Piecing It Together (Sterling Protectors #1)

Chapter 1

Gracie

“Have they called you?”

I look up as Braxton comes into the kitchen, his eyes concerned. They lock on me as I stand with my back against the counter, phone in hand.

“No.” I give him a small smile, but his frown deepens. “It’s not surprising. My parents have never been holiday people.”

“You’re their kid.” Braxton’s voice is dripping with disapproval, the emotion darkening his moss-green eyes. He’s never really understood my parents—or my relationship with them—but that’s not surprising considering how close his own family is.

Children were never part of my parents’ plan, but that all changed when they got a positive pregnancy test. Some people might have been happy with the news, but my parents were already invested in their lives without the burden of a child.

They were wealthy in all respects of the word, and that trickled down to me. I never wanted for anything, and yet, it felt like they deprived me of the one thing I did want—love.

But the moment I bucked against their expectations for my life, they withdrew any kind of financial support, making sure I knew just how conditional our relationship was.

So, I picked a random town on a map and moved six hours away.

I only really speak to them on special occasions.

More often than not, I get left on read, and the fact that this weekend is Thanksgiving means next to nothing to them.

Braxton’s experience was so different. We might as well have come from different planets.

His parents have lived in the same house their whole lives, their roots so firmly embedded in this town that they’ll never be able to dig them out.

Braxton never left Sterling Creek after high school, going straight into the fire department and following in his father’s footsteps.

His younger sister, Analise, is in college out of state, but has said she’s coming back as soon as she graduates.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say.

Braxton shakes his head, his dark brown hair flopping over his forehead. He shoves it away impatiently as he crosses the kitchen and steps into my space, a foot on either side of mine.

“It matters,” he says softly, sliding a hand around the back of my neck. “You deserve more than that.”

Inhaling his woodsy cologne, I loop my arms around his neck. “I get it through us.” His brows knit, and I add, “You don’t think I’m dating you for you, right?” My lips curve into a cheeky grin. “I’m just here for your family.”

Braxton scowls, digging his fingers playfully into my ribs.

I shriek with laughter, arms flailing as I try to wriggle away from him.

He’s relentless until I beg for mercy, and he swoops down to press a hard kiss to my mouth.

“You can have my family any time,” he says against my lips. “As long as I get to keep you, too.”

My heart flutters wildly as I try to catch my breath, staring up at this man, still unable to believe he’s mine.

It only feels like yesterday that I first met him when, in reality, it was well over a year and a half ago that he walked into Blossom Boutique.

He had stopped short as our eyes locked across the shop, the tips of his ears flaring a deep red.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, he whirled around and marched right back out of the shop.

Bridget—my friend and coworker—and I stared after him until the door swung shut before sharing a bemused look. A minute later, Braxton walked back in, beelining for the counter where I was trimming some roses.

He took a deep breath and then gave me a winning smile, two dimples flashing at me. “Hi, my name’s Braxton. Can I take you out for coffee?”

I chuckled. “Did you want to know my name first?”

He shrugged, going for unaffected, but the deepening red in his ears gave him away. “Sure, but my question won’t change.”

I tapped a finger against my chin. “What if my name is Rumpelstiltskin? Or something worse?”

Green eyes twinkled back at me. “Then I would say your parents aren’t allowed to name any children we have.”

“That’s fair,” I concede, “if a bit forward. It’s too bad I don’t have a habit of going out with people I just met. That’s how you get axed into pieces and locked in a suitcase.”

Braxton blinked. “Why would the suitcase be locked if you’re already chopped into pieces?”

Across the room, Bridget snorted. “That’s his takeaway?”

I shot her a look, silently telling her to shut up, then focused back on Braxton. “Seems like you’ve put a lot of thought into this. That means there’s about”—I pursed my lips like I was deep in thought—“an 86.5 percent chance that you’re a serial killer.”

His mouth twitched. “And that’s a deal breaker?” he asked. “No coffee?”

“I only go out with people who have less than a 46.8 percent chance,” I say with mock disappointment.

Braxton laughs loudly, his eyes creasing endearingly at the corners. Another flash of those dimples has nerves skittering down my spine, settling wildly in my stomach.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. “And the next day, and the next. Until I prove I don’t want to chop you up.”

I blinked. “You think this is helping? You’ve just gone up 2 percent.”

He held his hands up, backing away slowly. “Until tomorrow, Rumpelstiltskin.” I bit back a smile, watching as he reached the door before turning back around, his expression sheepish. “So, I actually need some flowers.”

I shot him an unimpressed look, tutting my tongue. “Buying flowers for another woman already? Shocking.”

Braxton propped his hands on his hips. “If you disapprove of me buying my mother flowers, we might have a problem after all.”

I couldn’t stop the smile then, and it didn’t fade as I helped him pick out an arrangement for his mother’s dining table. I still refused to give him my number…but he was persistent.

He came in several times a week for over a month. I spent each day holding my breath, wondering when he would walk through the door. It didn’t take long for me to start missing him on the days he didn’t make it in.

Five weeks after our first meeting, Braxton looked at me and asked, “What’s my percentage now?”

When I answered, “45.7 percent.” He shot me the widest grin, dimples flickering at me, and I knew I was sunk.

I never stood a chance.

He pulls me out of my thoughts now as he brushes his lips against mine, his green eyes full of affection and love as he stares down at me. I sigh softly, leaning against him. “You can keep me,” I murmur. “As long as you don’t mind being stuck too.”

Something flashes across Braxton’s expression, too fast for me to catch, and then it’s gone. “I fucking love being stuck with you,” he whispers, and I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.

“So romantic,” I tease. He lifts a shoulder, pressing another kiss to my lips. One of his hands lowers to grip my hip, his fingers dragging the hem of my sundress up my thighs. “Did the realtor get back to you?” I ask before he can distract me.

Braxton goes still, his muscles tightening almost imperceptibly.

“Yep.” He pulls my dress up further, his other hand sliding back around my neck, his thumb stroking the column of my throat.

I shiver, a wave of desire rushing through me.

“Marjorie said the Colonial on Oak Street is officially on the market.”

I melt against him, his fingers skimming against the sensitive skin of my thigh. “Ohh, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” I say breathlessly, and he chuckles. “When can we see it?”

He bumps his nose against mine, his fingers sliding under the edge of my panties.

“Don’t get too excited,” he murmurs. “She’s out of office until after Thanksgiving.

” I pout, deflating, but Braxton pushes his fingers between my legs, lightly grazing my clit, and every thought rushes from my head.

“She did tell me something else, though.”

I drag my eyes open, not even sure when I closed them. “What?” I rasp.

“Marjorie’s friends with my mother, so she’s doing us a favor.

She said she won’t take anyone else through the house until after we see it.

” Braxton’s jaw tenses, like he’s clenching it before he forcibly relaxes.

I frown, but then he’s pressing forward, the counter behind me digging into my back as his chest crushes against my breasts. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

Braxton pulls back just enough to smirk at me, right before he sinks to his knees, firmly shoving my dress up past my hips. “I can think of something.” He hooks his fingers in my panties, yanking the fabric unceremoniously down my legs.

“This doesn’t feel like talking,” I point out weakly, but I don’t resist as he lifts my knee, resting my leg on his shoulder. “In fact—”

The rest of my words are stolen when he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy, pressing the flat of his tongue over my swollen bundle of nerves.

“What was that, Rumpel?” he asks, voice muffled. My dress falls over his head as his hands go to my ass, gripping me firmly, grinding me against his face.

I don’t say a word, throwing my head back on a cry as he sucks firmly, my stomach going taut as my orgasm builds—too quickly, too intense. Braxton moves one of his hands, spearing two fingers inside me without a word, a groan leaving both of us at the same time.

“Fuck,” he curses. “So goddamn wet. You want me, baby?” His arm brushes against my inner thighs as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside me, his teeth grazing my clit.

“Yes,” I gasp out. “I want you.” I reach down, shoving my dress out of the way, trying to drag him up to me, but he resists.

“Not until you come all over my face,” he growls, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves rippling through me.

One of my hands tangles in his dark hair, and I tug on the strands ruthlessly, writhing my hips against him. “Make me come then,” I demand. “Stop playing around.”