Page 69 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Three hours later, when Khalohn’s phone pulls him from what little slumber he was able to find, she barely stirs. He reaches behind him, silencing the device, regretful of only one thing—that he has to leave. He sends a message to Atzel and then tosses aside his phone with a sigh. Gazing down at the sleeping beauty curled into his side, Khalohn doesn’t know what to make of her. He’s known for a while she’s valuable; that she’s a treasure he’s wanted to unearth. It’s indisputable how precious a find she really is—but she does things to him he can’t comprehend.

Upon first learning of her, he had a mission: to ruin her for all others. After her call last night, beckoning him to her, he’s certain his mission has been accomplished. She’s his. But the pull that has him lingering in bed, the pull that made him stay all night and break his usual routine, it says it all.

She has ruined him, too.

Reluctantly, Khalohn climbs out of bed, carefully tucking the sheets around Bryn’s body before he starts to collect his clothing. He doesn’t bother showering or donning a new suit. Exhausted as he is, he has every intention of heading home for a swim. He needs to get his head on straight in order to find the focus he’ll need to get through his day. He’s fully dressed by the time his phone alerts him to a new message, and he knows this means his driver is waiting.

Jessica feels it when he sweeps a bit of hair behind her ear before pressing a kiss against her temple. He lingers for a moment, and she forces her heavy eyes open. She only manages to crack her lids a sliver when he turns to walk away from her. Dawn’s early light illuminates his retreating figure. Before she surrenders to her body’s demand for more sleep, she grants her heart its desire—to catch whatever glimpse of him she can before he’s gone.

Sunday morning, Jessicawakes at the sound of a low voice. She frowns in confusion, slowly blinking her eyes open, wondering if she’s in a dream. Her gaze sees hardly beyond the white plane of sheets on the bed in which she’s resting. At the sound of the door opening and closing, she gasps softly, clutching the comforter around her nakedness as she freezes and listens. When she hears movement in the kitchen, plates being pulled from the shelf and laid on the counter, she pushes herself up to a seated position, still careful to keep herself covered. She reaches up with her free hand and rakes her fingers through her messy hair, tossing it down her back.

Hearing no other voices, she searches the floor and finds the black nightie she had on last night. She slips it over her head and shimmies her way into her lacy thong before tiptoeing her way off the platform in search of Khalohn. She stops short when she sees him behind the kitchen island, wearing no more than the fitted pair of jeans he had on when he arrived the previous evening.

I love the man in a suit,she thinks to herself as she allows her eyes to drink him in.But those legs in a pair of jeans…

Her nipples tighten as she admires the hard lines of his defined chest, the way his muscles jump and ripple in his arms at the slightest movement, and his thick hair, disheveled and out of place at the command of her very own hands.

“Hungry?”

Jessica is startled out of her stupor at the sound of his voice. She blinks, and when her eyes open once more, she notices the breakfast he’s obviously had delivered. A bowl of mixed fruit, a container of piping hot omelets, and two whole wheat bagels. As she nods, she begins to make her way toward him, hiding her smile. A warm feeling pools in the bottom of her belly, easing her hunger as she thinks of the man who has seen to eradicating it. There’s food in the fridge. There always is. Even if she doesn’t see to filling it, he makes sure it’s taken care of. But just like the previous Sunday they shared together, he makes sure she doesn’t have to lift a finger for breakfast.

By the time she’s reached the kitchen, he’s filled both of their plates. She sidles up next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and tipping her head back expectantly. He doesn’t disappoint her. Far from it. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and buries one of his hands in her hair as he leans down for a kiss. It’s doesn’t last long, but it’s sweet and wet enough to satisfy her before he pulls away.

“Smells good,” she says softly, leaning into him a little more.

His only response is to press his lips against her forehead before taking his plate and heading for a bar stool. Taking her own plate, she watches him as he opens his paper, folding it to the crossword puzzle. Her smile returns. She likes this. The familiarity of what is obviously becoming their routine.

Sitting on the bar stool across from him, she dives into her eggs and then asks, “Do you cook?”

A sly smile plays at his lips, but he doesn’t look up at her as he answers, “I can preheat an oven and operate a microwave.”

This makes Jessica grin. “Your mom never tried to teach you?”

His smile falls and his blue eyes shift to find hers. “No,” he answers matter-of-factly. “She didn’t stick around long enough.”

“Oh,” she breathes in response.

I should really stop asking about the women in his life, she muses with a heavy heart.Or, I guess, the women wholefthis life.

Wanting to know more but not wishing to pry, she steers clear of any further questions about his mother and carefully inquires, “What about your dad?”

Khalohn stares at Bryn for a long moment, not entirely sure why he feels compelled to answer her, but unable to combat the desire. Whatever it is about their quiet Sunday mornings together, he doesn’t want to be the ass who tarnishes its sacredness.

“Remarried when I was seven. Had another son when I was eight. Prodigy. By the time I would have been old enough to be trusted in the kitchen, they were spending all their free time out in the snow.”

Bryn takes a bite of her bagel, chewing slowly, her brown eyes staring at him, silently asking for more. He doesn’t give it, content to see her curiosity reflected at him. Her big eyes, void of any makeup, a little swollen from sleep, and alight with interest makes her even prettier than usual.

Finally, swallowing her bite, she asks, “The…snow?”

“Blair is an Olympic snowboarder. He’s been competing with the biggest names in the sport since he was fourteen.”

He watches as her eyes widen at his admission, and he waits for it. Waits for the truth about his brother and his celebrity status to sweep her away. He doesn’t speak of his brother often, out of habit more than anything else. They’ve never been particularly close; yet, while his relationship with their father has been strained for nearly three decades, he respects Blair. Admires him, even. When people get star struck at the mention of him, he doesn’t blame them. That’s why Bryn’s response takes him by surprise.

“Wow. A son ranking among the elite on Wall Street, and another an Olympic athlete. Your dad must be incredibly proud.”

Taken aback, Khalohn searches her expression for a hint of amusement. It doesn’t take long for him to acknowledge she’s completely serious. In Bryn’s eyes, his brother is no better than he is.

“Yeah,” he manages to speak before returning his attention to his breakfast.

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