Page 17 of Conflagration
She twists her hands in knots. “Yeah, but that would’ve gotten you off the hook. The longer we continue this charade, the more hurt she’s going to be.”
“Then you probably should’ve fucking thought about that before you announced to half the hospital that we were engaged. Don’t pin this one on me, Ariana. This is all your doing. I wouldn’t have to set the record straight if you hadn’t started the lie to begin with.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she closes her eyes for a moment before looking back at me. “I deserve that. I put you in this position, and I accept full responsibility for it. I’ll explain it to her, let her know it was my doing and you had no idea.”
“No!” I exclaim, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to me. “Don’t. You started this. The least you can do is finish it on my terms.”
She gasps and tries to pull her hand away, but I hold on tight. “Finish this?! Are you crazy? I’m not marrying a complete stranger.”
I sigh, and bring a hand to my forehead, where I feel a bandage, wincing as I make contact with the gash there. “That’s not what I’m asking. Look, according to the doctors, I’ll be here for a week or so. Let’s just…keep this charade going until at least I’m released. Then we can figure out where to go from there. Hell, you can even dump me and I’ll take all the blame, but please do this for me? Give me one week.”
“Branson, I don’t know…” she hesitates, and I push a little further.
“Look, do you have somewhere you need to be?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I was on the road to nowhere when the accident happened. I’m free as a bird. But still, I don’t feel right about this.”
“You felt right about it when you lied to the nurse. And then to my mom. I’m just asking for you to keep it going a little longer. I mean, I did save your life and all. It’s the least you could do,” I remind her, changing tactics and giving her a cocky smile.
She returns my grin, and I know I have her. “I thought you said you weren’t a hero.”
“Trust me, baby. I’m not. But if that’s what it takes to get you to say yes, then you can call me whatever the hell you want.”
I watch as she mulls it over, silently hoping this girl says yes but also wondering why I care so much. Something tells me that this is going to end in catastrophic failure, but it’s just one more disaster I’m running towards, full force, without any concern for how I come out on the other side.
“Okay, Branson. I’m taking your lead on this. If this is what you want to do, then I’m in.”
I’m not sure what comes over me, but when she says yes, I feel a prickly sensation in my heart, almost as if I’d asked the question for real. Before I can stop myself, I’m using every ounce of strength I have to haul her out of the wheelchair and onto my bed. She gasps in surprise, but I swallow it as I pull her head down, bringing her lips to mine, ignoring the pain as they mash against my cut lip. Because, right now, all I care about it sealing our deal with a kiss that’s almost as hot as the burning blaze that brought us back together again.
I BARELY had time to register my agreement to keep up this ridiculous engagement scheme when Branson pulled me to him and placed his lips on mine. Like a fool, I melted into his kiss, almost believing it were real. Wanting it to be real. Wishing it were real. And for a split second, it felt like it was. I didn’t miss the way his erection stirred beneath me, and my hands were this close to exploring when I heard a throat clearing behind us. Pulling away, I looked back and saw his brother in the doorway, a sheepish grin on his face. Mortification set in, and I could feel the heat rising on my cheeks at having been caught.
Now that I’m looking between the two brothers, both with amusement on their faces, I want to crawl back to my room and hide.
“Sorry, bro. Didn’t meant to interrupt that moment,” Cohen teases, and Branson simply shrugs.
“Not a problem. You know how I am about PDA, but I needed to get reacquainted with my fiancée,” he says, giving his brother a wink, causing my blush to deepen even further.
I have to wonder if the kiss was for my benefit or his brother’s. Disappointment seeps in at the thought it was for the latter, and I tell myself that I’m an idiot for even caring about who the kiss was for.
Cohen’s smile deepens as he pushes off the doorjamb and enters the room, taking a chair on the other side of Branson’s bed. He studies us, and I feel uncomfortable under his curious gaze. “So, engaged, huh? What the hell, man? How could you keep something like this a secret? We didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
Clearing my throat, I situate myself back in the wheelchair, using this brotherly conversation as an excuse to leave. “Umm, I think I’m going to go back to my room and lie down for a while. I’m suddenly feeling exhausted.” Just as I’m about to wheel away, Branson catches my hand, giving me a stern look.
“No.” It’s an order, not a request, and when I look at him, he’s practically glaring at me.Talk about mood swings.“What I mean is, baby, I think you should be here when I tell him about it. You can fill in any blanks that might have been knocked out of my brain when I hit my head on the pavement.”
Sighing, I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not going to let me slip away easily. I resign myself to that fact and sit back in my chair, but not before I notice that Branson’s not letting go of my hand.
“Okay, honey,” I say between clenched teeth, not missing the way Cohen’s eyebrows rise. Leaning in, I place a kiss on Branson’s cheek, hoping to satisfy Cohen’s curiosity. “Go ahead and tell him.”
Branson gives me a fake smile then turns back to his brother. “Remember last Christmas when I left town for a week?” Cohen nods, and Branson continues. “I went down to Atlanta to work on some stuff with Shane. Ariana and I met in the hotel bar. One thing led to another, and well, here we are.”
“Wait? What? Are you serious?” Cohen asks, clearly confused, and I jump in.
“Well, it’s not exactly that cut-and-dry. But you know your brother—always quick and to the point, not exactly the best storyteller. One thing did not lead to another. We spent the evening talking,” I inform him, not wanting him to get the wrong impression.
“So why the Christmas bender then?” Cohen directs the question at his brother, and I cock an eyebrow.
Branson looks between the two of us then pulls our joined hands up to his lips, where he gives mine a lingering kiss. Okay, so maybe he’s not a great storyteller, but the man can act when he needs to.
