“You were drunk,” Braxton counters, his voice sounding lighter than I’ve ever heard it. “I was completely sober.”
I shake my head at him. “Liar,” I tease and lean back out of his embrace.
A chill washes over my skin and seeps into my bones when I notice I’m still wrapped in his arms. Gently, I push him away from me and step back. Shrugging off my rejection, he sticks his hands in his pockets and returns to his chair across the room.A sudden pang reverberates through my chest, and I can’t stop myself from asking my next question.
“Why did you stop trying to make me fall in love with you?”
He grows serious before responding. “I never stopped.”
I give him a disbelieving look, and his seriousness makes way for an emotion I’m all too familiar with: frustration. “I tried.” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him. “I really fucking tried, Wildflower.”
The intensity in his eyes makes my heart stutter. “It’s not your fault, but you don’t know the torment of trying to get you to fall in love with me over and over again for years, decades even, only to consistently fall short. Of having to face the truth that you hate me, and having to accept the fact that I earned your hate more than I ever deserved your love.” His hands shake at his side, and he wrings them together to hide it. “It’s enough to turn any man into a monster.”
I want to stop my next words from flying out of my mouth, but I can’t. Sometimes my tongue is too quick for my own good. “Clearly you didn’t try hard enough.”
Bolting to his feet, he stalks towards me, closing the gap between us in a few short strides. I straighten my spine as he towers over me and lift my chin so that my eyes bore into his with the same animosity that his skewer me with.
I watch his throat work before he says his next words. “I tried over and over and over again, but dammit, you are loyal to a fault.”
Gripping my waist, he pulls me closer to him. A few strands of my hair fall in front of my eyes. More gently than I’ve ever experienced him to be, he uses one of his hands to brush them back out of my face and behind my ear. Our eyes clash— a mixture of longing and loathing.
“You know what the worst part is?”
I study his face, suddenly able to notice the years of despair that have carved themselves into his skin. My answer comes out soft but firm. “No.”
“All those memories you have of your beloved fiancé… that’s me. That’s us before this curse claimed us. The most painful part of all of this is knowing that you remember everything and long for it the same as I do. You just don’t realize that all of those memories are with me. You don’t remember… me.” He nearly chokes on his confession, the torment in his eyes breaking past my defenses and seeping into the marrow of my bones.
It’s then that I realize that a part of me is aching for him. I’m yearning for him. I’m desperate for the connection that is trying to flood my memories. In this moment, I need his love more than I need air.
He takes a step away from me, and my hand reaches out and grips his on instinct, keeping them locked on my waist.
“Then help me to.” I plead.
“What?”
“Help me to remember you.” I take a deep breath, closing any distance lingering between us. “Kiss me.”
31
Braxton
Whenshesaysthosetwo words, three things happen to me at once. My dick jumps to attention, my heart stutters in my chest, and my mind becomes distrustful.
“What?”
Azalea doesn’t falter. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she repeats her demand. “Kiss me.”
I begin to shake my head, but I don’t step out of her embrace. The feel of her soft curves pressed into me feels too damn good to move away from.
“That’s a bad idea.”
“You don’t want to?”
I know that she’s goading me, but I happily walk into the trap all the same. I drop my face closer to hers, and watch her chest rise sharply as she startles. My lips curve into a smirk.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then kiss me.”
