He barked a loud laugh, then did exactly as I’d asked.
We kissed for ages, our hands roaming one another's bodies as we rolled around in my huge bed, but two things prevented us from taking things further.
One… I’d just gotten out of the hospital and was supposed to be on bed rest. For the safety of our baby, I really needed to check with a doctor before letting Dylan ram me with his huge dick again.
Two... "Dylan, I need you to do something," I told him in a breathy voice as our kiss broke apart. My lips were swollen and puffy and my whole body ached for more of his touch, but this was too important.
"Anything, Brooke, baby. Anything on this earth." His reply was so heartfelt that I almost groaned.
Licking my lips, I tried to slow my racing pulse. "I need you to go talk to Mary."
He paused, pulling back from my neck, where he'd started kissing me again. "Your housekeeper? Why?"
"Um." I swallowed heavily. Mary's secret wasn't mine to reveal, and I owed her the opportunity to tell him herself. "Just... trust me? This is important, Dylan."
Now I had his attention. He sat up with a suspicious look on his face and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Okay."
My brows rose. "Okay?"
He nodded. "Yes. You said it's important, and I do trust you." He stood up from my bed, then frowned down at the way his pants were tented. "Just, uh, give me a second."
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh as he ducked into my bathroom. The tap ran for a few moments, then he re-emerged looking somewhat less flustered.
"Is she downstairs?"
"Should be," I confirmed. "Probably in the kitchen. She mentioned earlier that she wanted to bake cookies for the morning."
A wide smile creased Dylan's face. "I love fresh cookies."
And with that, he left my room to—hopefully—meet his birth mother for the first time,officially.The temptation to become a fly on the wall for that conversation was palpable, but he'd respected my privacy for so long it was the least I could do to respect his.
He'd tell me when he was ready, I had no doubt in my mind.
32
Dylan Grant
My life was a series of fucked up years sprinkled with moments of happiness. I was ancient in ways other twenty-three-year-olds were not. Strange, considering I’d never expected to make it to this age at all.
Fuck if I wasn’t grateful for it now that I had Brooklyn. From the first moment I saw her standing at the bar, a cloud of angel hair drifting around her and the most timid, innocent expression on her face as she tried to wave the bartender down, I’d been fucking hooked.
She was nothing like any woman I’d ever known. Quiet where they were bold. Introspective where they were brash. And broken as fuck. Just like me.
It could have been her jagged edges, barely hidden, that first drew me forward. Or the lush-as-fuck lips and expressive hazel eyes. The way she tasted drove me crazy, and if Delta hadn’t kept me so busy, there was no way I could have stayed away as much as I had. It had taken real effort to focus on work.
For so long, all I’d wanted was to have her in all ways. Our conversation tonight was almost unbelievable. Good shit just didn’t happen in my life, and I was waiting for her love to be yanked right out from under me.
What fate didn’t realize was I would tear this world to fucking pieces to keep her. No matter what was thrown at us, what obstacle or pain, I would be stronger. Brooklyn was done with fearing the next dawn. Both of us were going to have a happily ever after if I had to kill everyone else on Earth to make it happen.
But right now, she just wanted me to speak with her housekeeper. A simple enough request.
As I dropped off the bottom step, I heard clattering in a room off the main foyer and, figuring that was the kitchen, headed in that direction. My little bird had a nice house, and now she could enjoy it without fear.
If I could kill hermotherfuckerof a brother over and over again, I would. There was no amount of torture that would be enough, and my only regret about his death was that his heart had given out after less than twelve hours. At least his carcass didn’t go to waste, feeding my favorite of the big cats.
Thoughts of that coward cut off at the sound of a beautiful voice singing. The song started up so suddenly, and it was a familiar song: Brahm’s “Lullaby.”
My boots ground to a halt.
