Page 77 of Hidden Heir

She’s upstairs putting Tiffany to bed, and I resist the urge to check the cameras and watch her. The weeks we spent in captivity drastically changed my perspective on how invasive something like that is, especially after being watched and gawked at by Paul’s guards.

All of whom got a well-deserved bullet to the skull.

I drop into my chair with a groan and immediately begin massaging my knee. The joint is stiff. The doctor insists I shouldbe staying off of it more but I have too much to do and there was no way I wouldn’t have been on that boat today. I just have to remember to take it slow.

Taking a sip from my glass of vodka, I log onto my computer to find an email from Ronan, briefly detailing what we discussed on the return trip. He agreed to help us almost immediately. I wondered at first if he had an ulterior motive but something about the way he was watching Brooke told me that he genuinely wants to make amends. The Irish are vastly respected, and seeing how Ronan handled this situation proved another reason why.

Having the Irish on our side is an unexpected partnership that couldn’t have been achieved without Brooke. I wonder if she's aware of how influential she is being.

Drinking slowly, I type out a quick reply and set up another meeting for next week. As I click send, there’s a soft knock at the door and Brooke’s head peeks around.

“Are you busy?”

“For you? Never.”

She smiles and walks in, closing the door behind her. Brooke makes a beeline for the fireplace and immediately raises her hands for warmth. “Thank you for today.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” I rise and slowly make my way over to her.

“I do,” she murmurs. “It was hard, I know it was.”

“Do you feel better?”

She looks up at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Amazingly so. Does that make me fucked up? That I’m happy he suffered a slow and painful death?”

“No,” I assure her, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Given the circumstances, I think you were pretty reasonable. I know people who would have dragged his death out for months.”

“I considered it,” she admits. “Not just for me but I keep thinking of Hannah. She must have been so scared and confused. I wanted him to know what that felt like but I didn’t want to drag it out to where I had to continue dealing with him. This seems more satisfying.” She nods as if confirming that to herself. “I feel good.”

“If you feel good then I feel good.” My thumb trails down her jaw. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you wanted to do anything for your brother.”

Her brow knits together, an angry expression forming on her face at the mention of him. “Ant?” Brooke’s eyes drift back to the fireplace. “No. He deserves nothing. I don’t want to think about him ever again. He took so much from me. I never realized it because I kept excusing him and trying to save him. He gave me up without blinking an eye.” She closes her eyes and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t want to think about him.”

Using my light grasp on her chin, I turn her face back toward me and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Understood. I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I feel stronger. I feel capable. I just hope it lasts.” Letting out a small chuckle, her eyes dart back and forth between mine and she leans in again. Her kiss is cautious. We haven’t been intimate since we escaped. The thought of that now, after being in so much pain, makes it seem somehow terrifying. Yet I still yearn for it.

I yearn for her.

I let her lead the kiss, deepening it only when she arches into me. Her hands curl into my shirt and she tugs me against her, lightly biting my lip. When we break apart, we’re both breathless, eyes dark with lust.

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

She nods, biting her lower lip. “Please,” she says. “I want to feel you.”

I don’t need to be told twice. The next kiss begins just as gently as the first. I wrap her up in my arms, using her support to get us down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. She looks so beautiful as she stretches out on the faux fur. She runs her fingers tenderly through my hair while our tongues weave a slow, lazy dance together and she suckles on my tongue, a soft moan escaping her throat.

I can’t control the urges of my body and it’s clear Brooke feels it from the way she slides her thigh against me and smirks.

“Can I go further?” I ask softly, peppering soft kisses against her lips.

She nods and tugs lightly on my hair. “Please.”

It’s all the permission I need to explore her body and my heart races. Everything we’ve been through has resulted in physical alterations for both of us but that doesn’t change how I feel. I’m very conscious of that fact as I kiss slowly down her throat and tenderly peel her clothing back from her shoulder. She helps me remove her shirt and I continue my exploration of her body with warm, open-mouthed kisses. Before long, my lips catch on fresh scar tissue and my heart jumps.

Her body is covered in scars of all different shapes and sizes. There are too many to count, but that doesn’t stop me. With careful movements, I set about kissing every single scar I come across. Soft kisses on the thin scars beneath her ribs, lingering ones on the twisted scars across her abdomen, and gentle pecks on the scars near her hips and waist. I kiss her arms too, all the way down to the now-deformed skin of her palms. Her fingers tremble and I see concern in her eyes when I look up at her.

“You’re not turned off?” she asks.

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