Page 44 of Bared

It was easy to answer her this time. Probably too easy, but Brick didn’t care. “That you’re much stronger and smarter than anyone gives you credit for,” he said. “That you’re sharp and resourceful, even in situations that would crumple grown men or shock a chunk of polite society.”

He relished how her chest expanded against his, betraying the air she sucked in. He was referencing their time in the dungeon, of course—but more than that. She smiled again, seeming to understand that. It emboldened him to press a hand to her cheek, stroking her dark honey skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I also know how all that grit has ground away at you, bit by bit, until now. And that it’s worse because you feel like crap about what happened to Requiemme.”

Her huge blues welled up with new tears. “I was so stupid,” she stammered. “I should have known my father would not waltz out to meet me based on a phone call and a few texts. I should have gone right to his house myself and left Emme back at the inn we were staying at.”

“Which would have been the most damn fool idea of them all.” Brick added the force of his fingers to his hold, ensuring he maintained her full focus. “You know that now, right? That if you’re thinking that, then Carris already has too. That he would’ve been there waiting for you. Probably still is.”

While his conclusion provided some much-needed personal assurance, it whipped Jayd into the opposite result. “Stars and saints,” she sobbed. “Brickham, do you think that he would…do anything? Would he actually hurt—”

“Not a chance. I mean it, okay?” Compelled by an instinct he couldn’t fully explain, he brought up his other hand to her face. “As far as that prick’s concerned, your dad’s the best bait for finding you. He has no other connecting threads to pull back to you. For now, that’s how it has to stay.” He drove in the point by stretching his fingers back into her short silky waves. “You hear that, right? And you understand?”

The woman nodded. But not right away, and not willingly.

Brick narrowed his eyes. Compressed his lips.

“Then say it,” he ordered in a low growl. It was authority he didn’t have and shouldn’t assume. But it fit like a fucking magic slipper, better than it had in the shadows of the dungeon, and he wasn’t exploiting it just to get his—or her—rocks off. There was a point to get across here, in the name of a vital cause. Her safety.

Because if the little daredevil decided to try another clandestine commando visit on Daddy Dearest…

No. Just fucking no.

“Look at me, Jayd—and say it, damn it. Tell me you really understand all of this. You won’t reach out to LaBarre again, in any form, until Oz, Fox, and I give you the all clear—after we’ve gotten a complete handle on what Carris’s plan is and where he’s squirreling himself to plot it.”

At once, he prepared for her retaliation. But the only fire in her eyes was from a newly warm regard. Her chin didn’t shove into a stubborn pout. Instead, she regarded him with calm strength and a slight softening along the graceful ribbon of her mouth.

“So that means you shall be—how do you say it—hanging around for a while longer?”

Brick jerked back by a few inches. Yes, by choice. The space was necessary to process what he’d just heard in the woman’s undertone—and now, what he beheld at the subtle edges of her expression.

Was this Jayd Cimarron’s way of…flirting?

Oh, for fuck’s sake. It was past time to toss that wad of crazy. His wishful thinking was dangerous with a side of preposterous. If the woman had fled her homeland at the concept of marrying a vetted courtier who kept movie star hair and knew the difference between his soup and dessert spoons, no way was she giving second thoughts to Brick’s skull cut, scarred body, and barely-better-than-street-rat etiquette.

“I’ll give Oz and Fox my help for as long as they need it,” he stated, keeping his tone to the right side of professional. “But if my hunch is right about what that entails, there won’t be a lot of hanging around to it.”

And now the woman yanked out a full pout. “Oh,” she muttered, and nothing more.

“Hey.” He didn’t move back in but was glad he’d kept his hands in her hair. “Don’t be wigged out. We’re going to make sure you stay totally safe.”

She nodded again—with that same strange reluctance. “I know.”

“Good. And your part in all of it won’t be hard at all. You’ll just—”

“But what if I want it to be?”

“Huh?”

“Hard,” she blurted. “Brickham. Maximillian.” A new sheen formed in her wide eyes. Stunning sapphires that missed nothing. She slid a hand up, spreading her slender fingers across his calloused knuckles. “What if I want that? What if I am so damn tired of…soft?”

She had his full attention at her invocation of his proper name. But with the moisture that kept welling in her gaze and then contorting the rest of her face… The deal was sealed. He was riveted. “What are you getting at, Pixie?”

She swallowed. “You do not already know?”

“I think I’m getting a clearer picture,” he grated. “But sweetheart, you’re the final wipe on this window.” He hinged his wrists, silently commanding her stare to an even keel with his. “I refuse to play guessing games. Tell me what you want, honestly and openly and fully. You’ll get no judgments from me.”

But she’d also get no softness—and he communicated that with every firm syllable. For once, the words came without effort. They were his second nature. The rock wall of his psyche that had saved his crumbling caves. Shored him up when he couldn’t deal with life any other way.