Made for You (The Best Mistake 2)

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Will knew Brynn would be back around. Knew it was only a matter of time before she ended up on his front door looking to scratch an itch she couldn’t even identify.

But he sure as hell didn’t expect this Brynn.

“Sweetie, what the hell happened to you?”

Although he was pretty sure he already knew, and he wanted to kill that sallow-faced James for doing it to her. Not that Will hadn’t seen it coming.

Not that he hadn’t wanted it.

But it hurt all the same to see it.

The long yellow hair he’d so often dreamed about sinking his fingers into had been replaced by a dark brown hack job, and instead of her usual minimal makeup, her blue eyes were dark and smoky and…

Oh, who was he kidding. This version of Brynn was hot. A hot mess, perhaps, but still hot.

But this wasn’t his Brynn. This was the wounded, messed-up, lost version.

He’d wanted her to come to him, just not like this. But he’d take what he could get.

“Bad day?” he asked easily, leaning an arm against the doorjamb and locking his eyes with hers. He didn’t give her an extended once-over. It was what she wanted, but not what she needed.

Instead he kept his face blank. This was her game now. He just needed to know the rules.

“Can I come in?”

Her shoulders were thrown back in a show of confidence and she had that subtly defiant look on her face that he knew all too well, but her eyes told another story.

Her eyes were terrified. Vulnerable.

He let her in.

“What’s with the outfit?” he asked, stepping aside so she could enter. “Was it bordello-chic day at the office?”

“I didn’t go into the office,” she said, heading to the kitchen like she owned the place. “Well, I mean, I did. But not to work.”

He raised his eyebrows behind her back. Brynn not working on a random Thursday. That was new.

“I didn’t go to work all week, actually,” she added.

Shit.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine. It was one of her favorites, but he didn’t let her see the label. He was worried this version of Brynn would start asking questions that the real Brynn wasn’t ready to hear the answers to. Like why he kept her favorite wine stocked. Always. Just in case.

She nodded in thanks as he slid a glass across the counter, then picked up it up and wandered toward the living area.

“The furniture looks good.”

“Even with the ‘gaudy’ couch?” he asked, pouring a glass for himself.

She shrugged and flung herself on the black leather couch as though she hadn’t launched a one-woman crusade against the “pinnacle of trashiness” just a week earlier.

He wanted to sit next to her. To have her swing her legs over his knees, kick off the scary shoes she was wearing, and talk about whatever had her dressing up like a harlot wannabe.

Wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to try so hard. She didn’t have to try to be perfect, or in this case, try to be imperfect. That with him, she could just be.

Still, Will had to admit, while the clothing was completely out of character, she pulled it off well. He was used to seeing her in cardigans and silk and perfectly tailored slacks, so this new look was a shock to the system. The dark jeans fit her like a second skin, cutting off at trim ankles to reveal high-heeled black patent leather stilettos that could kill a man. And the shirt, if you could even call it that, was fitted, red, and tiny. It wasn’t low-cut…he didn’t think Brynn Dalton was ready for that, but it was one of those strapless numbers that stayed up only because it was tight as hell.