by Nia Arthurs
I’d roll over and Tierra would be there.
My arms would go around her.
Pull her to me.
She’d melt against my body.
Groan into my chest.
Dig her fingernails into my shoulders.
Our bodies would become one.
One soul.
One unit.
I stumble back. Shake my head.
No.
That life isn’t for me.
I don’t do forevers.
This matchmaking effort is happening only because Shar set it up as her last request. I sure as hell won’t be visiting Mom, so this is the only thing I can offer.
Tierra wipes the side of her mouth. “You’re here.”
I nod.
She lifts her arms over her head. Thrusts out her chest. Yawns.
Adorable.
“Is your meeting over?”
“Yes.” I check my watch. “Let me take you home.”
“No. I’m good. Let’s do the interview.”
“Now?”
“I only have thirty days, remember?” She arches an eyebrow. “I don't have any time to waste.”
I smirk at her. “You’re a workaholic.”
“We have that in common,” she snaps back.
I let her have that one.
Striding around the desk, I settle behind her. She stiffens, but I don’t touch her. Reaching around her shoulders, I balance my hands on the desk and bring my head close to her ear.
She turns slightly.
Her lips are so close.
If I just lean in…
“What are you doing?”
“Just observing the way you made yourself at home.”
“Was I supposed to sleep in that?” She points to my wingback chairs.
“What’s wrong with my couch?”
“It looks beautiful but uncomfortable.” Her gaze moves around my office. “As does everything in here.”
“Gorgeous and functional. That’s the way I like it.”
She tilts her chin up. “Are you going to feed me?”
I chuckle. “Is that a request?”
“I’m tired and hungry. Never a good combination.” Her lips quirk up. “It’s in your best interest to fix that problem or I might set you up with a brunette instead of a blonde.”
“You’re not very good at threat-making, are you?”
“I’m a woman of peace.”
I chuckle. “Stick around me. I’ll sharpen you up.”
“I believe you.” Her head angles close to mine.
My heartbeat kicks up another notch.
Our gazes linger on each other.
Hold.
The moment stretches out.
Damn. I want to kiss her so badly it’s tearing me up inside.
Tierra leans back. Regains her bearings. “Chinese?”
“Pho?”
“Dumplings.”
“How basic.” I lean away from her before I do something stupid. I promised Tierra I wouldn’t touch her and I’m honoring that. Even if it’s driving me up a damn wall.
“Orange chicken is basic.”
“Orange chicken is everything. Please don’t let me hear you say that again.”
She laughs.
We order and then switch places—Tierra in the couch and me in my chair. It smells like her. Something lightly floral and feminine.
Damn.
I hope it lingers for a while.
“Should we begin?” Tierra pulls up her feet and balances her book on her knees.
I notice that she’s not wearing shoes.
My heartbeat picks up.
Whether she’s doing that because she remembers my comment about her heels earlier today or because she’s just that damn comfortable in my presence, it doesn’t matter. I love seeing her so relaxed. So content.
I want that.
All of that.
I join her on the couch.
She visibly tenses. Gathers herself.
Sinks back into the chair.
She presses her lips together. Brings the book up to her face.
Like a shield.
Her lipstick—something light and glossy and perfect that drives me out of my freaking mind—smears against the light plastic of her book. The kind of lipstick that rubs off. That will brand my skin.
Why is she so nervous? She’s in control here. Fully has the upper hand.
Maybe she’s scared that I’ll go back on my word. Try to make a move here in my spacious office with the dim lights and a midnight view of the city.
Or maybe she’s scared that I won’t.
The thought twists a knot in my gut, but I don’t allow my brain to go in that direction. I certainly don’t allow my body to consider how badly it wants her.
And how badly she wants me.
It’s written all over her.
The way she’s biting on her bottom lip. The flare of her nostrils. The way she’s pressing her thighs together.
Damn, those thighs—
It would be so easy to pry them apart. Press them against my cheeks.
Have her clawing at my skin, begging for mercy.
Not that I’d offer any.
Not to you, princess.
I try to focus on the conversation at hand. On the question that she hasn’t asked yet.
“T?”
She turns a few inches toward me. Taps her nails on the book. “I’ll start off easy.”
“My name?”
Her almond eyes glimmer. “What’s a perfect day for you?”
Being with her.
I don’t say that.
I’m not letting my confused heart steer this conversation.
It doesn’t matter that she’s the most stunning woman in the universe to me. It doesn’t matter that she’s the only woman I want.
Right now, I have to play along.
I need to give her something she can use to match me with someone else.
Either I go along with this or I never see her again.
Slowly, I rub my chin. “Sleeping in.”
“Alone?” She jots it down.
My eyebrows arch.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m asking as your matchmaker.”
“Didn’t sound like it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice hardens. Her back stiffens with it. She crosses her arms over her chest. Sets her legs on the ground.
“Relax. You’re making it too obvious.”
“That I hate you?”
“That you want to touch me.” I ease over. Move closer to her. “Next question.”
“Go back.” She sticks her pen out at the other end of the couch.
“I’m stretching my legs.”
“You think you’re slick?” There’s amusement in her voice.
Damn, she’s as beautiful slightly pissed off as she is when she’s laughing.
There’s a unique strength in her.
Not the kind that’s rough, jarring and overdone.
It’s a beautiful kind of broken.
A different kind.
Like she’s been cracked. And then she filled the cracks with gold.
“What do you value most?” she asks.
“It used to be family.”
“And now?”
I shrug.
The only family I have left is sitting in a jail cell.
And I don’t talk to her.
I try not to ever think about her.
“I guess it’s the company,” I say.
“You guess?”
“Money has it’s perks.”
“But it can’t buy happiness.”
I smirk. “It gets close.”
“Yeah, but close isn’t there.” Tierra’s eyes meet mine. Something passes between us.
Understanding.
It spears me in half.
Leaves me bare for her exploration.
For her judgement.
She scoots closer to me. “Brett.”
“Yes
?”
“Tell me about your mother.”
I clench my jaw. “She’s in prison.” My eyes find hers. “But you probably already knew that.”
The tabloids dug up all my personal history. I managed to get some of it taken down.
But not all.
Not everything.
“And how do you feel about her?”
Darkness crawls into my soul. “She murdered my father.” I pierce Tierra with a hard look. “And now she’s dead to me.”
Seventeen
Tierra
Brett’s voice changes. Deepens. Rings with anger.
And hurt.
I get the feeling he’d never admit that though.
Never admit to being sad.
Or empty.
Or flailing.
He’s always got to have that control.
Even if he doesn’t, he needs the appearance of it.
But I’m seeing the cracks in the mask.
I see it because I’ve been broken too.
Maybe not in such a harsh, tragic way.
But I have my own scars.
My own pain.
My own struggles.
It’s not the same thing.
Not at all.
But I still connect.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I say, reaching out and touching him.
It’s instinctual.
Couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
Besides, this moment has crawled beyond the underlying sexual tension that snaps in the air when we’re together.
It’s deeper than that.
It’s… more.
Because he’s letting me see him.
Him.
The real Brett.
Beyond the blustering billionaire persona.
His fingers close around mine. “You asked.”
“I’m listening.”
He takes a deep breath. Stares at his shoes.
His thumb gently rubs against my knuckles. “My parents were both alcoholics. Screw ups. Maybe that’s why they were so in love with each other.” He falters. Regains his cool facade. “They met in high school and got together quickly. Married straight after graduation. Got pregnant with me a month later.”
“They were so young,” I murmur, imagining how stressful that must have been.
“Young. Immature. Piss broke. We never had enough food. Enough money. And what little we did have was split between booze for them and food for me.” He stares out the window as if he’s not here with me anymore. As if he’s back in his childhood. “I remember digging out of trash cans and stealing half-eaten food left on top of tables at lunch. I remember getting stuffed into dumpsters by kids who said I’d always belong there.”
My heart twists. Knots. Bends.
Tears fill my eyes.
“When my parents had Shar, I promised myself that I would never let anyone hurt her that way. That I’d always protect her.” He clears his throat. “So when my parents started arguing more and more, I paid attention. Made sure she was out of harms way.”
“They got physical?” I ask.
“They were passionate people.” He looks down at our hands again. “My mother was devoted to him, but my father felt he had to share that passion with someone other than his wife.”
“You mean he cheated?”
“Mom found out. Came home with a pistol.” His words slow. His thick eyebrows form angry slashes over stormy grey eyes. “I heard the first gunshot from my bedroom. Shar was sleeping, but it woke her up. I remember how scared she was. Too scared to even cry out loud. We’d both heard gunshots before. We both knew what it meant to hear one so close by.”
“Did you go outside?” I ask, slipping my hand on his back and rubbing gently.
“I had to check. I never thought…” He stops. “Dad was on the ground. One bullet in his chest. He looked at me. Said something. I couldn’t hear. Then I saw Mom pull the trigger the second time. Saw his chest buck. Saw the blood leaking out of his body.” He shudders. “Mom screamed at me. She had his blood on her face. She looked crazy. Unhinged. She said love did this. Love made her grab a gun and shoot him.”
Horror seeps through me.
No wonder Brett has such an aversion to falling in love.
His mother taught him that it could go very wrong, very quickly.
That it was dangerous. Volatile.
It could wreck up families. Drive people to murder.
It could send a woman to prison for life.
His thumb slows over my knuckles, absently rubbing against my skin. “I haven’t seen her once since they took her away.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“Shar and I went to live with our grandmother. We were just as poor, but at least we had food to eat. I worked my way through high school and founded our company on the side so I could save up for Shar’s college.”
“Shar’s college? Not yours?”
He shrugs.
It’s clear he never thought about himself.
Not once.
The kind of love he has to offer—
It’s so selfless.
So committed.
My free hand lands on his arm, my dark skin highlighted by his pale tone. My warmth bleeding into his cold flesh. “That must have been so tough.”
“It is what it is. Everybody has a sob story.”
He’s being far too generous. “Not everyone works hard enough to become a billionaire after the beginning they had.”
His accomplishments mean so much more now that I know what he’s fought and what obstacles he had to move to get there.
And he shared it all with a mask of casual indifference.
I had to eat out of the garbage.
I had to take care of my sister.
I watched my mother shoot my father.
The words rolled off his tongue like he was rattling an obituary.
Maybe most people wouldn’t have heard the little tremble in his voice. Maybe they would have been caught up in the billionaire with the world at his fingertips.
But I heard the pain.
A pain he’d worked so hard to hide.
And it makes me want to reach out and hug him.
To soothe him in any way I can.
Even if it’s just listening.
Holding his hand.
Being the one woman who doesn’t want anything from him—not his money or his connections or his influence.
Nothing except the man behind the millions.
Nothing except Brett McQueen.
He’s extraordinary.
So extraordinary that I understand even less now what he could possibly want from a girl like me.
Heat seeps into my bones.
My veins.
My heart.
Spreads through me.
Building and building.
It feels like the world is sitting on top of me.
Or maybe it’s his trust that’s so heavy.
I get the distinct feeling that he’s never been so open with anyone before.
But Brett chose me.
Me.
And I’m overwhelmed by it.
“What about you?” He turns his body to face mine. “You started making matches from the internet. You kept encouraging people to believe in love. And that was after your idiot ex made the biggest mistake of his life.”
I smile softly. Duck my head.
“How did you find out?” He pauses. “If you want to share.”
“I caught them together.”
Brett stiffens.
“Yup.” I lick my lips, recalling that horrible moment when I walked in on my sister and my boyfriend having an intimate moment in my house. “It was Christmas.”
Brett growls. “No…”
“I heard sounds in the hallway. I went out and my sister was there. Head thrown back. Panties at her ankles. Anthony was kneeling in front of her. I still remember that look on his face. It was horror, but it was relief too. He was glad
I’d seen. He was glad it was over.”
“He was a coward.”
“I think he didn’t know how to let me down easy. Or maybe he didn’t want to lose the woman who cooked and cleaned for him.” My lips tremble. I meet Brett’s eyes as shame fills me. “I was the idiot.”
“No.” His fingers tighten around my hand. “That’s not true.”
“I was. I saw my sister and boyfriend spending all that time together and I stupidly believed that it was nothing. I was ecstatic even.” My voice cracks. “I wanted us to be one happy family. I just… didn’t realize how happy they were making each other.”
“Did they at least apologize?”
“Apologize?” I chuckle. "You don’t know my sister. I think the explanation was ‘things got out of hand and why didn’t you try harder to keep your man’?”
Brett’s jaw clenches.
“At first I was really angry, but then I took a step back. I noticed that they were still together after six months. And then after a year. And then after two years. Now, I just… I try to see it as a match I made by accident.”
“You didn’t make that match. They betrayed you. And they didn’t have the freaking decency to be ashamed about it.”
“Family’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated. You deserve more, T.” Brett’s fingers brush my cheek. The look in his eyes takes my breath away. “You deserve the world.”
My heart thumps. This interview was never about me, yet he found a way to turn it around and listen. He found a way to be there.
Brett’s gaze turns intense.
I squirm, recognizing the hold he has on me, the disaster I can see charging down the tracks if I keep moving in this direction.
But I can’t stop.
He’s touched me deeply, even without touching me.
We carved out a line. Shut the door on being lovers.
But that little voice in the back of my head telling me to remember my place has gone noticeably silent.
As Brett eases closer and runs his hands up my arms, over my shoulders and into my hair, I realize that the line I’m about to cross now leads right into heartbreak.
His voice is a warm rumble against my ear. “Don’t be scared.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I murmur. “You have nothing to lose.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You can’t promise me that.” Even as I say the words, they don’t deter me.
It’s like my brain is disconnected from my heart.
My gaze falls on his lips.
I’m suddenly desperate for a kiss.