The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,555

for a minute, letting her take in my words and interpret them as she sees fit, and then I leave, heading up to my room and closing the door behind me.

Washing up, I free myself of Madden’s taste on my tongue and his scent on my skin.

Last night was nothing short of perfect—and he had to go ruin it by making assumptions. He might be good at reading people, but at the end of the day, how well can you read someone if you don’t know the core of who that person is?

If he hadn’t said what he did, I’d have entertained the idea of making this a regular thing for the summer. I could easily see myself becoming addicted. Addicted to the release, the escape, the sensation of being wild and free and not bogged down with the obligations and responsibilities that come with being Brighton Taylor Karrington.

For a few short hours, I was a butterfly exploring a strange new land with a man who made her feel the very essence of who she was before he set her free the next morning.

It was glorious.

And it’ll never happen again.

Because Madden Ransom is an asshole.

I finish showering and slip into a robe after drying off. With a towel wrapped around my head, I head out to my bedroom to grab the bottle of vanilla almond lotion sitting on my nightstand, only to stop in my tracks when I find my mother sitting on my bed, legs crossed and hands in her lap.

What I wouldn’t give for a lock on my door—but growing up, my mother wouldn’t have it. She wanted to be able to access me at all times “in case of an emergency.”

“Brighton,” she says, chin lifted and eyes on me. “If you’re dating someone, I’d like you to bring him over so we can meet him. I’d rather know who you’re with than have you sneaking out to see him.”

I laugh, unable to help it. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Then where were you last night? If you weren’t with Honor?”

“With a friend,” I say. “Who happens to be a guy. A guy that I am very much not dating.”

She draws in a long, hard breath. “You slept at his house last night?”

I swallow but keep my head held high. “I did. We had a couple of beers and I didn’t feel safe driving home, so he let me sleep there.”

Her nostrils flare, but she maintains her composure like a good Karrington. A moment later, she rises, smoothing her hands over her thighs and tugging her lavender cashmere twinset into place.

“All right. Fine,” she says. “But let me just remind you one more time that living in this house is a privilege, and your father and I will not be disrespected by your late-night trysts. There will be no more coming and going and lying about your whereabouts, do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say. Because it doesn’t matter. As much as I enjoyed myself last night, I won’t be spending another night with Madden.

My mother leaves, gently closing the door behind her, and the sound of her footsteps grows weaker by the second. Swiping my bottle of lotion off my nightstand, I carry it back to the bathroom, placing it beside my phone on the counter.

Slipping out of my robe, I massage the rich cream into my soft skin as I stand before the mirror, in front of the image of a woman desperate to experience life in its fullest form—the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, everything she’s been shielded from her entire life.

And it’s then, in that moment, my phone vibrates with a text.

* * *

MADDEN: When can I have you again?

Twenty-Two

Madden

* * *

She made me wait eight whole hours before responding to my text Tuesday morning. And then when she agreed to see me again, she made me wait until Friday night.

I deserved that.

“We’re here.” I park my car in front of Pierce’s place, where we all tend to hang out on Friday nights after the shop closes. He’s got the quintessential bachelor pad set up and has no qualms about kicking people out if they start acting like morons.

This is the place to go after a long week, when all you want is to throw back a few beers, have some laughs with some people you don’t actually mind being around, and let your mind shut off for a couple of hours.

I made it a point to tell Brighton not to dress in her