Ramsay(16)

"My family was completely destitute, see. We couldn't even put food on  the table after your brother kicked us out." I closed my eyes. Oh God.  Oh, Brogan, no.

He leaned back slightly and ran one finger down my cheek as he shrugged.  "You ever feel hunger, princess? Real gut-wrenching hunger? The kind  that makes you want to pick a fistful of grass and eat it just to stop  the incessant painful gnawing in your stomach?" I let out a gasp of  anguish and Brogan's lips tipped up. "Oh, I don't want your pity,  princess. See, I had a few things going for me. As it turns out, there  was a whole slew of rich, married women in New York City willing to pay  good money for a vigorous fuck with a young, strong boy." My eyes  widened, shock cutting through me like a blade as I stared into the  angry, ice-blue depths of his eyes. "I was able to support my family  fucking in hot tubs, limos, once on the bar of an exclusive dinner club  after hours." He smiled but it didn't come anywhere near his eyes. "In  so many delicious positions. You have no idea, princess. Would it shock  you to know I loved every minute of it?"

I stared at him, the expression on his face challenging and cold and yet  . . . his eyes were filled with . . . stark pain, something I imagined  he didn't even realize was there. It prompted me to recall things I'd  once noticed about him. I'd been fascinated by the way his senses seemed  so . . . acute. I had never asked him about it, but then the one time  we were together, when I'd touched him, I'd known I was right. He was  lying to me now. I wasn't certain if I should trust my gut on that or  not-it'd been so long since I'd spent any time with Brogan. But I didn't  think that sort of thing changed. "It must have been very difficult for  you," I murmured.

Confusion washed over his features as he took one step back. "Difficult?" He attempted a smirk. "Hardly."                       
       
           



       

"All those women . . ." I tilted my head sucking on my bottom lip for a  moment as I watched him closely. His eyes leapt to my mouth and then  quickly back to my eyes. "All the smells, the textures, the way they  must have clawed at you . . . It must have been very difficult for you."

He froze, his expression arrested as he took another step backward like I  was a venomous snake who had struck out at him. I felt no satisfaction  in the wound I knew I'd just inflicted, only sorrow.

"Ya know nothin' about me," he said, but his voice was raspy, his accent  suddenly appearing and betraying some emotion I wasn't sure I could put  my finger on.

"Don't I, Brogan? I did once. Once, we were friends," I said softly. And for me, more. Much more.

He laughed. "Ya were a spoiled little princess who thought slummin' it  with the gardener's son a time or two made us friends? Is that what ya  thought? We were never friends. We fucked once and that's it. And as ya  said, it wasn't even very satisfyin'."

"Don't make it dirty, Brogan. Please don't do that," I said, a hitch in my voice that I couldn't hide.

"Why not? Isn't that what ya did by settin' me up? It was dirty before it ever began, Lydia, wasn't it? A dirty trick."

I shook my head. "I know but I-"

Brogan stepped forward, swearing softly. "I promised myself I wasn't  gona discuss this with ya." He stepped closer, staring me down. "You're  an employee of mine now, nothin' more."

I lifted my chin. I would not cry. I had survived worse than this.  Brogan thought I was still a self-serving princess. And yes, perhaps I  had been. Once. Perhaps I had been petty and maybe even unknowingly  cruel, an insatiable flirt who didn't always consider the feelings of  others. A princess who played games instead of being honest about my  feelings. But I had been a teenager. He was a full-grown man now, and if  treating me this way was going to give him something he needed, then  let him have it, whatever it was. Suddenly I was too drained and weary  to care.

Our gazes held for long moments and I swore I saw something intense-yearning-in his eyes, and it made my heart clench.

I opened my mouth to say something, to try to make some sort of peace  between us. But then Brogan's expression went carefully blank, and he  stepped back once more. "I'm having a cocktail party this weekend," he  said evenly, enunciating every word. I blinked as my mind struggled to  catch up to the change in topic. "A housewarming of sorts. I'll need you  to work it. The caterers will be here Saturday morning to begin setting  up, along with the band and the florist. I won't be back until then."

"O-okay. And what should I do until Saturday?"

"I'm sure you'll come up with something." With that he turned and walked out the door.

I fell back against the wall, tilting my head up as tears filled my eyes  and blurred the high ceilings above me. I'd known what happened that  day must have hurt his pride deeply, had understood the overwhelming  anger it must have caused. But I hadn't known he'd suffered the way he'd  just described. All these years, when I thought of him, I hadn't  imagined he still carried such raw pain. God, Brogan, I didn't know. I  didn't know it still hurt so much.





CHAPTER SEVEN




Lydia  –  Sixteen Years Old



The rain beat against the library window. I tilted my head, leaning my  cheek against the cool glass as I snuggled into the plush cushions of  the window seat. I ran my finger down the pane, following the trail of a  lone raindrop. I loved rainstorms, loved being inside while it beat  down on the roof and wind whipped at the trees outside the window.

A small sound caught my attention, and I turned my head to see Brogan  standing in the doorway. He looked surprised to have been caught and  took a step back. "Sorry," he mumbled.

I stood quickly, running my hand over my hair and giving him a big smile  as I tilted my head in the way Ginny did when she talked to men she  found attractive. "It's okay," I said, my heart rate increasing slightly  the way it always did when Brogan was near. I walked toward him, trying  to put a little extra sway in my hips. Brogan's eyes moved quickly down  my body, and I felt a little thrill of delight run up and down my  spine. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just pickin' up me dad's paycheck," he mumbled, holding out the  envelope in his hand as proof. "I should get back. It's really lashing."  He nodded his head toward the window indicating the rain and I grinned,  and I could feel that it was the dumb, wonky grin that showed too much  of my eye teeth.

I straightened my mouth before he looked back at me. "I like it when you talk like that," I said, smiling and tilting my head.                       
       
           



       

He looked confused for a moment and then ran his hand along the back of  his neck as he bent his head forward on a smile. My heart flipped. He  was so heart-stoppingly handsome, and he had little to no idea. That was  the part I liked best about Brogan. He didn't even seem to understand  his appeal.

"Stay a minute," I said. "At least wait until the rain lets up a little bit. It's not like you can work outside tonight."

He hesitated, but when I turned and walked back into the library, shooting him a look over my shoulder, he followed. Yes.

I went back to the window seat and sat down, and Brogan took a seat next  to me. My gaze moved to his fingers running absentmindedly along the  silky tassels of the cushion we were sitting on. He was always touching  something in that way, as if memorizing its texture. A gentle heat moved  through my veins. I wondered what his fingers would feel like doing  that to my skin. I wondered if he'd like the texture of . . . me. I bit  my lip, and his eyes moved to my mouth, causing a wave of satisfaction  to wash over me. But then his eyes shifted away, out the window, and a  fleeting expression of sorrow moved across his face.

"My mam used to say God gave us rainy days to let us know it was okay to  take a day off now and then." And even though his eyes remained sad,  his lips tipped up in one of his rare, sweet smiles. Butterflies  fluttered in my belly.

His mam. I considered him for a moment thinking that perhaps he and I  were more similar than different. Maybe that was another reason I was so  drawn to him. I missed my mother, too. So much that sometimes it was  still hard to believe she was gone. Sometimes in my secret heart of  hearts, I pretended she wasn't. I pictured her right upstairs, sitting  in her bedroom brushing her long blonde hair and humming softly to  herself. I left her there in my mind and it didn't hurt quite as badly  as picturing her in the cold, hard ground.

"You miss her very much," I said softly. He had never spoken of his  mother before, even during the times I stood and chatted with him as he  worked. He leaned back against the wall behind him and I let out a  breath, happy he was relaxing in his seat and that he might stay and  visit with me for a little while.