I don’t know when I fall asleep.

All I know is that the sand feels ever so good against my cheek.

Brand

I wake up in the middle of the night alone, although it doesn’t take long to find Nora.

She’d left the front door wide open. Her car is still in the drive, so I wander down to the beach.

That’s where I find her passed out in the sand. She’s wearing my tuxedo shirt, and an empty bottle of wine is about a foot away from her, resting in the dirt.

She’s had a hard night.

Obviously.

I ignore the twinges in my leg and bend, scooping her up and carrying her back into the house. Each step is torturous with the added weight on my knee, but there’s no way I’m leaving her outside.

She nestled into my chest without waking, and I find that one side of her face is covered in sand. As are her arms and legs.

With a sigh, I carry her into the bathroom. I bend and lay her in the tub, and remove the hand-held sprayer before I turn the water on. I let it get warm in the sink, before I pick it back up and rinse off her legs, her feet, her arms.

She doesn’t stir until I’m wiping her face off with a washcloth.

She wakes with a start, her hands automatically flying up to shield her face.

“No!” she protests wildly, her eyes glazed, striking out at me, clenching her hands into fists, blows raining onto my chest.

“It’s just me,” I grab her hands, restraining her. “Shhh. It’s ok. It’s only me.”

She flails for just a moment longer before her eyes register who I am and she breathes my name. “Brand.”

She doesn’t question why she’s naked in the bathtub or why I’m bathing her. She doesn’t say anything, actually. She just lets me wash the dirt away.

When I’m finished, I ask her to stand up and she does it obediently.

I towel her off. She’s so drunk, she’s only hovering on the edge of consciousness. I know that the second she’s in bed, she’ll pass out once again.

Her eyes are still closed as she stands.

But then, as I pull the towel away, she opens them.

“Why don’t you want me, Brand?”

I yank my hands away from her in surprise.

“What?”

Her eyes are bleary, her voice soft and slurred.

“You don’t want me anymore. Although I don’t know that you ever really did.” She raises her arms and I help her out of the tub. She wobbles, then clings to me to steady herself.

“Is it because I’m so used?”

My gut clenches at the vulnerable sound of her voice, at her words, at the soft and sad expression in her eyes. Even though she’s drunk, maybe especially because she’s drunk, she’s a wide-open book.

“You’re not used,” I tell her firmly, as I pick her up back up in my arms. My knee protests, but I ignore it as I limp down the hall to the bedroom. “You’re not used.”

She rests her head against me, her arms slung around my neck.

“I am,” she whispers. “But I never wanted to be.”

I don’t bother putting a nightgown on her, instead, I carry her to bed naked. I nestle her into the sheets and sit on the side of the bed, resting my throbbing knee.

I thought she was going to pass out right away, but she opens her eyes again.

“Will you stay with me?”

I nod. “I’ll be right here.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her lashes a black fringe against her pale cheeks.

She’s so vulnerable, so soft and fragile. I can’t imagine anyone hurting her. I can’t imagine anyone rejecting her for things that happened out of her control.

“I do want you,” I whisper to her, my hand on hers. “I do.”

But she’s sleeping now, passed out and oblivious to the world’s ugliness and troubles. Her breathing is light and steady.

But I know there’s no way I’m going back to sleep.

Instead, I grab my laptop and I sit in the chair by the window. I promised her I would stay and so I will.

I punch the name into the search engine and read the multitude of articles that are returned.

William Shepard Greene II.

The oldest son of William Shepard Greene I, older brother of Maxwell. Heir to half of the Greene fortune when their father passed. He’s lauded highly in the business world, known for his keen instinct and sharp dealings.

He’s older than Maxwell by ten years. He’s sixty-two.

The mere idea of his hands on Nora turn my stomach and I glance at her again. She sleeps softly, curled onto her side, her hands by her face. She sighs in her sleep and my gut tightens again.

How dare he put his hands on her?

Why didn’t anyone stop it?

I already know the answer. Because business comes first in the Greene household. I saw that firsthand tonight. And Camille… she doesn’t give a fuck about the business, but she feels powerless to stop anything in that house. I can see that, too. Maxwell is the powerhouse in that family, and everyone else are his pawns.

Fucking rich people.

Rolling my eyes, I put the laptop away and crawl back into bed, careful not to disturb Nora. I pull her into my arms though, and keep her sprawled comfortably on my chest.

Here in the night, in this bedroom, there’s no one but her and me.

That’s how I want it to stay, although that very notion scares the shit out of me.

I can’t put myself out there again. I’ve been through the bloody hills of Afghanistan, but there’s nothing scarier than opening yourself up to someone else, only to get shattered.

I’ve been through that before, and I don’t want to do it again.

With a groan, I run my hands over Nora’s perfect bare ass.

Everything in me reacts, my heart pounds, my dick twitches, my groin contracts.

Somehow, I’m guessing I won’t have a choice.

I’ll end up laying myself out there.

I only hope there’s pieces of me left when it’s all over.

I wake in the morning to someone staring at me.

I open my eyes to find Nora on her elbow, her hair tickling my mouth.

“Good morning,” she says softly. Her mouth is full and lush, and suddenly, I want to kiss it.

So I do.

She kisses me back, soft, then firmer, before she pulls away.

“I…uh. I thought I was on the beach last night,” she murmurs, looking away and staring out the window. Her cheeks are flushed.

I nod. “Yeah. You were. But I brought you in, cleaned you up and put you to bed. The next time you want to finish off a bottle, can you just do it in on the couch?”

I’m joking, but she blushes even more, the flush spreading to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I answer quickly. “It’s fine. You had a hard night.”

She rolls on top of me, her hands on either side of my face, her legs straddling my hips.

“I don’t remember, so if I said anything embarrassing, please just forget it,” she pleads prettily, her hair falling into my face in a cascade. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She wiggles her hips, grinding into my groin, which of course reacts. My dick springs to life, pressing into her and she smiles in satisfaction.

“Maybe you do want me,” she says huskily.

“I do,” I agree, remembering her pitiful question from last night. Why don’t you want me?

As I stare into her beautiful face and I see all the questions in her eyes, the insecurities, the doubts, I do the only thing I can do… the only thing I think will help.

I show her how much I want her.

You’re not used.

My hips flex.

You’re beautiful.

I run my hands over her back, her shoulders, her hips.

Inside and out.

I push my fingers into her, sliding them out, then back in. Her neck arches, she sighs.

I can’t say the things I’m thinking, because she doesn’t want to talk about it. Because she thinks that I don’t know. Because talking about it with me would kill her.