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Brandon smirks. “Why are you so sure I’m upset?”
“Well, can you blame me? You’re the same guy who threatened to burn down a dealership.”
That results in a chuckle. “I’m not a psycho, Kayla. Relax.” He reaches over the middle console and places his hand on my thigh, rubbing me through the jeans.
I shudder in expectancy of what’s to come—what I agreed to because I wholeheartedly want to be with him.
Brandon doesn’t pull away when I place my hand on top of his. I glance at his face, and my chest swells with joy from the fact that he’s smiling.
We arrive at the Decker property, and he pulls into the usual spot in the garage. His mother’s Porsche is there, along with Mr. Decker’s Range Rover and Britney’s BMW, that rarely moves because she hates driving.
The instant we enter the guest house, Brandon hauls me into his chest and shoves his mouth on mine for a hungry kiss that’s both sweet and minty.
I moan while trailing my fingers up his neck and through his hair.
Brandon squeezes my body as I press into him, feeling the strain of his bulge at my pelvis.
He stalls and eases back when I tug at his shirt.
Our gaze remains connected, fueled with lust.
“Still want to know my secrets, little artist?” he rasps.
I swallow and respond, “Yes. I want to know the guy standing before me. Why do you hate when people touch you?”
“Not you,” he clarifies, grip tightening on me.
A groan trickles from my lips. “But why is it an issue with everybody else, including your family? Why are you so guarded?”
Brandon closes his eyes, draws a long, deep breath, and loosens his hold on me.
When he opens his eyes again, I tremble from the surge of passion. The organ in my chest thrashes against my ribcage like a feral animal.
“Something happened to me when I was thirteen,” he confesses. “It’s…difficult to talk about, but you mean a lot to me.” He takes a hard swallow. “I want to show you my body before going into what happened.”
“Show me,” rushes out. “I want to know everything.”
Brandon nods in the direction of the passage. “In the room.”
I veer off, walking ahead of him.
With every step, carnal heat courses throughout my body like a rushing stream of lava. I’m so eager to understand Brandon and be closer to him.
But as I open the door, my steps come to an abrupt halt. My stomach plunges.
There’s nothing but utter chaos before me.
My beautiful easel is in pieces on the carpet, along with all six of the oil paintings I’ve poured my heart into completing. My paint bottles are empty—the colors strewn across the walls and bed.
A whimper shoots from my distressed body.
I swivel to Brandon. Surprise veils his wide eyes and features while regarding the mess.
“I can’t believe you!” I yell. “All because you’re pissed we didn’t meet earlier?”
He scrunches up his face. “You think I fucking did this?”
“Of course it’s you!” I push him back at the chest. “Why the hell did you pretend it was fine? Why did you—ugh!” I pivot and drag my hand down my face, eyes watering when I take in my work, scattered in fragments. “I was going to submit one of those for the exhibition and sell the rest. I thought you cared.”
