Page 63 of Igniting Sparks
He leans over, pushing a few errant tendrils from my face. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled.”
“You shouldn’t have to, though. That’s the problem. Stupid me, I thought she might have changed.”
“Tell me something.” Braden grasps my fingers, dusting soft kisses across my knuckles. “Why is Bitsy playing this game with you? She knows how talented you are, so why is she making you jump through hoops to prove—again—that you’re worthy?”
“I’m her second-greatest disappointment.” I whisper the words, barely able to believe I’ve finally released them into the world.
“Who is her first?”
“My mom. Bitsy loved her like a daughter, at least until she fell in love with my dad.”
“Wish I’d gotten a chance to meet him.”
I offer a slight shrug, brushing crumbs from my skirt. “If you ever had any repair work done on your truck, you did. Don Mercer.”
Braden snaps his fingers at the mention of my father’s name. “Yes, I remember him. He worked at the auto shop for years, right? He was a hell of a nice guy.”
“The best. But he was beneath the Farnsworth family’s station. Bitsy dreamed of my mom marrying a banker or lawyer. A mechanic never figured into the equation.”
“Neither did a tattoo artist.” Braden’s words lack emotion, but I see the anger lining his aura.
It’s hard being judged simply for being different.
I sigh, an affirmative huff echoing past my lips. “It’s her loss, because I know you’re amazing.”
“You’re right. Iampretty damn great.”
I snicker out a laugh and give Braden a gentle shove. “Careful. Don’t trip over your humility.”
A wide grin stretches across his face. “I’m simply echoing what you already confirmed.”
“Okay, Mr. Perfect, I have a request.”
Braden leans in, one brow lifted, smirk in place. “This should be good.”
“I think so. First, pour me some more wine. Then, tell me about you.”
He chuckles as he tops off my glass and corks the bottle. “I don’t want to discuss me. I’m not that interesting.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you are unlike any man I’ve ever met—and you’ve set the bar for any future men impossibly high.”
His eyes widen. “Future men? What future men?”
I throw up my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying?—”
Braden reaches over and wraps his hand around my nape, drawing me close. “Uh-uh. Take it back.”
My insides flutter, his breath warm against my mouth. “Make me.”
Okay, not sure wherethatcame from, but I’ll blame the port wine.
“Oh, I see you’ve thrown down the gauntlet. Well, I’m ready.” He links his fingers and stretches his arms out, plucking the wine glass from my hand and setting it a few feet away.
Uh-oh.
“Ready for what, exactly?”
For a big guy, Braden is fast. His hands link at my waist as he digs his fingers into my ribs.
