CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He unknotted his green, striped tie and tossed it on the king size bed. Making quick work of the buttons on his crisp white shirt, he stripped that off next, grateful to be rid of it. He grabbed his phone, scrolled to his messages, and clicked open the photo Shannon had sent him earlier.

Best part of the day. Hands down.

Brent lay back in the hotel bed at The Pierson in midtown, and ran his thumb over the picture she’d snapped at the photo booth on Friday afternoon. She’d added a bushy black mustache to his face, and planted a purple wig on her own head. Rudimentary photo work, but he loved it all the more. His lips curved into a grin as he stared at the two of them and her comical additions to the picture.

He ran his fingertip across her face. Even in a silly shot like this, she was beautiful to him. He dropped his head onto the pillow. “I’m so fucked,” he muttered.

He was more than crazy about her. He was completely under her spell, hypnotized, and he never wanted it to end. It hadn’t taken much for him to fall back under. He was nearly there before he’d even started seeing her again. But then she did things like this—things that were so goofy, so silly, and so utterly them. Things that made him want to hold on tight and never let go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of pink and purple on his bicep. The tattoo she’d given him was still there.

He called her.

“Hey,” she said softly when she answered on the second ring.

“Hey you. Guess what I just learned?” he said, as if he had a big surprise.

“What did you learn?” she said in an instantly playful tone.

“Those temporary tattoos last at least two days.”

She laughed. “Admit it. You just haven’t showered since Friday.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’re right. It’s because I couldn’t bear to wash off the scent of you lusting over me.”

She cracked up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And so is this mustache you gave me. Remind me to never ever grow one because I look stupid as hell like this. You, on the other hand, are hot in a purple wig.”

“Why thank you. I do have mad Photoshop skills, don’t I?”

“Could be another career path for you,” he said, parking his free hand behind his head, thinking how fucking epic it was to slide right back into this kind of chatter with his woman. He savored the kind of easy connection they had. It was part and parcel of why he’d fallen so quickly for her in college, and why he’d been absolutely certain he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

They clicked.

On every level.

In every single way.

“How was your day?” she asked, and it was such a simple question, such a couple question, and it made his heart nearly trip out of his chest. “How did the meeting go?”

The fact that she asked about work, especially since his work had come between them before—hell, it came between them last night—meant the world to him. He recounted his meeting with Alan, from the guy’s admiration for the ball-shaving bit all the way to the fiancée comment. “If I showed up at this picnic with a pregnant woman or a baby in tow, I’d be a slam dunk,” he said, with a laugh.

He was met with silence on the other end of the phone.

Dead silence. Shit. Maybe he was pushing things too far by even saying something that suggested babies, or pregnancy, or being more serious than they were. He sat up straight. “You still there, Shan?”

“Sorry,” she said in a quiet voice, sounding strained. Her reaction didn’t compute for him, but then he didn’t have the benefit of looking her in the eyes. Besides, it was a weird comment from Alan. “Sorry they’re giving you such a hard time,” she added.

He settled into the soft covers on the bed. “Yeah, but what can you do? I need New York. The location is perfect, and New York is the centerpiece of our expansion plans. I just have to jump through his hoops.”

“It’s silly what they’re focusing on. Like, that’s what makes a difference in whether they approve you,” she said harshly, now switching from the odd distance of a minute ago to a controlled anger. “It’s your character. It’s who you are. It’s how you treat people. That’s what matters. Not whether you have children or a wife, or whether you swear or don’t swear. Or tell jokes about everything that goes wrong with shaving your balls.”

“Couldn’t agree more, but I need to play their game.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not a twenty-something guy, obviously, and I happened to think that joke was epic,” she said.

His ears perked. “You did? That bit was two years ago. I didn’t think you’d seen it.”

Her voice turned flirty. “I might have caught up on some of your greatest hits recently. You’ve always cracked me up.”

Pride suffused him. He’d made millions laugh, but she was the one whose laugher he craved the most. “That’s awesome. I love that you have a dirty sense of humor.”

“Like a twenty-something guy,” she said. “Though, I’m especially glad that it’s just a joke. Because you’d look silly with a Mohawk down there.”

A grin spread across his face. “See? I’m telling you. You can’t shave your own balls or you wind up with a comb-over or a Mr. T style ’do, and neither one is attractive,” he said, and there it was—the sweet sound of her laughing once more. “So what about you? Did you spend the day getting pampered at the Luxe?”

She sighed, and in that wistful sound he sensed her no before she even said it. “I really wanted to, but Ryan called, and I had to see him, because…” She stopped to take another breath. “We need to visit my mom at the end of the month.”

He sat up straight, pressed the phone more firmly to his ear as if that would bring him closer to her. He felt like a schmuck for having bitched about something as small as whether the neighborhood association liked him. “Tell me more.”

* * *

She gave Brent the details as she paced around her kitchen table, her edginess returning.

“Why do you think she saw a lawyer?”

“I have no idea. Brent, she’s crazy. Prison made her crazy,” she said, as she stopped at the fridge and found an open bottle of chardonnay.

“I can’t even imagine. It must be awful.”

She poured half a glass. “It’s gotten worse in the last few years. She wasn’t like this before, though, when I first knew you. She was more together. She’s become more...” Her voice trailed off as she struggled for the words to describe her mother. Dora had been a passionate and desperate woman when Shannon was younger, desperate to achieve more than the little she’d had. Once she was locked up, all that passion churned into something else—an anxious, dangerous determination, a rattled desire for freedom.

Shannon picked up her wine and took a sip. “More unstable, but obsessive too. She’s always trying to get people to listen to her. I bet she’s contacting the Innocence Project. She’d do that. She’d spend her time getting up to speed on prisoner rights and wrongful convictions. She’s convinced she’s not supposed to be behind bars.”

“Have you ever thought she shouldn’t be?” he asked, a softness to his tone. She could tell he wasn’t suggesting Dora was innocent, as Ryan often did. He was simply asking what she believed.

“The evidence against her is pretty compelling. I know the truth. I’m sure of it, but she’s still my mom, and she’s still in prison,” she said, heading to her yellow couch, the kind of bright yellow that made the room feel cheery, in contrast to Shannon’s mood right now. “But I’ll go anyway. Ryan needs me. He’s always been caught up in her orbit. I need to go with him.”

“I’ll go with you if you want.”

His words surprised her. She hadn’t been expecting that. No one had ever offered to be a part of this side of her life. Then again, she’d never gotten close enough to anyone to let him or her in this far. “What?” she asked, incredulous.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, again, making it sound so simple. “If you want me to. I know it can’t be easy. Let me be there for you.”

Her mood switched in an instant, as she shrugged off the dark and heavy cloak of the day. “You’re amazing. It’s five hours away though.”

He laughed. “I’m not afraid of a little car time. Especially if it means I can be with you.”

“You can’t go in though, to see her. Only pre-approved visitors like family and friends she knew before she was in prison are allowed.”

“I’m not going to see her. I’m going to be there for you. I’ll drive you. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot or waiting room or wherever. Wait—do they even have waiting rooms in prison?”

She chuckled lightly. Only Brent could make her laugh about this. “Oddly enough, they do,” she said, then let her mind imagine how much better it would be to have him waiting for her when she was done. “Brent,” she said, speaking softly as she settled into the couch, “why do you do so much for me?”

“Why do I do so much for you?” he repeated, as if her words didn’t make sense. “What do you mean?”

“Does it ever bother you that you’ve had such a normal life and I have this... crazy one? I have so much baggage, and you have none.”

“Baggage doesn’t scare me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that my family is so messed up?” she asked, because it bugged her. “It’s so uneven between us. I mean, you just offered to take me to visit my mother in prison, who’s behind bars for murdering my father for money. Meanwhile, you bake pumpkin pie for your parents every year at Thanksgiving. What could I possibly ever do for you?”

He scoffed loudly. “You have no idea what you do for me.”

“Then tell me. I can’t even imagine what I could ever do that would compare.”

“First of all, it doesn’t have to compare. You send me a selfie of us and I’m fucking ecstatic,” he said, and his voice was filled with sincerity that made her heart beat faster. He was the easiest person to please, and she loved that about him. “Think of me like a cactus. I don’t require much. A little water, some sun, I’m good.”

“I’ve often thought of you as my sunflower, but cactus works too,” she said, as a smile spread across her face. “I guess that means I’m a hibiscus. They need a ton of water.”

“That’s why we’re right for each other,” he said, and she wished she were with him right now, to see his face, to touch his cheek, to kiss those lips that said words that made her feel so much joy.

“But sometimes I worry that I don’t have enough to give,” she said, voicing her deepest concerns. That no matter what, she would always be the one needing him more than he ever needed her. “That all I’m doing is taking because I need so much. That you’ll resent me.”

“Don’t you realize? I want to give what I have to you. I’m lucky. I know that. I have an overflow of luck, happiness, all that stuff. And yeah, I don’t have family issues, but what I have instead is the ability to be by your side as you deal with yours.”

Her heart leapt. It twirled, it skipped, it tried to jump across the country and find him in New York City. “What can I give you though?” Her voice rose with worry. She didn’t want to lose him again, and she feared that all this crap in her life would be too much. Especially since there was more to come. More confessions, more secrets still to be shared.

“All I want is you. Give me you,” he said, and his words warmed her from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair.

Later. She’d deal with the rest later. “You can have me.”

“Good. Now tell me what you’re up to right now. Right this second. I want to picture you.”

She carved out a deeper spot in her living room couch, making herself comfortable, not wanting the conversation with him to end. “Just lying here on my couch, glass of white wine in my hand, talking to the most handsome man I’ve ever known,” she said, taking a swallow of the chardonnay, then setting down the glass on the coffee table.

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you’ve got it bad for this guy.”

Shannon turned on her side, perhaps subconsciously shifting into an even sexier pose, picturing Brent’s eyes roaming her body as if he were there, his gaze holding her captive. “I tried to shut him out, but it was impossible. He’s pretty much the cat’s meow.”

“What’s he like? This guy you’re into?”

She closed her eyes, seeing him perfectly. “He’s gorgeous, he makes me laugh, he loves showering me with gifts, he has a matchstick temper—”

“Hey, now.”

“And he’s this totally sexy nightclub owner.” She was keenly aware that she was using his current job, focusing on the man he was now. Not who he used to be.

Brent played along, his deep, gravelly voice sending a charge through her as he spoke. “Sounds like this guy rocks your world. In more ways than one. Is he good in bed, too?”

“Oh, yes. He owns my body. He’s always known what to do to me.”

“What would he be doing to you right now? Kissing your neck, tugging on your hair, doing little things that get you all revved up for him?”

A gentle pulse beat between her legs as he began turning her on. “Kissing me all over. Making me want more.”

“I bet he’d tease you. Drive you wild. Work his way up and down those sexy legs of yours, all the way to your ankles.”

“He loves my ankles. Loves them in high heels.”

“Bet he makes you leave them on, because it turns him on.”

“He does,” she said, in a purr.

“Right now, I have a hunch he’d be getting you so worked up you’d breathe hard, and your knees would fall wide open for him,” he said, as if he were laying out the roadmap to her body. Her skin heated up, and that gentle pulse turned into an exquisite ache between her legs.

She let the blanket fall off her. She opened her legs. And she stopped talking about the two of them in the third person. “I wish you were here right now, Brent,” she said as she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down to her knees.

He groaned, a deep, throaty rumble that gave away all his desire, too. “I want that so much. I want you so much.”

“I want you even more than I did before. It’s crazy how much I want you,” she said, wriggling on the couch as she dropped her hand inside her panties. Her fingers slid easily between her legs, to the wetness waiting for her touch. A fresh wave of heat raced across her skin as she touched herself, gliding her fingers through all that hot desire for him.

“I don’t even know how to get through the next thirty-six hours till I can have my hands on you,” he said, huskily. “I have to have you again.”

“You will have me. I want you to have me. All of me,” she said, her breathing speeding up, her voice turning feathery. Her body tingled everywhere.

“Where is your hand right now?”

She closed her eyes and stroked her slick heat. She moaned as her fingers rubbed her swollen clit. “Between my legs. Where I want you to be.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Are they spread for me? So I can prop them up on my shoulders and take you deep?”

A rush of heat swooped through her. “Yes. I love it when you do that.” She let her knees fall open wider. “You can take me any way you want.”

His voice turned dirtier, harsher. “I’d like to flip you over. Put you on your hands and knees. Watch you raise that perfect fucking ass for me. Slide into you. Bury myself in you.”

She could hear his breath growing faster. “Is your hand on your dick?”

“I’m doing exactly what I stopped last night.”

“Don’t stop now. Finish this time. Finish and I will, too,” she said on a pant as she writhed into her own touch, wishing it was him, imagining he was touching her, tasting her, fucking her into blissful oblivion.

“You better finish. You better finish because I love hearing you come. I always finish you,” he said, and she moaned loudly, like she was singing a hot, sultry chorus to a song.

That song was his name, and it tumbled from her lips as desire climbed faster up her spine. “I love being on my hands and knees for you. I want you to put me there. Or bend me over the couch. Whatever you want, just please do it to me. Please. I love it all with you,” she said, as her fingers flew across her heat. She loved everything with him, every position, every moment, every touch, and every taste. Especially because he liked to dominate her, and she craved that. She hungered for the ways he needed to take her.

“Say that again. Say please again. I love it when you beg for it.”

She arched her back, thrusting into her fingers. “Please, Brent. Please make me come. I want to come all over you.”

He groaned, a feral sound, and she heard his breath hitch. He was close, too. “I’m going to make you come so hard. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I want you to lose control all over me, and scream my name so loud you go hoarse,” he said, and she imagined his big hand flying over his cock. Gripping himself. Tugging hard and rough and fast.

And she broke. She soared. She rode her own fingers shamelessly as she screamed his name, like he wanted, like he needed. “Brent.”

“Yeah, just like that. Just like that,” he said, then his words turned into growls that seemed to rip from his throat. The sound of his pleasure tore through her body, igniting her once more, sending her into another powerful climax, as she cried out once again.

* * *

He could picture her on her couch, all blissed out and sated, her skin glowing, her hair a wild tumble, fanned out across the pillows. There was no better image in the world. No better sound than her voice as she murmured, “Have I mentioned I can’t wait to see you?”

“Yes, and you can say it again. Because I like hearing it.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” she repeated.

“The next time I see you, I’m going to make you mine.”

“I’m already yours. I swear, I am.”

They were talking about sex, and fucking, but they were talking about so much more. The fact that she’d shared her worries about her family meant the world to him. She trusted him again, opening her heart to the things that were hard for her, and that was a precious gift, one he intended to always treat with care. He wanted to be there for her for all her needs—the physical, but also the emotional.

He sighed. Happily. So damn happily. “I told you I’m easy. Because you’re all I want.”