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“I’m so sorry,” I said, murmuring into her skin. “I’ve gotta take this.”
“Work calls for the busy man,” she said as she sat up with me. “Don’t apologize.”
The phone continued to vibrate in my hand while my eyes danced along her body. She was flushed with want and I could already smell that dripping wet pussy waiting for me. I would silently curse this client all through this damn phone call for ruining what could’ve been the best moment I ever shared with Kyra.
Mostly because I didn’t really know if I’d ever get to share it with her again.
“Blake’s Books ‘N Things. This is Blake Trent speaking.”
I slid off her bed and mouthed “sorry” to her one last time before I headed out of her room. I shoved my hands into my pants while the client rattled off in my ear, spouting some bullshit about absolutely nothing while I rearranged my cock. I walked down the stairs and waved a silent goodbye to Mark, who raised his beer at me and smiled.
Then I turned and looked up the steps one last time to see Kyra staring down at me.
She smiled and waved at me before she blew me a kiss and, in that very moment, I knew everything was going to be all right. Kyra was better than this. If she had made up with Chance and had opened herself up to me, there was no way in hell she was considering that dumbass proposal from her fiancé.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - KYRA
Even with Blake spinning through my head, I had to get out and do some last-minute Christmas shopping. I had nothing for the guys, while they all had these wonderful gifts for me, and I still had one more thing I was trying to track down for Dad. I took a quick shower while the feeling of Blake’s lips lingered on my skin. Then I changed my clothes and kissed my dad goodbye before I ventured into town.
The snow had fallen but the roads were clear. The mountains were rising up behind all the little shops. The wind was whipping up the powdered snow as I walked from shop to shop, grabbing up things I saw I knew the guys would love. I searched tirelessly for the customizable stainless-steel grilling set I’d seen for my father, complete with a vegetable grilling tray and a nonstick grilling mat. It would be perfect with the grill I’d bought him last year, ushering him into the idea of propane instead of constantly using charcoal.
He grumbled at first but he quickly grew to like the thing.
I was slinging bags in my car just before my gaze rose. There was a familiar figure looming across the road, staring at me almost like it was in shock. I shut my trunk, hiding the presents I’d already purchased as my vision focused and that was when I realized who it was.
It was Owen and he was crossing the street to walk my way.
All of a sudden, my hands began to tremble. I was nervous and my chest was panting. A chill was rushing down my spine while the wind whipped snow around my body, trapping the fluffy powder in my hair as Owen slowly loomed over my body.
I stared up into his light blue eyes, trying to figure out if he was going to hold me or holler at me.
“You hungry?” he asked.
I was stunned at how even the deep tone of his voice was.
“I could eat,” I said.
“There’s an Italian place a couple blocks up. I’ll get you some lunch.”
He started to walk before he looked back at me. I took one last look at my car, clocking the presents in them as I hesitated.
“No-one’ll take your stuff,” he said.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I looked back up into his eyes and I saw something akin to regret flash upon the features hidden behind his thick beard. Out of all the brothers, his was the longest, but it somehow suited his massive stature. His broad shoulders stacked on more muscle than some of his brothers had on their entire bodies. Owen slowly rolled them back and, even though I didn’t think it was possible, he seemed even taller when he did so.
“I just wanna talk,” he said.
I figured after everything I’d done, I owed him at least that.
I walked by his side while he warmed me with his body. We dipped into the Italian restaurant, with its aged decor and its low-lit atmosphere and I could already feel my stomach rumbling. I thought back to breakfast with Chance and how our conversation didn’t afford much time for me to eat and, as we sat down, a waitress appeared at our side.
“What would the two of you like to drink?” she asked.
“A bottle of your finest Italian red wine,” Owen said.
I furrowed my brow as the woman wrote down his request.
