Be My Hope: A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 7)

by Nia Arthurs

  Eleven

  Tierra

  I’m breaking all the rules right now. Threatening the stability of my job. Throwing caution to the wind.

  I don’t freaking care anymore.

  “What should I start with?” I let my lips brush Brett’s ear. “A lap dance?”

  He stiffens.

  I throw my legs over his lap and straddle him.

  His body is hard against mine.

  I press my palms into his chest.

  Rock solid.

  Abs of steel.

  Hours of sweat, discipline and hard work.

  Just like him.

  So rigid.

  So… intense.

  He’s probably a beast at the gym.

  I let my hands travel up.

  My fingers dig into his shoulders. “Should I dance for you, Brett?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m lowering my standards.” I move my hips against his in a slow grind. Hear his muted groan. Feel his body’s excitement.

  Damn.

  I didn’t expect that.

  Didn’t expect my own desire to roar to life.

  I push down further on his lap. Slowly move my waist in circles. “I’m going to sleep with you. Let’s do it.”

  He grunts. Is that a yes? A no?

  I stop.

  Wait until his dangerous eyes meet mine.

  They’re more black than silver now.

  Darkness choking out the moon.

  Shadows overpowering the light.

  Confusion swarms in his eyes.

  Lust.

  Doubts.

  Thoughts of it shouldn’t be this easy.

  I see it all.

  And my heart thunders in my chest even as I buck against him again.

  I don't know what I’m doing.

  Only that I’m offended.

  And flustered.

  And desperate for his touch.

  And aware that I shouldn’t be.

  Only that Brett is dangerous.

  And I’m susceptible to him.

  And maybe he does have a point. Maybe we should just explore a physical passion now rather than trying to tiptoe around it for thirty days. It’s clear that we don't know how to function as two strangers. Or as matchmaker and client. Or as friends.

  It’s clear I’m out of my mind.

  Out of my depths.

  Swimming in the deep end.

  But I’m flailing.

  Somehow.

  I’m keeping afloat before I’m drowned in him.

  Before I lose myself completely.

  “Let’s do it right now,” I whisper in a hot, desperate voice.

  His fingers brush my thigh.

  I can feel him through the fabric.

  Every inch of him.

  My body lights up in all the right ways.

  Anger pulses through me, but it doesn’t temper my lust.

  It only shoots it higher. To catastrophic heights.

  I feel like I’m spinning.

  Like everything is blurring into one.

  “Let’s spend the night together,” I wrap my arms around his neck. Drop my head to his. Lower my lips on top of his mouth so my bottom lip nudges his in a seductive tug. “But, when the sun comes up, I never want to see you again.”

  He goes stiff beneath me.

  Grunts in displeasure.

  It’s an instinctual sound and one I’m sure Brett didn’t even know he could make.

  But I don’t care.

  It doesn’t matter if he just realized he wants me for more than a night.

  For maybe a week.

  Or maybe he wants me in his bed for a month.

  That’s not the point.

  “You only get one night,” I hiss. “And after that, I don’t want to hear from you.” My eyes sharpen and anger snaps out of my voice. “Don’t give me your freaking handouts. Don’t make me look like a woman who needs to sleep with a billionaire to make it because she can’t hack it on her own.”

  His fingers tighten on my leg.

  Grip me hard.

  Dig into my soft, sensitive flesh.

  Annoyance crackles from his eyes.

  Disapproval.

  He doesn’t agree with my assessment.

  Bull.

  That’s exactly what he thinks of me.

  Exactly what I’m offering.

  I grind my hips on top of his and tuck his ear into my mouth. “If I’m going to get naked for you, if I’m going to let you part my thighs and have all of me, it’s because I want it. Not because of what you can do for me.”

  He growls. “You misunderstood.”

  “No, you misunderstood.” I breath hard.

  My chest brushes against his.

  Soft against hard.

  White against black.

  We’re in some raw, barren place that feels dangerous and unfamiliar.

  Emotions pull me apart.

  Lust. Anger.

  Desperation. Pleasure.

  Electricity buzzes through my veins.

  I touch his jaw. Feel the hard bristles of his stubble against my fingertips. “I’m a freaking amazing matchmaker. You have no idea what you’re missing out on when you only take this part of me.” I move my hips. Moan slightly as he shifts against me in return. It takes me a moment to catch my breath, but I do. “I can give you more than this pathetic one-night stand. I can find that one person you’ve been searching for. That one person who’ll make every day feel more meaningful and bright. The one person you can come home to and know that you’ll spend the rest of your life together.”

  Brett groans.

  His fingers move up to my waist.

  Caress it.

  Draws on top of my skin in slow, excruciatingly tender circles.

  My heart bucks. “But I won’t do any of that if you don’t want it.”

  He kisses my neck. His big hand presses firmly on my back. “I only know I want you.”

  “That’s it?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “That’s all you want?”

  Silence.

  I throw my head back. Center myself on him.

  Move my hips again. Faster this time.

  Damn. He feels so good.

  This is wrong.

  So why the hell does it feel so right?

  I’m burning up from the inside.

  Being scorched by this blistering heat.

  I want more.

  All of it.

  “Should I take off more of my clothes, Brett?” I whisper. My fingers reach out and snag around the smooth edges of his shirt buttons. “Should I take off yours?”

  His eyes meet mine.

  I glare back, eager for him to say yes. To say no.

  I don’t know where all this confidence is coming from.

  Maybe it’s the anger.

  Maybe it’s the lust arching up my spine.

  I know the control I have is an illusion.

  Sand slipping out of my fingers.

  I’m playing with matches.

  With fire.

  With a whole damn blaze.

  Brett’s eyes flutter shut.

  He whispers my name against the pulse trembling at the base of my throat. “Tierra…”

  “If this is all you want, you can have it. You can have it right now. You can have it until the sun comes up. But you’ll never ever have more. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

  I climb off him before I combust.

  Plant my shaky feet on the ground.

  Slip my fingers beneath the straps of my tank top as if I’ll tear it off.

  Wait for an instruction from him.

  For a decision.

  Silence swiftly shoots through the room.

  Fills up all the nooks and crannies.

  Underlines the soft piano music filtering from downstairs.

  The whoosh of the spectacular indoor waterfall.

  My heart thunders, mixing with the rhythm of the chaos. “So where are we do
ing this? Here? In your car? At your house?” I laugh softly. “I sound pathetic, don’t I? There’s something so demeaning about it. At least the professionals are getting paid.”

  “Stop.” His jaw clenches.

  “Oh? None of that pleases you, Mr. McQueen?” I sneer at him. “It’s not exciting enough? Do you prefer somewhere semi-public? A park bench? A subway station? There’s something about almost being caught, right?”

  “I said stop.” He shoots to his feet. Moves so fast his chair topples behind him.

  It slams to the ground.

  The loud clack punctuates the tension in the room.

  There’s a wild current in the air.

  Carries a distinct fragrance.

  It smells like desire.

  Like hate.

  Like… passion.

  There’s moisture between my thighs.

  I can’t deny that this is the craziest, most impulsive thing I’ve ever done.

  If Brett asked me to undress right now, I would.

  And I’d like it.

  As much as I’d hate myself for liking it.

  For being so cheap.

  And easy.

  For failing at my job.

  And letting Kayla, Amina and Venus down.

  For letting Sharon McQueen down.

  Thinking about the consequences of what I’m about to do, about my job and my bosses and giving up what I want—what I really want, snaps things into sharp focus.

  And it makes me quiver.

  “This is all I am to you.” I swallow hard as tears crackle in my voice. “This—” I gesture to my body, “this is all you see. All I amount to. A warm place where you can stick your—”

  Brett walks swiftly over to me. Cups my jaw tightly. “That’s not true.”

  “Then prove it,” I spit.

  His nostrils flare. His ears are red.

  Not from shyness.

  From anger.

  He’s afraid he’s being played.

  Feels manipulated.

  Feels out of control.

  Because deep down, he doesn’t want me.

  He doesn’t want any of the girls he gets naked with and drags to bed.

  He wants peace.

  I know that because all of my clients were searching for that peace.

  All of them.

  Everyone knows, deep down, they were made for something more.

  Some drown it out, sure. It’s easy to ignore that voice when you’re doing exactly what you want whenever you want to.

  But it’s there.

  And it’s there in Brett.

  I’d stake my life on it.

  Sharon said in her email that her brother was more than a rich playboy.

  At first, I didn’t believe her, but the more time I spent with him yesterday, the more I found that to be true.

  In the club, he followed me out so he could take me home.

  He stepped in to defend me when that guy assaulted me.

  He gently looked after my hand at the pharmacy.

  He would have stayed to protect me from Kenny and Anthony if I’d given him the slightest inclination that I was in distress.

  That’s the real Brett McQueen.

  That’s the guy I want to see.

  The guy I want to find a woman for.

  The guy you like.

  I brush that last thought away. “You can have one night or forever, Brett.”

  He turns away. Runs trembling fingers through his hair. Lets out a roar of frustration.

  I wait for him, breathing hard.

  He bends down and picks my jacket off the floor. Moving so close to me I can feel the heat searing off his body, he slips the blazer around my shoulders.

  I wait for him to say something.

  He doesn’t.

  Jaw flexing, Brett strides past me and disappears down the stairs.

  Twelve

  Brett

  If I’d remained in that room, I would have taken her.

  I would have thrown her on the table.

  Jerked off those sexy pants and everything she had on underneath.

  Buried myself so deep in her she would have been screaming my name in ecstasy.

  But I chose not to.

  I chose to walk away.

  To cool off.

  Any other woman and I wouldn’t have made that call.

  Any other woman and it wouldn’t have freaking mattered to me whether I offended them or not. Whether I made them cry or not. Whether I was being a jerk or not.

  If any other woman had sat on my lap and ground into me the way Tierra just did, it wouldn’t have been a question.

  Hell yeah, I would have pounded into her all night.

  I wouldn’t feel a freaking drop of remorse about using her.

  None at all.

  But it’s Tierra.

  And, for some mysterious reason, she’s different.

  She means more.

  Enough that, even though she was offering herself up to me—

  Even though she was pissed off and turned on and it would have been the wildest, most passionate night of both our lives—

  I walked away.

  Like an idiot.

  Because it’s Tierra.

  And she’s different.

  I jog down the stairs, my feet drumming a frantic rhythm that doesn’t hold a candle to the thumping of my heart.

  The hostess smiles brightly when she sees me, but the smile dims as she takes in my rumpled hair and my unbuttoned shirt. “Mr. McQueen?”

  “There’s been an emergency and I have to leave early. Send my date home, would you? Make sure she’s comfortable.”

  Her eyebrows hike.

  “By the way,” I step back to the podium, “she’s going to put up a fuss. Just work your customer service charm on her and make sure she gets in the car. I need to know that she got home safely.” I slide an extra incentive over the podium.

  She takes it and smiles brightly, all her concerns shoved away to be taken out and rehashed later to her friends in the workroom.

  I storm out of the restaurant and nod at the valet.

  Two minutes later, my car arrives.

  I drive off, pressing my foot flat against the gas pedal.

  The needle inches up.

  My vehicle responds, throwing it’s power forward and catapulting me down the street.

  I’m pushing the speed-limit.

  Wish I could find an inch of me that cared.

  I wind the window down. Let the coastal breeze tug at my hair.

  My body’s raging.

  Throbbing.

  Protesting.

  Why the hell did you walk away, Brett. She was right there. She was prime for the taking.

  Yeah but at what cost?

  Never seeing her again isn’t a freaking option.

  Maybe it was yesterday.

  But not today.

  Even if I’d called her bluff. Blew her mind tonight and tried to pursue her tomorrow, it wouldn’t work. I know it like I know the back of my own hand.

  Tierra might be unable to hide her attraction for me, but she’s a woman of her word. Like she said tonight when she rubbed that tight little body on my lap and drove me crazy—she was lowering her standards for me.

  Her character won’t allow her to keep seeing me after I take her to bed.

  It won’t sit well with her.

  She’ll cut me out.

  And then where will I be?

  Back to screwing blondes who’s names end in ‘a’?

  Exactly.

  I take a left. Off the freeway.

  Head toward the hills closer to the beach.

  I flick on the radio. A twangy guitar cuts through my speakers. A man moans about losing his love and his pickup truck. Damn. The radio has been on this channel since I dropped Tierra home yesterday.

  I slam the heel of my hand on the steering wheel.

  The hell am I supposed to do?

  If I want to keep seeing Tierra, I need to pla
y along with her ridiculous matchmaker games and seriously consider the women she wants to shove at me.

  But if I do that, if I only keep her around as my matchmaker, I won’t be allowed to touch her.

  And there’s no freaking way I’m keeping my hands off her.

  Not after this.

  Not after tonight.

  Talk about a big freaking dilemma.

  I keep driving. Keep kicking up dust outside my truck and inside my own, frantic mind.

  The hell was Sharon thinking? Seriously.

  The freaking hell?

  Faster.

  I thrust my foot on the gas pedal.

  The engine roars.

  The needle climbs.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  Suddenly, my car hits a dune.

  It streaks over the edge of the disappearing road and veers into a ditch.

  I smack my head hard on the steering wheel.

  The force is enough to trigger the air bags.

  I bat the big white pillows away and start the car.

  It coughs.

  Sputters.

  Again.

  It sparks and then rumbles to life.

  I slam my foot on the gas pedal.

  Kick up sand and dust.

  The car sinks deeper into the mud and refuses to budge.

  I curse. Slam the steering wheel and the air bag beneath my fists.

  When I’m bruised and out of breath, I call Hansley.

  He picks up. Loud music blasts behind him. A girl giggles from somewhere in the vicinity. He invited me to hang out with him and some other friends, but I begged off because of my meeting with Tierra.

  “Brett?” Hansley yells.

  I grit my teeth.

  Damn.

  I hate asking for help.

  I’m about to consider hanging up when Hansley yells, “Where are you? Dude, is everything okay?”

  “I need a tow.”

  “What?”

  I tell Hansley where I am and then abandon the car.

  Hiking down the road, I keep going until I spot a taxi. Twenty minutes later, I’m changed and at home, working to forget about everything that happened today, when I hear footsteps thumping up the stairs.

  A minute later, my office door blows open. "The hell, Brett?”

  “I told you to only use that key for emergencies,” I say calmly, adjusting the glasses on my face.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I told you I was fine.”

  “I told you to wait there.”