Hot. I was hot. Every part of me felt like a ripe, sweating peach. I opened my eyes; thin streams of sunshine escaped through the blinds of my one small window. In my cloudy, hungover state, they felt like needles piercing my eyeballs. I looked down my body, to find myself thoroughly and completely wrapped up in man. Well, that explained the suffocating heat.
Brandon stirred. The arm across my chest and the leg over my hip just wound tighter, and he buried his face further into my hair. Part of me relished his touch, enjoyed the warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of him. The other part of me just wanted his giant, sticky limbs off.
That part won out. As slowly as I could, I slid from under his embrace, doing what I could to replace my body with a few of the pillows.
It had been an interesting night. When we had come back from the show, Brandon was fully primed to do more of what had happened in the broom closet. He had watched me move around the apartment with the focus of a jungle predator. After being tossed onto my bed not once, but twice, I had elected to change into my pajama shorts and an old New York Giants T-shirt in the bathroom, much to Brandon's obvious disappointment. Unfortunately, he didn't play fair. When I returned, he had stripped completely down to his boxer briefs, looking more like an underwear model than a CEO as he splayed his long, tanned body across my bed.
"You keep looking at me like that, I'm not going to be able to keep my hands to myself, Red," Brandon had said with a leer.
I bit my lip. "You're not exactly making it easy for me either. No one asked you to hop in my bed looking like David Beckham in an underwear ad."
For that I got another thousand-watt grin. "I never said I'd make it easy. Get over here. I'll let you keep those cute little shorts on, I swear."
He stayed true to his word, taking things as slow as I wanted. It was like spending the night together as if we were sixteen and our parents were in the next room. Frustrating, but also completely a turn-on.
And now it was a little awkward.
Brandon stirred again as an old wood floorboard creaked under my feet. I froze. He raised an arm over his head and blinked lazily awake.
"Morning," he said slowly as he caught sight of me.
He propped his head up on one ridiculously defined arm and smiled. My insides tightened. Anyone who looked like that first thing in the morning should be locked up.
"Hey," I said, raising a shy hand to my face, which probably had pillow-crease marks across one cheek. "Good morning."
I slumped into my desk chair, feeling unaccountably shy. Unlike the days when we used to spend weekends together, our conversation was stunted. Brandon was guarded, and I was too. The fact was, we had hurt each other badly, and there was going to be a certain amount of time needed to heal those wounds, which seemed a lot fresher at the moment.
Brandon sat up completely, and I flushed as the sheet fell down, revealing the cut lines of his torso. He smiled wider at my reaction; seriously, it was really unfair that I couldn't hide a damn thing I was thinking.
"What are you doing over there?" A long arm beckoned me. "Come back to bed."
I obeyed. Brandon draped a familiar hand about my legs and massaged my bare thigh.
"You don't make it easy for a guy," he murmured at the touch. "You shouldn't be allowed to walk around in shorts like these."
His hand moved to my inner thigh, fingers finding the hem of my admittedly microscopic shorts. My breath picked up a notch, and I bit my lip. Brandon smiled, then pulled his hand away, much to my obvious frustration.
"You set the rules, babe," he said as he leaned back into the pillows. He pulled me down to lay on his chest. "Anytime you want to break them, you let me know."
I sighed contentedly, happy to have resumed contact with his warm body even though I'd felt suffocated by it before. His hand drifted up my back and started playing with my hair, and we laid there a moment, content in each other's company. But the comfort was short lived.
Green eyes or blue?
It was the question that wouldn't go away, and that guilt that never seemed to dissipate completely blossomed in my gut all over again.
"You all right?" Brandon asked, as if sensing my sudden change of temperament.
I opened my mouth.
A loud buzzing of my phone on the nightstand tore through the room. Brandon handed it to me; it was a text from Bubbe, asking how my week had gone. Her message was a reminder of what I had left in New York, and also of other things Brandon and I still had not discussed.
I sighed, closed the screen, and pushed myself back off Brandon's chest, ignoring his disappointed grunt. As if on cue, his phone also buzzed on the windowsill, revealing several messages that had gone unanswered last night and this morning. No rest for weary CEOs.
I pulled on my vintage Levi's and a black tank top. Brandon watched appreciatively, but once he realized I really wasn't coming back to the bed, he sighed and got up himself. I stumbled at the sight of his almost-naked body in its full glory: v-shaped abdominal muscles, square pectorals, long, lean thighs and calves that all flexed as he stretched his hands to the ceiling.
He caught me ogling and flashed another grin. "We could still break some rules, Red." He clearly wanted to, if the tent in his briefs was any indication.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, then shook my head and finished hooking on an earring. "Not yet," was all I could manage as I turned away to hide my intense blush. Instead I focused on taming my bedhead into a bun. The man really did things to me I couldn't control.
Brandon chuckled, but I could hear him putting on the clothes he'd draped over the end of the bed post the night before. Then he was behind me, wrapping my shoulders with his strong arms as he kissed my cheek.
"I miss you," he murmured, echoing the sweet admission he'd repeated throughout the night. "What are you thinking?"
He watched me through the mirror, his eyes looking impossibly blue in the early morning light. We stared at each other, green eyes meeting blue, daring the other to speak first. The issues between us bloomed. Guilt dropped in my stomach like a log.
Green eyes or blue?
I broke first and pressed a kiss to the forearms folded around me.
"The call was from my grandmother," I said. "She checks in every few days. We're worried about my dad."
Brandon's brow furrowed with concern, and he released my shoulders so he could back up and sit on the edge of my bed to listen. I sat down on my desk chair and turned to face him.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly.
I bit my lip. "I'm not sure we should get into it." Things between us were so fresh and tenuous. I didn't want to ruin it.
Brandon pressed his lips together and sighed. "Skylar, this is why we split up in the first place. Because you wouldn't let me help you."
I frowned. "No, we split up because you wouldn't respect my limits. I asked you not to get involved, and you did, behind my back. My entire family is paying for it now. Every time I see a call from Bubbe or my dad, I'm afraid that it's going to be another notice that Dad's in the hospital again, or something even worse. You put those extra-big targets on our backs, Brandon."
"Skylar, I'm pretty sure your dad got into gambling without my help," Brandon replied quietly, although he had the decency to look contrite right after the words left his mouth.
I crossed my arms and glared. "I'm aware that my dad has a problem, thanks. You forget that I've been here before. And see, when my dad was just a poor sanitation worker with a kid in college, these assholes let us alone once he paid his debts. They had bigger fish to fry. But now they found the biggest fish, which means they're not going to let up. And my family is just a bunch of sitting ducks, waiting there to be picked off."
My hands shook at the thought, and I couldn't help my voice cracking at the end.
Brandon opened his mouth as if to argue back, then closed it firmly. "You're right," he said finally, surprising me completely. "I'm sorry."
"You are?"
This wasn't usually how these discussions went for us. Usually, they ended with us acting like stubborn mules, unable to compromise and spouting off at each other. I'd actually smacked Brandon more than once. I know, not my finest moments.
"Yeah," Brandon conceded. He pushed a hand through his hair, gripping a moment at the crown of his head. "But Skylar, believe me when I say this: I would never let anything happen to your family. The Messinas aren't the ones with the real power here. They might want my money for what, some fancy cars? To pay off some dirty cops? I guarantee they have no idea what that money can really do."
My skin prickled at his words. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Brandon suddenly found a nonexistent piece of lint on his jeans extremely interesting.
"Brandon!" I protested. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! I want this to work, but you can't hide things from me. We have to be honest with each other no matter what. And I have to have the final say about what happens with my family."
He sighed. "Fine. To start, you should know that I removed the trust in Messina's name from the divorce agreement. Miranda started asking questions anyway, so it was better that I paid your family's debt in bulk instead. So yes, I gave Messina a larger payment to stay away from your family, but that's it. And I did take pains to route it in a way that he might just think it came from your dad instead of me."
I rubbed my forehead. Suddenly I had a massive headache.
"Brandon. I know you don't really think that worked. Victor Messina probably started sniffing you out the second you produced a paper bag full of cash like a damn magician."
"Probably," Brandon admitted. "But it was a start." He looked up with big eyes. "You should probably know that after you told me about your dad's, um, new friend, I arranged for a security detail to watch the house in Brooklyn. And, ah, you too."
I gaped around my room as if Inspector Gadget was about to pop out of my closet. "What?!"
He had the decency to look ashamed, but I recognized the set of his jaw when Brandon wasn't going to change his mind.
"I did it during dinner on Friday," he said. "Listen, you just finished telling me how scared you are that someone is going to hurt your family again. I'm just doing what needs to be done to make sure it doesn't happen."
"I don't need a security detail. Talk about a breach of privacy, Brandon!"
I turned back to my desk in a huff. I pulled the hair band out of my hair and started brushing violently. It only made it bush up, but I didn't care. I needed something to do.
Brandon continued to watch me in the mirror.
"Skylar, come on," he said, "This is me, a guy who is currently being followed everywhere by a private investigator hired by my crazy ex-wife. Do you think I want to invade your privacy?"
"She's not your ex yet," I countered petulantly as I attacked the left side of my head.
"You say you know how these kinds of people work. I do too, Red, and probably better than you. I used to run with thugs like him when I was younger. And when they want something, they don't go after the guy with the money. They go after the people he cares about. Messina would go after the people I care about, and that's you, more than anything else." Behind me, Brandon sighed. "Will you turn around and look at me, please?"
I stilled, but set my brush down on the desktop and did as he asked. I started braiding my hair into a thick rope. Brandon leaned over and braced his hands on his knees so he could look directly at me.
"They don't report to me unless something bad happens," he said plainly. "No one is spying on you or tracking anything other than your safety. I wouldn't do that to you. Do you believe me, Red?"
His voice was imploring, but also hard with tension. We were trying to heal, but he was still a slightly colder version of the man I had fallen in love with. I hadn't thought about the obvious stresses in his life, particularly with negotiating a divorce from someone who obviously didn't want to be divorced. And on top of that, he had been trying to help my family even when we weren't technically together. I certainly wasn't always a peach either.
"I believe you," I said.
"Good. Look, I figured you wouldn't want a bodyguard, so surveillance was the next best thing. But if you really don't want it, I'll call it off," he said, although he obviously wanted to do anything but that.
I looked down at my hands. I really didn't like the idea of being followed around everywhere I went, even if I could understand his concern. Regardless of his promise that he wasn't spying, it still felt like an overstep.
"How about this," I said. "Keep whoever is in Brooklyn there for now, but remove the Boston guys. I actually do feel better knowing someone is looking out for Bubbe and my dad. If I feel any hint of anything weird here, you can assign someone to me. Will that work?"
Brandon chewed on his lower lip for a moment, clearly wanting to insist on his original agenda. But finally, he clapped his hands together and looked straight at me.
"Deal," he said.
"And no going around my back with other plans."
He gave me a shy, guilty smile that just about broke my resolve to force him to keep his hands to himself for a while.
"Deal," he said again. "Now get over here."
He pulled me from the chair to stand in between his legs, then wrapped his big hands around my hips and pressed his lips into my stomach. The sweet gesture made my heart ache. Green eyes or blue? My fingers threaded into his hair automatically, and I sighed.
"Thank you for letting me help," Brandon murmured into the cotton of my shirt.
His hands floated down to squeeze my ass briefly, then let go when my stomach grumbled. He looked up, blue eyes ablaze with happiness and humor. I pushed a few locks of hair off his forehead. It was getting just slightly too long again, curling around his ears the same way it did when I'd first met him. We gazed at each other, entranced by the obvious love flowing between us, until my stomach grumbled again.
Brandon laughed and stood up. "Come on, Red," he said. "Let's get you some food. And then, unfortunately, I have to get going."
"Another golf meeting?" I teased as I followed him out of the bedroom. A quick glance at the empty couch told me Jane must have found someone to go home with last night.
"Not quite," Brandon said as he went to the refrigerator. "Tennis court this time." He darted a quick glance at me over his shoulder. "You don't play, do you?"
I shook my head as I pulled a box of tea and my jar of honey out of the cupboard. "There aren't a lot of tennis courts in Flatbush."
He gave me a knowing half-smile then turned back to his search. "I feel you. Not a lot in Dorchester either. I didn't learn until I was married."
The word dropped between us like a mini-grenade––the fact that he had been and still was married to another woman. And not to just anyone. The kind of woman who belonged to a tennis club and who probably played golf too. Who wore real pearls as casual jewelry and only drank white wine and colorless liquor. I had seen Miranda Sterling née Keith. She was the kind of woman who never had a hair out of place, even in a wind storm. She was imperious and impossibly beautiful.
But Brandon didn't love her, and most likely never really had. And I had a choice to make––stand with him while he finished cleaning up the mess of his youth, or leave him, just like everyone else had. I had already tried the wrong version of that decision; I wasn't going to do it again.
He put the milk he had grabbed on the kitchen counter and welcomed me when I came to stand in front of him. I smiled and reached up to clasp his stubbly cheeks between my palms.
"I love you," I told him, knowing that it was true.
The words hadn't been said much since we had gotten back together––maybe once or twice in a fury. Brandon stilled for a moment, taking in the words before his face split with a massive grin. It was the thousand-watt smile I loved, the one that seemed to make an entire room light up without a single light bulb.
"I'm glad to hear it," he said finally. "And in case you were wondering, I love you too. Like fucking crazy."
I grinned back, then went up on my tiptoes to give him a brief kiss, which he turned into something much more thorough when he picked me up and set me on the counter. His kiss was no longer sweet––it yearned for something I couldn't quite put words to. His hands were just finding their way underneath my shirt when a door opened up behind us with a loud squeak.
Brandon's hand innocently moved back to my waist. I looked over Brandon's shoulder to find Jane creeping out of Eric's room wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. Her black bob stuck out in all number of directions, smudges of makeup outlined her puffy eyes, and a red pillow mark slashed across her cheek. It wasn't until she had pushed her glasses on her face that she realized she had an audience. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes darted between us, then closed with a scowl.
"Not one word," she pronounced slowly, then shuffled to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her.
Brandon looked to me, eyes now full of mirth.
"I guess she had a good night too." He leaned down to kiss me again, this time more tamely. "Looks like you've got some things to handle this morning, and I've got to get going. You guys have nothing to eat."
"Sorry about that. I'll pick up some groceries for next time."
"You going to keep house for me, Red?" Brandon joked as he walked to the door to pick up his shoes, then sat down at our small table to put them on.
I hopped off the counter and shrugged. "It wouldn't be so hard to have some food on hand if you're going to be here more often."
"What I should do is just rent you your own apartment so we can have some privacy," he said. "If, " he added with a churlish grin right when I was about to protest, "I thought you'd ever take it."
He stood up and walked back to where I stood and smacked me with another brief, but thorough kiss. "I'll just have to wait until I can get you to move in with me again."
I was about to argue that I'd never actually moved in with him to begin with, but was interrupted by Jane skittering out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, presumably to find a pair of pants in the overnight bag she'd left in there.
Brandon looked back to me with an arched brow. "I'll call you later?" he asked. "I have to go out of town this week for a few days to meet with some investors, but I'll be back on Thursday. Can I claim Friday night again next week?"
I smiled. "Sounds good."
"Perfect." He grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone from the table. With a quick, panty-dropping grin at the door, he was gone.
~