Page 23 of Braving the Storm

“Is that why we’ve got fucking twigs in a cup sitting on the table?”

I’ve barely managed to raise the bottle to my lips and end up producing an awkward little spluttering noise.

“They’re not twigs. It’s… It’s…”

Blue eyes twinkle at me over the top of his beer as he tips his bottle up, watching me intensely the whole time.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter and gulp back a sip. Something else that I can’t remember the last time I had. Beer. The slightly sour, hoppy flavor settles nicely over my tongue.

Yesterday, I went out and foraged around the property for something resembling flowers, but in the midst of early spring, there wasn’t exactly much to choose from. So I had to settle for some fronds of a plant that had buds on the tips. Eventually, they’ll blossom, but I guess in their current state, they do look more like a collection of brown twigs neatly arranged inside a water glass.

Silence stretches out between us as we both nurse our drinks.

“Of course you can decorate the place,” he says, softer this time. “It is yours, after all.”

“I don’t want to impose. This is your home.” I chew my bottom lip. Holy shit, between the delicious meal and the alcohol and hearing his voice turn a honeyed shade when it drops into that lower octave, my cheeks flame.

The light has drained out of the room while we’ve been sitting here, and now there’s mostly just a warm, orange glow flickering over our skin. It’s the kind of setting that feels deeply intimate, and I see the moment his expression changes.

Those bright blue eyes harden. His jaw tightens.

It’s as if I’ve said, or done, the wrong thing.

Pushing to his feet all of a sudden, he leaves the half-finished beer on the table.

“Don’t wait up. I’ve gotta go out for a while… to meet a friend.”

And with that, my uncle vanishes like a whisper into the dark.His jacket and boots are barely on before he heads out the door with such abruptness I’m left clutching my beer, feeling like a fool. The rumble of his truck purring to life outside stabs a painful reminder square in my chest.

Of course, he has somewhere to be.

Of course, he has someone else he wants to spend an evening with.

And that woman certainly isn’t me.

Chapter 9

Driving around Crimson Ridge, after nightfall, when it’s fucking freezing out isn’t ideal.

Snow is the worst, too. Sure, it’s all pretty when it’s flaky and puffy in the sky, but then that shit sticks to the ground and melts and turns to ice… and, well, this place has got snow on fucking bulk order, shipped in for months at a time.

However, being out here, piles of snow on the sides of the roads and all, sure as hell, is a better option than remaining trapped in that cabin. I’m damn near crawling out of my skin, my blood racing and itching beneath the surface, longing to reach out for the girl I am supposed to be about as interested in as a shovel.

Maybe I need to find myself one and just dig myself a goddamn hole, bury my black soul in there, and be done with it.

Half of this town already believes the worst of me. The other half are morbidly curious.

I certainly deserve to bury myself in the pit of shame at the dirty fucking thoughts I keep having about my own damn niece. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like someone flipped a switch and glitched the universe, and I’ve gone from enjoying the idea of a little fun with anyone, any warm and willing hole, to now having an unhealthy obsession with knowing what Briar looks like naked.

With one hand I grip the steering wheel harder, the other scrubs over my mouth.

Fuck. My. Rotten. Life.

How long she’s staying for is another giant goddamn issue. I don’t know and, quite frankly, have been too shit scared to ask because I’m terrified of the possibility she might fix those glittering eyes on mine and part those pouty lips and tell me in her breathy little voice that she isn’t going anywhere.

That she intends to stay, permanently.

If so, what the hell am I going to do? I can’t spend my life sleeping on the couch fantasizing about how experienced my niece is at sucking cock. Whether she likes her ass being played with at the same time as running my tongue over her clit. And I certainly can’t spend all day wondering how her nipples might taste if I were to pinch a hard little bud between my teeth.