30. Baldo
Imarch to the kitchen, distracting myself with the coffee maker. I’m the asshole who can’t even look at her.
She could have gotten hurt in the fire last night. She did get hurt ten years ago. I have a security detail on standby to protect her, but she can’t stay with me.
The sheets rustle and her small feet pound across the room. “Take me to the States? What about you?”
I pause, almost snapping the stainless steel coffee pot in two. “I need to stay to take care of business. I’ll join you as soon as I can, so we can have dinner with Rupert.”
“I’m not going to the States.”
Of course, she would argue. Nothing with this woman is easy.
“You can’t stay here.” I pour the beans into the container of my state-of-the-art coffee maker.
“Look, I’m really sorry I brought Miguel here. Though if you hadn’t thrown him out…”
Fuck. Now I’ve made her feel guilty about Miguel fucking Oliviera. “Don’t worry about him. He will rot in jail.”
I don’t understand what happened the night I threw the douchebag out of my club. He was only talking to Brook when my restraint started slipping, and when he leaned toward her and whispered into her ear, I snapped.
I know she’s only mine temporarily, but fuck Miguel. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. It took courage to mess with my business.
Brook remains silent for a moment. Or I think she does, but I’m too close to the roaring coffee grinder to be sure.
Yes, I’m still the asshole who hasn’t looked at her. Fucking coward.
As soon as the ruckus stops and the machine hums with the coffee preparation, Brook says, “You don’t decide where I go. You don’t just send me away because you don’t want me around.”
I whip around, and the sight in front of me startles me.
She stands on the other side of the counter. In my fucking shirt. Kill. Me. Now.
Her chest heaves, her hair is in disarray, her lips are swollen and her eyes are a bit puffy from sleep. I catalogue every detail, searing the moment into my memory.
The cocktail of emotions tugging at my heart is potent. I want to hold her forever. I need to have her. I want her to be mine. To protect her. Well, without failing at it like I have been.
All that mixes with all the opposite feelings. I don’t trust her. Perhaps it’s childish to still hold a grudge over the past, but she didn’t choose me back then.
Or any day after, when she could have reached out and explained why she didn’t show up. It took her almost ten years, and being forced into marriage with me.
Circumstances influenced her honesty, and if circumstances change, who knows if she would stick around.
Fuck.
“You need to leave,” I growl.
She flinches, but then straightens. “Where were you for the past two days?”
My eyebrow jerks up, but I contain any further reaction. Whiplash, anyone? Where did that fascinating mind of hers go?
The way she stands there, a woman on a mission, is so fucking hot. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
I close my eyes and bow my head before I take a deep breath. It’s not very fortifying, but being around Brook throws me off my game. “Okay, I don’t think you’d like the answer.”
She huffs. “Why don’t you tell me? Because you don’t trust me?”
I drop the coffee bag, beans spilling across the counter, and round the island. This shouldn’t have triggered me, but fuck her taunting.
She steps back, hitting the table. I drop my hands to the glass surface on each side of her, caging her.
“Trust you? I don’t trust myself around you. Ever since you waltzed into my life, I can’t find peace of mind.”
My lips are so close to hers. Just an inch and we’d kiss.
No fucking way.
“I didn’t waltz into your life. You waltzed into mine. With a proposal, no less.”
“You needed my help.” I smack the tabletop with my palm, making her jump.
Stepping back, I run a hand through my hair.
I don’t know what we’re even arguing about. But I’m losing control, and I don’t like the feeling. I hate it.
Frustration and irritation pulse in my temples. Why the fuck is everything so complicated?
“Where did you go? Is there someone else?”
I snort. “No.”
“So why are you sending me away?”
I shake my head. To protect you. To save you. To save me?
“How did you get this ring?” She raises her hand, wiggling the fingers in front of my face. The ruby catches a sun ray from the window above and sparkles with red vengeance.
Fuck. “I had it made.”
“That’s obvious. But there is no way this ring was made in the time between the unexpected proposal and our wedding. How did you have an engagement ruby?”
“I had it made a long time ago!” I grab her hand, closing my palm over the ring.
Her eyes widen, and I can practically see the comprehension setting in. Yes, my obsession with Brook runs long and deep. Too deep.
I had it made when I made my first million. I never understood why. It’s not like I was planning to seek her out.
Okay, perhaps I was. I’ve fucking carried it with me ever since. A therapist would have a field day with this.
And this is why she needs to leave. I can’t think when she’s gone, but I’m a complete idiot when she’s around.
“Why?” she croaks.
Her hand is so small in mine, the ruby burning a hole in my skin.
“Stop the interrogation. You fucking know why.” I drop her hand and rake my hair again. This is what she does to me. I want to pull my hair out dealing with the onslaught of feelings. “What do you want from me, Brook?”
She raises the hand I’ve just dropped to her chest, holding it by her heart. “I want you to talk to me. To tell me where your head is. We’ve both been seeking closure, but—”
“There is no fucking closure for us, Brook. You might be on the other side of the world, hating my guts, fucking assholes that don’t deserve you, but there is no closure. You will always be a part of me. Whether I like it or not.”
“Clearly you don’t.”
“You want to know how I feel? Like I failed you.” She winces like I slapped her. “I’m drowning in guilt. And if last night proved anything, it’s that you’re not safe when you’re around me. You were fucking assaulted because of me, and yesterday you could have been…” I hit the counter with my fist, turning my back to her.
“Is that why you’re sending me away? For my safety?” Her voice is just a whisper.
She puts her hand on my back. Electricity zips through my body at the gentle contact.
What am I thinking? I missed her the past two days—almost ten years, if I’m honest—so why do I keep expecting it to get easier? It won’t.
“Yes,” I admit, knowing very well I’m exaggerating. Overreacting.
“So there is no other woman?”
I turn and pivot her, so her back is now toward the counter.
Brook gasps and I wrap my hand around her throat. Her pulse gallops against my fingers. “There has always been only you, Brook.”
“Then cancel the flight.”
Her breathing is labored, but so is mine. We stare at each other, like we can fill in the blanks we’re unable to say with our eyes.
It’s the worst idea to give into this lust. Because that’s what swarms through my veins. With a hefty dose of the obsession I’ve been nurturing for years.
“I’m scared too,” she says. “But I don’t plan to hide. I’m not going anywhere, Baldo. We owe each other a chance.”
“I don’t believe in second chances.”
If I did, I would have sought Brook out a long time ago. I would have visited my mom way before this month.
Fuck, Miguel Oliviera wouldn’t have been arrested for burning my club, and a few made-up charges I manufactured to ensure he stays away for a long time.
A tear rolls down her cheek. “Okay, I’ll believe enough for both of us for now.”
I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her so close that she might suffocate.
This wonderful, slightly crazy woman with the overflowing imagination is a hundred times braver than me.
I kiss the crown of her head and lift her up bridal style. “Let me take care of you.” It’s not a command like I usually issue. It’s a plea.
I don’t know how to let her know I’m in it—whatever the it is—with her, even though I’m scared shitless.
How to thank her for putting up with my indecision.
How to ask for forgiveness for everything that has happened to her. For what I caused, and what I never prevented.
She wraps her arms around my neck and hides her face in the crook of my neck. “I’m yours,” she says, granting me permission.
And I accept the sweet lie and take my wife to my bed.
* * *
“You’re obsessed with my hair.”
Brook lies in my arms, naked and sweaty. I play with a lock of her hair, circling it around my finger.
I’m obsessed with her, not just her hair.
As we lie there in a post-orgasmic coma, I catch myself smiling. I’m happy. It surprises me. And scares me a bit, but fuck, I enjoy basking in it.
Give it to Brook to crawl under my skin. Just like she did when we were just kids.
Or perhaps she never left, engraved in my heart and a part of my soul since the day they moved into our house.
“Your hair is my first memory.”
She stills and then raises her chin to look at me. When I don’t look at her, she grips my jaw and forces me to do so.
“Baldo?”
“Your hair is my first memory. Has all the fucking impaired your hearing?”
Yep, I can’t deal with her adoring—and somewhat puzzled—look. And I fucking hate talking.
She cups my balls, gently. “Explain, because my impaired hearing should be the least of your worries.”
I laugh. “You need my balls more than me, baby.”
She scoffs and moves to roll off, but I don’t let her, tightening my hold on her. “When you moved into our house with all your annoying sisters…” She elbows my ribs and I chuckle.
“Okay, I actually don’t remember you moving in, but I remember this angel. You had curly hair, and it was lighter than it is now, and I was in awe. It’s just a glimpse, a souvenir of the past a long time ago, but I don’t remember anything before that, so I guess your hair is my first memory. I believed you were an angel my dad sent me.”
I don’t remember my father. I was too little when he passed.
“Your memory plays tricks on you. I’ve never been an angel.” Despite her barb, she fails to conceal her emotions.
“More a devil, or a witch.”
“Hey.” She swats at my chest. “But you might be right.”
“A rare moment of self-awareness. God, I need to fuck you more to get this much honesty.” I chuckle.
“Dick.”
“It’s all yours, baby.”
She snorts and then looks at me. The moment stills and we gaze into each other’s eyes, speaking that wordless language that seeds hope inside me. But it’s also open for interpretation.
“Why can’t you kiss me?”
I wonder that myself lately. Fuck.
I’m not ready.
Kissing is intimate. Kissing is commitment. Kissing is trust. Something I decided ten years ago I would no longer give to another person.
“It’s not you. I don’t kiss.”
“Never?”
In contrast to my words, I trail her chin with my lips, kissing down her neck and to her clavicle. “Never.”
She shudders when I reach for her nipple. “But you kissed me before.”
As soon as she says the words, she tenses, her entire body rigid with the realization.
Brook is the only woman I’ve ever kissed.
“Stop overthinking it and let me fuck you now.” I cup her mound and slide two fingers through her folds. “Look how wet you are for me, baby. I can’t ignore that.”
Chancing a look at her, I push both fingers inside her. While her body is still stiff from the revelation, her face is lit up, her eyes shining. Fuck, she’s radiant.
I bury my face between her breasts, wondering why I still can’t kiss her. She arches her back and moans, and all my thoughts evaporate, giving way to pure instincts and desire.
I bring my fingers to my lips and suck at them. “Your taste is addictive.”
She groans. “Stop with the poetry and fuck me already.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh. I haven’t done that much, and the sparkles in my chest feel foreign but not unwelcome.
I return my hand between her thighs, pinch her clit and drag my finger around her heat, down to her tight rim. “Will you ever grant me access here?” I press gently and she gasps.
A blush spreads across her cheeks as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve never—”
God, the information cracks something inside me, like I could get a do-over for the first that never happened between us. Yeah, I’m a simple creature.
“Who else would you let there if not your husband?” I wink and return to her clit. As much as I want to, she is not ready, and I might be dominant, but I’m not an asshole.
Brook grips my hair and forces me to look at her. Her eyes shine with challenge this time.
“Dear husband, I’ll grant you access the day this marriage becomes real.”
My world tilts on its axis.