AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I furrow my brows. “I think I can manage a seatbelt now,” I say. My fingers are no longer trembling, cold from the frigid temperatures outside.
“Yes,” Brandon says, indicating his head towards my feet. “The last thing we want is for you to fall. Just wait.”
No sooner than he says that he’s out the driver’s side and coming around to mine.
The passenger door opens, and the blast of cold air makes me visibly shiver. Tonight, when I decided on this dress, I wanted to be noticed knowing this shade of red complimented my copper complexion. The subtle gold accents perfectly matched the theme of the party. How could I have known I would be running for my life in the dead of winter?
Brandon’s scent fills my nostrils again as he leans over to undo the seat belt. His fingers brush the top of my exposed thigh in the slit of the dress. Our eyes meet briefly at the contact. There’s so much in his eyes, almost like they want to communicate to me, but he breaks contact first.
The wind picks up, and I futilely wrap my arms around my middle as if I don’t have a halter dress on.
Brandon catches the move and removes his tuxedo jacket. “Put this on,” he says in a tone like he’s leveling with a child who refuses to put on a coat.
“You’re very bossy tonight,” I say, not meaning to voice my thoughts. But who can blame me for not having a filter after tonight’s ordeal?
Brandon gives a low chuckle and shakes his head at my words. “Darling, you have no idea.”
Ominous words shouldn’t sound so sexy, and yet I want to explore further, but I’m extricated from the car before I can think of a retort.
Checking that his jacket is secured around me, Brandon brings us to the back of the SUV to survey the damage. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, clasping both hands around his neck as he dips down slightly to look at the bumper. There’s dents on the side and rear passenger door as well as a few bullet holes.
“At least no one was seriously hurt,” he says, briefly meeting my gaze. In his own grumpy way, he’s telling me he’s glad I am okay. Or, at least, that’s how I choose to interpret his words.
Brandon makes quick time of moving us towards his front door, briefly looking over his shoulder, presumably to make sure we weren’t followed. He enters in a six-digit code with his right hand, all the while keeping me up with his left. I’m a relatively slim girl, but this man didn’t break a sweat while holding all my weight with one arm.
Two low beeping sounds and we’re though the front door and walking in a dark hallway when Brandon speaks. “Turn on first floor lights.”
The space is now illuminated, and the stark brightness makes me squint at first. The man could use a new decorator. His home is cold, unfeeling.
He sets me down on a tall stool outside of the large kitchen.
“Going to get the first aid kit. Don’t move.”
I salute his instructions. Where exactly did he think I would go?
“Smart-ass,” he mutters as he moves to a door I missed when we first entered the darkened home.
I can’t help watching his tall, lean figure as he moves away from me. Corded muscles are on display through the white button down shirt.
With a reprieve from his overpowering presence, I take in Brandon’s space. No photographs. No mementos or anything signifying he has a family or wants to provide comfort. This home, though it’s nice with its pale gray hardwood floors, is a husk of what a real home should feel like.
Brandon returns with the first aid kit and stoops on his knees before me, unfastening the thin strap hooked around my ankle and then removing my shoe. His hands are smooth, and when he turns my foot to the side to get a better look at the gash, a shiver goes through me.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, not masking the panic in his voice.
“Um, yes, hurts when you turned my foot just now,” I lie. Okay, my foot does hurt, but the sensation of his hands on me made my body react more than the little piece of glass embedded there.
“Apologies,” he says, carefully placing my foot on the bottom rung of another stool. I watch his ministrations as he extracts a tweezer from the kit, and he gingerly pulls the piece of glass from my foot. I don’t bother to hide my wince, really selling the lie I told moments ago.
His large hands shouldn’t be as fascinating as I find them. I watch as Brandon takes the small square of rubbing alcohol out of the packet, cleans the blood, and then applies Neosporin and a large bandage onto the gash.
“Good as new,” I say. “Now I’d like the world’s hottest and longest bath and to fall into a deep sleep.”
“That can be arranged—” Brandon begins saying, but the loud shrill of his ringing phone stops him.
He pulls out the device, andASHERis at the top of the screen. Oh, he must be worried sick! I don’t remember hearing my phone ring in all the chaos of leaving the party.
Then it dawns on me. This flimsy dress doesn’t have any pockets, and I sat my phone on one of the tables after taking a selfie with Mom and Madison, moments before the shots began.
