—I hopped over an opened box and walked backward until my shoulder blades met the wall. Not giving me the chance to escape, Brantley caged me in with his arms. Instead of his actions terrifying me, him being so close made me feel drunker than a skunk.
“Sweaty office sex, huh?”
“You heard that, did you?”
He raked his tongue over his bottom lip. “Yeah, baby, I did.” Twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, he examined the fiery red strand. “But just for future reference, you don’t need to tempt me by bending over my desk.”
I sucked in a breath at his words.
“If you want my big cock, bella dama, all you have to do is ask for it.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Could. Not. Breathe!
“That is”—I forced a shaky smile—“good to know.”
Brantley smirked. “Are you going to stay here tonight?” Before I could form a reply, he continued with, “It’s late, Clara. I don’t want you and the boys on the road.”
Gathering all the strength I possessed, I tugged down the hem of my shirt, looked him right in the eyes and hissed, “Fine. Just don’t expect me to bend over any desks tonight.” I quirked a brow. “I’m not wearing my sexy panties.”
I was one hundred percent full of it.
I didn’t own a single pair of sexy panties.
Brantley chuckled as I ducked beneath his arm and headed for the stairs. Stopping on the bottom step, I looked back at him. “Since I’m being forced to stay here”—I scrunched my nose in faux exasperation—“I’m going to make myself at home in your fancy steam shower. I saw it earlier when I was unpacking your bathroom and I’m dying to get in. If I were you, I wouldn’t expect to see me until morning.”
“Care if I join you?” Brantley asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. “There’s plenty of room for two.”
He was kidding. Right?
“Sure thing,” I replied jokingly, believing he was. “Meet up there in ten minutes.”
After tossing him a flirty wink, I climbed the stairs.
Clara
Wearing nothing but an oversized bath towel, I stepped out of Brantley’s bathroom and into his dimly lit bedroom. Quietly humming to myself, I grabbed a comb out of his opened overnight bag and started to run it through my thick hair.
Hope he doesn’t mind that I’m borrowing his stuff.
Hey, maybe he’ll let me sleep in one of his shirts.
I was yanked from my thoughts when Brantley spoke from behind me. “Damn you’re beautiful,” he said, causing me to jump three feet in the dang air. Scared half to death, I spun around, coming face-to-face with him.
How I didn’t see him before, I don’t have a clue.
Dressed in nothing more than a pair of grey sweats and glasses, he sat at the end of his freshly-made-thanks-to-me bed, his heated gaze locked on me.
The sight of him made my mouth water.
I’d seen gorgeous men before, but no one, and I mean frickin’ no one, compared to Brantley Morgan. All hard planes, deep ripped valleys, and bronzed skin that I wanted to lick, he made my belly dip every time I looked at him. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help the way he affected me.
Heck, I doubt any woman could.
Sitting straight, he lifted his chin in the air. “Come here.” His eyes traveled down my body. “Now.”
The sharpness of the word now made my back snap straight.
Dark memories surfaced, and painful flashes appeared.
The one-word command was enough to throw me right back into a place I didn’t want to be. In the blink of an eye, the abuse, the unforgettable smell of Irish Whiskey and the feel of a strong hand wrapped around my throat all came rushing back.
Vulnerability crept in.
Paralyzing fear rose.
Feeling like I was losing control, I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No,” I said to Brantley, my heart in my throat. “I won’t come there.”
My tone was harsh, exactly how I intended.
The bed creaked as Brantley stood and crossed the room. His warmth blanketed my damp skin as he stopped in front of me, his big body only inches from mine. “Open your eyes.”
My eyes popped open, my nostrils flared.
Do not cower! The voice in my head screamed.
Fisted hands shaking, I stood tall, refusing to falter.
“Don’t you ever”—my voice shook—“tell me what to do.”
“Clara,” Brantley whispered. “Baby, I want you to take a breath for me.”
Taking a breath was impossible. No matter how hard I tried my body wouldn’t cooperate. Lungs frozen, I was suffocating under the weight of the memories that bared down on me.
My fingers tingled, my legs grew numb.
The panic and fear were pulling me under, down into the darkness from which they’d sprung. As strong as I tried to be, my knees were close to folding. Before long I would buckle, and shame, along with disgust, would set in.
Fight it! The voice in my head continued to yell.
My face heated, and my body swayed.
Brantley wrapped an arm around my lower back, holding me in place.
I jerked in response.
“You’re safe, Clara,” he said. “No one will hurt you. Not a ghost from the past and not someone from the present. I have you, bella dama. Please, baby, take a breath for me.” Brantley’s voice sounded as panicked as I felt. “Christ, you’re scaring the hell out of me. If you don’t come back to me, then I’ll have to run across the street and get Hope. Firecracker, I am begging you, please don’t make me do that. Evan will never let me live that shit down.”
For some stupid reason, the mention of he and Evan’s rivalry calmed me.
I took a small breath.
Brantley blew out a big one in return. “Good girl. Now can you take another one for me?”
I did and like magic, the pressure around my throat began to recede. The smell of Colin’s cologne disappeared and in its place was Brantley’s. The scent soothed me, making me feel safe.
I leaned forward, pressing my body against him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling leeched of energy.
My apology was unnecessary but automatic.
I could be blamed for a lot of things—like not leaving Colin sooner—but having scars wasn’t one of them. After spending over two years in therapy, I’d learned to accept that what happened to me wasn’t my fault.
I was a victim not an abuser.
Brantley ran his fingers through my wet hair. “You have no reason to be sorry. I know you’ve been through some shit.”
My smile was shaky. “I have scars, Brantley. A lot of them.” He opened his mouth to reply, but I kept speaking. “I’m working to get past certain things, but I have triggers, and if we’re going to spend time together, both in and out of work, then you need to understand some things.”
Brantley nodded toward the bed. “Come sit with me.”
He dropped his arm from my back, took my hand in his, and led me to the bed.
We sat down side by side on the plush mattress.
“I’m listening whenever you’re ready,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand.
The move was sweet. Comforting.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Try starting at the beginning.”
“Okay.” I took a steadying breath. “I grew up in foster care. My mom abandoned me at the birth and I went straight into the system. I was put up for adoption by the state, but no one ever chose me. One of my foster mom’s told me it was because I was a girl with red hair and freckles.”
Brantley tensed but remained silent.
Still, I didn’t miss the anger that swept over his face.
“I grew up hating myself because of that. I acted out a lot when I hit my teen years. I rebelled at every turn. Skipping school and sneaking out with boys I had no business spending time with were just two of the stupid things I did. Because of my behavior, I was shuttled from one foster home to the next. Nobody tolerated me for long.”
That truth still hurts…
“When I turned seventeen, I was sent to a group home for girls close to aging out of the system.” I paused. “That’s where things took a turn for the worse.”
Brantley’s jaw ticked. “Keep talking, bella dama. I’m listening.”
“There was this social worker who lived on site. Her name was Casey.” My stomach churned. “She was one of Colin’s friends.”
Unable to stand the feel of being touched any longer, I pulled my hand from his. He stayed still, giving me the space I needed.
“The first time I saw him, I thought he was the cutest guy I’d ever seen.” It was the truth. My late husband—may he rot in hell—had a lot of faults, but his looks weren’t one of them. “Both of my boys look just like him.”
Needing to move, I stood.
Pacing back and forth, I continued, “He took an interest in me right away. He didn’t even look at the other girls.” Pressure built in my chest as my panic fought to return. “Before long, he was taking me out on dates and spending every chance he got with me. It was all part of his plan, his game. By the time I turned eighteen and was released from foster care, I was head over heels in love with him.”
I’d been so damn stupid.
“So, when he asked me to move in with him, I didn’t hesitate. Not only did I love him, but I had nowhere else to go. The therapist I see now says Colin that knew those things. It’s why he chose me. My vulnerability, along with my desperation, made me the perfect target… The perfect victim.”
I stopped pacing and faced Brantley.
“I need you to understand that he never hurt me until we got married. If he had, I wouldn’t have married him.” My chest tightened, remembering that day. “But the moment he slipped his ring onto my finger he changed. The man he was, or at least the man I thought he was disappeared, and a monster took his place.”
Fighting for calm, Brantley clenched his hands into fists.
“Our wedding night was the first time he hurt me. After that, it happened nearly every day. He didn’t always beat me bloody but there was hardly a day that passed in which I wasn’t smacked, grabbed, or hurt in some way.”
Brantley stood and crossed the room, giving me his back. Fisted hands resting on his hips, he dipped his head forward and stared at the ground, fighting for control. “Clara,” he said, his voice guttural. “On your wedding night”—he took a deep breath—“how did he hurt you?”
My bottom lip trembled.
When I didn’t reply, Brantley turned. Slowly.
Our eyes locked.
“Tell me, Firecracker. What did that son of a bitch do?”
My strength wavered.
At that moment, all I wanted to do was run away and avoid the ugly truth of who I was and what I’d been through. But I couldn’t. The shame and disgust that was the essence of my being wouldn’t allow it.
With one look, Brantley would see the stains that marred my soul along with the scars that covered my tattered heart. Both shone like a beacon in the dark of the night, revealing how damaged I was.
Knowing I couldn’t hide, I decided to tell him the hideous truth.
Adding a dose of starch to my spine, I tried my best to be strong. I refused to cower, and I refused to swim in the self-doubt that weighed me down like a thousand-pound weight. Being a victim didn’t define me, but being a survivor sure as hell did.
Stand tall. Shoulders back. Fear nothing.
“He beat me,” I replied, my voice unwavering.
Brantley looked seconds from exploding but that didn’t stop me. He wanted to know my truths. Well, he was about to get them.
“There was no explanation why. He did it because he wanted to. He liked hurting me and watching me cry, but most of all he liked to hear me beg. According to my therapist, he was a true sadist.”
“Clara—” Brantley started.
“That night,” I interrupted him, “he snapped my collarbone, fractured my wrist. He broke my nose and blackened my right eye.” Before I could stop myself, I pushed forward, letting the words that hurt to think, much less say, roll off my tongue. “When he was finished beating me, I no longer possessed the strength to fight back. That’s when he took what I didn’t freely give.”
Brantley’s face reddened as the meaning of my words set in.
“He raped you?” He looked half a second away from slamming his shaking fist into the nearest wall as he waited for me to respond.
“Yes,” I replied. “More than once.”
Silence, thick and heavy, hung between us.
Drawing on the last of my waning courage, I moved forward, closing the space between us. Standing toe-to-toe, I looked up at him with my emotions, raw as they were, plastered across my face. “Now that you know some of the truth about me, I understand if you don’t want me to be Bella’s nanny anymore.”
He now sees the filth tainting me, I told myself.
“It will kill me to lose her, especially since I just got her, but I realize that I’m all sorts of messed up. The panic attacks, the anxiety…” I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head. “I fight hard to deal with them, but sometimes it’s a losing battle. I’ve made a ton of progress but it’s easy for me to slide backward and lose my footing. I try so hard—”
“Can I touch you?”
My eyes slid open. Confusion set in. “What?”
“I want to touch you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or make you upset again,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists.
The walls surrounding my heart cracked at his wo
rds. “Touch me,” I replied, my voice barely audible. “It’s okay.”
Brantley didn’t hesitate.
One of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other slid around my shoulders.
He pulled me close, pressing our bodies together.
Chin resting on top of my head, he whispered, “You are not messed up, bella dama. You’ve been through a lot of shit and have the scars to prove it. But so the hell what? They don’t prove a damn thing except you survived.”
“Brantley—”
“As for you not being Bella’s nanny,” he said, holding me tighter. “I don’t want anyone but you to take care of my little girl. If you want to walk away, then I can’t stop you, but I’ll be damned if I push you out the door.”
“I’m not walking away.” I bit my lower lip. “I love Bella. I have since the first moment I met her.” Brantley froze, his muscles went rigid. “And I’ll never stop.”
“That right there,” he replied, his tensed fingers digging into my skin, “is exactly why I want no one but you to keep her.”
Relief flooded me.
Needing to see his face, I tilted my head back and looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “What do you see when you look at me?”
Silence reigned as his eyes searched my own.
Then, “I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, along with an amazing mother and a loyal friend.” I didn’t move, didn’t speak. “I also see a fighter, one who’s had the deck stacked against her from the beginning but still came out on top.”
He dipped his face closer. Our noses almost touched.
Lips hovering over mine, he slid his hands into my hair and whispered, “But most importantly, I see the woman who I’m certain is only a kiss away from owning my heart.”
All the air left my lungs in one quick swoosh.
Just like I’d done in Grandmama’s garage, I took the opening I’d been handed.
“Brantley”—I dug my fingers into his triceps—“kiss me.”
“Your wish is my command, beautiful.”
It was the last thing he said before pressing his lips to mine.
Brantley
I was lying on my side on the floor.