Chapter 16

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

MARY

We sit in the living room area of Brad's room. His is bigger than mine, with seating around a small table. Brad takes a bite of his burger as Rust cuts into his steak. I pop a fry into my mouth, trying to act naturally. I know they're right about my outburst. I shouldn't have surged forward like that, but somebody had to say something, didn't they?

Or maybe it's just the pulsing in my heart. A baby. A life. Perhaps it's the song that rises in me when I think about what Rust said. Maddie is lying. Lying . She never dated him. I know I snapped at Brad, saying Rust could be keeping a secret, but he clearly values the truth. He was the one who wanted to bring the whole world crashing down by telling Brad about us .

Another fry, chewing listlessly, thinking of all the ways I could tell Rust. Or should I tell him?

"Are you going to be a sinner instead?" Mom taunts. Lately, ever since this whatever-it-is began with Rust, I'm starting to resent that voice. I shouldn't let myself think that, but it's true. I just want to listen to my heart. "And break your brother's heart."

"Mary?" Brad says, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I said, could you pass the ketchup?"

"Uh, sure."

I hand it to him, trying to ignore Rust sitting right there . It would be so easy to reach out and touch his arm, to feel the power. When he held me in public, there was a sizzle between us, a spark, like lightning, as if a strike was trying to heat us and fuse us together. I wanted so badly to lean up, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss him hard.

Brad tilts his head at me, wondering if there's a problem. I have to look down at my food, blatantly ignoring his gaze, finding it impossible to look at him for too long.

"Sorry," Rust says when his cell phone rings, his voice seeming almost artificially flat now. "It's my manager. I've got to take this."

He stands, walks a few steps away, and answers the phone. It's out of respect for the meal as if Brad and I are going to be talking, but I can't think of a single casual and normal thing to say to him—my own brother.

"A press conference tomorrow? " Rust snaps. "Ah, right, I get it."

Rust hangs up and sits down.

"Problem?" Brad asks.

"The company wants to capitalize on all this publicity. They're hosting a press conference tomorrow between me and Cruz. He just happens to be in the city, apparently."

"Or he came here when all hell broke loose."

"That's my bet, too," Rust says.

"Do you have to do it?" I ask.

He doesn't look at me. He turns, but his eyes are anywhere but on me. I remember what he said about being in the same room, how he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Something deep inside sparkles at the thought of him snapping, completely losing it.

"It's in my contract," Rust says. "So yes, if I want the fight, which I do. I hate this side of it. What's the point of hurling insults at each other if we're going to fight anyway?"

"It's part of the game," Brad says, "and the fans love it."

"It'll be easy enough anyway." Rust sighs. "Just get up there and be a cold bastard. Not exactly difficult for me."

They both laugh, but Rust is lying. I can see how difficult it is for him to contain all that fire. I felt it when he swept me into his arms and stopped me from charging into that crowd. He was burning through his clothes. It was like something deep and primal in him sensed I was pregnant, could feel the life growing inside, and was happy , eager to make a life together. Yeah, right, because the world's a fairy tale, and crushes come true. I need to grow the hell up.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Rust asks.

"I was thinking of hitting the gym… then sightseeing?" Brad aims the last part at me.

"Sure. I'll probably read in my room until then."

"I'll send out a search party when I'm ready," Brad chuckles, then winks at Rust. "She's only next door."

"Oh," Rust says, with extra emphasis.

I never thought one syllable could shake my entire world. Oh , but in that husky voice, with that fierce edge, that's exactly what's happening. It's like the walls are trembling. My tattoo burns like it's a fresh thunderclap. I remember the feel of the needle, long for it, knowing I could never let him touch me again.

What about our baby?

After eating my last fry, I stand up. "I think I'll have a lie-down," I say. "It was nice seeing you, Rust. See you later." I smile at Brad, then turn, almost running from the room. It's too visceral being close to him, too real, too raw. It activates too many feelings in me like he's pushing all my buttons without even trying or being aware he's doing it.

I try to read in my bedroom, but the Regency romance drama seems unrealistic as I contemplate going next door and telling Brad the truth. What if I told him that when his best friend wrapped his arms around me, I didn't want him to stop? I wanted him to keep going, bend me over just like he did on our night , slip that huge, hard rod inside of me, and tease all the most sizzling places.

I wanted to bounce in that way that made him groan. I wanted to turn and see him staring down at me, thoroughly captivated, with an obsessive glint I never dreamed I'd see from Rust and definitely not aimed at me. But it was there. It was real. He couldn't stop himself. He was taking me any damn way he wanted. He owned me with his ink. Fuck. I want him to do it again.

Suddenly, as if I'm not even doing it consciously, I stroke my hand down my body, under my pants and my underwear. I find my clit and close my eyes, letting myself remember that night. His chest was swelling, every muscle bulging, as he fucked me from behind. His eyes blazed with emotion . It's like Rust's becoming a new man. With me. Only with me.

I rub my clit quicker, remembering the warm sting of his hand against my ass, the pleasant shiver of my body. I'm not sure he even knew he was groaning each time he did it. Each time I moaned, he went, "Oh," just like he did in there, except with more passion and more hunger. It was like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met.

I can still feel his dick gliding into me, pushing all the way, stretching out my pussy, owning me. I want to be his so badly—his property, even. I don't care what other people would think of that. I don't care about the age gap. As the orgasm almost crashes into me, I don't even care about the goddamn betrayal.

Just the heat…

I stop and sit up, quickly pulling my hand free. The door is opening.