“He told me I wasn’t wife material. He said I had no goals or dreams or aspirations.” Juliette set down her glass and combed her fingers through her tousled hair. She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, wiping away the last of her tears. She wouldn’t cry for him again. Not anymore. It didn’t matter if the memory was fresh. If Rodrigo had been so kind with the words, so gentle, because it did nothing to ease the agony of knowing he hadn’t chosen her. “I wasn’t enough. Why am I not enough?”
Brock captured her face with both of his hands and stole her breath. His eyes searched hers, so familiar, so much a part of everything she wanted, everything she longed for. “You’ve always been enough, Juliette. You were enough then, and you’re enough now.”
Then he kissed her.
Not a sweet, soft, tentative kiss.
No. This one was raw and hungry. Punishing. As though he were trying to make up for all the years he’d missed. His lips were warm and his hands were rough. Capturing her waist, he dragged her across his lap, and his calloused palms slipped under the hem of her sweater. Their tongues tangled as he skimmed her waist to her ribs, then finally cupped her breasts. Leaning into his touch, Juliette moaned into his mouth, letting him swallow her whimpers. He flicked his thumbs backand forth across her pebbled nipples, and she arched into him, rolling her hips forward.
This time, there was no denying how badly he wanted her.
She could feel his stiff length straining against his jeans, and she squirmed in his hold, desperate to create a little more friction.
“Jules,” Brock murmured her name against the side of her throat, planting hot kisses along the column of her neck. His hands, roughened by years of hard work, continued to palm her breasts. He scraped his teeth along her jaw, and a fresh wave of heat blossomed through her core. “I need you to tell me to stop.”
Impossible.
Shaking her head, she leaned back. “I can’t.”
“Jules, please,” he begged, his green eyes pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t want us. Tell me to stop.”
“No, Brock.” She grabbed the hem of the oversized gray sweater and peeled it off, tossing it behind her. “I want this. I want us.”
His gaze heated, dipping to where her breasts were on full display before him. The look in his eyes was raw and ravenous. Full of frantic hunger. Then she leaned in close, pressed her lips to his in a featherlight kiss, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, crushing her to him with a kiss. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you these past few days.”
“Then I guess you better show me.” Juliette reached between them and tugged his shirt out of his jeans, yanking it up over his head.
When he threw it over the back of the sofa, Juliette could only stare at the way time had changed his body. With the softest of touches, she carefully explored the new version of this man, marveling at the way his muscles bunched and tensed beneath her fingertips. She traced the lines of his biceps to his forearms, and back to where a Celtic knot tattoo wound from his wrist tohis shoulder. Every dip and line was memorized. There were a few new scars, a gnarly one cut across his ribcage, and there were some blemishes she didn’t recognize, from stories she didn’t know. So, she kissed each of them.
“So many scars,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to his face. “Do they hurt?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Juliette rocked her hips again, grinding against him. “Because I hate to think you were in pain, and I wasn’t there to comfort you.”
There was a flash of some dark emotion she didn’t recognize, but it was gone in the next moment when he blinked.
“You can comfort me now.” His smile was slow and sensual. In one fluid movement, he stood, hoisting her up into his arms. “If you want.”
Grabbing his shoulders for purchase, she locked her legs around his waist. Oh, yes. She would like that very much.
Brock carried her to his bedroom, his mouth fused to hers, his hands molded to her ass. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, pausing only to kick it shut once they were inside. Juliette tangled her fingers in his hair, nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, and loved the feel of her breasts pressed against his solid chest. The faint dusting of hair there tickled her skin, heightening her senses, sending spasms of awareness firing through her. She could stay like this forever, locked in his embrace.
“Jules,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Hm?” She let his tongue glide over hers once more.
“I have to put you down.”
Juliette wriggled in his hold, the heat between her thighs building. “Why?”
“So I can fuck you properly.”
“Oh.” She loosened her legs, sliding down him like a pole. “Right.”
The moment her feet touched the smooth hardwood floor, Juliette knew a boundary had been crossed. Standing in his bedroom, surrounded by touches of evergreen and warm oak, of subtle reminders of him, she knew there would be no going back. This was the moment. Their past would stay behind them, buried where it belonged, but their future remained untouched. Unknown.
