Page 64 of Memories of Us

Rebeka

MY DESERT-DRY MOUTHpulled me from a deep, comfortable sleep in urgent need of water. The bed dipped and sheets tangled around my hips when I rolled over in search of the glass Brenton set aside last night. The thoughtful man was worried that I'd wake up dehydrated due to the cheap tequila, plus the strenuous exercise we put in through the night between the sheets.

I relished every gulped drop of the room-temperature water before setting the empty glass back on the nightstand. Snuggling back under the covers, I tucked my hands beneath the pillow, pulling it tight against my cheek to stare at the still-snoozing man beside me.

Last night was.... I bit back a smile and squeezed my thighs together to relieve some of the building pressure. How in the hell was that even possible? We went round after round; I shouldn't have anything left to get all hot and bothered again. But with my very own naughty, tatted GI Joe snuggled beside me, how could my body not react was the real question.

Yep, I was in deep shit.

Stuck in the emotional muck with no way out.

I loved him, really loved him, and last night only solidified it. I didn't just love him—I was in love with him, and something told me he saw us as more than a diversion until he left. But he wouldn't admit, maybe not even to himself.

“What time is it, and why are you staring at me?” he grumbled before turning his handsome face away from my adoring eyes.

I glanced at my phone and then tucked it back under the pillow. My stomach dipped at the empty screen. Not a single text from Ryder.

“Six,” I said, unable to hide my disappointed tone.

His head rolled along to the pillow to face me. “What?”

“Six. The time is six.”

“Not that. What's wrong?”

I sighed and tucked a lock of unruly morning hair behind my ear. “It's nothing. I don't have any missed texts from Ryder is all.”

Something I couldn’t read flashed behind his eyes before flicking to my injured cheek. “It doesn't look bad this morning. Does it hurt?” At the shake of my head, he rested his palm on my cheek and brushed the pad of his thumb along the bruise. “What do you want to do about Ryder?”

The soft sheets rustled when I turned to lie on my back and look up to the ceiling. “I don't know. Give it a few days, I guess? It was just so odd and out of character for her. Something else is going on.” I cut my eyes to him. “But she and I can talk after you're gone. It'll be easier without you around to rile her up again.”

The hand that was on my cheek slid south and dipped under the expensive sheets to explore lower. At the first brush of his fingers, my eyes shuttered closed and a low moan escaped.

“I'll never have enough of you,” he whispered. Slick, soft lips brushed against my neck just as his fingers pushed easily inside me.

A gasp, not my own, snapped my eyes open. To my horror, the lead housekeeper, Mrs. Hathway, stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and flaming red cheeks.

“Can I help you with something?” Brenton asked, utterly unfazed by the interruption. I let out a small squeak when his fingers slid deeper.

“I thought... I wanted...,” she stammered, then took a step back.

“While you're here, please make sure there's plenty of coffee and breakfast for Beks and me here. We have a flight to catch and will be leaving shortly.”

Mrs. Hathway's accusing glare burned into me. Filled with the shame her stare condemned me with, I pulled the covers over my head in hopes of hiding from the entire encounter. Not sure why. I was a grown-ass woman this time, and I didn’t care if she did run off and tell Daddy like last time. Brenton would protect me.

“Now, Mrs. Hathway.” The cold command sent a shiver down my spine. I loved Brenton's commands, but when directed to me, they were warm, provocative, not distant and authoritative like the one he just gave. “And if you ever look at Rebeka like that again, you'll find your ass off this property and never allowed back. Do I make myself clear?”

Sweat beaded along my forehead from the heat building beneath the comforter. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I didn't hear her response. A dousing waft of cold air sprouted goose bumps down my arms and chest when the comforter was ripped back.

“You don't ever hide, do you hear me? There is nothing to be ashamed of. Not with me.”

Eyes locked with his, I nodded. The harsh lines along his forehead faded, and he fell back to the bed.

“I need clothes,” I said to the ceiling.

“Huh?” he said, clearly still ticked, popping his knuckles.

“You told her we were catching a flight. I need clothes and need to know where we're going.”

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