Page 4 of Untouchable

When I was at my weakest, my readers gave me the strength to push forward. There were times over the past few years when I felt like I wasn’t enough. I didn’t have the energy to talk myself into getting up each morning. I didn’t have the strength to face a day that held the memories of my past. And there they were, pulling for me every step of the way. So I got up, I moved, and pushed through all my pain. I learned how to live with the past while moving forward in the present.

Then, when I was asked about the man I had expressed my love for in my memoir, an idea blossomed—a way for me to heal and maybe move on. So, I wrote our story—about our love and the life I wished we’d have had a chance to experience together.

In so many ways, I felt as though I gave Braxton and me our happy ending.

Then he had to show up.

My heart leapt into my throat when I opened my eyes and saw him lying there like he belonged. He stole my breath, and until he’d spoken, I had myself convinced it was a dream. A ruthless vision out to break me.

My hands shake as I pull up the tab on the zipper of my boots. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the door closed, I feel like I’m about to fall apart. The world is shaking around me, and I’m helpless to stop the collision coming to wreck me all over again. I can’t have Braxton, only to lose him again. I must send him away. Convince him and my brothers that I don’t need his kind of protection because nobody was there to catch me the last time I fell after his departure.

Taking a few deep breaths, I stand on steadier feet and make my way out to the front room. I can smell the saltiness of bacon and the sweetness of French toast as soon as I open the door. My stomach may be in knots, but my mouth waters for a bite or two.

Ignoring Braxton when he gets up from the sofa and my open laptop and sits at the table, I pour myself a coffee, pick up a strawberry slice, and pop it into my mouth. Biting back the moan of pleasure from the freshness, I close my eyes.

“Can’t ignore me forever, pup.” God, I hate that I love when he calls me that. It weakens my resolve when I should be strengthening it.

“I’m eating. Isn’t that what you bothered me for earlier?” I don’t like being harsh. I don’t like that I need to hate Braxton in order to save myself.

From the corner of my eye, I see him moving closer. Turning my chair to stare out the window as the city begins to wake up, I do my best to ignore him once he shifts to the chair next to me.

The infuriating man has the gall to place bacon and French toast on my plate and offer me the blueberry maple syrup that has been a weakness since I tasted it the first morning we had breakfast together. I won’t eat any other syrup now, either.

After buttering my toast, he loads it with the sweet confection and then sprinkles powdered sugar on top. I hate this. I hate him.Why can’t I hate him?

“I’m not leaving.” His tone is soothing, the words low in the quiet room, sounding like a promise.

I want to believe him. My heart is begging him to. Instead, I provoke him. “That’s what everyone says.” I look at him pointedly, his soulful eyes nearly convincing me that he’s not lying. “They all leave once they see how damaged I am.”

Spearing a piece of French toast, I pop it in my mouth and nearly melt from the decadence. Hands down, this hotel has the best breakfast I’ve had on this entire signing tour. I may have to come back for this alone.

Braxton reaches forward, picks up a piece of bacon, smearing it through the syrup, and offers it to me. The combination is another affinity of mine. I hate how well he knows me when he hasn’t seen me in years. He shouldn’t be so familiar with my habits.

Leaning forward, I accept the bite, chewing and swallowing each one he offers until he’s fed me three slices of bacon, and I’m putty in his hands.

A knock on the door interrupts anything I could have thought to say. We both get up at the same time, but he forces me back down into my seat before he opens the door. As I watch him, I see his hand move behind his back to reach for a weapon he’s got hidden, and it’s like a bucket of ice is tossed over my head.

Braxton is here because I’m in danger.

Nothing more.

I must remember that if I’m going to survive being in his presence.

“Who are you?” Ena snaps, and I grin. Nobody is more protective of me than my agent. She’s like a mother hen without chicklets. Which I suppose she is since her two boys have moved off to college in the last three years.

“Braxton. Who are you?” These two are going to get along great.Not.

“Ena Paige. I’m Joss’ agent; now get out of my way.” I watch in amusement as Ena’s petite five-foot-nothing frame pushes right past him like the tiny, little bulldozer she is. “A brick wall, seriously?” She points back at Braxton. “They couldn’t have found someone less obvious?”

I can only shrug. I didn’t get a choice in this, and while I’d like to remind her of that, I don’t want to argue about it.

“If you’ll recall, I was against this entire thing. Port and Tru were doing just fine.” Time for Ena to level that glare my way as Braxton crosses his arms in annoyance.

“They broke into your hotel room, Joss. Repeatedly. Things were not just fine.” I fight off the eyeroll. I won’t win this argument, either. Turning her back on me, she hands Braxton a file. “This is our itinerary for the remainder of the tour. Contacts for managers and security are in there, as well. Whatever you want, just tell them, and someone will make it happen.”

He scowls down at her without flipping through it. “What I’d like is to cancel this entire thing and put Joss in hiding.”

“No way!” I shout. Ena looks visibly shocked at the suggestion. “I’m not running.” Shooting to my feet, I stare him down. I’m not that same girl he met five years ago. I’ve grown stronger and will fight for what I want. “There’s two weeks left, with only four more events. You can keep me alive for two weeks, can’t you?” A man like him should love a challenge.

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