Page 87 of Morally Black Betrothal

She flounced into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine, but her words echoed as I changed out of my robe and put on my mother’s dress. The truth was, less than a week into this arrangement, and I wasn’t sure I knew who I was becoming either.

Either way, Selena could be as angry as she wanted to be. I didn’t care. The fact that she’d not even said ‘thank you’ after I’d solved her money problems was not lost on me.

I sighed and considered the dismal contents of my closet. I had a dress to wear tonight, but there was still the question of what else was coming with me to Brendan’s apartment.

Maybe a shopping trip was in order after all. And hehadgiven me credit cards to use for it, right?

But first, I had to handle this date.

I turned back to the mirror and really looked at myself in the blue dress. Considering how closely Selena and I resembled our mother, it really did fit me like a glove.

I imagined Brendan’s face when he saw me in it. The glint in his eyes when his big hands might slip around my waist and touch the soft fabric. The rumble in his throat when he told me how beautiful I looked.

It wasn’t real. None of this would ever be real.

But my imagination didn’t care, and apparently, neither did the rest of me. Because as those images floated through my head, a smile spread across my face before I could help it.

Just like in the original photo, there was happiness there in this dress, maybe even with the man who was going to see it.

And I didn’t have the heart to let it go.

20

TOKEN FOR TOKEN

Brendan

Home.

Once again, the word rang like a songbird’s call when Simone opened the door to her apartment.

The apartment that could fit in the foyer of my house.

She couldn’t be happy in a place like this, cramped and cluttered as it was. No one could.

Nevertheless, her face was a sunbeam. The girl exuded pure happiness, and like a budding addict, I was craving my next hit. To the point where I hadn’t waited in my car for her to come down, but instead took the stairs two at a time just for the pleasure of seeing her that much sooner.

Dangerous thing, happiness.

An illusion I couldn’t afford.

Just like the concept of home.

“Simone.” The word came out more gruffly than I intended, but better that than reveal the way my insides seemed to have turned to melted butter.

Or the intense urge I had to kiss her again without an audience.

Maybe this time I’d lift her onto the table that took up most of her kitchen and wedge myself between her legs. Tuck my head under that skirt and see if she would moan again when I kissed her somewhere else besides that perfect mouth.

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

“Brendan.”

I shook out of my fantasies and forced myself to observe her without imagining her mid-orgasm.

Her hair. It was loosely pinned up, a few wisps teasing her cheeks just enough to demand my hands to bury themselves—stop it.

Shoes. Yes, she was wearing some. Basic brown ballet flats that could be easily kicked off when I grabbed—goddamn it.