And he needed to get it.

“I need to be wanted,” I told him. “I need to be loved. I need to be won. You have another woman. I’m already second runner-up. A man like you…with a man like you, I can’t, Boone. I can’t have and not have a man like you. It would tear me apart. I can’t have and maybe win and then maybe lose a man like you. That would destroy me. So I just can’t.”

His fingers closed around mine tight and he put my hand to the base of his throat, turning back to face me, and God.

I could live forever in the green of his eyes.

But I couldn’t.

Because I wouldn’t.

If I started this with him, he wouldn’t even be mine.

But I simply couldn’t start, because I wouldn’t be able to take the end.

I was winding up to the finish, which I hoped would lead to him leaving so I could shave my head or shove needles under my fingernails or something infinitely more enjoyable than getting it through Boone’s handsome but thick head that we were not gonna happen.

So I said, “I’m good with what I’ve got. I’d rather have nothing than take a risk at losing everything.”

“All right, Kathryn.”

And there you go.

He was just giving up.

And I got it.

I wasn’t worth it.

Dad had taught me that a long time ago.

And since Dad, the hits kept coming.

So it was just going to be me.

The stripper in the shitty apartment with a rotting house she never had time to fix up.

But I was going to find the time.

I was going to make something of myself.

Just for me.

“Baby?”

I stopped feeling sorry for myself and focused on Boone.

Not five minutes before, I’d made note not to lose focus on Boone.

And there I was doing it again.

I should not have forgotten.

His mouth came down on mine.

I thought maybe it was some weird, kinda-friends, kinda-not, should-be-lovers, but-weren’t, never-gonna-happen good-bye kiss.

I realized it was not when his tongue came out and he traced the crease of my lips with the tip.

They opened.

Really, there was no way I could have kept them closed.

Just a taste.

I’d give myself just a taste.

A taste of Boone.

Even if that tasted like never.

He slid his tongue inside, and he didn’t taste like never.

He tasted rich and decadent and heady and hot and male.

And he kissed like Boone.

Man and alpha and strength and protector and Dom.

Without a fight, without even a thought, I submitted to his tongue and his mouth and his kiss and him.

I was holding on to him, yielding to the plunder, my legs trembling, my breasts swelling, my nipples tingling, my sex drenching, when he lifted his mouth from mine.

With an eyeful of nothing but green, I heard him say, “Lock up after me, sweetheart. Get some sleep. I’ll catch you later.”

And with that, he let me go, left me swaying in my living room.…

And he was gone.

Chapter Four

One of a Kind

Ryn

Considering it took forever to settle down, I had no idea how long I’d been asleep before my phone rang.

What I knew when I opened my eyes and saw my bedside alarm was that it was ten o’clock (so my guess, I’d had maybe two hours of sleep).

I looked to the lit screen of my phone and it said BRIAN.

I was not in the mood for my brother.

But listen up.

This was the thing about people who had people they loved who had an addiction to alcohol.

There were fear factors that dogged your every thought.

Mine, around Brian, included him being out of it when he had the kids and they inadvertently got into trouble, or hurt, having to look after themselves while their dad was unable to do so.

Also, him harming himself when he was alone, say falling and cracking his head and losing consciousness, and without anyone there, never waking up.

Ditto on that with asphyxiation should he be asleep on his back and vomit in his sleep.

Last, and the biggest one, him driving drunk.

It wasn’t the getting caught. That would suck for Brian and probably be a huge wakeup call (maybe).

It wasn’t even him getting into a wreck and hurting himself. I did not want that. And if it was bad, I’d detest it. But that wasn’t the worst thought in that particular scenario.

It was him hurting someone else.

Maybe having the kids with him and hurting them.

Maybe a complete stranger.

It wouldn’t matter.

He’d never be able to live with that.

And I wasn’t certain anyone around him would either.

Including me.

And if he had the kids with him and did something that stupid, especially me.

So even though I did not want to talk to my brother, not only after the shit I’d endured recently, but usually ever (these days), I took the call in case he’d been picked up for drunk driving and needed someone to post bail or something.

“Hey, Bri,” I greeted warily.

“What the fuck, Ryn?” he snapped in my ear.

Up on my forearm in my bed, I went inert.

“You’re out,” he declared.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“You know, she’s had it tough. We got pregnant too soon and we didn’t work out,” he stated.

Holy shit.

He was talking about Angelica.

He was defending Angelica.

“If she needs some me time to get her shit together, she needs it and she doesn’t need you and one of your dickhead friends nosing into her life, passing judgment,” he went on.

“Me time?” I asked.

“She was pregnant by nineteen. Had two kids almost before she was legal to drink. She’d never really held down a job, outside working at Wendy’s our senior year. She’s dealing with a lot. Christ, you had some private eye friend of yours follow her and take pictures? What’s the matter with you?”

He could not be for real.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

“No, you stop it,” he bit back. “You’re out. We’ll let you see the kids again when we have some time to get over you doing something so colossally jacked to her.”

Me doing something so colossally jacked to her?

I pushed up to my ass and worked very hard at trying not to allow my head to explode.

“Right then, me being out means me not laying cash on her anymore.”

“Don’t worry about that, I got that covered.”

Right.

“And me being out means, when she fakes a headache or whatever-the-fuck game she decides to play to get her ‘me time,’ I’m not on call to look after the kids, get them to school, or anything else.”

“Again, I got that covered.”

“Oh yeah, Bri? Gonna lay off the Jack the night before so you can be certain you’re not still out-of-your-mind blotto the next morning so you can get them to school safe?”

The silence that came after that hung heavy in a way I assumed a massive thundercloud had formed over Denver stretching all the way between my pad and Brian’s place.

I’d never mentioned it.

Not once.

I should have, but outside encouraging him to Uber on the occasions he was too far gone to get behind the wheel or suggesting (strongly) he sleep on Mom’s or my couch, I hadn’t come close to broaching it.