Captured

by Myers, K. L.

  Frustrated with my mind for arguing with me, I grab a notebook and pen and walk to the mirror. “I’ll show you. This is a horrible idea.”

  This is stupid. Why would Brecken ask me to do this? This isn’t how I come up with a story. Looking at myself in the mirror and writing that I see an angry, broken, beaten-down woman who has lost herself to grief is not how a novel begins. Or is it?

  Staring deep at myself, at the sadness shining brightly in my green eyes, I see a character who would make audiences weep. Before me is a heroine who readers would want to wrap in their arms and put back together. Until they learn that she isn’t the sweet woman they believed her to be.

  Maybe Brecken is onto something.

  Clicking the pen open, I write this character, telling myself it’s not me I’m writing about. It can’t be about me. I need that distance to create.

  Before I know it, I’ve filled a few pages with notes, some paragraphs that popped into my mind, and an outline of a possible story idea. It feels good. Like a part of me has come back to life. I want to tell someone. To share the joy that’s coursing through me, but there’s no one to tell.

  Abraham is gone, and I don’t have that relationship with Brecken.

  I guess I only have myself.

  With a lonely heart, I walk back to the bed and grab the other gifts from Brecken. If looking at myself in jeans inspired me, getting fancied up should make the creativity flow too. At least I hope it does.

  I need something to look forward to. And seeing Brecken can’t be it. That’s what I’m telling myself.

  With a little over three hours until Brecken has asked me to meet him, I set to work dolling myself up. I set my hair in curls, with one side pulled back loosely, and take time applying makeup, the smoky eye and red lipstick an extra sexy touch that I hope makes him as crazy as I’ve been feeling. I undress and slide the lacy lingerie on, peeking at myself in the mirror.

  My stomach is flat, but not in the toned way men gush over. It’s more in the I-pretty-much-starved-myself-since-my-husband-died-and-now-I’m-just-damn-skinny way. My C-cup breasts look too large for my thin frame, but being on the taller side for a woman, it helps, so I don’t look like I have two balloons attached to the front of me. And I do have some curve at my hips. I guess I don’t have too bad of a body. If I took care of it, men probably would go crazy over it.

  If only I wanted that.

  I don’t know what I want. I thought I did, but being around Brecken has confused me. He took my simple let-me-cry-until-I-can’t-anymore attitude and made me want to fight again. Mainly with him, but damn it, there’s this spark I can’t put out. I don’t know whether I should punch or kiss him for it.

  Thinking of kissing him makes me warm and tingly and has me wanting to do all sorts of naughty things. Things I told myself not to want. Tonight is a bad idea, but knowing that doesn’t stop me from grabbing the dress and sliding it on. The sensation of the satiny material sliding against my skin causes me to clench my thighs as I remember the feeling of Brecken’s fingers caressing my cheek.

  I do want him. No matter what I tell myself... I’ve already lost this battle.

  With the dress in place, I bend and slip the stilettos on, clasping them at the ankle before standing straight. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She’s sexy and mysterious. So not me. I’ve always worn my feelings on my sleeve. Who I am is obvious to whomever I’m speaking to, but this woman in the mirror is a façade.

  She’s confident. Completely sure of herself. She keeps her back straight, ready to devour anyone who gets in her path. There’s no sadness. Just a woman who is ready to have whatever she wants.

  I remember a time I was like her.

  And I steamrolled everyone in my path.

  Grabbing the notebook, I write more notes. This time, a new character comes to mind. She’s cruel and selfish. Everyone finds her beautiful and does as she asks because they want a piece of what she has to offer, but she never gives them what they truly want... her heart. She doesn’t know how to listen to her heart, so she doesn’t know how to give it.

  She’s a great character. The kind readers love to hate. She starts out as a bitch but has the potential to grow into the hero of the story. The one who sees her faults and changes for the better. Everyone loves a zero-to-hero story.

  I don’t know which of the women I’ve come up with tonight is more appealing to write, or if I will ever write either of them, but I have Brecken to thank for the nudge in the right direction. Speaking of Brecken… I look at the clock and realize it’s time to meet him.

  With a final glance at myself, I say, “I hope I don’t regret this.”

  I don’t hear anything as I walk down the stairs. It’s dark, making me wonder if he forgot we were having dinner. Or maybe he changed his mind. As I’m about to turn around and head back to my room, light jazz sounds from the dining room, so I continue heading there.

  Turning the corner into the room, I don’t know what to look at first. The candles lit up around the room. The stunning flower centerpiece in the middle of the table. The crystal dishes sparkling against the candlelight. Or Brecken.

  He's in a tuxedo, his hair and beard freshly trimmed. My stomach drops into my feet. Holy shit, he looks gorgeous. Better than any man I've ever seen in a suit.

  I don't stand a chance.

  He walks toward me, and I feel every step he takes in my core. It throbs to the beat of his footsteps. I clench my thighs, hoping to gain control of myself before he gets to me.

  “You're beautiful,” he says, stopping in front of me.

  My breath catches at the compliment, and I take the hand he offers me. “You look nice, too.”

  I'm surprised I can speak with my mind and body so rattled by him. He leads me to my seat and pulls out my chair, pushing it in after I sit. He's graceful and polite, and nothing like the monster he claims to be.

  19

  Choose Me

  Brecken

  Willow eyes me from head to toe, hunger burning so brightly I wonder if she’ll throw me on the table and have me for dinner. As much as I would love for her to do that, sex is not what I’m looking for. Not entirely. I will have Willow naked below me, but it will be with the full connection. She will choose me as hers. Not just as someone to get her off.

  I am not just here to mask her feelings.

  As I walk to her, her breath hitches and her cheeks pinken. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t affected, turned on even, but I keep my emotions in check. It’s the only way I can guarantee I don’t give in to my urges.

  When she takes my hand, I almost cave. Electricity courses from her skin through mine, forcing me to stay behind her to hide my evident arousal. I help her to her seat and then walk to mine and sit quickly, not wanting anything to ruin our evening.

  “Thank you for showing up.”

  “Did I really have a choice?”

  I almost laugh at her attitude, but I remember that she dislikes when I do that. “You always have a choice, Willow. That’s what tonight is about, remember?”

  She stares at me like she’s trying to figure out what my angle is. I don’t know what it’s going to take for her to understand that I’ve been telling her the truth. I want her to find herself and be happy again.

  And if she finds happiness with me, all the better.

  “Did you use all your gifts?” I’m curious if she’s wearing the lingerie, but I most want to know if she wrote. A gift like hers shouldn’t be wasted.

  “Ask me what you really want to know, Brecken,” she fires back, head swaying and a sigh in her tone.

  And there’s that attitude again.

  “Why do you go into every conversation with me ready to fight?”

  She opens her mouth and then closes it, looks to the ceiling for a moment and then to me. “Because you’re bossy.”

  I do laugh now. A hearty, feel-it-all-the-way-to-my-toes laugh. This woman makes me happy in a way I haven’t been since Emery. It hurt
s to admit it, but I have decided Emery wouldn’t want me to fight it.

  Emery was a bright spot in the darkest of days. She believed everyone should be happy. She wouldn’t want me living the dismal existence I had before Willow came along. And even though my heart still loves Emery as if she were here, it has opened spaces for Willow. I can’t ignore that.

  “Emery used to say that about me too,” I reply, still chuckling.

  Willow pulls her head back, like she’s shocked I said her name. Maybe she is. I can’t remember if I’ve said it to her or not. I probably haven’t, but I should have. Emery is not a swearword. She’s not a bad feeling to be locked up and never spoken of. She’s a joy that should be shared.

  “What was she like?” Willow’s words are softly spoken, as if she’s afraid of the backlash of asking. I hate that she’s afraid of anything involving me.

  I stare at her until her eyes meet mine again, and then I begin with a smile on my face. “Emery was sunshine. She made everything warmer and brighter. If she saw someone hurting, she did everything she could to fix it. She would rather live in poverty, so others could thrive. I never heard her say a bad thing about anyone or anything. She was just pure radiance.”

  “No wonder you loved her.”

  “I did. I do. I’m sure I probably always will.”

  Willow’s eyes are covered in a shimmery mist, and I wonder what is going through her head. “What about Abe? What was he like?”

  She swallows before saying, “Very much like you described Emery. He was a giver. Of himself. His time. His heart. He was always doing everything for everyone else. I think that was why it was so easy for me to be the center of attention. He didn’t need it or want it. We seem to have married very similar people.”

  “It does appear that way.”

  “And we lost better people than who we are.” Sadness laces her tone, and she wipes under her eyes.

  “Why do you think you’re such an awful person?”

  Her eyes drop, and it bothers me that she can’t look at me. Where did the confident woman I saw a few years back go to? How do I help her emerge again?

  “Why don’t you think about that while I grab dinner?”

  I stand and walk from the table, relieved to have a minute away from her sad face. Abe’s death broke her more than I realized. I had hoped the writing utensils would have given her more zeal than this, but I overestimated their power.

  Placing the food onto the tray, I roll it out. Willow still appears lost in thought. I want to kiss her stupid, wipe all doubt that she’s amazing from her mind, but instead, I stop by her seat and wait for her to acknowledge me. “Your plate, please?”

  She smiles and hands me her plate. “And what has Jamal cooked for us tonight?”

  “Not Jamal. Me,” I answer, shocking her again. “I hope you like chicken parmigiana.” She nods. “I’ve prepared a fresh Caesar salad and steamed asparagus to accompany the dish. Would you like all of that?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Some wine too?”

  “Yes,” she answers, smiling now. I love her smile. It makes her look years younger. Freer. I wish she would smile more often.

  After I serve her, I walk to my seat and plate my dish. As I sit, I tell her, “Save room. I’ve made chocolate mousse for dessert.”

  “I had no idea you can cook.”

  “I have many talents you aren’t aware of.” I leave the innuendo hanging between us, but by the pink coloring her cheeks, she got my hint.

  A few moans of appreciation fall from her lips as she eats, and each sound hits me directly in my dick. This woman has no idea how sexy she is. I want nothing more than to show her, but I need to know it’s what she wants. What she really wants.

  Dinner passes without conversation. I want to get back to the question I asked before I got the food, but she doesn’t look sad, and I don’t want her to. So, I remain quiet. I get dessert, and outside of her thank-you, she says nothing else. This night is not going how I planned.

  We were supposed to chat. Open up to each other about our pain. It would help us grow and hopefully get closer, but I pussied out. The thought of hurting her has made me weak.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Her question rouses me from my spiraling thoughts. I try to come up with a clever answer, but I’m no liar. “You. I’m thinking about you.”

  “Me? What about me?”

  I sigh. This would be a good time to lie, but I wouldn’t be doing either of us any favors if I did. “Tonight isn’t going how I planned.”

  “Oh. And what did you have planned?” She places her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. I like having her attention on me.

  “A lot more conversation to start.” She nods for me to continue. “Maybe some dancing.”

  “You wanted to dance with me?” She always seems surprised I want to be with her. It makes my heart ache every time her insecurities shine through.

  “I still do.”

  “I might like that.”

  I’m the one surprised now, but I tuck that aside and stand, taking full opportunity of the moment before she changes her mind. I walk around the table, offer her my hand, and sigh in contentment as she takes it.

  With a slight pull, I help her from her seat and into my arms, and together we sway to the soft sounds coming through the speakers. I had them playing through dinner, hoping there would be a chance just like this. But now that she’s tucked into me, she’s not nearly close enough.

  I want her closer.

  Her hand in mine, arm around my waist, and head on my chest brings me a peace I didn't anticipate, and a hunger I've been bracing for. Having her in my arms feels like coming home, like my world is back on center. But our bodies touching, moving in sync, is creating the most beautiful friction. It's torture. Glorious fucking torture.

  “Thank you.”. It sounds pathetic as the words drop, but I have to say them. She has no idea how she has changed my life. That she saved me. I was suffocating, unable to find my next breath, and she breathed air into me. She showed me how much I want to live.

  Willow’s head lifts from my chest, and her eyes find mine as she searches for the truth—maybe the meaning behind my words. She still can't figure me out. It's frustrating because I'm being honest with her. I need her to understand that.

  Without trust, she’ll never choose me.

  “What do you want, Brecken?”

  “You,” I answer honestly. “I want you.”

  “Then take me.”

  She makes it sound so simple. If I were looking for a one-night stand and she were a different woman, it would be. But I want more. I want every part of her. Mind, body, and spirit.

  “Choose me.”

  “I did when I showed up tonight.”

  It's all I need to hear.

  My lips come down on hers with such force I'm breathing her air. My tongue darts out and demands entrance, and I growl when she accepts, fighting to get as close to me as I am to her.

  Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging so hard I nearly lose it. I expected her to be aggressive, but not right out of the gate. Willow may make me beg, and I will most definitely enjoy it.

  As much as I want her here, now, Willow's first time since Abe needs to be better than me taking her on the dining room table. So, I scoop her into my arms as I continue to lavish her in kisses and carry her to my bedroom.

  I lay her down on the bed and just stare at her beauty for a moment. Take in her dark hair fanned across my blanket, green eyes burning with desire for me, lips red and puffy from my kisses. She's stunning. And mine.

  Crawling over her, I nip at her through the dress, reveling in the sounds she makes and how she squirms. I can't wait to get inside her, to feel her warmth wrapped around me.

  Rolling her onto her side and into my body, I unzip her dress. Her soft skin skims my fingers, fueling my need to be with her. “You are so beautiful,” I whisper as I kiss my way down to her breasts, ready to remov
e everything that keeps me from getting to her bare skin.

  Like a possessed beast, I rip her dress off, not concerned if I mark her. I need to get to her. Feel her. Claim her. Everything in me is screaming to make her mine.

  Flawless porcelain skin in the lingerie I chose has me roaring in need as she reaches for the buttons on my shirt. I tear my jacket off, giving her better access. She's as needy as I am, frantically ripping at my clothes and whimpering.

  “You want this?” I ask, cupping my dick through my pants.

  Her eyes go feral like she'll devour me. Damn, I want her to. “Show me what you want.”

  Licking her lips, Willow grabs my pants and forces them open, shoving her hands inside and wrapping them around my cock. I inhale deeply, trying to keep control. It's been so long since a woman has touched me.

  Since I've wanted to be touched.

  I only hope time hasn't made me less of a man. I want to spend hours pleasuring Willow, showing her that she is worthy. I want to be worthy of her.

  She begins stroking me as I kick my shoes off and shove my clothes around my ankles. There's still too much of a barrier between us as I wrestle my shirt off and eye her stilettos and lingerie. I need her naked.

  Naked and screaming my name.

  It's time to show her she's mine.

  Reaching between us, I grab her panties, and with a satisfying rip, shred them from her body. She inhales sharply, and I do the same thing to her bra.

  “I liked those,” she teases, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

  “I'll buy you another set.”

  “Will you do that again?”

  “Probably,” I admit, dipping down and nipping her breast.

  “I'll take ten, please,” she groans.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Our banter ends with my tongue flicking her nipple and her body arching underneath me. Flick. Nip. Suck. I shower her breasts with attention until she grips my hair and forces my head down.

  Chuckling at her brazenness, I dive into her core, devouring her while she squirms. “Oh God. Brecken, don't stop.”

  And I don't.