17. Falling on the Sword
Falling on the Sword
Mina
“ M orning, beautiful.”
I open my eyes to find Braden perched on the edge of the bed, a smile curling his lips. “Did I oversleep?”
He skates his hand along my arm and leans over to press a kiss to my cheek. “Not at all, but I was craving some coffee.”
“Good idea.” I sit up in bed, flushing when the sheet falls to my waist, revealing my nude body.
But the second I try to snatch it back, Braden stays my hand.
“Never hide how gorgeous you are from me.” He wraps an arm around my back and ducks his head to nuzzle my breasts, gliding his tongue across my nipples.
And he doesn’t stop there.
He lowers my head to the pillow as his teeth scrape lightly against my sensitive skin, traveling down to my abdomen as his fingers stroke me, reigniting the fire that burned all night.
“Braden,” I moan, writhing against his palm as his fingers dive deep inside me. Stroking me. Petting me.
Driving me to the very brink of my existence .
My body pulses with need, my toes curling as he pushes me closer to the edge.
I grip the sheets, twisting the soft cotton in my fingers as I fall apart with his name on my lips.
I push my hair from my face, panting. “That settles it. This is the greatest morning on record.”
Braden grins and steals a kiss from my mouth. “That’s just a taste of what I have in store for you today.”
Hands down, the greatest lover this world has ever known.
Maybe I don’t have much experience, but that man made me see God last night. No joke. I had feelings coursing through my body that I didn’t think were possible.
Sitting up, I lick my lips and let the full-body flush overtake me. “ You are ridiculously good at that.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But you’re wrong about today and what you have in store for me.”
Braden’s eyes widen as he gets a cup of coffee. “I am?”
“Yep.” I toss the covers and stand before him, his gaze raking over me, hungry and unashamed.
No, I’m not curvy. I don’t have big tits or an ass you can rest a drink on, but trust me, if Braden’s hungry gaze is anything to go by, I’m perfect just as I am.
And that knowledge makes me bold.
“How am I wrong?” he asks, cocking a brow at me.
I move to his side, daring to skate my hands against his erect cock. “Today is my turn.”
Yep, that does it.
Braden sets the coffee down and scoops me into his arms, threading my legs around his waist. “Don’t start something you don’t plan to finish.”
“Never do.”
His hungry lips claim mine as his grip tightens on my ass. “I wish we could skip today and go home. Or stay here in the hotel room. Just you, me, and not a single stitch of clothing. ”
“We can.”
“What about the expo?”
I shrug, gliding my nails along his scalp. “We’ll have breakfast with them and then beg off. Spend the day together. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Like you.”
I nuzzle my nose against his. “I have to shower. Are you coming with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Actually, I never thought he was going to ask—for any of it.
But he did. Something changed on that dance floor, and suddenly, we weren’t faking anymore.
And last night was perfect. Just like every love story I’ve read or watched.
So now I get it.
I get what the fuss is all about with sex. I totally understand why people are such raving lunatics for it—all thanks to Braden.
I’m still smiling an hour later when Braden and I stroll onto the breakfast patio, but it slides from my face when I see my aunt already seated at the table, a predatory smirk on her face.
As we edge closer, I notice a manila envelope by her side. It’s positioned in such a way that I know she means for me to see it—and to question its contents.
What is she plotting now?
In between our marathon lovemaking sessions, Braden and I talked about my situation with Bitsy. He’s worried she’s playing with me, stringing me along and dancing on my emotions in a pair of stilettos .
He can’t stand the woman, and I know the feeling is mutual.
But Braden has several reasons to hate Bitsy. She’s treated him with disdain from the beginning, simply because he doesn’t wear Ralph Lauren or summer in Nantucket.
It doesn’t matter how he treats me. How he protects me.
Those are of little consequence to Bitsy Farnsworth.
Braden warned me—in the most loving fashion—that if I don’t play along with Bitsy, she might hurt me out of spite.
I waved off his concern, despite knowing he’s probably right.
So, my solidarity with Braden last night—combined with my aunt’s glare this morning and her mysterious envelope—doesn’t bode well for me.
Or my chances with the studio.
“Good morning, Aunt Bitsy.” I slide into a seat and open the napkin on my lap.
But Bitsy doesn’t even look at me.
No, her gaze locks on Braden—bold and unflinching—as her manicured nails tap the table in an erratic rhythm.
Braden doesn’t bother sitting. Instead, he rests his hands on the back of an empty chair, a wary expression on his face.
He realizes something is about to go down, too.
In fact, everyone at the table, Leo included, sits frozen, awaiting their verbal tennis match with bated breath.
Bitsy serves first. “Braden, I’m curious. How long have you been cheating on my niece?”
What the fuck?
Braden scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Be careful what you say,” Bitsy replies, tapping the envelope with a nail. “I’ll ask again. How long have you been cheating on my niece?”
His grip clenches around the wood of the chair. So hard I’m afraid it might crack .
“Aunt Bitsy, where would you get an idea like that? Braden would never cheat.”
My aunt swings her gaze to me as she passes me the envelope. “Oh, but he would.”
I grasp the envelope with trembling fingers, aware my entire house of cards is about to crumble.
Bitsy blots her mouth with a napkin and motions toward me. “Go on, open it.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Braden growls, glaring at her across the table.
“Open the envelope, Mina,” my aunt demands.
I slide out a few photos of Braden at a bar with another woman. Most are innocent enough—except for the last two. Those, with his hands on her ass and their mouths fused in a heated kiss, leave little to the imagination.
And just like that, our ruse is uncovered.
Braden’s face drains of color when he sees the photos. “How did you get those?”
“It’s far more important that I did, don’t you agree? You claimed to be together for the last several months. Well,” Bitsy states, pointing to the time stamp on the photos, “these are from only six weeks ago.”
“Fuck,” Braden mutters under his breath, averting his gaze to the floor.
“I’m sure you and this woman were doing just that six weeks ago, weren’t you?”
“Aunt Bitsy?—”
“I’m not speaking to you, Mina.”
I shrink back, alarmed by my aunt’s raised voice. She never shows anger, but right now, she’s livid.
What a disaster.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, I prepare to disclose the truth of my relationship with Braden.
He beats me to it.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m a bastard for stepping out on Mina? That I don’t deserve her? You’re right on all counts.”
My jaw slackens at Braden’s admission, and I motion to him, desperate to understand why he’s accepting blame for something he didn’t do.
But Braden lifts his hand in my direction, and I fall silent.
Once again, he’s saving me—by sacrificing himself.
Bitsy shakes her head, her nails drumming out a battle hymn against the polished wood table. “What a pathetic excuse you are for a man, and what a disgusting choice for a husband.”
My aunt aims all the anger she still holds for my mother and late father at Braden, and she is nowhere near done spewing ugly sentiments.
She’s just getting started.
“I knew the second I laid eyes on you that you would ruin my niece—and you have. Everyone knows what you two did last night. You’ve destroyed her reputation, and for what? A bit of late-night fun? What is it with you low-class hoodlums that you must sully our beautiful girls?”
A cracking sound splits the silence as Braden fractures the chair with his bare hands.
I’ve never seen Braden this incensed before.
And I can’t let him take the fall for me. “Aunt Bitsy, I know about the woman. I don’t care.”
Her gaze widens as she looks at me. “Be serious, Mina. You can’t marry a philanderer. He’ll only do it again and again.”
In truth, the only philanderer is Bitsy’s late husband—a man notorious for his long-standing affair with his secretary.
“She’s right, Mina.” Braden’s voice is calm now, as if resigned to his fate.
I look at him and shake my head, but he makes a cutting motion across his throat.
He scans the table, measuring every expression. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. For disappointing you. Mina deserves to be adored, not trampled on. She’s the epitome of sunshine, and I took it for granted. I took her for granted. So hate me, but don’t hold it against her.”
“Braden, no.” I cover my mouth with my hands as he falls on his sword.
With a final smack of the chair, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.
Bitsy places a cool hand over my trembling one. “I’m sorry it came to that, but I’m so glad I could stop it before it went any further.”
I want to vomit.
My aunt is back to her poised self as she takes a sip of coffee and motions to Leo. “I’m sure you two can find something to do today. After all, you have such chemistry between you—something to explore further, I would think.”
The rage, long simmering deep in my belly, explodes outward as I bang my fists against the table, making the silverware dance. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Excuse me? I’m protecting you.”
“No, you’re playing a game, and I’m your pawn. Why? Why not Vanessa’s fiancé?” I make air quotes, my fingers trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief. “Why not aim your loaded questions and snide accusations at him? Why Braden?”
“Because he’s not good enough for us.”
I shake my head and wipe the tears brimming in my eyes. “Don’t you mean me ?”
With a sigh, I push myself to standing.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
Bitsy scoffs. “I paid for the entire weekend, young lady.”
“Then I’ll pay you back. This weekend is done, and so am I.”