The Gentleman Mentor(53)

There’s no way I can give myself to him, not with the million doubts and emotions swirling in my head. I know what I need to do.

Staring into his eyes, I say deliberately, “Peach.”

At my firm tone, he pulls back immediately, his jaw tight. “Why?” His expression is broken, confused. I’ve never used my safe word in all the times we were together.

“You taught me to stand up for myself, to demand more, that sex was an intense experience to be shared between two people. But most of all, you taught me that I’m worth more than this.” I gesture to our surroundings—a public bathroom. “I deserve more.”

He nods, his face solemn, but his expression unreadable.

Reaching below my dress, I adjust my panties, then grab my purse from the bathroom counter. I leave him with his cock in his hand and look of confusion slashed across his face.





Chapter Twenty-Two


Brielle



“Brielle?” The sound of my name in his familiar, low voice immediately sends tingles shooting down my spine. Closing my eyes in shock for just a second, I halt in my tracks on the city sidewalk, trying to suck in a breath but find my chest tight, constricted.

“Hale…” He’s all I’ve thought about this past week since the party. I’ve seen him in my dreams, heard his voice in my head, and now he’s here.

I turn to face him and see he’s not alone. An elderly black woman is hanging on to his bicep. She’s wearing a floppy purple hat and a bright green scarf. Her lips are painted blood red, and somehow I know this is the sassy woman he’s told me about. His nana.

His eyes search out my face, and his mouth lifts in a smile. “You look well…happy.”

“I am.” For once in my adult life, I really am. I’m carrying a large pizza box—bacon and mushroom, my favorite—and a colorful bouquet of flowers I’ve bought myself just because.

I wish I could say the same for him. He looks tired, pale, and lifeless. There are dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of a beard dusts his jaw.

“Nana, this is Brielle,” he says to the woman at his side.

I glance over at Nana and see an amused expression on her face.

“You’re the one who’s got him all spun up,” she says. It’s not a question, and even if it were, I wouldn’t know how to answer.

“I’m not spun up,” he says.

“He’s not himself,” she tells me, leaning closer as if we’re two old friends swapping recipes.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

She nods her head, her hat flopping with the movement. “It always is.” She reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it in her own. “He’s a difficult man, but he’s got a beautiful heart.”

I have to practice deep breathing to avoid the tears threatening to spring to my eyes. “Merry Christmas,” I murmur.

“It’s Christmas Eve, you shouldn’t be alone,” he says.

Ever since our restroom activities, we’ve had no connection at all, and I’ve fought with myself over the need to move on. But now that he’s standing in front of me, all masculine and gorgeous, I know I’ve been fighting a losing battle. My attraction to him, to his heart, hasn’t faded at all. His nana is exactly right. He is a difficult man with a beautiful heart. If only he would let me in, things might have been different.

Remembering his question, I shake my head. “I’m not alone. Julie’s coming over tonight for dinner.” My gaze drops to the pizza box. “Somebody’s gotta help me with this. And then in the morning, I’m driving over to my parents’ house for Christmas Day with them and my aunts, uncles, and cousins.”

He nods. “We’re just heading to church service.”

“Nice meeting you, Nana.” I nod to her.

“It’s good to see you, Brielle,” he says.

I swallow the massive lump that’s lodged itself in my throat and continue down the sidewalk before I do something completely foolish, like throw myself at him.

• • •



By the time Julie arrives, I’ve gathered the plates and napkins, poured two glasses of wine, and cued up the Christmas comedy I love.

If only my mood matched the festive atmosphere. I feel like curling up in my bed and crying, but considering that’s all I’ve done for the past week, I know I need to at least try to be social again.

When I let Julie in, she arrives with an armful of gifts.

“You can set them there.” I point to my little tabletop tree in the dining room. There are a couple of wrapped gifts for her too. A blue nail polish that she complimented me on, and gift cards to her favorite stores. I’ve been too distracted to shop much. I hope my family doesn’t mind when I show up tomorrow, armed with a Target gift card for everyone.