Page 55 of Whiteout

He punched the code into the keypad. “These are her rooms.”

“We shouldn’t be up here,” she whispered with a shake of her pretty head.

“If we want to find answers, Breanna…” Taking her hand, Ian laced their fingers together and squeezed. “…this is where we start looking.”

Her eyes swept around the room and she gasped. He didn’t have to follow her gaze to know what she was looking at.

Breanna went over to the mantel and picked up the photo of herself that rested there. “How did my grandmother get this?”

“She never told me. Your mom must’ve sent it to her, I guess.” He walked up behind her. “Sometimes I’d come in here and find her holding that picture of you, crying.”

And I hated you for it.

“I don’t understand.” Her fingers trembling, Breanna put the photo back and turned around. “Why?”

“You really want to know? I can show you.” Grabbing her by the hand, Ian took her to the other end of the hall and unlocked the door. “Your father’s apartment.”

She took an apprehensive step inside and upon seeing the photo of her mom, and the dad she never knew, holding her as a newborn, she held her fingers to her lips, a tear trickling down her face. “I’ve never seen this picture before.”

“Everything is just as Shane left it. His room is through there.” Ian tipped his chin to the door on the left. “But I want you to see this one. Open it.”

Glancing back at him, Breanna turned the doorknob.

The room, fit for a little princess, was done in a soft, pale pink, a hand-painted garden of flowers covering the walls. The ornate white crib with soft muslin bedding had never been slept in. The rocking horse hadn’t been ridden. The dollhouse remained untouched.

Breanna picked up a plush pink teddy bear, holding it to her chest.

“She did all of this for you.” Softly, Ian swiped at the tears falling from her eyes. “See? Your grandmother loved you, Breanna…but you never came home.”

And even now, he had to ask himself why.

Ian paced the living room, waiting for signs of life from Breanna’s suite next door. Well past nine, and it didn’t appear she was awake yet. Subdued throughout their dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers last night, she excused herself during dessert, pushing aside a half-eaten piece of banana cream pie.

Maybe he should have gone after her, but thought it best to let her be. He’d laid a lot on her yesterday. Breanna needed some time to herself to sort through it, process it, and come to her own conclusions.

From her spot by the hearth, Hera lifted her head. Ears pointed up, tail thumping, ice-blue eyes tracked his path back and forth. She barked at him, though it sounded more as if she were speaking without words.

“Time to wake up our princess. Is that what you’re thinking, girl?”

Her pink tongue hanging out, the dog got up on all fours.

“Yeah, I am too.” With a pat on his thigh, Ian signaled Hera to follow him. “Let’s go.”

She’d left the glass door to the deck unlocked again. Tsk, tsk. He made a mental note to speak to her about it. Breanna shouldn’t be so careless with her safety.

Dying embers littered the firebox. Ian added some wood and lit the kindling, so the room would be warm, a fire burning, when he woke her. Then he made them some coffee, got water from the mini-fridge, and quietly slipped inside her room.

He set the coffee down on the nightstand and watched her sleep, all alone in the middle of the king-size bed. Hair a mess. Arms stretched over her head, elbows bent. With the covers jumbled at her waist, Ian fixed his gaze on the gentle rise and fall of Breanna’s chest and the taut, little breast that peeked out from the loose nightshirt she wore.

Jesus.

She looked so beautiful like that. Reminded of the first morning he woke up beside her, Ian was of the mind to crawl into that bed and rouse her with his cock in her cunt and that nipple between his teeth. His dick more than twitched at the thought.

He eased himself down onto the bed, carefully, so as not to wake her just yet. The sweet scent of fresh oranges drifted from her hair. He buried his face in it. Ian inhaled, infusing his lungs with her, and slowly, softly, he trailed his fingertips over the delicate, silky fabric. He cupped her breast, her warm breath fanning his ear, his thumb circling her nipple.

With a puff of air blowing past her lips, Breanna squeaked.

“Wake up now, princess.”

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