Page 19 of Hidden Heir

“Sit,” I repeat. “You can still see her from here.”

Brooke lingers for a few seconds before moving toward the couch and sitting on the edge. She remains tight, like a bowstring pulled taut.

“Let me see your feet.”

“What?” Brooke snorts gently and glances up at me. “Why do you want to see my feet?”

“Please just let me look.” I leave her for a moment and head to the bathroom where I locate the medical kit then return towhere she’s perched. “Brooke, I saw you’re injured. I want to help, please.”

Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t speak. Instead, she slowly lifts the hem of the robe. I gesture to my knee and offer an upturned palm. After a few seconds, she lifts her leg and offers me one of her injured feet. There’s a day or two old bruise on the outside of her ankle but the sole of her foot is where my concern lies. The skin is scraped and bruised. I’m familiar with what could have caused such injuries.

I’ve dealt with many people who have tried to escape, and these kinds of injuries come from running barefoot over ground. Given the state she was in when she arrived, I have a few guesses as to the reason for her injuries, each one igniting another flame of anger in my gut.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Brooke shakes her head then hisses as I apply the first dab of antiseptic to her foot. Her silence ignites a tight sensation in my chest. I’m a man of immediate action and I want answers. But Brooke’s signals are clear—any force I use now will only cause her to shut down and that will get me nowhere.

So I focus instead on aiding her. Using tweezers, I remove small stones embedded in her skin, cleaning the wounds and washing away the blood and dirt. Then I wrap her foot with thick gauze after placing cushioned bandages against her wounds to help her walk later. I repeat the action with her other foot, and despite a few hisses of pain, she remains silent. As I work, I notice a few other wounds on her. One cheekbone is swollen and her lower lip has a small split in it. Someone hit her.

My grip tightens briefly on her ankle at the thought of someone placing their hands on her, and I have to swallow down the rising anger. When I find out who it was, I will kill them. Brooke has been on my mind for years, and whoever sent herto my doorstep, injured and scared, won’t be able to fathom the fury I will bring down on them.

“There,” I say, cradling her calf while lowering her leg to the ground. “I will get you some shoes that won’t aggravate your wounds while you heal. Is there anywhere else that needs treatment?”

“No,” Brooke says softly, unable to meet my eyes.

“What about this?” I lift my hand to her face and Brooke flinches slightly before shaking her head. I touch her cheek, just below the shadow of a bruise forming. “Someone hit you, Brooke.”

She closes her eyes and then briefly turns her face into my touch. “Please…”

“If you tell me what happened, I can help you.”

Brooke looks at me, a haunted sorrow in the depths of her blue eyes. “I can’t. Not right now.”

I nod. It’s incredible enough that she’s here, I don’t want to press her for details quite yet.

“Understood.” I’m about to pull my hand away when suddenly Brooke surges forward. Her hands land on my bare shoulders and just like I’ve dreamed a thousand times since we met, her lips collide with mine.

8

BROOKE

The kiss is everything I need it to be.

Familiar and shameless, tasting as he did four years ago. Maybe it’s the warmth of his touch that draws me in, or the tender way he cared for my feet without a second thought. The sight of his muscular torso rippling softly with each movement and breath doesn’t hurt, either.

It could be so many things, but the softness of his touch and the tender way he cups my face makes me melt. Exhaustion limits my thoughts, and the only one that rises to focus as Leon leans into the kiss is my desire to have him touch me. I want his hands on me, chasing away the feel of that disgusting man in the warehouse. I want his hands in my hair, soothing away the lingering ghost grip from that monster. I want his tongue in my mouth, removing the phantom weight Paul’s hand left behind.

Suddenly, the kiss is more than a distraction from talking. Leon becomes a need. I part my legs and pull him against me with a soft moan. Leon grunts, bracing one arm on the couch next to me before breaking the kiss. I chase his lips for another.

“Not here,” he says huskily. He’s right; I’m not about to have sex in the same room as my daughter.

In one swift movement I’m in his arms, and he carries me through the door into an adjacent room. The moment we’re alone, I clutch at his jaw and kiss him deeply. Leon moans into me and his hands roam my back as he sets me down on something soft. I don’t care what it is, all I want is him. As long as we’re fucking, we're not talking.

Leon falls into his role easily and I close my eyes as my pulse quickens. He kisses me deeply, sliding his tongue into my mouth before moving lower and kissing my jaw. He nibbles down my neck, kissing a hot path across my collarbone. While he lavishes me with attention, I arch up and wriggle out of the robe. Leon’s warm hand joins me, and he helps me out of my sweatshirt and joggers. The air is cool against my skin, but Leon’s body radiates alluring heat, and I wrap my arms and legs around him.

As long as he’s close, I’m safe.

No one is getting over those walls. No one is finding me here. No one.

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