Slow Burn by K. Bromberg Read Free Book Online

“Dante …” My voice trails off, my internal war waging within me, as I try to figure out what he wants this time. “Why are you here?”
    His smoldering smirk surges to a megawatt smile because he knows he’s got me now. “I need a place to crash for a bit.” His eyes darken with an unexpected solemnity that throws me, but with him, you never know what’s the truth and what’s a game.
    “And you see a vacancy sign on my porch or something?”
    He blows out an audible breath. Used to taking without asking, he doesn’t like having to explain anything. “C’mon, babe, I know Ry moved out.” I raise my eyebrows, causing him to pause and explain. “It’s not like speculations over her wedding details weren’t the buzz all over
TMZ
last night or anything.” He rolls his eyes and flashes that smile at me again, but I stand my ground, arms crossed, impatient. “I just need a couple of days, a week or two at the most, so that I can straighten some shit out.”
    There is something about the way he says it—something about the stress lining his face—that has me angling my head and looking past his tough exterior and wondering what he’s really doing in town. “So, you came here? You think you’re charming enough that I’m just going to forget all of the shit from before?”
    “You suck.” I almost laugh at the grade school response coming from this big, bad rebel.
    “No, actually I don’t.” I shrug, looking down at his crotch and then up to his eyes. “Sorry, but small objects like yours are a choking hazard.”
    A half smile plays at one corner of his mouth. We stareat each other silently for a moment before he begs. “Please, Haddie?” His plea does me in, and I’m ready to consent, but he continues before I can reply. “You know me. Know my story. Thought you might take pity on me when so many others would turn me away.”
    We stare at each other for a few moments as I try to decipher what he means. Because yes, I do know his story: only child raised by his mom, dad nonexistent, so what’s changed now? Does this have to do with his mom? His job? What? Frankly, it’s none of my damn business, but between the look in his eyes and the desperation in his voice, I begin to feel sorry about my initial desire to kick him in the nuts.
    Hell, it’s still an option, but I’ll make sure he’s okay first. I shake my head in resignation and close my eyes for a moment, mentally chastising myself for the disorder and chaos I know I’m inviting into my life.
    “No funny stuff, Dante. I mean it.”
    He holds his hand up. “Scout’s honor,” he promises with a victorious smirk.
    “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I tell him, knowing full well the Boy Scouts kicked him out for inciting mutiny when he was in grade school.
    He flashes a devil-may-care grin and steps over the threshold.
    And so it begins
, I think as he walks past me and into my house.

Chapter 5
BECKETT
    I roll my truck to a stop, glad to finally be here and thankful traffic was nonexistent. I turn off the ignition, and say a silent thank-you to Howard Stern for allowing me to push the fucking thoughts out of my head, all the ones I’m not supposed to be thinking.
    As I climb out of the truck and look at the trees around me, I take in the one place where I’ve always been able to clear my head, forget my worries, and just chill. So why, when I should be walking up the porch, cracking a cold one, and sitting by the pool, are my thoughts still stuck on her?
    Haddie.
    Sweet fucking Haddie, and that look on her face as I pulled her to the edge of the bed last night and stared at her: blond hair fanned out beneath her, cheeks red, lips parted, and pussy so goddamn wet and tasting like Heaven. Why do I keep remembering that look in her eyes—taunting, innocent, and weary—and wondering what put it there? Am I right to assume she wanted to feel to forget?
    I shake my head and whistle at Rex to jump out of the truck before I slam the