A Moment Like You (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,28

what you feel and not some plan fabricated by your dead ancestors because they didn’t know better or didn’t care about forming any real bonds with people. I know it’s not the way you were raised, but that’s not the only way to be successful. Your business might be an empire, but there’s more than just financial power. Relax and be mindful of others. You might find what you always wanted.”

“What is that?” I ask, because I don’t even know what I want.

“A family,” he answers. “People who care about you.”

I turn to the main house and swallow. “They all hate me.”

“They don’t understand you, and you are harsh with them,” he says, using his serious, yet understanding voice. “It’s easier to mock you than to get upset at you every time you—well, all the time, because you don’t know better. I get it. It’s hard to learn new tricks. Henry Merkel grew up as an only child in some ivory tower surrounded by servants. This is different, yet familiar because we spent summers together. You’re fighting it because every summer, once our time was over, you went back to school and that was it. We never saw each other until the next year. This isn’t much different, and yet it seems permanent. You don’t know what’s going to happen after the eighteen months are over. Will you go back to New York and never see us? What’s the point to bond when you have experienced the end result too many times?”

“It’s not just that,” I tell him.

“You’re worried that one of these idiots is going to do something stupid and fuck the town. It’s hard to trust us,” he states, and I bob my head in agreement. “Faith is invisible, but it is there. You just have to keep reminding yourself that trusting goes both ways. Give them what you want from them.”

“Why do you always sound like the oldest brother?”

“Blaire says it’s because I was an older brother to Carter,” he explains. “I have practice, and you were an only child raised in a boarding school. It’s a different experience. Also, you’re not that much older than I am.”

We stay in silence for a few moments and then, he asks, “What are you going to do?”

There are only a few things I hate, and the biggest one is not being in control. I always know my next move. I try never to take a step without planning ahead and having contingency plans. Since my father died, everything that’s happening to me is unregulated and difficult to handle. I’m not sure what to do next, and following what Hayes just told me, I think it’s time to confide in him. Maybe he doesn’t have the answers, but talking this out loud might give me an idea or two.

“I kissed her,” I confess. “Twice. The first time was on the rooftop while I was losing my shit because…well, my father died, and he was screwing with my head and my future.”

Closing my eyes, I pull that memory I’ve been repressing for weeks and just let it play as I remember it. Her soft hands on my face, my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me and then our mouths fusing. It was the first time in a very long time that I kissed someone spontaneously. I slid my tongue to hers while I pressed her close to me, letting myself just feel, and I felt so fucking much that I wanted to run.

It scared me.

That moment when I realized she wasn’t just my right hand was cathartic. Yet, I can’t explain what she means to me.

I tell Hayes what happened. Not the version that Vance and Pierce know which, let’s get real, is close to nothing.

Saturday’s kiss was…it was a lot more than just a passionate kiss in the elevator. It was me willingly diving off a cliff trying to reach her. To surrender. I wanted to get lost in her, figure out why is it that she makes me feel so alive. She unravels me. But the moment I touched her, I became undone.

I doubt I’ll ever be the same after that kiss. Every situation that I’ve experienced with her has been transforming, breathtakingly powerful, and unique.

With her I feel a connection. Even when we don’t touch, I feel as if she’s a part of me. When she’s not around, I miss that bond. She shouldn’t fit in my world, but most of the