Breaker stands from the bed and stretches his arms over his head, revealing a patch of skin right above the waistband of his shorts. “If it were me, I’d spend a great deal of time honeymooning.” His eyes connect with mine. “No way would I let you out of my sight.” My cheeks flame, and he quickly realizes what he said so he adjusts. “I mean, my girl. No way would I let my girl out of my sight.”
And I believe that to the fullest.
There was only one time I ever heard Breaker have sex, and he must have forgotten I was home, but I can still remember like it was yesterday. The girl wasn’t obnoxious at all. She actually sounded sweet—if that isn’t weird to say—but it was Breaker’s dirty mouth that I can still hear, deep and sultry, telling her how he was going to fuck her and for how long. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, completely unexpected, and it took me a day or two to be able to look at him normally again.
If he was honeymooning, I have no doubt that he would be rabid about it, even though he gives off nice-guy vibes. He gets along with just about everyone. He is possessive, protective, charming, just like his brothers. No word of a lie. I have envied Lottie and Kelsey a few times. Brian always seems happy to see me, but he’s never particularly . . . ravenous. There have been times I’ve felt more appreciated, like a fine wine rather than defiled. And I know Lottie and Kelsey have been defiled many, many times by their Cane husbands. And Breaker would be no exception.
“Well, your girl would be very lucky,” I say, trying to break the tension that immediately filled the room. “I just don’t think Brian is that kind of guy. We barely have sex now as it is.”
That makes Breaker pause and then slowly turn to me. “What?” he asks.
Oh crap.
“Uh, I don’t know why I said that,” I say awkwardly.
“Is it true?”
I can’t look him in the eyes when I answer, “Brian just has a lot going on, and I have to respect that.”
“Fuck that,” Breaker says, growing angry. “He should be fucking you every chance he gets. He should appreciate the fact that he gets to be with you. That he gets to pleasure you. It shouldn’t even be a question about whether or not you’re fucking at night. He should want you every goddamn second of every goddamn hour. And if he’s not pleasuring you the way he should, then that’s something you need to discuss.”
“He’s been tired, Breaker.”
“That’s no goddamn excuse.” He pushes away from the bed and grips his hair. “Fuck, if you were my fiancée, my wife, I’d never let you leave the bedroom. Your voice would be hoarse from every fucking orgasm I gave you.”
Once again, my cheeks flame and my stomach twists with uncertainty, heat, and this weird, bubbly, airless feeling as I stare up at him. And when his eyes meet mine, I wait for him to change his wording again, but he doesn’t.
“Anyway . . .” He blows out a heavy breath. “I should get going. Feel free to stay as long as you want.”
“Okay,” I answer awkwardly. “Have fun on your hike.”
“Thanks.” He makes it to his bedroom door and then glances over his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see what you do today. Love you, Lia.”
“L-love you,” I say, stuttering over the words, not because I’ve never said them to him before, but because of the way his eyes penetrate me when he says it, like he’s trying to convey something. Like he’s trying to tell me something else, something deeper, but before I can decipher exactly what it is, he’s heading toward the living room and then out his door. To his date. With Birdy.
I set my coffee mug on the nightstand and flop back on the bed.
What the hell was that all about?
Chapter Twelve
BREAKER
“Are you both there?” I say into the phone once I conference Huxley in.
“Yes,” they say at the same time, and then Huxley adds, “This better be fucking good. Lottie is waiting for me.”
“Kelsey is cooking pancakes naked, so yeah, hurry the fuck up,” JP says.
God, their lives are so annoying . . . annoying because I’m jealous. So fucking jealous.
“I need to talk to you guys because I’m going to do something stupid. I can feel it. I need to come back to work. I need to distract myself with something, anything, please, just let me come back to work.”
“Uhh . . . the desperation is thick. What’s going on?” JP asks.
“I almost fucked up,” I say. “Or maybe I did, I don’t know, but fuck, it’s not good. It’s really not good, so please just let me come back to work. I’ll wear a wig, a fake mustache, I’ll even do another job. Just anything to get me away from . . . from this hell.”