Page 96 of Luck of the Draw

23

FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS

Later that evening, Brennan poured himself a tall scotch and collapsed on the bigger, squishier sofa in the back den, fully prepared to drink himself to sleep. Ten million pounds made up of all manner of awful shit weighed down on him. Skye had been largely silent during the drive home and retreated to the bathtub immediately, leaving him alone to wonder and worry and bask in feelings of utter helplessness.

There was a shift on the day his mother had visited. The realization of his unrequited love was only the tip of the iceberg. Disappointing as that was, it only contributed to the turmoil of knowing something awful had happened to Skye. All her behavior since that day pointed like giant, neon, Las Vegas-style lights to the idea that Skye was a victim of unspeakable abuse. And not just the kind that had marred her body on the first night he’d seen her stripped of clothing and makeup.

Something in him just knew she had been sexually assaulted, maybe even raped, possibly evenrecently. It was so disturbing that he could barely think straight.

That had to be the big secret she insisted would shock him to the point that he wouldn’t want her around. Her idea that something like that would make him want to separate himself from her was baffling, but Brennan had no idea what it was like to be victimized in such a way, so he had no understanding of the emotional and psychological aftershocks.

After Brennan had drained his first glass of scotch and half of his second, Skye emerged from the hall wearing her white, satin robe. Her hair was damp and curling into fat, loose ringlets as it cascaded over her shoulders, skin bright, clean, and clear of makeup.

She really was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

She paused in the entry to the room, hands clasped at her waist. She looked at him with a serene expression that didn’t quite mask apprehension that simmered just below the surface of her skin.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Brennan removed his feet from the coffee table and sat up straight. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all, and I would love it if you did.” He patted the couch and then lifted his glass. “Want one?”

Her gaze shifted as she hesitated, and then she approached the couch. “Sure.”

He stood up and crossed the room to the large mahogany bar against one wall as she sat on the couch and tucked her legs underneath her. After pouring the drink, he returned to the couch and passed it to her. Their fingers collided on the glass, and an electric sensation jolted through his body, his blood surging south.

The simple, quick touch now had his dick at half-mast, andfucking A. Just as he’d promised, Brennan hadn’t laid a finger on her in weeks. In that same span of time, he was spiraling into the depths of his feelings for her, and there certainly was something to be said about the effects of restraint. Restraint amidst love heightenedeverything.

Brennan retracted his hand so quickly that the glass nearly slipped from Skye’s hand. “Sorry…uh, I mean…sorry.”

The corner of her lips quirked. “It’s okay.”

They descended into a strange silence. The activity and music from deep in the Quarter penetrated the old walls, filling the atmosphere with an eerie, mournful longing. He was about six inches from her, but he could smell the faint scent of lavender on her skin. Skye was looking at him in a way that made him want to frame her face with his hands and declare his love for her and then get on his knees and beg for her to stay with him forever.

Fuck.

Skye’s shoulders rose and fell as she took a silent breath. She sipped the scotch, peering at him over the edge of the glass. As she removed it, she slipped her tongue over her top lip to lick the remnants, and then pressed her mouth shut. AndGod. Thatmouth.

Chill out, Brennan. Jesus Christ.

He swallowed a gulp of scotch.

“Your friends are really wonderful,” Skye finally said. “Thank you for taking me with you today.”

He sat back as casually as he could and rested his glass on his knee. “Yeah, they’re great. I’m glad you had a good time. I hope it wasn’t too wild for you.”

She shook her head. “It was nice.” She paused and eyed him. “I really like Liza.”

He smiled. After all, he really liked Liza, too. Obviously. “Yeah, she’s a great girl.”

“And you called herfat.” Skye lifted an eyebrow. “That was dick-ish.”

“She knows I didn’t mean it like that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I knew it would make her laugh.”

Skye sat back against the couch and stared forward. “You didn’t tell me she braided my hair. I assumed it was the nurses.”

“Yeah, she…” He slid his gaze down to stare at his scotch, trailing off for a moment as he recalled when she’d done that. What she’d said.

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