Brooks grabs my arm and the world starts moving again, and I realize there’s smoke and screaming all around us, chaos personified while I’m standing here making up fucking poems about Brooks Landry.
“Yeah, it’s a long story,” she snaps.“And we’ve got to get the hell out of here.I killed someone upstairs and the guards are coming for me.”
We’re running before I know what we’re doing, and two thoughts are racing through my brain.
One: Of course she killed someone.
Two: That’s my fucking girl, and I wouldn’t expect anything less.And now I’m going to get her home and remind her exactly who she belongs to—and that I’ll kill her if she ever does anything like this again.
My final thought as I race through the door, though, is that she will.And I’ll have to save her again.And I’ll show up for her, just like I always have.
Just like I always will.
Brooks
I’m surprised when we don’t return to his mansion, and go instead to an apartment above an old jazz club in Tremé.
“Why are we here?”I ask, looking around the place.It’s well-appointed, done in rich leather and deep reds and greens, and looks like a place an old man would keep for the weekends.Lots of furniture and views of the city outside make my think that this is actually someone’s home.
Wait,isthis someone else’s home?
Does Lucien keep another apartment in the city, for when he can’t make it home?Camille told me that he went through a phase of dating every girl in the city, and suddenly I wonder if he keeps an apartment for his girls to sleep at.Maybe he actually keeps a girl here and she’s about to come out of the bathroom or something.
Look, I’m not normally a jealous person, but the thought of him having a girl on the side makes me want to murder someone.I’ve spent days obsessing about where he was and whether he was dead, and it’s allowed something to grow inside me that I wasn’t expecting.
Something that feels a lot like possessiveness.
Of a man I can’t actually claim as my own.
I’ve barely finished the thought before Lucien comes in behind me, grabs me, and spins me to face him.His arms go around my waist and yank me against his body, and he’s hotter than any human being should be.He’s burning up, like someone lit him on fire before he entered the apartment, and the heat passes through me until I feel the fire licking through my veins, as well.The flames rush into my face and then southward, where they pools between my legs, the surge of lust making me feel as though my bones are melting, my body becoming fluid in his arms like it’s trying to merge with his.
“Stop thinking this is an apartment I keep for other girls,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I say, though my voice is weak and unconvincing.
His eyes drop to my lips and a smile curves the corners of his mouth.“Yes you were.Your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is, Brooks Landry.”
“Stop calling me that,” I protest.“That’s not my name anymore.”
He kisses me slowly, like we have all the time in the world and he’s going to savor me for hours.His lips are soft and insistent, but so gentle I feel as if I could cry, and I open up beneath him like a flower that’s finally seen the sun.Sparks explode through my body and the butterflies I’ve been keeping at bay rise up in my lower stomach, singing like they’ve been waiting years for this.
The truth is, they have.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his hands go to my hair, pulling it sharply to tip my head up to his.I don’t fight it.I’m too busy reveling in having his hands on me again.His lips on mine and his body pressed up against me.He’s hard and ready, his erection a rod against my belly, and I’m melting for him.I want our clothes off and a bed right now.I don’t think I can stand another moment without him inside me.His skin naked against mine.
His whispers on my skin as he fucks me.
He pulls away, though, his eyes teasing with that laughter I used to love so much.
“You’ll always be Brooks Landry to me,” he whispers.Then he tugs on a lock of hair.“Just like I’ll always expect you to be blond.I’ve known you too long to think of you as anything different.”
The statement hits me in a way I don’t expect, with the blunt reminder that this man is part of my history.In a world where I’ve had to build a whole new life with people who don’t know who I really am, Lucien’s a rock.A foundational part of me.He’s seen all of me, knows the things that built me into who I am.
And that means more than I ever thought it would.
“I’m never going back to blond,” I say, needing to fight him onsomething.
His smirk turns into a grin.“I didn’t say I mind the red.I kind of like it.Matches your personality.Go have a shower.You smell like other men, and I don’t like it.”
