love him. The words came to me like an answer to a prayer. “Guilt. I felt, still feel, guilt, Brando. But hate? Never. I could never hate you.”
He opened his arms and I went to him, squeezing him so hard that he made a noise close to a groan in this throat.
“Is that why you had Mick keep an eye on me?” My voice came out muffled against his chest. “You thought I hated you.”
“Part of the reason. Mick’s the same age. Goes to the same school. For my own sanity, I needed to know that you were safe. That you were protected.”
“Why did you come to my rescue that night? That Wednesday? What changed your mind?”
“I had to,” he said. “I’m a selfish bastard, Scarlett. You. You belong to me. The only woman who does, the only woman who ever will.”
I pulled away from him, keeping his shirt in my hands. “Why did you do it, Brando? Quit school and stay here?”
He had made his feelings clear enough; he believed I didn’t belong here. Well, he didn’t either. Even his shoulders seemed too big for this town.
Takes one to know one…birds of a feather…
“So many fucking questions,” he muttered under his breath. He blew a hard huff through his nose, releasing some of the pressure coming from the restraint on his heart, and covered my hands with his own. A slight tremble echoed inside of my bones from his. “You changed my world that night, Ballerina Girl. You want a star. I’ll give you a planet. That should make the situation between us clear enough.” He took another breath and then released it. “What I have here is too important to leave. That’s why I stay.”
Chapter Fourteen
Scarlett
The sun had set and the cabin was cloaked in darkness. While the potpie was baking, I took the initiative to set the table while Brando lit all of the standing candles and the sconces on the wall for light.
To keep the chill at bay, he built us a fire. Then he found my battery-operated radio, removed the tape inside the tape deck, and turned it back and forth, searching for a clue as to what kind of music had been recorded. When he found no hint, he reinserted the tape and pressed play. “I’m Your Puppet” by James and Bobby Purify poured out.
Brando grinned. “You pick this?”
“No.” I laughed, setting the last piece of silverware next to a plate. “My dad did.”
“I like this song. I like this place.”
I tucked a wild piece of hair behind my ear. “I believe it only gets better… Air Supply, Frank Sinatra, Elton John, Percy Sledge…”
“Lionel Richie?” He lifted his thick eyebrows.
“Possibly. I can’t remember them all.”
“Your dad doesn’t hunt anymore?”
I pulled the potpie out of the oven and set it on the table, glancing at Brando before I reached for our glasses. Something in his expression caught me off guard. It was the way he watched me, like he had never seen me before. I stammered before I answered. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated, almost laughing. He was teasing me.
“You accused me of being afraid of why.” His grin turned into swagger.
Cocky beast.
Lord help me, I sent up a silent prayer. “He never really said. But after Elliott was killed, I think the act of it was too bloody, too violent. I guess it’s the same reason I can’t watch scary movies anymore. I’m predisposed to anxiety now.”
“You don’t sleep.”
“Not as well as I should, no.” I shook my head. “You?”
“I’ll sleep well tonight.”
He tapped his finger against the wooden shelf, watching me with eyes that seemed to be transfixed. I gazed back, unable to move. Being alone with him brought back memories of the night he drove me home from Maggie Beautiful’s.
Being this close, nothing separating us but a bed, felt dangerous. An electrical current seemed to flow from him to me, an invisible line that crackled with electricity. If I reached out and touched him, I wondered if a spark would go off in the dark.
Something inside of me wanted to whisper, kiss me, touch me, make me forget my body belongs to me. The need felt visceral, like an immense thirst or insatiable hunger for food. But as usual, he overwhelmed me when he turned those eyes on me. I could hardly take a breath.
Brando cleared his throat, loud. “Scarlett.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Dinner ready?” He pointed to the table, which was straight ahead of him.