Page 46 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twelve

Beth

He had bags lining both arms like oversized bracelets.

And I was standing outside a store that looked really freaking awesome, teeth pressing into my bottom lip, wanting to go in, but not wanting to take advantage of the fact that I’d dragged Raph into a half-dozen stores already and had bought enough clothes to make it clear Pru didn’t need to take me shopping for the next half-century, at least.

“Beth.”

I didn’t need those shoes, even if they were flats and had that adorable eyelet detail.

I turned away, started walking. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

It was early afternoon. I’d spent enough money, and even though he’d been exceptionally patient—not complaining once —I’d dragged him along enough places.

“Beth.”

Time to go before I wore out my welcome.

Sparkly sandals with a pointed toe and heel.

Oh, Lord. Those were beautiful.

My feet skittered.

Straps that would crisscross over my foot, wrap around my ankle and calf.

No.

I couldn’t even wear them right now, wouldn’t be able to for months, not with the low blood pressure and my belly growing.

“Sugarpie.”

Right. No more shoes. No more shopping.

A hand on my jaw, cupping lightly, those bags rustling and crinkling. “Beth, honey. Go try on the shoes.”

“I won’t be able to wear them, not for months,” I whispered.

“Go try on the shoes,” he repeated.

My nostrils flared, drawing in a deep breath. “I already bought enough for today.”

“Can you afford the shoes?”

Considering I could go on a shopping spree every day for the rest of my days (and not at the outlets) and still not make a dent in the trust fund my mom had left me, yeah, I could afford the shoes.

“Beth?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

A sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “Then, sugarpie, go try on the shoes.”

I took a step toward the entrance, mostly because he let his hand fall to my lower back and nudged me forward.

Then I stopped. “You’ve been patient.”

His big body shifted so that he was at my front, and I looked up, way up into his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You’re carrying my bags.”

One brown brow lifted. “Yeah, honey.”

“And you’re not complaining.”

A pause. “No, sugarpie.”

Warmth in my belly and for a minute, the pounding at the doors in the basement quieted.

Which set me spinning, had me pressing my teeth into my bottom lip, and meant that I said something that had nothing to do with our conversation and everything to do with the way this man made me feel.

“I’ve never actually heard anyone call another person sugarpie . ”

His smile flashed, and that wasn’t a calming warmth. It was a battering ram to my gates, a call to fling wide those doors and let the demons loose.

He’d lift his sword.

Slay them with one fell swoop.

And I was reading too many fantasy romances.

I didn’t live in a world where men swept in on horses or wings that sprouted from their back, diving down, and rescuing me.

My world was…

Well, it wasn’t that .

His fingers on my spine flexed, and years of instinct had me going still, but there wasn’t a bite of pain. There weren’t nails digging in, harsh words in my ear, promising pain later.

Now, it was just another nudge, another push to the door.

“Go try on the shoes, sugarpie. ”

My lips twitched. The doors rattled.

But their locks held fast.

And…I walked in through the entrance of the store.

And…I bought the sparkly sandals, the flats with the pretty detailing on top, and a pair of boots that I was pretty sure I was going to hell for buying.

Spike heels.

Thigh high.

Zippers along the inside.

But I’d bought them because of fire in bright blue eyes, a muscle in his firm jaw twitching. His voice rasping, “You’re getting those, or I’m getting them for you.”

They weren’t practical.

They would be sitting in my closet for months.

But that look in Raph’s eyes, the huskiness of his voice. It wasn’t even a second thought.

I’d bought the boots.

Raph had spent some quality time playing Jenga with my bags to get them all to fit into his trunk, and early afternoon had turned to early evening by the time that I’d finished making my way through the outlets.

I had the shoes.

I had some sweats and loose sweaters.

I had maternity jeans and tops.

I had underwear that had made fire reappear in Raph’s eyes, underwear that I’d stupidly bought from a store I’d stupidly gone into.

But I’d wanted to pick up some nightgowns and there had been a pretty purple lace one in the window, and then he’d leaned close and murmured, “Don’t mind going into this one, sugarpie. ”

Sugarpie.

It was cheesy and ridiculous.

And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard when he leaned close and rumbled it in my ear, surrounding me with his strength and his warmth and Raph.

So, I’d gone in.

And…I’d gotten that violet nightgown, including a pair of pretty purple panties that went with it, along with several other matching sets of gorgeous, sensuous sleepwear.

And…I’d gotten that muscle twitch, that fire, and?—

I’d decided I was going to play with it.

Stupid, huh?

But the banging in that basement, the claws gouging at the locked doors…all of that was easy to ignore when he was with me.

My stomach rumbled, and it wasn’t a quiet hey-I’m-getting-hungry-so-feed-me-bitch rumble.

It was a fucking growl , reverberating through the insides of my skeleton, echoing through the car.

We’d stopped for pretzels and sandwiches a few hours before (along with the eight million bathroom stops I’d made because Raph kept reappearing with bottles of water and making me drink them).

But this was a growl, and it wouldn’t be satisfied with water or pretzels or sandwiches.

It was?—

My nostrils worked, the sweet scent of Donna’s hitting my nose.

Oh, I wanted the apple and brie grilled cheese with fig jam. No needed it.

My stomach went again.

I wanted it, and wanted it now, and?—

“Are you going to gnaw off your arm if I take you somewhere that’s not Donna’s?”

I blinked, so lost in my almost tasting that fig jam on my tongue that it took a minute for me to process what he was saying.

“What?” I asked, admittedly not at my finest, mostly because he was talking, and I was dreaming about fig jam and creamy brie cheese.

“How soon do you need to eat?”

Another blink. “Five minutes ago.”

Something happened to his face, fire and humor mixing together with soft and gentle in his eyes, pairing with the curving of his lips, and it sent my heart skittering in a direction it had absolutely no business going.

“You good with Donna’s twice in one day?”

“Will it get a fancy grilled cheese sandwich into my mouth sooner?”

A brow lifting. “A fancy grilled cheese?”

“Apples and brie and fig jam. It’s an orgasm between two slices of bread.

” My stomach growled again at my words, and he laughed, big and loud and beautifully, and I felt like I’d felt when I’d first seen him, definitely how I’d felt the first time I’d seen him after everything had happened with his bitch of an ex?—

I wanted to be the one to make him laugh.

I wanted that humor in his blue eyes to be directed at me . I wanted us to have inside jokes and for him to smile at me in a special way, like he had a special smile just for me.

I wanted him to think I was pretty and sexy and funny and smart and?—

“Well, don’t let it be known that I get between a woman and her orgasms.”

My lungs seized.

I wanted that.

Heat and need and sex and orgasms. Fingers and cock and tongue. Big and hard against my soft and curved.

But…this was a lot.

This was, perhaps, too much already.

I’d get my orgasm, but it would be in the form of fruit and honey, jam and bread. It would be in the form of him carrying my bag and encouraging me to buy the shoes.

It would be in the form of a nice man looking out for me, maybe being a friend, maybe just making amends for being a bit of a jerk (and only a bit because I knew I was a lot to deal with and because I knew he’d been coping with a flurry of emotions and pain over the last year, especially with my pregnancy in his face).

But he’d move on.

They always did.

And I certainly wasn’t a catch.

Pregnant, going to be getting fatter by the minute. Hormones going crazy. Low blood pressure making me a freaking nuisance. Totally high maintenance and so messed up that I was a grown woman and still using my clothes and makeup as a shield because I’d never be able to let anyone in, not really.

Despite all that, I wanted.

Him.

Me.

Together.

Swinging doors wide open and battling demons.

But…that wouldn’t happen.

So, I was going to take what I could get.

Sandwiches that were almost as good as orgasms. A man holding my bags and being patient, bringing me water and looking after me because I was important to his friend.

That would be enough.

Because when I was alone, as I’d always been alone…it had always been enough.

And it would always be enough.