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I think about how desperate she was for me to allow her to keep coming up here so she can finish out the semester. So desperate she agreed to model for me, even though I was an asshole and a complete stranger. “Your dad doesn’t know you’re going to college, does he?”
“I’m going to be a rancher’s wife” She shakes her head. “As far as he’s concerned, a college education is a waste of time and money.”
“When?” The word scratches and claws at the back of my throat. “When are you supposed to—”
“My father’s gone on family business for the next two weeks,” she says, answering my question before I even have a chance to finish it. “When he comes back, Brock and I are going to be married.”
“Your father is forcing you to marry that piece of shit?” I say it out loud because I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it. “Even after knowing what he did to you?” My father is as indifferent as they come when it comes to most of his children but he’d never do something like that to one of his daughters.
Closing her hand into a fist, Kait looks up at me with a nod and another one of those faint, brittle smiles. “Because I’m a Barrett and he’s a Morris and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
TWENTY-NINE
Kaitlyn
Even though I insisted that I’m able to walk, Went picked me up when he was finished patching me up and carried me to his bed. Switching the bathroom light off, he navigates his way through the dark bedroom to set me on the edge of it, he gives me a frown and shakes his head before I can say anything. “It’s not even 4AM, Sunshine. I’ll call Damien in an hour or two to come get you and take you home.” Turning away from me, he makes his way to the dresser and pulls open the middle drawer. Fishing around in it, he pulls something out—a T-shirt. “For now, just put this on and get in bed.” Tossing me the shirt, he moves toward the door. “Try to get some rest—you’re supposed to be here, cleaning up after me anyway. No one is going to miss you. Not for a while.”
He’s right.
No one will be looking for me anytime soon—except maybe Brock and I’d just as soon hide from him for the rest of my life.
Catching the shirt, I watch him move away from me for a few moments before I crack. “Went?”
Back toward me, he stops in front of the door, hand poised on the knob to pull it open. “Yeah?”
Shit.
Staring at his broad, muscular back, I lose my nerve. Never mind dances on the tip of my tongue but before I can say it, his voice reaches for me in the dark.
“You can say it, Sunshine,” he tells me, his tone low and rough, the words like gravel against his throat. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”
“Will you help me? With my dress… it buttons down the back.” It comes out in a quiet rush like maybe if I say it fast enough, he won’t understand what I’m saying but will somehow do what I’m asking anyway. “My shoulder’s pretty sore and my hand hurts. I don’t think I can undo them on my own.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, the huge, looming shape of him illuminated by the push of moonlight through the half-parted curtain. Never mind finds its way back to the tip of my tongue but like before, he speaks before I can push the words out.
“Okay.”
The shape of him comes toward me in the dark and I hold my breath while he kneels in front of me, the move bringing us nearly eye-to-eye. Leaning into the space between us, Went reaches behind me, the tips of his large, blunt fingers brushing against the base of my neck. Starting with the top button, he slips it loose before working his way to the next one.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly against his cheek and close my eyes, the feel of his hands working my buttons loose, rough fingers skimming down my spine, making my head spin.
The hands pause for a moment before he pulls back, his bottomless black gaze finding mine in the gloom. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
A lot of things.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell him about Brock sooner.
I’m sorry I dragged him into this mess in the first place.
I’m sorry for whatever is going to happen next because if there’s one thing I know about Brock, it’s that he won’t take what happened tonight lightly. He’ll get even, one way or another.
“About the other day…” I gasp softly when his fingertips brush against the base of my spine, a shiver winding its way down the length of it when he works the last button loose. “The way I… pet you like a goddamned dog,” I tell him, repeating the words he used to describe what happened between us a week ago. “And the rest of it… I don’t usually do things like that.”
On either side of my back, his fingers push themselves between my skin and the parted edges of my dress. “You don’t usually ask strangers if you can touch and lick and bite their tattoos?” he asks, attempting to make light of the situation while the backs of his fingers slide up the length of my spine to grip my dress at the shoulders so he can pull it down my arms.
“I don’t usually ask for what I want.”
My answer puckers his brow. “Why not?”