Page 93 of Breathtaking

This man.

I’m not sure he’s capable of hurting me.

“My love...” I run my finger along his chest. “I think I’m going to need you to put Brennan to sleep and fuck me like that every night. Think that could work?”

His still-semi-hard erection jumps, and I giggle. “Not sure I’m ready for round two just yet.”

“Fuck, Lennon... You can’t say things like that and not expect me to want more.”

I lick my lips and hold back my laughter. “I love you, Maddox.”

“It was always going to be you and me, Lennon. In this life. In every life. It’s always going to be us.”

In every lifetime.

LENNON

I lived my entire life cold until the day you set my soul on fire.

—Lennon’s Secret Thoughts

“Why am I the asshole carrying the tree?” Rome moans, and Lucky laughs.

“Because you two assholes practically live at my house, and I’m carrying the baby. Do you think Lennon should be carrying the tree?” Maddox barks at his brothers as they tie our first Christmas tree to the top of the Escalade.

Lucky pouts, cracking me up as Maddox opens my door for me. “You sure this is the one you wanted?”

“She’s sure,” Rome grumbles from the top of the SUV. “I’m not cutting down another tree.”

“I’m sure,” I whisper against his lips, excited to decorate for Brennan’s very first Christmas. I close my eyes and lean back in the seat, soaking in the cool sun as Maddox gets Brennan situated and the guys get in the car. “Where do you feel like ordering lunch?”

Rome leans forward, popping his head between Maddox and me. “How are you hungry again? Didn’t we just have breakfast?”

“It’s not my fault. Nursing burns calories.” Pretty sure I just have an unnaturally fast metabolism and a love of burgers and fries. “Can we pick up something from West End?”

“I’ve gotta be there in like four hours. I don’t want to eat there too.”

Maddox turns to Lucky and grins. “Suck it up, buttercup. She wants West End.”

“Fine...”

“Shit...” Rome’s voice drops, and so does my heart. The way he says that single word scares me in a way I didn’t know it could. “Princess...”

“What—” I fly around in my seat with my heart in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

My phone rings as Rome hands me his cell phone.

The headline on his screen reads

Flags Lowered as Palace Confirms Death of King Frederic Ernest Augustus Windsor, Longest Ruling Monarch of Mornea.

My hands shake, and my throat closes as I sit, frozen in time.

The king is dead—my grandfather is dead.

My mother is dead.

Oh, Rhys...

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