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Senses didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Mallory had spent an entire weekend alone, in fear for her daughters’ lives. Alone. Just as she’d been most of her life.
It was criminal.
He knocked on the door, saw her peek out the side window a minute or so later and then, turning on the porch light, she opened the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
She was frowning as she opened the door wider and stepped aside.
She’d changed from the T-shirt dress to a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
When she caught him staring at the lusciousness taunting him, she crossed her arms over her chest and left the room, returning less than thirty seconds later wearing a baggy T-shirt.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, crinkling her bare toes into the carpet.
“Marry me.”
Her hands dropped to her sides. She half fell backward into the chair behind her. “What?”
“Marry me.”
That was it. He didn’t have anything else.
“Braden? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Her mouth hung open.
“I’m fine.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“I had a couple of beers. You know I don’t drive past my limit.”
She nodded.
He liked that she knew him.
He waited, silent, until she spoke.
“I can’t marry you, Braden,” she finally said.
“Why not?”
“We’d hate each other within a year.”
“Maybe not.”
“Trust me, we would.”
“We don’t hate each other now.”
“We aren’t married now.”
“You want me.”
She licked her lips and he got hard. “Yes, but it could just be pregnancy hormones. And even if it isn’t, that doesn’t take away the fact that we’re too different, Bray. I drive you nuts. You hurt me.”
