Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(105)

We find our way back to the bed where Brad explores my body before f*cking me again as if it's our first time. My * throbs with satisfaction and a hint of pain from the vigorous penetration by such a large man. Screw the lack of logic with our size differences. In this room, I believe Brad was created only for me.

Just after two in the morning, Brad climbs out of bed and stretches. When I smile at the sight of his perfect body, he catches me looking and shares my grin. I expect him to use the bathroom, but instead he dresses in a shirt and boxers. Frowning, I sit up as he tosses my shirt at me.

"Let's go outside," he says softly.

I refuse to leave the bed. Saying nothing, Brad studies me in the dark room.

"Why can't we stay in here?" I finally ask.

"I want fresh air, and I want you to come with me."

How can I say no? I feel all wrong without Brad nearby. I need him to keep me warm and grounded. Otherwise, I might freeze from the ugliness of my past catching up with me.

Even pulling on my shirt and panties, I don't leave the bed. Brad watches me for a long time before wiping a fresh tear from my cheek.

"I don't cry," I whisper.

"I know."

He holds out his hand, and I take it quickly. My eyes continue to tear. I doubt this is how normal people cry. I've never cared enough to pay attention to a person's tears. Working my job meant feeling nothing even when emotions were all around me.

Stumbling after Brad, I hate the wetness on my cheeks. Even lost in my tears, I grab my gun before we leave the room.

The dogs wake when we walk into the living room. I'm actually happy to see them. With my tears, I need help protecting Brad.

"Wait here," he tells me.

I don't want to let go of his hand, but Brad moves quickly away from me. I use the back of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks. This emotional crap isn't me, and I don't know how to make it stop. All I know is I want Brad.

He returns with two beers dangling from one hand. His free hand takes mine, and we walk outside to the warm and still dark morning. Brad sits in a patio chair and hands me a beer. I don't drink it or sit down.

Watching him, I wish I could make the tears stop. Brad takes my beer and sets it on the patio table before cupping my face.

"You look so tired."

"I am," I whisper.

Brad leans down to kiss my forehead. His touch both soothes and stings. I don't know where I lost my way, but I can't seem to exist without his approval.

"This isn't me," I say.

"Maybe you've just never had a chance to let this Saskia out."

Wiping my cheeks, I exhale a shaky breath. "How do I make this stop?"

"I don't know," he says, taking my hand and guiding me to the chair. Once I sit, he pulls his chair closer and joins me. "Maybe if you stop trying to stop, the tears will stop on their own. If your tears are as stubborn as you, fighting them is likely a lost cause."

I smile faintly at his words, but the crying scares me. "If I can't stop, I won't be able to do my job."

"Then have Minka take over while you go on vacation here at the house."

"How long could that last?"

"Do you mean the Minka thing or us?"

I only watch him, too tired to say the words. Brad takes a swig of beer and stares at where the dogs run around in the dark.

"I'm planning to keep you, Saskia. I don't know how you feel about that, but I suspect you want to stay. If you're not ready to stay yet, I'm sure I can convince you."

"I don't know what to say to that."

Brad holds my gaze, daring me to deny him. "Say you want to stay."

"I do."

"Say what you feel isn't lust. Say it's more so we won't pretend otherwise."

"It's not lust," I say in a shaky voice. "I don't know if I'm capable of love, though."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"I don't think I've ever loved anyone before."

"What about Sela?"

My mind barely remembers Sela's face, but my heart refuses to forget. "She could never love me."

"I'm sure you're wrong. She raised you."

"You can't understand because you grew up in a warm house. Everything in my life was cold. Sela's heart was too. She lost her family, and it killed her inside."

"Maybe you're right," he says, taking my hand. "Or maybe you want to believe she didn't love you because losing her was less painful with the lies."

"Sela was the closest thing I had to a mother. She might have loved me, but she never said the words."

"Some people can't, but why wouldn't she love you if she raised you?"

"My mother killed her family," I say after downing half of my beer. "Sela couldn't prove it, but she always suspected. This suspicion kept her from truly loving me. I was the reason her husband and children died."

Still crying, I hate feeling so helpless. Vulnerability leads to misery, my mother often said.

"Sela had two boys and a baby girl," I nearly whisper. "Her husband worked odd jobs, and they were very poor. Before Sela, Elena went through many wet nurses. My mother was always harsh with women. She said they were inherently weak and disposable. Not her, of course, but all other women."