Every Night (Brush of Love 1)

“For someone who has the passion and purpose you do for opening this gallery? In a heartbeat,” he said.

“All right. Well, how do I get ahold of you?” I asked.

“Let me give you my card. It’s got my work and cell number on there. I’ll write yours down, so I can call you tomorrow with the numbers, and we can figure out what your next move is from there.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. McBride.”

“Nope. Bryan. All the way,” he said, grinning.

“Bryan. I can do that. You ready for my number?”

“Shoot.”

I rattled it off to him as I stuck his card in the back pocket of my paint-splattered jeans. I was excited to be talking numbers and plans with someone who was actually interested in my dream, my vision, and why I was opening this place to begin with. I shut the storage door and walked him back through the building, letting him take one last in-depth look before I showed him out the door. Crossing my arms over my chest, I saw him run across the road and hop into a truck.

My gosh, he even walked like his brother.

Chapter 7

Bryan

I could feel her skin against the palm of my hand. She nuzzled into me, her eyes fluttering closed as my thumb graced the apple of her cheek. Her delicate hands wrapped around my wrists and ran up my arms. Then, her hands pressed into my chest.

I pulled her close to me. The woman with the purple hair. Hailey Ryan and her art gallery. We swayed as the moonlight streamed through the windows while the onyx floor fluttered underneath our feet. It rolled and undulated, stumbling our bodies closer and closer to one another’s as a small giggle peeled from between her lips, those delicate lips that smiled in a way that sparkled in her eyes.

Her hips swayed against mine as we danced in front of the cabin. The sunlight was streaming through the thicket of trees as smoke billowed from the chimney of the cabin. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder, and her nose caressing the exposed skin of the crook of my neck.

Her hot breath tickled my skin, disturbing the smooth tattoos on my arm with the goosebumps she pulled from my body.

I wrapped my arms around her, cloaked her in my strength as she nuzzled into me. We were on the beach as the waves crashed against the shore, her light green eyes shining with the beauty of the sunset. My hands raced along her back, feeling every inch of her underneath my fingertips as we swayed.

Moved.

Rocked.

Like the ocean against the rocks as they held steady and firm.

She was my ocean, and I was her rock. Her free spirit ebbed and flowed over my body, just like her skirt that wrapped around my legs. I stood strong for her, provided a foundation for her to crash her ideas over, feeling her lips warm my chest while she pressed small kisses right against the beat of my heart.

I could feel her fingers dancing along my body, wrapping around my back and pulling me closer to her chaotic rhythm as our legs got tangled into one another’s.

We fell into a bed. My bed. Our bodies wrapped around one another as she laughed with delight. I could feel her skin beneath my fingertips and her warmth against my lips.

Her wetness against my groin.

I startled awake with my alarm, my eyes shooting open as I drew in a heavy breath. I could still see her face beside me, her purple hair reflecting against my white pillow sheets as I reached out to her. I blinked, trying to convince myself this was real, trying to tell my heart to slow down, and trying to take a breath.

But when I opened my eyes, she was gone and I was alone.

Again.

Raking my hands down my face, I groaned. What the hell was going on with me? I hadn’t known this woman more than a couple days. Sure, I’d seen her at the bar. At least, I think I did. She said she wasn’t there, but I wasn’t too convinced. Why would she lie about something like that? Maybe she was ashamed? Maybe she felt she’d intruded? Maybe she thought I would get angry at her intrusion?

I didn’t really care if she lied. All I wanted to know was why this woman, this free-spirited, purple-haired beauty, was already permeating my dreams.

There was something about her. Something in the way she spoke about her art gallery. Her emotions were raw, and she wasn’t afraid to show them. She whirled about with dreams and fantastical ideas while her eyes sparkled with a future she could see right in front of her. She was still building her future and aspiring to be something. She was creating her own foundation.

There was a pain behind her eyes I could sympathize with, a silent calling that only those who understood could recognize.