Page 15 of End Game
“Such a hero,” I wink, bringing my glass to my lips as he does the same.
“Hardly. My point is you should feel lucky you saw the light in time.”
We sit quietly, the waves washing away most of the heaviness of our conversation. A few small glances are traded, a couple of hesitant smiles, as we relax in each other’s company.
After I’ve downed a lot of the wine and Branch’s glass is nearly empty, I don’t realize I laugh out loud until he calls me out on it.
“What are you laughing at?” he asks.
“Just . . . it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting withtheBranch Best,” I tease.
“Did you have expectations, Sunshine?”
“I didn’t realize it, but I guess I did.”
“In what way? I never leave a woman unfulfilled. It’s a thing with me.”
I take in his tanned face and thick, wide shoulders and almost shiver. The wine is making its way through my veins,pumping me full of the buzz that’s just barely enough to distort my judgment.
As I open my mouth with every intention of telling him I need to go to bed, he shoots me the smirk that has a straight shot to the apex of my thighs.
Words, ones I shouldn’t be uttering, come toppling past my lips.
“I guess I expected . . .more,” I tease, lifting my shoulders just a touch for effect.
“You want more? I have so muchmoreyou’d be screaming for less.”
The gravel in his tone roughs over my skin, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling across me. The confidence in his dark, hooded eyes nearly elicits a moan from my parted lips.
It takes every bit of effort I have to keep my head about me. As I fight the wine, I’m wise enough to know I have to get away from him or be a complete hypocrite and just start shedding my clothes.
“That’s what they all say,” I chime as smoothly as I can. I lift my eyes to his as I stand.
Big. Mistake.
Without a movement, with not so much as a flick of his thickly roped muscles, he does everything he’s hinted at. He undresses me, kisses my skin, draws a line from my temple, down my chest, over my belly, and down my legs using nothing more than his gorgeous, azure eyes.
I stand in front of him, pinned to the spot by nothing more than a gaze so hot I almost blister.
“I’m heading upstairs,” I tell him, squeezing the computer to my chest. “Can you make sure the doors are locked before you turn in?”
“Sure.”
He waits for me to say something else, but I don’t. I walk by, the side of my thigh brushing against him, and take the stairs two at a time.
Once I’m in my room, I lean against the closed door and heave a breath of non-Branch air.
“At least you’re not thinking of Callum,” I whisper out loud. Padding across the hardwood floor, I climb into bed to the sound of lapping waves outside my window.
CHAPTER 7
LAYLA
“Wakey, wakey!” Poppy’s head pokes around the corner. “You up yet?”
“Does it look like it?” I groan, pulling the comforter over my head. The sunlight is streaming through the windows thanks to my mistake of not pulling the blinds last night. One of the many perils of red wine. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Get your ass up, my friend.”
