Page 130 of For the Sub

He took her by the shoulders, resisting the temptation not to dig in his fingers and cause bruising. “I wouldn’t have invited you to my place if I had wanted to keep you out of my personal life.”

She didn’t back down. “Then you’ll have to put up with my inquisitiveness.”

Abruptly, he released her. “I suppose I will.”

“Is it a hardship, Sir?”

“At times, yes,” he admitted. He used both of his hands to brush hair back from her face. “But you’re worth it.” Even though there were lines that he’d never allow her to cross.

“Thank you.”

He put some distance between them. “I sold the marital property and lived at a hotel for a while after I buried her.”

“I’m sorry for touching a nerve. It must have been difficult.”

“It was. But not in the way you might think.” Images, horrible and unforgettable, flashed through his mind like an obscene strobe light.

“Anyway, a real estate agent found this place, and I bought it sight unseen. She hired a decorator to furnish it, but since I never responded to questions about my taste, she gave up, did the best she could and walked away.” He lifted a hand. “Can’t blame her.”

“Maybe one day you’ll make a different decision. Soften it up with some throw blankets and pillows. Some more furnishings.”

Like her place.

“Photos. Maybe of the two of you. Honor her memory.”

When hell freezes over.

“It really is an amazing space with a lot of potential. Do you entertain?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re the first person to visit me here.”

“I am?”

When he nodded, she crossed to him and curled her hand into his T-shirt. “Shall we make some new memories, Sir?”

In his bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room, they did.

And his Brandy had some very creative ideas…

Chapter Nineteen

Since Brandy had enjoyed downtown Denver so much earlier in the day, Niles decided to take her to dinner at a loud, fun place on the Sixteenth Street Mall.

Since they’d both grabbed jackets before heading out, they opted to sit on the covered patio, keeping warm beneath propane heaters, and they ordered beer that arrived in glasses so ridiculously large that they could have doubled as fishbowls.

Brandy could barely curve her hands around her drink.

“We probably should have shared,” she observed, lowering her head to the glass, rather than attempting to lift it off the table. “There’s no way I’m going to finish this.”

“Good. Because I have ideas for later.”

“In that case, I may not need any alcohol.”

His thoughts, exactly.

By unspoken accord, they both became silent and watched people passing by.

“I love this place.”

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