Page 114 of Morally Black Betrothal

“Why, because it makes you uncomfortable?” I was starting to sob now. Undoubtedly ruining all the hard work I’d put into my appearance.

“Because it’s not fuckin’ true!”

Silence yawned between us, interrupted only by the harsh breaths I took while fighting back more tears.

I failed. Miserably.

What was hetalkingabout? What did he even mean by that?

Brendan took several deep breaths before he spoke again. “Listen to me now. Because I am not a man who enjoys repeating himself.”

I stuck my chin out, ready to tell him exactly what he could do with his orders, but he caught it again, harder this time, and shook his head. His gaze was hot and intense, imploring me to do as he bade me. To listen, yes. And be still.

“I picked you for one reason: because you’re better than my world. You aren’t the kind of person who lets idiots like these people define you—instead, you do what you know is right, whether that means donating half your time to elderly people at the hospital or saving your family’s farm. This plan was never going to work with someone like me, Simone. I needed someonebetter. Because honestly, how else could a man like me fall in love otherwise?”

His hand dropped. My mouth fell open. Love?

No.

He was talking about the act. Our little charade. He needed someone good because otherwise people wouldn’t believe he could fall in love.

Because Brendan Black was definitely not falling in love with me any more than I was falling in love with him.

Right?

“So, please don’t cry,” Brendan murmured as he went back to stroking my face and wiping away my tears. “I’m not made for tears, baby. I don’t know what to do with them.”

That only made me cry more. “You don’t have to do anything with them. They’re just feelings, Brendan. They’ll pass.”

I was calming more, though. Enough to fish a tissue out of my clutch and dab at my eyes.

“But it’s painful. You’re obviously in pain, and that’s—I can’t explain it, but it hurts me too.” He shook his head, obviously befuddled. “I’m not used to this.”

That earned him a waterlogged chuckle. I pressed a hand to his chest and sat up to look at him. “I think that means you like me a little bit, Brendan.”

That bashful smile—my absolute favorite smile in the world—made an appearance. “You know, you might be right.”

We stared at each other for another long minute, oblivious to the traffic rushing by, the driver waiting outside for us to exit, or the doormen beyond. Boston shrank to this single spot, this little universe in the back of a very nice car, where I was sitting with a secretly kind man, who just said he chose me…for me.

This time, I was the one to kiss him. And it wasn’t because someone was watching or because I was playing a game.

It was because I wanted to.

Because I had to.

At first, he stilled as my lips brushed over his. And I froze too, thinking I’d made a colossal mistake.

Then Brendan Black did what he did best.

He took control.

One of his hands slipped behind my head, the other around my waist, and I was pulled onto his lap like I was no bigger than a house cat. His mouth devoured mine with a ferocity that had only been hinted at before—similar to what he’d done that first day he’d shown up at my apartment. But hungrier somehow.

I understood the feeling because I was starving too.

“Fuck,” he muttered just before he slanted his mouth to deepen the kiss. Plunder like the pillaging prince everyone called him. “Jesus, Simone.”

I moaned as he sucked hard on my lower lip, then wound my ponytail around one hand and pulled. My hand slid under the lapel of his jacket, seeking purchase somewhere, anywhere. A button flew off his shirt.