Page 36

Brenton

I WASN'T ALWAYS ANasshole.

Fuck.

Maybe I was. The truck was a gift, not fucking leverage. But with her feisty mouth, she backed me into a corner, and I said what was needed to get out of it. If she didn't bend to my bossy ass, I'd leverage the damn truck that she couldn't stop smiling about to make her.

Damn, I was a dick.

Beks barely slowed the truck to a crawl in front of the main house before shoving me out the door. Which I had to admit was fucking hilarious. Only that woman would have the balls to pull that shit with me. That side of her was why I couldn't get enough, couldn't let her walk away, not yet. Not when the memories were coming back.

If all that made me a rotten bastard, as she called me, fine. I'm Brenton Graves, and I get what I want. And I wanted Rebeka Harding around more and more. And for some unknown reason, I needed her to love me again as she did years ago.

Okay yeah, that made me an asshole.

Guess I was finally living up to the family name.

But could someone fault a man for wanting one person on this earth to love him, to make him feel needed and wanted, like only a woman in love could? The surge of protectiveness and need to provide for her was foreign but welcomed. Hell, more than appreciated, it was fucking amazing. Never had a woman pulled that type of desire from me.

Using my teeth, I bit through the price tag on the shirt in my hands before slipping it on. Damn, the new clothes were comfortable. The jeans had room to move instead of the designer ones I had back in Dallas. Not that I wore jeans that much anymore. In Kentucky, it was all military-issued clothes around the base, and I could give two shits what I wore when I wasn't working.

The mattress molded beneath my ass as I bent over to pull the tall boot sock on.

What was it about her that I couldn't get enough of? The honesty, the crude mouth of hers, or the feeling of belonging and peace that settled in me every time she was around?

All I knew was I never wanted to feel the gut punch she’d landed this morning again. How could I forget nearly killing her? She said I was high, so it would make sense, but why was I in Odessa, and why was she in the car? There were still a lot of unknowns, and clearly she wasn't willing to help me remember. Who could blame her? No one would want to relive the moment they almost died and then were tossed aside by the man she loved and who she thought loved her.

One boot on, I stretched across the bed for the phone on the nightstand.

Damn, nothing from Landon.

I needed to see the document. Maybe reviewing the wording would help me remember why I signed it or confirm what I was almost sure of—that I didn't agree to or sign shit. The low dollar amount, the verbiage to stay away? That wouldn't have been me. Dad, fuck yes, but I hoped to hell I would’ve given the woman I loved more.

Which that was clear in my memories. I did love her. But was I in love with her was the question. And how did I feel about her now? We were kids, but there was no denying the strong pull we still had for each other. Hell, every time we were together, I was fighting an internal battle to keep my hands off her.

It didn't help that she was beautiful and somehow the sexiest woman without even trying. Her round, perky ass and curvy hips distracted me every time she moved. I'd had hot-as-sin models walk into my bedroom wearing see-through La Perla, yet somehow Beks earlier in granny panties and my too-large T-shirt had me harder than any of those women ever did.

After slipping the other boot on, I stood and balanced from one foot to the other, testing the comfort.

With all the uncertainty and hazy memories, there was one thing I knew for a fact.

I wouldn't let her slip away, not until I knew what this was between us and I had all the answers about that night.

And it might’ve made me an asshole, but I'd do whatever it took to keep her around until then.