Page 141 of Forever Never
She shook her head. “He was your parents’ responsibility. And when they couldn’t or wouldn’t step up, you did. You two were meant to come here. Meant to build a relationship with your grandparents.”
He studied her but said nothing.
“Pop gave you the money to start up the Tiki Tavern because he loved that you fell in love with this place. They left you their home because they knew it wasyourhome. They were so proud of you. Remember the summer you named a sandwich after Pop and a drink after your grandma? They went in once a week just to order their namesakes and support you. Mackinac is where you belong. Whatever brought you here was just showing you the way home.”
“Come with me,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Where?”
He cupped her face in one hand, crowding her against the counter. “I need a shower.”
“I already had one,” she whispered, mesmerized by the way he looked at her. “Not—not that you were inviting me to join you. Unless you were?”
His head dipped lower, and he brushed his nose against her cheek. “I just need you close.”
She didn’t know what was more terrifying, the prospect that he’d changed his mind or the fact that he hadn’t. Yet.
“Okay,” she whispered. “What about the sandwiches?”
“Later.” One word, and he had her tingling from head to toe.
He let her deliver one of the sandwiches to Spencer, who was still on a call in the dining room, before pulling her up the stairs behind him. Spence flashed her a thumbs-up, and she blushed to the roots of her hair.
Brick’s bedroom was the largest of the six. It was at the back of the house on the second floor, with windows that overlooked the backyard and the house next door.
The bed was a massive four-poster with a headboard with sexy leather inserts and not nearly enough pillows in Remi’s opinion. The windows were framed by thick curtains in a dark navy, probably chosen for function—blocking out early morning sun after a long bar shift—rather than fashion, but they still worked.
She stood in the doorway and imagined him there on the bed, naked, sprawled on his back with one hand tucked under his head. His cock thick and swollen, balls heavy while he thought about her.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
Color burned her cheeks. “I was just thinking you need more pillows.”
He flashed her a look that said he wasn’t buying it, then distracted her when he unbuttoned his shirt. She wet her lips and watched as more and more skin and muscle were revealed. He looked as though he’d been carved from granite. Big, powerful, virile.
Brick didn’t just look at her, hesmoldered. As if he was reliving what they’d shared the night before and anticipating what was yet to come.
“So, just to be clear. You haven’t changed your mind?”
There it was. That subtle quirk of his lips. He opened the closet door and deposited his shirt in the laundry basket on the floor.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She would have told him had she not lost the power of speech and thought when his hands went to his belt buckle. The whisper of his belt slipping free of the loops sent a delicious shiver down her spine. He coiled the belt with deft fingers and placed it in the top drawer of the tall dresser next to the bathroom door.
Swallowing hard, she watched as he undid the fly of his jeans and shoved them down his muscular thighs. He was hard. The thick shaft that bobbed between those bitable thighs acted as a hypnotist’s watch. The jeans went into the laundry basket, too. He closed the closet door, giving her an impeccable view of the eighth wonder of the world, Brick Callan’s ass.
Butt bongos.The phrase floated to her from the deep recess of her mind. “Oh my God,” she groaned, bringing her hands to her cheeks.
He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Problem?”
“I just remembered butt bongos.”
Every inch of her skin heated under his leisurely regard. The man was going to melt her clothes right off without even touching her.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.
Oh, boy.
