“I never said I didn’t like it or the food,” Stone countered.
Brighton huffed. “This is why you’re having trouble with your cabinet.”
Taken aback, Stone hesitated. He’d learned to listen, hear her out, since she so rarely offered thoughts about his position or career. “How’s that?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I know I’m not there, so I can’t—”
“I want to hear what you’re thinking.”
“Okay. Well … because you know what you mean when you say something, you assume they do, too. Or you assume the best of people, so you expect them to do the right thing.”
“Expecting them to do the wrong thing is a jaded way of living.”
“True, but … sometimes …” She twisted her diamond earring. “Sometimes, things aren’t as simple as we’d prefer.”
“True, but we always have a choice.”
“That’s oversimplified because … people sometimes have to make choices that … well, there’s no good outcome no matter what they do.”
“But they still have the choice.”
Bexar-Wolfe Lodge, Northern Virginia
Crap. She’d been trying to tell him even then. He dropped back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, hoodie still in hand. And just as she’d said, he’d assumed. Not technically a bad thing, but sometimes, he assumed and persisted with his plan not realizing what it might cost others.
God …
What was there to pray? He had powerful feelings for Brighton. Didn’t know which way was up. But she’d put a crater in his confidence, amplified the leftover resentment he felt toward his ex-wife and father. Everyone he loved betrayed him somehow. How was he supposed to expect it to be different this time? Why hand her his heart when she’d already bludgeoned it once?
But he couldn’t freakin’ stop thinking about her. Those kisses, her curled against his side, sharing good meals and conversation. Lazy evenings with the woman who made him happy. Thoughts of her teasing laughter and kisses luring him from consciousness.
Sunlight stabbed his corneas. He squinted, confused, and grunted. What was that? He lifted his head and felt something weighting his arm. “Grief, off,” he muttered, his head feeling waterlogged. He shifted and felt the soft fur against his bicep. “Grief. Off.”
An excited whine.
From his left. Not his right where he’d felt the soft tickle.
What …? Stone propped up on his elbows. Squinted again, this time forcing himself to wake up. Must’ve fallen asleep. He looked to his right?—and shot from the bed. Cursed, scrambling to cover himself.
“Stone.” Brighton flushed.
“What the?—”
“Wait, pl?—”
“What’s going on?” he growled, his head feeling like a thousand pounds.
Banging erupted from the front door. Was that what had awakened him??—someone knocking?
He couldn’t even look at the door?. Couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight before him. Acutely aware of his state of undress. Racked his brain to figure out what happened. How he’d ended up in bed with Brighton.
Chapter
Sixteen
Bexar-Wolfe Lodge, Northern Virginia
Sleeping with Stone was not what she’d intended when she crawled into bed beside him. Well, not sleeping-sleeping. But falling asleep. “Nothing happened.” Brighton held up her hands, trying to reassure him. “I promise.” Man, she hated that crazed look on his face.
