I leaned back against him while he moved the washcloth over my belly. Reaching up, I ran my fingers through the back of his hair. I had to lift on my tiptoes, and he needed to lean down so that I could press a kiss to the line of his jaw.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I didn’t want to pry too much about his job. I knew that was private, but I had to ask.
A muscle in his jaw flexed.
I pulled from his hold and spun to face him. “What is it?”
He’d said the child that was missing was safe. But had he lied? Brutus had a poker face that could fool anyone. And I was pretty damned good at reading people. I’d honed that skill in my sales career.
He shook his head. His fingers trailed down my neck and over my shoulder. He played with the tip of one of my braids, staring at it.
When his eyes met mine again, there was a look of pure vulnerability in them. It almost brought me to my knees to see a man of his size, who exuded power and confidence, wear such a look.
“Children should be protected.”
My response to that was to run a hand over his chest. One of his pectoral muscles jumped in response to my touch.
“Wh-What happened?” I had to ask.
“Nothing. The boy’s fine.” He paused for a beat. “Tonight, but …” He continued to toy with my braids, his hands easing their way up to my scalp. “Not in his past.” He swallowed. “There’re so many sick bastards in this world—the type who will take their pathetic feelings out on defenseless children. And women,” he added.
“My mother.” He swallowed again. “She was terrible at relationships. Some of the guys she dated were okay. Or at least they didn’t bother me too much. But some thought it was a good idea to use her as a punching bag.”
His hands ran through my braids, but his eyes looked a million miles away.
“Did they—” I stopped, needing to gather my composure to finish my question. “Did they hurt you, too?”
His eyes finally landed on me again. I saw the answer before he spoke.
“Yes. She managed to keep one around for a few years. He was especially terrible. I often got in between their fights.” He snorted. “They weren’t fights. It was him pounding on her. At nine, when he first came around, there wasn’t much I could do except shield her from the blows.”
He flinched when I cupped his cheek, but he kept talking.
“But I hit a growth spurt when I turned fourteen.” His eyes met mine. There was a brutal look in them. “The benefit of growing six inches over a summer and being on the football team is that it makes it easier to fight back when your mother’s five-foot-eight boyfriend thinks it’s a good idea to hit her or you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I blinked away the tears in my eyes.
Brutus gave me a small smile, leaning in to brush his lips across mine.
In that instant, I started to understand him a little more. What made him tick. The instinct to protect others was born from his desire to protect his mom.
“That was his last summer with us. I’m pretty sure I cracked one of his ribs. Hard to tell the guys at the bar your old lady’s fourteen-year-old kid beat the shit out of you.”
I sucked in my bottom lip. “Was your mom upset that he left?” I’d heard stories of women who blamed their children when a man left them. Carlene, my best friend, had one such story.
“Nah.” His fingers began massaging my scalp again.
I bit back the moan that tried to claw itself free from my throat.
“Honestly, she was relieved. She’d been trying to figure out a way to get rid of him for a while. She barely dated after Steve left. And five years later …” He didn’t finish as his lips clamped together.
He didn’t need to finish his thought, though. I knew his mother passed away when he was just nineteen.
“That should’ve never happened to you.” I pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the tension in his body ease when I did so. Listening to Brutus talk about his childhood made me all the more grateful for my parents and family.
“I like this color in your hair,” he said.
I peered down at the blue strands of hair interwoven with my dark brown hair. “I got them redone in Medellín.”
