Hold on Tight (Man of the Month 2)

He put his arm around her, and she leaned against him, her sigh sounding like a mix of both pleasure and relief.

"You okay?"

She tilted her head so that she could smile at him. "I am now."

He brushed a quick kiss over her lips, making her laugh and murmur, "Tickles."

He chuckled. "Should I shave?"

"Hell no. You're perfect."

The words warmed him, but once again, he was catching that vibe. As if something wasn't quite right. And as much as he hated thinking it, he was afraid it might be him. "Brooke, what's wrong?"

This time when she looked at him, she was scowling. "That obvious?"

"Maybe I just know you well."

"You do," she said. "Even after all this time. This is like a miracle to me. That we're back together. That maybe if we don't screw it up, we'll get a happily ever after."

Her words sent rocket flares of joy careening through him. He'd been thinking along that way--hell, yeah, he had--but he hadn't been certain that she had. And this was the first time either of them had spoken concretely about a future.

"I can see why that would make you upset," he said, his voice deadpan.

As he'd hoped, she laughed. "Yeah, well, you forgot about the monkey in our wrench."

He felt the smile tug at his lips. "Did I?"

"It pisses me off that my dad keeps poking and poking."

"Ah." He leaned back, his hands behind him for support. He should have realized that the encounter with her dad wouldn't simply blow over. "What did he want earlier?"

"Oh, only for me to quit the show and get away from you. And as incentive, he said that he'd underwrite my entire business so that I can take on bigger, more prestigious jobs."

He felt his mouth go a little dry. "Not a bad offer."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a terrible offer. Be in business with my dad? Especially if it meant that you weren't in the picture?"

"I know. But he loves you. He wants to help you."

Her blue eyes went as hard as flint. "What he wants is you out of my life, and this time he's using my business as leverage."

His radar tingled. "This time?"

She nodded, suddenly looking much younger than her twenty-eight years. "I need to tell you something," she whispered. "You might hate me--I won't blame you if you do. But the thought of losing you again terrifies me." A thick tear dropped from her lashes to the blanket as another trailed down the side of her nose.

Dread raced up his spine. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be fine, but all he could manage to say was, "Tell me."

"It was my father," she said, her words slow and measured.

"Your father? What was?"

"Our wedding. When I met you in the garden and told you I couldn't go through with it." She licked her lips. "I didn't want to--oh, God, I so didn't want to."

He wanted to shout. To shake her and ask why she'd done that to him--to them--if she hadn't wanted to. But that was the story she was telling, and his hurt and anger wouldn't make it easier for either of them.

He kept silent, and she pressed on, watching him as she spoke. He could see the exhaustion--and the relief--in her face as the words flowed. It was as if she'd been holding it all in behind a dam and was finally allowed to let it all slip out, the whole story about the promise her father had made about clemency for Richie. And the terrible choice that Brooke had been forced to make.

He said nothing until she finished, then sat up and put his head down on his knees, his arms curled around his legs, shutting out the world. Her father.