Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"Ah." He smirks, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You had to take her home, huh?"
"It's too early for your bullshit, Daniel."
"Too bad. It's what you pay me for."
"I pay you to answer phones and manage my schedule. Neither of which you're particularly good at, might I remind you."
He scoffs at me. "You like her."
"Your point?"
"You've never let yourself get close to a woman."
"Still not hearing a point." I don't want to talk to him about Isla. Matter of fact, he's the last person I want to discuss her with. He pulls no punches, and I don't feel entirely rational about her.
"It's about goddamn time you decided to live a little, Brantley," he says, pegging me with a hard look. "But if this is you feelin' guilty about her sister, I'm stickin' my boot up your ass."
"Her sister has nothing to do with the way I feel about her."
He grins. And goddammit, I know he just played me. He's good at that—getting me to reveal more than I meant to reveal with his bullshit mind tricks. He plays the part of the devil may care, foul-mouthed cowboy well, but he's smart as hell. Too fucking smart, actually. It's infuriating.
"Let's talk about how you feel then," he suggests, leaning back in his chair with that shit-eating grin. "Because I'm dyin' to hear this."
"Get out of my office."
"No can do," he says cheerfully. "Like you said, I'm not particularly good at answerin' your phones or managin' your schedule, but I am damn good at psychoanalyzin' the fuck out of you. And you need some of that right now. You've got a look."
"I do not have a look," I growl. Jesus Christ. How'd I end up with the only sponsor in this state determined to drive me to drink?
"Yeah, you do. Cut the shit. What's goin' on?"
I glower at him. He just stares at me. It's the usual damn standoff. And, like always, he wins. The bastard.
"We slept together," I growl.
His eyes widen. "Jesus, Brantley."
"Yeah."
"How was it?" He holds up a hand. "And I'm not askin' for details. I'm askin' how you felt about being that close to someone when you don't even like bein' touched."
"It's different with her," I mutter.
"Different how?"
"No panic. No anxiety. Different."
"Ah."
I swallow, glancing away. "Can you get addicted to people, man?"
"You worried about gettin' addicted to her or to the sex?"
"Her." I meet his gaze, my answer firm. The sex was incredible. But she's the one who made it that way. I wouldn't have even gotten that far with anyone else, which is a testament to her power. I'm in serious danger of getting addicted to her and the way she makes me feel. "Even without the sex, I liked the feel of her hands on me. Maybe a little too much."
Daniel grins at me. "You're supposed to like it, Brant. And because you've never had it, it's a brand-new feelin' for you. You're starved for affection, brother. You crave it. Now, you suddenly have it from this sweet little thing who likes you. Of course you want more of it. That doesn't make it an addiction. It makes you human."
"I don't want to fuck it up."
"So don't," he advises. "You stopped fuckin' up four years ago. Eventually, you gotta learn to trust that you might actually know what the fuck you're doin'."
I'm not sure I've ever known that. I've just been making the shit up as I go, trying not to end up like the bastard who raised me. I figured if I accomplished that, it'd be enough. But now that he's gone, it doesn't feel like enough anymore. I want…more.
I want to be a man Isla can be proud of. But I'm not even fucking sure where to start trying to be him when the goddamn past is still hanging over my head. It's everywhere I look. No matter how far I've come, I'm still surrounded by it. My fucking father still overshadows everything.
If she's with me, he'll taint her too. It's inevitable. I can't tell the truth about who and what he really was. So people will judge her for choosing me. Is that fair to her?
Of course not. But letting her go already feels impossible too. She's under my skin, running through my veins, as vital as air. How do I give that up when I'm pretty goddamn sure she's feeling the same thing?
I can't. I won't.
I wasn't supposed to get close to her. I wasn't supposed to fall.
I am anyway.
So there has to be a third option. One that allows me to keep her close while protecting her from his bullshit.
Shit. Maybe there is.
She wants me to help find out who killed my father. Maybe that's the solution. I find them and deal with the issue. We bring Bella home. And no one finds out exactly what kind of fucking monster my father truly was. His evil dies with him. It doesn't taint Isla. My mother doesn't suffer anymore. For once, we're free.