Page 170 of Morally Black Betrothal
He asked if I would ever come back here, and the answer came easily. But I’d kept one part back—the fact that my dream wouldn’t be complete without him in it. Not anymore.
Until he’d spoken in that deep voice turned inexplicably tender.
I need you.
Had he really said it?
He hadn’t said anything else. Now he seemed quite frozen.
“Brendan?” I asked. “W-what’s wrong?”
“Everything.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”
I took a step forward, reaching out for his hand. “It’s okay. The farm, my dad, I know it’s sad. But the money I’m earning with you is all going to this place, so it’s going to be okay, really.”
He’d been so quiet for the last several hours, I’d known something was churning behind that stoic facade. Of course he was still shaken up after what had happened yesterday with Kylie. Maybe being confronted with all my family’s problems was too much to take.
“Simone.” He toyed with my fingers, running his thumb between the grooves made by the bones on the top of my hand. “I need to tell you something.”
Automatically, I braced myself. He was going to tell me it was too much. That the differences in our lives were too vast. That someone like him couldn’t be involved with the gargantuan task of rehabilitating a family that included a depressed old man and a narcissistic sister.
“It’s okay.” I pulled my hand from his grasp. “I understand. You don’t have to explain.”
I popped up onto my toes and gave him a kiss.
It was meant to be a comfort, quick and soft. Instead, one of those broad hands grabbed my waist while the other captured the back of my head, and Brendan angled his mouth over mine with raw intent.
“Simone. Goddamn it, Simone.”
“What?” I asked through labored breaths, in between kisses I never wanted to stop. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me fix it.”
Another groan escaped as his hands fell lower, just enough to sweep me up and onto the old wood table like I was little more than a ten-pound bag of flour.
“The problem is that I love you,” Brendan pronounced between kiss after savage kiss. “The problem is the more time I spend with you, the more I’ll never be able to let you go. And I will have to let you go, angel. I know it.”
Wait,what?
The confession was as bright as a bolt of lightning.
Brendan Black loved me. The Black Prince—no, he was so much more than that. He was my Brendan. My lover. The quietly sweet, ruthlessly protective, deeply loyal man whose mask fooled everyone else but came down for me.
He loved me. This man loved me.
So, what was he so afraid of?
“You love me?”
It was like he couldn’t get close enough, the way his hands trapped my waist, the way he buried himself in my neck, the way he couldn’t tolerate the buttons of my shirt for more than a few seconds.
“Of course I love you. How could I not? You make me better. You make mewantto be better. But goddamnit, I don’t know if I can.”
You make me better.Was that all I was to him? A tool for his improvement? A way to polish the tarnish from his reputation or maybe his soul?
I pushed on his chest. “Stop. Look at me.”
To my surprise, he obeyed. I didn’t think Brendan Black could obey anyone.
I took his chin and stroked his face. “Listen to me now.”
