Chapter 14 #2
“Brogan? Thank you. Not every man out there would step up for a niece he’d never met, especially when he was estranged from his sister. You’ve proven you’re every bit as wonderful as Connie claimed.”
He dropped his head with a gruff laugh. Why wouldn’t anyone believe him? He was not wonderful, and he wasn’t hero material. He knew the truth even if no one else did.
Erin said, “If your email is the same, I’ll send you the info I need to get your paperwork ready. I’ll also send a form for a contingency guardian. Fill that out and get it back to me, and you’ll be covered for now.” She added with some gravity, “Connie believed in taking every precaution.”
“Then I will, too.”
“One last thing, Brogan. You need to figure out what you’re going to do with Connie’s house.”
He bit back a groan. “I know.”
“She didn’t want her parents there,” Erin insisted. “She was clear about that. The house is legally yours and Shayna’s, but the longer you let them trespass, the more difficult it’ll be to evict them.”
“It’s next on my list to do.” Right after cementing his relationship with Pixie, which, okay, was fairly new to the top of his list, but it was there now and it mattered. A lot.
“You need to ask them to leave. Of course, that won’t work, so then you’ll have to begin a legal eviction.”
“What does that entail?” Brogan asked. “I signed a lease to be here for four months, and I don’t like the idea of driving back and forth to Illinois.”
“Actually, I can handle it if you want. In fact, I’d love to take care of it. It’s a matter of filing an unlawful detainer action and representing you in court.”
“That’s not your legal specialty, is it?”
“No, but I’ll do it for Connie. Trust me, I never liked the way her parents treated her.”
Pixie smoothed her hand up and down his arm. “It’s a good solution.”
He’d be free to concentrate on Shayna—and Pixie. “All right. Go for it. And seriously, Erin, thank you. For everything.”
After they hung up, Brogan sat back against the couch, wondering when Ruth would pop up next. “Thanks for giving me a push. I’m glad I made the call.”
Pixie curled into his side and put her arm around him.
They were in the position of a couple familiar with each other, used to embracing and getting comfortable together.
Brogan was far from comfortable as he carefully gathered Pixie closer and pressed a kiss to her hair. In fact, he felt strung tight with conflicting emotions—and a torturous type of lust because it wasn’t just sexual. It was some powerful combination of physical, emotional, and sexual need.
She smelled like sunshine and flowers, and she felt perfect in his arms.
He wanted more, of course. From her and with her. In every way imaginable.
Wearing a smile and looking far too innocent, Pixie looked at him. “This feels like progress, right?”
Unsure whether she meant Erin’s next move, or the fact that he could feel her heart beating, he nodded. “Sure.”
“I’m not sleepy yet. You?”
No, he was far from sleepy. “What did you have in mind?”
“A movie. You’ve rarely had time to just relax, and I almost never have time to watch TV. What do you think?”
At that moment, he’d have been happy to do whatever she asked. “Sure.”
“Great. Settle back and get comfortable while I find something.” She started to move away from him.
Brogan didn’t let go. “I’m comfortable.” Without changing their positions, he reached out and snagged the remote. Careful to keep the volume low, he scrolled through the movie channels. “Got a preference?”
“No gory horror. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter.” She pulled a throw off the back of the couch to cover her legs.
Pausing on Die Hard, Brogan glanced at her and caught her grin. “Perfect.”
Yes, that summed it up. Being here with Pixie, holding her while watching a movie … The only thing that could be more perfect would be having her naked, in a bed—or the couch. Hell, the floor would work for him.
For now, this was more than enough. Far more than he’d expected.
Likely more than he’d ever deserved.
Hours later, after the movie had ended and Brogan had bade her good night, Pixie still couldn’t get to sleep.
Something was bothering her, niggling at the back of her mind.
It wasn’t Brogan himself. She’d enjoyed the cozy time with him while they were both relaxed, his guard down and her reserve shelved.
They’d settled together as if they were a long-term couple.
Before Brogan, she couldn’t have imagined herself slumping against a man, his arm around her as she breathed in his scent. With Brogan, it was … easy.
Yet she knew there was a problem. It had something to do with Erin, or rather, something to do with what Erin had said.
Pixie went over the entire conversation in her mind. And then it came to her.
Throwing back the covers, she didn’t hesitate to leave the bed, didn’t think of the time or the possibility that Brogan was sleeping, as she should have been.
She quietly peeked at Andy, saw he was undisturbed, and then slipped from the room and snuck through the kitchen.
With only the moonlight and a deep familiarity guiding her, she crept across the living room until she stood near the doorway to the enclosed porch.
No, Brogan wasn’t sleeping. He stood at the window, his shirt removed, his feet bare, and his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he stared out at the starry night. The blue glow of moonlight bathed his body, making his bare shoulders look even wider. Her gaze moved over him.
Earlier, she’d rested against that hard body, felt his warmth and the tension that had slowly eased away.
Yes, she’d shamelessly pressed her advantage, acting as if it was commonplace for her to curl up so familiarly at his side.
She was glad she had, since they’d stayed that way throughout the movie.
She might have denied it before, but she couldn’t deny it now. She wanted him. Every inch of him. Everything he had to give—the man he used to be and the man he was now. In many ways, it already felt like he was hers, though in reality she had no claim … and that made her breathe a small sigh.
Despite the soft sounds coming from a white-noise machine, Brogan must have heard her.
Silently, he turned to her. His face was shadowed, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze and knew he was looking her over, from her loose hair to her oversized shirt, down her legs to her bare feet.
“Sorry.” Pixie felt heat creeping over her skin.
It wasn’t embarrassment. In fact, she couldn’t put a name to it because she’d never felt anything so powerful before.
It left her nerve endings tingling. Something tightened low in her midriff.
Something not unpleasant. Just the opposite, in fact.
She thought she might be on the precipice of something so pleasurable that it frightened her.
“I need to tell you something,” she said in a faint whisper.
Wordlessly, he left the room, stepping around the basket in which Shayna slept, the furniture, and his duffel bag.
At first, he just stared down at her, ramping up all those strange sensations until she thought she might splinter apart.
It wasn’t in her plan, was definitely not the reason she’d left her bed, yet nothing else seemed more important than kissing him.
Here, now. She went up on her tiptoes, slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, and then put her mouth to his with a soft, hungry groan.
That first touch was pure hot sensation.
Years. Years it had been since she’d experienced this fiery rush of want and need. Or maybe she never had, at least not so strongly. Whatever she’d once felt for Dylan had long faded behind the pain of playing the fool, the difficulty of her pregnancy, and then the utter joy of her baby boy.
“Brogan,” she whispered, and moved her mouth over his again.
Brogan went very still … for three seconds only. Releasing a deep groan, he took over, lifting her flush to his body as he tilted his head to roughly deepen the hungry kiss.
Honest to God, she forgot why she’d wanted to see him. Or maybe in reality, this was what she’d wanted. They were immersed in shadow, but she didn’t need light, even preferred the darkness.
Pulling back, Brogan said, “I shouldn’t be doing this.” He kissed her again, his hot breath on her face, his large hands moving over her as if hoping to touch all of her at once. “Tell me no, Pixie—or tell me it’s okay.”
“Kiss me.”
He shifted his attention to her throat, branding her skin with his open mouth, the graze of his teeth, and the stroke of his tongue. He left a damp, hot trail along her shoulder, where it was exposed by the wide neckline of the big shirt.
Desperate, Pixie grabbed his hand and tugged him over to the couch, then silently urged him to sit.
He sprawled into the seat, arms at his sides, his knees angled out, his attention riveted on her.
Barely able to see him, Pixie caught the hem of her shirt, whisked it off, and let it drop to the floor. In case he had better night vision than her, she quickly stripped off her shorts and then straddled his lap. He started to say something, so she silenced him with another kiss.
With a harsh sound of anticipation, he tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged her back. “Tell me this is a yes.”
“It’s a yes, please.” No way could she deny herself any longer. “I need you, Brogan.”
While the admission made her more frantic, it seemed to gentle him. His hands moved over her hair and shoulders in long, slow pets. He stroked down her spine, tucked her close, and carefully turned so her back rested on the soft couch cushions.
Coming down over her, he whispered, “You’re sure, honey?”
Insecurity reared up, scaring her. “You’re not?”