Page 59 of Vengeful Vows

Her auburn hair looks darker because it’s damp, falling in curls around her face and down her back. My breath hitches in my chest when I look at her, fresh-faced and clean. She’s gorgeous. That’s half the reason I feel strange about her, surely. Because she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m a normal, hot-blooded male.

But it isn’t lust that makes me reach out for her, tug her down onto the bed while she has a comb in her hand.

She squeaks, like a little mouse, and it makes me chuckle.

“Let me do it.” I take the comb from her hand.

She frowns. “I am perfectly capable of combing my own hair.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be nice.” I position her between my legs, her back to my chest.

She’s only wearing a towel, and her damp skin against mine makes need clench in my lower abdomen.

“Since when are you nice?”

“Since always.” I hum as I drag the comb through the ends of her hair, and then the middle.

Bree scoffs, but she doesn’t move, and I smile as she settles back against me.

“How do you know to start at the ends?”

“I do have two sisters, you know?”

“I have a hard time believing that nannies didn’t do the hair brushing.”

“Sometimes,” I say. “But there was a time when Paige wouldn’t go to sleep at all unless me or Gray brushed hers out. Her curls could be difficult, and she wouldn’t let the nanny touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet,” she murmurs. “Rory would never brush out my hair.”

I chuckle. “What can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for Paige.”

“Everyone does,” she agrees.

“Even you?”

“Especially me.” She shifts, turning to look at me, and I take her chin in my hand and turn her face so that I can get to the baby hairs at her temple.

“Paige is easy to love.”

Bree goes quiet, as if she doesn’t want to continue the conversation, so I change the subject.

“Did you have fun in Vegas?”

She’s still silent for a long moment but then she finally answers, “Yes.”

“Me, too. I never thought of Vegas as a honeymoon spot, but it turned out all right.”

“Have you ever thought about honeymoon destinations?”

I shrug. “Not really. I never thought about getting married.”

“I did,” she whispers, a hint of sadness in her voice, and I feel a pang of guilt.

“What did you imagine?”

“A white dress. My father walking me down the aisle.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type of man to do a daddy/daughter dance,” I comment, and she pulls away from me, frowning.

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