Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

Her grabbed her fingers and kissed them. “It’s a promise.”

After another soft kiss, Miles returned with their food and refilled their drinks. Pierce had ordered a gargantuan hamburger overflowing with Swiss and mushrooms and dripping juice.

When the waiter set her plate of smoked fried chicken in front of her, her eyes widened. “That’s huge.”

“Better start eating,” he quipped. “Before I get hungry for something else.

He dropped his hand to her thigh again, fingers inching up.

She slapped his knuckles. “Stop that.”

Pierce laughed and dug into his burger. She made her way through as much of her chicken as possible, but it was hopeless. Even eating for two she couldn’t possibly consume this much food.

Miles came back and asked about dessert. They both shook their heads, then Pierce paid the bill.

“Wait here. I need to hit the head.”

Brea couldn’t not giggle. She was so used to her father and his far more delicate way of expressing that bodily need. “I’m going to go ahead and go.” She glanced at her phone. “It’s already six fifteen. Daddy will be back home, and I think tonight will go better if you give me a few minutes to talk to him before you knock on the door.”

His face said he didn’t like it, but he understood.

“Fine. And after that, I’m climbing out of this monkey suit.” He pulled uncomfortably at his collar.

She winked. “I’ll even help you.”

He leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. “I’ll absolutely let you. See you in less than an hour.”

“See you then.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Brea pressed another kiss on his lips, then backed away, waving when he finally headed to the bathroom.

As she made her way to the front door, the Hispanic woman who had entered just after them stood and fell in behind her. Brea looked over her shoulder at the woman pulling a tissue from her purse.

When the stranger looked up, she realized they were about the same age. The woman had the most beautiful black hair…and the saddest red-rimmed eyes. She’d definitely been crying. Brea’s heart went out.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I just… Are you all right?”

She looked startled and shook her head. “No. I… I am very sad. I lost my brother this week.”

It took Brea a minute to understand around the woman’s thick accent, but the second her meaning hit, Brea hurt for her. She was clearly grieving. And angry. Not a surprise since anger was one of the stages of grief.

“I’m so sorry.”

The brunette shook her head. “I-I am the one who is sorry. I do not know why I told you. You have a kind face. But my problems are not yours.”

When the woman walked around her and pushed out the door, Brea followed. “It’s all right. You should never apologize for your grief. You have my condolences for your terrible loss. If you ever need a welcoming community or just an opportunity to pray with people who will understand, my father is the reverend of a church in Sunset, just up the road.”

The stranger dabbed at her eyes, then tucked the tissue back in her purse. “Thank you. I am very sorry for this.”

Before Brea could question the woman, she pointed a gun in Brea’s direction. “My brother is dead, and your man is the one who killed him. Come with me now or I will shoot you.”

Chapter Eleven

One-Mile sauntered through the dimly lit restaurant toward the exit with a roll of his eyes. He would have already been in his Jeep and gone if one of the waitresses hadn’t spotted him leaving alone, tried to rub up against him, batted her lashes so fast he was shocked she hadn’t taken flight, and pressed her phone number in his hand.

He tossed it into the trash bin behind the hostess stand, not giving two shits if she saw. Despite her obvious cleavage and musky perfume, he wasn’t interested in the least.

The only woman he wanted was Brea Bell.

They’d been through so fucking much together. Ups, down, miscommunications, lies, injuries, separations, saboteurs like Cutter, and hell, even a whole damn town. He’d had to fight her family, her religion, her perception, and her fears… But he’d soldiered on because she belonged in his home, in his bed, wearing his ring, and carrying his babies.

Now the only thing that stood between him and that future was for one man to say yes.

One-Mile didn’t delude himself. That blessing, if he got it, would be hard-won. In fact, winning Preacher Bell over might be the hardest battle he’d ever fought because he couldn’t use his fists or pull out his firearm. He had to use his words and be persuasive. And he didn’t know what to say except that he loved Brea and wanted to take care of her for the rest of their lives.