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

by Nia Arthurs

  Tierra dips her head against my shoulder.

  I lower my chin. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend that I didn’t hate you for what you did.”

  Another tear falls down her cheek.

  “I’m not going to pretend that it wasn’t hard losing both my parents. That it wasn’t hard getting pitied and bullied and ignored because of something I had no control over. That it wasn’t hard seeing Sharon endure the same, knowing that I couldn’t protect her from the gossip or the pain.”

  Tierra sniffs. “Brett…”

  “But if this is the end, I don’t want you to go without telling you that… I… see you. And I’ll work towards forgiving you.” My chest heaves. Emotions swell in my voice. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Mom remains limp on the bed. The heart monitor beeps unsteadily.

  And then it starts shrieking.

  The door bursts open.

  Nurses fly in.

  A doctor barks orders.

  Tierra and I are shoved out of the way and told to stay back as the medical team does all they can to snatch my mother from Death’s hands.

  But they don’t win the fight.

  I wrap my arms around Tierra, holding her as tightly as she holds me while the heart monitor plays a flat note.

  One long, green line.

  The doctor hooks his stethoscope over his shoulder and grimly calls out the time of death.

  I feel the tears leaking. Feel my body trembling.

  It’s taking everything out of me to just stay upright.

  I hug Tierra even closer. Haul her into me.

  Absorb her light.

  Her warmth.

  Because inside, I feel so cold.

  She’s crying hard.

  Her tears soak through my shirt.

  She’s breaking my heart.

  Or maybe I’m breaking hers.

  Either way, I reach for her and find the comfort I know I don’t deserve. Not when everything inside me longs to be numb.

  We leave the room.

  I don’t want to see the body anymore.

  It’s over.

  Mom’s gone.

  But I got to say what needed to be said.

  I got to see her for the last time.

  That's enough.

  It has to be enough.

  As we walk out of the room, the police officer stretches out and clasps my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I want to tell him it’s no loss.

  That I haven’t seen my mother in twenty years.

  That I won’t miss her just because I can’t ever look at her again.

  But I can’t.

  Because it hurts.

  Even if I hated her, at least I knew she was alive for me to hate.

  And now I’m left with nothing.

  No one.

  Tierra reaches out. Squeezes me tightly. “I’m here. I’m here, Brett.”

  I hug her to me.

  Soak her in.

  Her scent.

  Her slender arms.

  Her soft body.

  Damn. I hope Mom was wrong.

  I hope love doesn’t destroy everything.

  Because Tierra has the power to obliterate me so totally, I’ll never, ever recover.

  Twenty-Five

  Tierra

  It’s been four hours since Brett’s mom died.

  Four hours since I saw the man I adore crumpling in my arms.

  Saw the tears flashing in his silver eyes.

  So much pain.

  So much hurt.

  At the end, it wasn’t his bitterness that leaked out of him. It wasn’t the anger or the blame.

  It was hopelessness.

  As long as his mother was alive, he had the hope of reconciliation.

  Now she’s gone and he barely managed to release a fraction of what he really needed to say.

  I stir the soup bubbling in the pot.

  My mind flits to Mrs. McQueen. It was as if she’d been waiting for those words. Waiting to hear her son say that he’d forgive her. Even if he couldn’t right at that moment.

  It was freeing.

  Not only for her.

  For Brett too.

  I turn the stove off. Pour the soup out into one of Brett’s fancy bowls.

  His house has feminine touches all over it.

  There, in that painting on the wall.

  There, in the pillows brightening up his stiff black sofa.

  There, in the little brackets spelling ‘Home Sweet Home’ from the hook.

  Sharon’s touches.

  Or maybe some other woman’s.

  I push that voice back.

  Brett said he never brought any other woman home.

  I believe him.

  I believe I’m special to him.

  The way he clung to me at the hospital earlier today…

  Maybe that was just grief. He would have acted that way with anybody.

  I cringe. Grab the tray. Carry the soup out to the living room.

  Brett’s been sitting on the floor and staring at the envelope on the coffee table since he drove us here.

  That’s it.

  He hasn’t moved.

  Hasn’t even gotten up to use the bathroom.

  He’s just… staring at it.

  I set the tray of soup down on the floor next to him.

  Gently, I say, “You should eat.”

  “Hey.” He turns to me. Tilts the corners of his lips up.

  It should be a smile.

  All the facial muscles are there for it to be one.

  But he can’t quite pull it off.

  It’s like grief has shrouded this cloak of heaviness on him. Darkness taints every moment. As if he’s pushing through molasses and shadows just to be here with me. To be present.

  “This is my mother’s recipe.” I jut my chin to the soup. “I don’t cook as well as her, but I hope it’s at least edible.”

  “I’m sure it’s great.” Even as he says the words, he makes no move to pick up the food.

  I lean over. Blow on the spoon.

  Offer it to him.

  He sucks on it gently.

  I hold my breath, waiting to hear what he’ll say.

  The shadows seep into his silver-grey eyes. “It’s delicious.”

  “That’s not the expression of someone who thinks the food is great.”

  “I was just thinking that… my mom never cooked.” His jaw flexes. “She wasn’t the type. So my dad had to make all the food. He did it without complaining most of the time but, as soon as I was older, he shoved a box of mac and cheese at me and told me to figure it out.”

  “Does that make you angry?”

  “No, it… she was never a ‘typical’ mom, you know?”

  I nod.

  Brett glances at me. The darkness leaves his expression and, when his lips curl up in a ghost of a smile, it appears genuine. He reaches out to me. “Come here.”

  I scoot over.

  Settle my body into his side.

  His muscular arm drops around my shoulder.

  Holds me close.

  It shouldn’t feel so right, being with him.

  But it does.

  Every molecule in my body strains toward him.

  He’s a powerful magnet.

  And I’m a helpless metal pin.

  There’s no way I can resist him.

  No way I’m spared from being swept up by his massive presence.

  His confidence.

  His strength.

  And even his weakness.

  Right now, with Brett at his most vulnerable, it’s like the magnet’s power has been turned up to ten.

  Anything he wants—

  Anything he needs—

  I want to be there for him.

  My stinking heart doesn’t care that he’s probably going to leave.

  Eventually.

  After I give my entire self to him.

  It doesn’t matter if he crushes me.

&
nbsp; At least, I can convince myself it doesn't matter when I’m in his arms.

  When I leave his presence though—

  “Thank you for being here,” he whispers and then presses a kiss to my temple.

  Damn.

  Just like that, I melt.

  It doesn’t even take much.

  All of a sudden, I’m completely at his mercy.

  Wrapped around him like ivy on a pillar.

  An eyesore.

  An annoyance.

  I’m one dot of sand in his vast, choppy ocean.

  Easily laid waste by the hint of a storm.

  Laying my head on his shoulder, I stare at the envelope. “What's that?”

  “The first and last letter from my mom. She sent it while she was in prison.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. "Shar gave her my address.”

  “You think your sister knew that your mother was sick?”

  “Not sure.” He purses his lips. “Something tells me that if Shar knew, she would have moved the heavens and the earth to get me to see her. There’s no way she’d leave things as is. We all thought we had more time.”

  “It makes you want to live every moment to the fullest, doesn’t it?”

  He turns to me. Nuzzles my neck. “It makes me want to kiss you.”

  Heat blazes through my body.

  His eyes are darkening again.

  But not with grief.

  I laugh softly. “You’re stalling.”

  “At least you’re admitting you’re a beautiful distraction.”

  “Open the letter, Brett,” I say, amusement riding the currents beneath my breathless voice.

  He drops his hands to my thighs.

  Slides it up.

  Up.

  Up.

  I melt beneath his touch.

  Shudder against his sensual kiss.

  He pulls back, just enough to speak, but his lips still tug sexily against my mouth when he whispers, “I’m supposed to give you a tour of my place.” His fingers reach up. Caress my cheek. “But I only want to show you the bedroom.”

  He’s trying to use me.

  Use my body.

  To keep him from opening that letter.

  To hide away from his mother’s last words—whatever they may be.

  I know it.

  I can see it clear as day.

  But somehow, when it comes to this man, I can’t say no.

  Not when he’s touching me like that.

  Not when he’s kissing me like that.

  Still, I try.

  “Brett…” I gasp as his hot lips find my neck.

  My back arches.

  My toes curl.

  I flap my hands around, searching for something solid to hold on to when it feels like my world is spinning.

  “Brett… the soup.”

  It’s the lamest thing I can say.

  I’m aware.

  But my heart thumps so loudly I can barely hear myself think.

  Tingles of desire thread through every vein.

  Electricity hums wherever he brushes those big and rough hands.

  Brett pushes me gently on my back. “Tierra, I should take you home.”

  “All of a sudden?”

  “If you stay here…” He glances down at me. His brown hair flops into his stormy eyes.

  So restless.

  So… hurt.

  “If you stay, you’re not going home tonight.”

  It’s not a threat.

  It’s a promise.

  A desperate attempt from a drowning man.

  He’s grabbing onto the nearest life vest.

  To me.

  Damn. I hope I can steady him.

  I hope I’m enough.

  You’re not enough. Girls like you don’t—

  I push away the words.

  Focus on him.

  He needs me.

  Maybe it’s just for tonight.

  But I won’t think about tomorrow.

  My fingers stroke his cheek.

  The soft stubble under his chin.

  Dive into his soft hair.

  Dig into his scalp.

  He closes his eyes.

  Groans low.

  I smile at that pleased sound.

  Lifting my hips to meet his, I stare into his eyes.

  Let my desire shine through.

  Let the desperation in my heart take over the wheel. My common sense can take the backseat.

  “I want you, Brett,” I murmur.

  It’s the closest I can get to the truth ringing through my heart.

  I love you.

  But that would require trusting him.

  With everything.

  And I have too many doubts in my mind for that.

  Something shifts in his eyes.

  Desire crashing against steel.

  He crushes his lips to mine. Kisses me for all he’s worth.

  His fingers desperately grab at the button of my skirt.

  I heft his shirt over his head.

  We undress choppily.

  Stop constantly to kiss.

  To caress.

  Nip.

  Stroke.

  Brett hefts me up.

  His fingers dig into my hips.

  I wrap my legs around his waist.

  Kiss his neck.

  Right over his pulse.

  He throws me on the bed.

  Grabs protection.

  Climbs over me.

  It’s a sensual dance.

  A pounding rhythm.

  Flailing limbs.

  Nails scraping against flesh.

  He makes me fall a little deeper and I make him forget.

  But, at the end of the night, as I lie in his arms, stained in his scent and stretched to his capacity—

  As I listen to his deep breathing—

  As I grip the sheets and pull them up to my naked chest—

  I wonder if I hold his heart or if all I am is a beautiful distraction.

  Twenty-Six

  Brett

  Early strains of sunlight filter through the balcony doors.

  Filmy white curtains.

  A gentle breeze.

  The soft caress of someone’s breath.

  I blink lazily.

  Glance up.

  There’s a woman in the bed.

  My bed.

  Which is new.

  For me.

  But it feels right too.

  Feels… natural.

  Like it was always meant to be this way.

  Like a puzzle piece that fits.

  There’s a shift inside me. I can see it plainly. A line between my life before Tierra and my life after. I know, deep in my soul, that if I wake up without this woman in my bed tomorrow, it’ll be disorienting.

  And that scares the hell out of me.

  She has too much control.

  She has—

  I need to pull back.

  Before I start clinging to her.

  Before I start seeing her as family.

  Because the moment I do, the moment she slips over that line and becomes someone I love, I can’t go back.

  Can’t stop.

  It’s the family curse.

  I’m all in.

  Totally devoted.

  Just like with Shar.

  I don’t know how to be a halfway brother.

  And I won’t be able to stop mid-way with Tierra either.

  Birds twitter outside.

  I ease up. Grab my boxer briefs from the floor.

  After slipping them on, I turn to the bed.

  Tierra’s sleeping with her hands pressed beneath her cheek.

  Golden rays dance gently over her deep brown skin.

  The voluminous brown hair—more frizz than curl now.

  The slope of her perfect cheeks.

  Her long neck.

  Down the curve of her shoulder.

  The sheet covers everything up, but I know that slender body like I know my own hand. I spent hours
last night fervently worshiping those curves.

  Stroking that soft flesh.

  Sucking on the sweetness of her like raw honey.

  She’d been surprised last night. I saw it all over her face when she tried to get rough and I dialed it down to savor.

  She thought I would beat her with my grief.

  That I would pound out my confusion in her body.

  That I would fling her around to unleash my restlessness.

  Tierra thought I would screw her.

  The way I did in the office.

  Over and over again.

  Hard enough to break furniture.

  Instead, I made love to her.

  I stared into her eyes.

  Interlocked our fingers.

  Whispered sweet assurances in her ear.

  It wasn’t just so I could have the pleasure of hearing her mouth part on a gasp. Or see her back arch. Or feel her body vibrate in ecstasy as I took her higher than ever before.

  I meant them.

  Every word.

  Every freaking confession.

  And it’s cause for concern.

  My phone buzzes.

  I snatch it up. Silence it quickly before it disturbs the woman sprawled off in my bed.

  Tierra snores softly.

  She’s a deep sleeper.

  Noted.

  My phone lights up.

  Notifications pop up one after another.

  My brow wrinkles.

  What the hell?

  A picture of a heavy set of tits jumps on my screen. Beneath it is a message.

  SWITZERLAND HOT-TUB GIRL: Miss me?

  Damn.

  I remember her.

  We met on a business trip a few years ago.

  She’d been sucking on that straw like…

  Hell yeah, I remember.

  I walked over.

  Struck up conversation.

  Stripped.

  Got in the tub.

  The moment I did, she untied her bikini top.

  We kissed and then…

  I try to imagine it.

  Try to recall the details.

  But I can’t.

  Instead of that blonde, it’s Tierra in my mind.

  Tierra from last night, digging her nails into my shoulder as she whimpered my name and thrust her hips to meet mine.

  Tierra in the office, sexy lips plastered to the glass wall and leaving a lipstick stain on the surface as I—

  Damn.

  There’s no room for anyone else.

  Absolutely zero.

  I delete the picture.

  Groan when I see about a hundred more.

  Not only from Switzerland Hot Tub Girl.