Beauty And The Brooding Billionaire (South Shore Billionaires 2)

“Of course not.”

“She made a choice, Bran. She could have waited until the weekend. She could have taken a different route, left at a different time. Ana might not have had cancer. What I’m saying is...to think any of this is actually within our control is so flawed. But we look for explanations and blame so we have somewhere to put our grief.”

She sniffled and Bran realized she was crying. He wasn’t, not this time, but she was, and seeing the wetness on her cheeks and the redness of her eyes nearly undid him. She was so beautiful, inside and out. And he was so very unworthy.

He pulled her close. “You loved her very much.”

“More than anyone ever in my life, I think. Even the guy I thought I was going to marry.”

“Were you in love with her?”

She lifted her head sharply, looked into his eyes. “Oh...no. Not that way.”

He chuckled and his arm tightened around her. “Are you surprised I asked?”

“A little. Would it matter to you?”

He shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Why would it? It takes all kinds of love to make the world go round. I never assume anything.”

She pushed away and turned on the sofa, sitting with her legs crossed, but she still held his hand. “You know, I didn’t expect you to surprise me more than you already have tonight, but you just did.” A sweet smile touched her lips. “And every time you surprise me, I like you a little bit more.”

She shouldn’t like him. It made things harder. And yet he found himself rubbing his thumb over her wrist in a comforting gesture. He could still see the trails tears had made on her cheeks. “I’m sorry you lost her,” he said quietly. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She was. And I’m sorry you lost Jennie and Owen. But we’re alive, Bran. You and me. Alive and we have lives to live. You can’t punish yo

urself forever. I can’t be sad forever.”

“Jess...”

“And I feel most alive when I’m with you.”

If she kept it up with that soft voice and her big eyes, he was going to have to go for another dip in the sea. He should look away. But he couldn’t. Her gaze held him prisoner, his breath shortened as the moment drew out. He was still holding her hand; meanwhile the towel and blanket were feeling rather constrictive.

“I’m not relationship material, Jess. You need to know that. I have nothing to offer someone in that way.”

Had she somehow moved closer? “I don’t recall asking for a relationship. Or any sort of promises,” she whispered. “I don’t want them, Bran. I’m here for a matter of weeks, and then I’m going back to my life.” She lifted her other hand and cupped his jaw. “Besides, I’m trying this thing where I live in the moment.”

In this moment he knew exactly what he wanted. But she asked him first.

“Stay with me,” she murmured.

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, his heart pounding with what he was sure were equal measures of arousal and fear.

But he didn’t have time to think. Jess shifted and slid one leg over him, so that she was straddling him and he was having serious doubts about the reliability of the towel. She kissed him softly, on the crests of his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, the spot just above his lower lip, until he could hardly breathe. In less than a moment he lifted his arms, sending the blanket cape falling to the side as he wrapped her in a tight embrace. And then they kissed, long, slow, deep, until his brain was swimming with nothing but the feel of her, the scent of her skin, soft and salty from the sea.

When the sofa grew uncomfortable, Jess slid off his lap and held out her hand. He knew what she was asking. Knew it might be a mistake. But he also knew he had never wanted something so badly. This feeling alive thing was addictive, and he needed another hit. There was one thing standing in his way, though. And it was something he’d never risk.

“Jess, I’m not prepared.”

Her cheeks pinkened delightfully, but she shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ve been on the pill for years.”

He put his hand in hers and stood, his towel falling away.

* * *

Jess tried not to stare, but Bran was standing naked in her living room. Tall and lean, with a small scar on his lower right abdomen, and a soft dusting of hair from his chest down to his navel. She wanted this. But the fierceness with which she wanted him was unfamiliar, and gave her a moment’s pause.

Then she met his gaze and he lifted a single eyebrow. She tugged on his hand, leading him past her easel and canvas to the small bedroom and the bottom bunk.