What the hell?

What is wrong with him that he won’t just take me up on my offer? Jesus.

And there was no need to be so mean.

His words made my hands shake… I’m not a whore.

I pull on my clothes and twist my hair into a bun at my neck. I’m just starting to throw my clothes back into my bag, when I catch sight of a picture sitting next of the lamp… an old photograph, framed in sea shells.

It’s Brand, Gabe and Jacey.

Brand and Gabe must be around twelve, which means Jacey is just a bit younger. They’re tanned and smiling and lying on the beach with popsicles. Their mouths are red and Jacey’s got her arms wrapped around Brand’s waist.

Something about that picture gives me pause, and makes me stop packing.

Being only twelve, I’m sure Brand hadn’t even begun to notice Jacey yet… she was a couple of years younger after all. But it does show that even way back then, Jacey was clinging to Brand.

It started so long ago.

It makes me seethe, because I don’t know Jacey, but I know girls like her.

She started clinging to him, making him feel important to her, reeling him in, going to him for advice, growing closer and closer. She kept him on the hook just in case she ever decided she wanted him… but then she never did, because he was like her ‘brother.’

And Brand never saw it coming, because he’s such a good guy. He never knew he was getting played, getting strung along.

Then when he bared his heart to her, she probably crushed it.

I stare at the picture, at the blonde little girl with her arms wrapped around Brand, and I can’t help but hate just a bit. She hurt him, and now he’s distant from every other woman as he protects himself from that happening again.

He hasn’t said, but I know that’s what he’s doing.

All because of her.

In the picture, he’s young and innocent. He’s laughing at Gabe, still oblivious to the hooks Jacey would cast into him a bit later.

It twinges at my heart and I stop packing.

Because it reminds me that he’s so fucking good. As I look at his boyish face in the picture, all I can see is teenage Brand, the boy who picked me out of the dirt and cleaned me off, all at the risk of getting in trouble. The sexy boy who grew into a sexy man, a man who fought hard for his country, a man who loved a woman he couldn’t have.

Even though he’s hardened and cautious now, he’s still good.

That’s why he doesn’t want me throwing myself at him, lowering myself to begging. He doesn’t want it that way.

It’s been so long since I’ve been around a good man, I didn’t even think about that.

I put my clothes away.

I head out to the living room and fold the towels in the basket, all the while watching out the window.

Brand grows sweaty and takes off his shirt.

The sun beats down on his shoulders and back, tanning him even more. I literally ache to go out there and smooth sunscreen over his shoulders, running my hands over that rippled muscle, running my fingers over those fucking words.

I stand on a wall to protect what is mine.

I swallow hard.

The sun glints on his honey-blond hair, and a sheen of sweat appears on his forehead. He stretches, and leans back once again, his muscles flexing with every movement.

His pole twitches, and he grabs it, reeling it in.

He pops a fish off the end of the line, then drops it into a bucket next to him.

I smile because he looks so satisfied.

He stretches one more time, then slowly climbs to his feet, careful not to twist his injured knee.

He grabs the bucket and dumps it out into the lake… and I see two other fish fall back into the water and I’m shocked. Why would he sit out there in the sun if he was only going to throw the fish back?

I ask him as much when he finally emerges in the house a few minutes later.

He glances up at me, his hair damp from the heat.

“Because I can clean them, but I doubt you know how to cook them. So why should I kill them for no reason?”

He limps past me, headed for the shower, and his simple answer warms my belly.

He didn’t want to kill helpless creatures for no reason.

This big, strong solider who had to kill people in combat has a kind enough heart that he doesn’t want to kill fish if he doesn’t plan on eating them.

If possible, I’m even more infatuated with this man.

Chapter Eight

Nora


I manage to make scrambled eggs for the third night without burning them. I feel like I’ve conquered the world once again as I slide the steaming mass onto a plate and push it toward Brand across the kitchen table.

He purposely keeps his eyes firmly planted everywhere but the front of my shirt.

I feel like a wanton hussy as I remember how until today, every time I leaned forward, I made sure to push my boobs out, making my nipples strain even further against my shirt. .

Ugh.

He must think I’m such a slut, which is exactly the opposite of what I am, or what I want him to think.

God, I’m so ridiculous.

“Eat up,” I tell him. “I think it’s even edible.”

Brand grins and digs in, his large fingers wrapped around his fork as he shovels the eggs into his mouth. He nods.

“Not bad, Greene. I think you’ve mastered eggs.”

I’m in the middle of thinking of a smart comeback when my phone rings. Ice immediately runs down my spine, because every time my phone rings now, I assume it’s William.

But this time, my father’s name is on the screen.

The ice remains firmly planted in my back, stacked neatly between my vertebrae.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to Brand as I grab the phone. “I’ve got to take this.”

He nods, his eyes trained curiously on my face.

I take the phone outside, where I pace in the yard.

“Hi dad,’ I answer.

My father doesn’t bother with niceties or even a hello.

“William tells me you’re not returning his calls,” he says brusquely. My spine straightens even more.

“I don’t have anything to say to him,” I say through my teeth.

My father sighs, a razor sharp sound.

“Nora, I don’t have to remind you. He owns fifty percent of Greene Corp. He and I have to unanimously approve any new ventures. I need him to see things my way. Our way. That means we have to keep him happy. He’s a difficult person, but he likes you. Use that.”

I suck in my breath. “He likes me? He more than likes me. You know what he did. I won’t let him do that again, dad. I won’t. Nothing is worth that.”

“This is worth that, Nora,” my dad answers coldly. “This is your job, just like it is mine and your brother’s.”

It might be my job, but my job description is decidedly different than my father’s or Nate’s.

“How can you ask this of me?” I whisper. “I don’t understand. I’m your daughter.”

Silence.

Then my father strikes, using his words as his weapons.

“Nora, stop being weak. You’re a Greene. Act like it. Do what it takes. Do you think I’ve always enjoyed the things I’ve had to do? I don’t give a fuck if you enjoy it. I don’t give a fuck if you hate it. But you will do what it takes to make him happy and keep him on our side. You know damn well that the deal with the city of Chicago is riding on his approval. You will not fuck it up. Got it?”

I’m numb as I listen to my father’s words, the words that condemn me into basically selling my soul, my decency and my body for the sake of the company. He’s commanding me to do it. His own daughter. Most fathers do everything they can to protect their daughters. Not mine.

Because I’m silent, my father prods me.

“Do we have an understanding?”

I’m still silent because honestly, I can’t force myself to speak. My mind is a flurry of words and sensations and horror and I just can’t manage to move my lips.

You’re a Greene, Nora. Act like it.

I shudder as I think about the last time my father had said those words to me. It was after the ‘incident’. The mere memory of the ‘incident’ makes me need to shower and without another word, I hang up on my father.

I rush back in the house and breeze past Brand, who is cleaning off the table.

“I saved your plate,” he starts to tell me, but I hold up my hand.

“I need a shower,” I call over my shoulder. He’s frozen in place staring at me, a look of utter shock on his handsome face.

I’m aware that I look like a crazy person. But I’ve got to get the handprints off of me. They might be only memories, but I can still feel each one.

I let the hot water scald my back, running over my face and my hips. I let it wash away my doubts and my fear and my memories.

It’s when I’m in the shower, and only when I’m in the shower, that I feel truly clean. I scrub myself until my skin feels red and raw, until the handprints have been scalded off.

As the water pours over me, I do what I always have to do when this happens. I focus on any possible thing to turn my mind away from the nightmare of that night, to forget the invisible hands on my body.

Today, it helps to focus on Brand.

Brand’s smile, Brand’s strength. The ornery way his eyes twinkle. His goodness.

His goodness.

I sigh again as I towel off. Brand is far too good for me.

Which is funny, because even as I feel tainted and unworthy because of….everything, I’m still acting like a hussy to get Brand to notice me. To get him to take me up on my no-strings offer for the summer.