Page 14

Chapter 14

Charlie

I t’s too early. The kind of early where the world’s still blue and nothing makes sense yet. My brain hasn’t caught up to my body, and my body – fuck. It feels rearranged. Stretched, filled, and hollowed all at once.

And I’m not alone.

I’m cradling a furnace. A living furnace. His chest is solid under my head, heartbeat slow and steady, and it’s thudding in my bones.

And god help me, I don’t want him to move. I don’t want any of this to move. I want to capture the moment, preserve it forever, keep it safe and warm and unbreakable.

He’s still asleep. I can tell by the way his breath coasts over my forehead, a soft, even rhythm that doesn’t match the shallow tempo of mine. He smells clean and musky – soap and skin and sex and Brodie – and I’m wrapped up in it, drinking it in like it’s the only air I’ve got.

My thighs are sore. Bruised from how he took me apart last night. My hips ache from being gripped, my neck burns where he bit me, and there’s this slow pulse between my legs that’s more memory than pain.

And I should be freaking the fuck out.

Telling myself it was inappropriate, irresponsible.

Because it was.

But my whole body hums with satisfaction, as if it knows something my brain doesn’t, basking in the fact that I’m still tucked against him, his arm under my head, hand holding my shoulder in his sleep like he plans to keep me pinned right here.

Brodie.

God, he’s so warm. Weight and muscle and something I could lean into forever. And I didn’t know… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I’m whole and emptied. I gave something I didn’t know I had. And now I don’t know how to take it back.

It wasn’t just the way he moved. But the way he looked . Like he wanted to learn me by heart. This raw, steady devotion that I didn’t see coming.

It felt like being found.

Tears pool. Embarrassing shit. I’m not supposed to want this. He’s my client. My career. My biggest fucking project.

I catch the first one with the heel of my hand and swipe it away as though it were never there.

Brodie shifts in his sleep, and every part of me stills. His thumb sweeps over my skin, a lazy, unthinking stroke, and a quiet sound catches on the edge of my breath before I can swallow it down.

His rhythm changes. He’s waking up. His thumb drifts again, stroking.

His voice rumbles against my hair, gravelled with sleep. ‘Hey.’

And it’s that single word – that sleepy, unguarded murmur full of tenderness – that undoes me. It runs hot down my cheek. I bite my lip and swallow the ache.

I lay still. My head is pressed to his sternum, listening to his heartbeat. It’s the only thing keeping me together.

He stirs, and his hand comes up to cradle my face. ‘Hey, what’s all that now? You crying, Champ?’

I go stiff, and he feels it. I know he does, brow furrowing as he looks at me.

‘No,’ I lie, too fast. ‘Bit of grit in the eye.’

He cups my chin and keeps me right where he wants me. ‘Charlie.’

‘It’s nothing. Probably allergies. Dust or something.’

He swipes gently beneath my eye, chasing another tear. ‘Don’t.’

I try to draw air past the tightness beneath my ribs, but it makes it worse. So, I force myself to tilt my chin up and meet his gaze. It’s like staring straight into the sun.

‘It’s fine, Brodie. I’m fine.’ My voice is way too small.

‘You don’t cry for no reason.’

I blow out a laugh that feels more like a wince. ‘Maybe I’m just… I’m sore.’

His lips twitch, but his eyes don’t soften. ‘Sore’s one thing. This is something else.’

I shove at his pecs, try to put some distance between us, but he doesn’t let me go far. Just turns enough to look me in the eye, his thumb still brushing softly, as if he thinks stopping might tip me over.

‘Talk to me.’ His voice is rough but not harsh. ‘Don’t lock me out.’

‘I’m not…’ The lump in my throat’s too big to swallow, but I try anyway. ‘There’s nothing to say. All good.’

‘That’s a load of shite.’ Brodie lets out a low, frustrated sound.

He draws his hand back and fists the duvet instead, like he’s fighting the urge to grab me and shake me until the truth comes out.

Loaded silence hangs between us.

Part of me wants to give in. To bury my face in his neck and let him hold me until this hot mess inside me stops burning.

But not when I know the cost of wanting this. Of wanting him.

It’s a disaster in the making.

I turn and pull myself up to sit against the pillows. Brodie watches me, eyes far too perceptive. He doesn’t close the gap. He’s waiting me out.

And I’m not sure what’s worse. That he’s giving me space or that I wish he wouldn’t.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He scrubs a hand down his face, holding back from pushing too hard.

It hits a place I don’t let anyone touch.

I shove my hand through my hair, trying to comb out the tangles, but it’s useless. Everything in me is knotted up and backwards. I glance at him, and he’s still watching me. Reading me. Careful not to press too hard.

‘You gonna keep staring at me like that?’ I mutter, aiming for a smirk and missing miserably.

‘I’m trying to work out what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.’

I shrug and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. ‘Nothing. Brain’s still half asleep.’

He doesn’t buy it. Not for a second.

‘Last night was…’ I start, but the words dry up.

‘Aye,’ he says softly. ‘It was.’

A shiver rolls through me, and I lower my forehead to my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. ‘But we shouldn’t have done it.’

‘You regret it?’

I whip my head up, and the expression on his face cuts through me. ‘No. Fuck, no. That’s not… I mean it wasn’t…’ I’m struggling for words. ‘It wasn’t a smart call.’

A slow exhale. ‘Smart doesn’t come into it, Charlie. You know that.’

My mouth twists. ‘Doesn’t change that it was reckless as hell.’

‘Possibly. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. So, what’s the problem?’

I dig my fingers into my shins. ‘You know what the problem is. I have an agency to think about. You have a comeback to make. We can’t afford distractions. If this goes wrong… This was—’

‘Don’t even start.’

‘Brodie…’

‘No. I’m not playing that game where you call it just sex. You were mine last night. You can’t lie to me about that.’

My lungs seize. I can’t lie, but I can’t give him what he wants, either. I can’t let him know how close he is to breaking my resolve. Because if I admit it, it’ll unravel everything I’ve worked for. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get where I am. One mistake and it could all come crashing down.

I can’t let him be that mistake.

Not him.

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. ‘It wasn’t just sex, Charlie. You know that. You ever come like that before?’

I don’t answer.

‘Thought so,’ he mutters.

A beat passes. ‘Callum was…my first,’ I blurt. And I hate that I need him to know this. ‘And…my only.’

His expression goes dark. ‘You’re shitting me.’

I stare at the wall. ‘We were together for almost two years, and—’

‘And that prick didn’t know what to do with you, did he?’

I try to play it off. ‘It wasn’t that bad. It was…okay.’

Brodie curses under his breath, working hard not to let it piss him off too much. ‘Jesus, Charlie. Okay is not enough. Never enough. You deserved better than that. Still do.’

I look at him then, and his eyes are darker than usual, heat simmering under the surface. It makes my skin tingle, and I hate that I want him all over again.

‘You don’t need that much experience to understand last night was fucking phenomenal,’ he says and almost sounds like he’s arguing with himself. ‘I’ve been around, Charlie. Coming together like that, first go? Can’t fake that kind of connection. That’s rare.’

His words hit low, right where I’m soft and aching. I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all. Just stare at my hands, fingers twisting together.

‘You fucking melted on my cock, Champ.’ He reaches out, brushes his knuckles under my eye. ‘You deserve someone who makes you feel like that every single time.’

My eyes burn. ‘I’m not looking for that. I’m not looking for anything.’

He scoffs. ‘Right. Too focused on your agency to let someone take care of you.’

Anger flares up inside me. ‘I have too much at stake. I can’t afford to lose my head over you.’

‘You wouldn’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.’

‘I mean it.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, I heard you. Doesn’t make it any less bullshit.’

I exhale hard, tension winding through me, and he seems to sense it because he lets his hand drop, backing off without pushing. Only makes me want to throw myself at him more.

No.

No. No. No.

I’ve done enough damage already. To him, to myself, to my company.

I shove back the covers, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stand up.

Distance. I need distance.

I go to the dresser, rummage through my suitcase, ignoring the burn of his stare on my back.

‘You’re not wrong,’ he says calmly. ‘You’ve got your career. I’ve got my game. We’re both trying to prove something. But don’t fucking stand there and act like last night was just a nice shag.’

I grip the dresser, glaring at the floor. ‘It wasn’t. But we can’t—’

‘You can walk away if you need to. I’ll let you go. But look at me, Charlie. Look at me! I’m saying this only once, and I need to be sure you understand every fucking word.’

I turn around. He’s a storm front, all dark edges and heat.

‘All right. I’ll give you your space. I’ll respect your boundaries. Makes sense. I get it. Just know this…’ He leans forward, gaze spearing straight through me. ‘If this ever happens again – if you so much as fucking look at me like you want me – I’m not giving you up a second time. And you’ll have to live with the consequences.’

My heart pounds so hard it hurts.

‘I’m not a toy. You get me, Charlie?’ His tone’s quieter now, but still laced with that fierce, unshakable certainty. ‘So, you better think really fucking carefully before you ever let this happen again. Because I’ve got boundaries too.’

That landed. Harder than I want to admit. I steady my voice enough to make it sound like a decision, not a retreat. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.’

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his hands, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me. His jaw is tight, shadows cutting hard lines across his face, and I still feel the weight of his words.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘We’ll focus on your agency and my game. Clean slate.’

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything, because I’m pretty sure my voice will crack. He’s doing what I asked – being reasonable, being rational.

I’m almost out the door when something flies at me. I catch it just before it can hit my head – a granola bar. I look up, and there’s a hint of that wicked glint back in his eyes.

‘Eat something, Harrington,’ he says gruffly. ‘God knows you earned it last night. And take off my Rebels shirt before I change my mind, bend you over that fucking dresser, and show you what it means when you wear it.’