Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(4)

“Crowd. It’s called a crowd.”

She hummed in her throat, eyelids beginning to weigh down. “I knew that. Just seeing if you were paying attention,” she murmured.

Russell chewed his bottom lip a moment, worry marring his features. “You’re so tired lately, Abby. Everything okay?”

“Totally fine,” she lied. “Just going to rest my eyes a minute.”

Positive he would wake her up when they reached the Hudson, she wound her arms around his neck and dozed off. It was the first time she’d slept in three days.





Chapter 2



RUSSELL TOOK OFF his hard hat and set it down on the sun-heated truck bed. Knowing his brother would be joining him for their noon lunch break soon, he opened the cooler and snagged a second can of Coke, holding it to his forehead. It was Monday morning, two days since he’d carried Abby crosstown to the fireworks, and he was grateful for the work to distract him even if it was ninety degrees outside.

Hart Brothers Construction consisted of him, Alec, and a half dozen part-time guys. Based in Queens, the company had been started almost as a joke the summer Russell graduated from high school. Having learned quite a few remodeling and repairing methods from their father—who’d worked construction until he retired in his midfifties—they’d shown up to repair a buddy’s deck when the guy’s broken leg rendered him unable to complete the task himself. Hoping to soothe their friend’s pride with a dose of humor, they’d had T-shirts made up. Hart Brothers Construction. We’ll get you nailed. The very next week, they’d had a request to complete another job, this time from a neighbor. The requests had continued to roll in at such an increasing volume, they’d been forced to get their shit together by applying for a business license.

Nine years later, Russell was twenty-seven, and they’d just won the most lucrative bid of their professional lives. Until now, the majority of their work had come from the outer boroughs, but the current Manhattan job – renovating an empty, five-story office building in Tribeca—could effectively put them on the map. If he could convince his brother to expand. Alec wasn’t exactly a fan of change. Or excessive labor.

A fire truck roared past with its siren blaring, heading downtown. Not an unusual occurrence in the city but enough to derail his thoughts and send them crashing back into Abby. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder more than a dozen times in the last few months. He’d questioned her about it the first few times, but all he ever got was an excuse about being swamped at work. Not wanting the privilege of holding her to be rescinded, he’d dropped it. Saturday night had seen a new level, though. The feeling of her body curled against his chest, her breath puffing against his neck as fireworks went off above? That memory wouldn’t leave him alone.

Several times, he’d replayed her waking up and sleepily asking him to take her home. Okay, a slightly higher number than several. Probably more in the neighborhood of infinity times infinity. His head wouldn’t stop creating screwed-up scenarios, either. Instead of laying her on the couch and leaving the apartment as he’d done, Russell envisioned staying wrapped around her all night, gauging her reaction the following morning when she realized their bodies were in position to f*ck.

Abby was not the kind of girl you “f*cked,” either. You didn’t shove aside her underwear and enter hard, rocking with enough force to break the couch springs. You undressed her slowly and took your time. Kissing her in between thrusts . . . listening to her breathe. Okay, musing about how Abby should be taken wasn’t helping his cause, either. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse the images became. Holding Abby down. Sucking marks onto her skin. Her neck. Things he was ashamed of, impulses he’d never experienced before, but that always snuck up on him when Abby was involved.

He’d never wanted to impress on a girl that she was his. His alone. The only one who’d ever roused that instinct was Abby. These urges to dominate her seemed to stem from those possessive feelings. As if mere words wouldn’t suffice. There needed to be actions. Firm, decisive actions to satisfy him. But he would continue to deny the need to take action because Abby wasn’t his. Something he had an extremely hard time remembering.

His brother, Alec, hopped up on the truck bed beside him, rattling the tailgate and his concentration all at once. “Don’t think so hard, dickhead, you’ll get a nosebleed.”

Russell took the first icy-cold sip of Coke, nearly crying as it trickled through his overheated insides. “Someone around here has to think.”

“Excuse me?” Alec paused in the act of unwrapping his sandwich. “It’s a wonder my brain fits into this hard hat. And I can read you like a book, man. You’re jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Russell asked, genuinely perplexed.

Alec slapped the side of the truck bed, letting out a loud whoop. “No one told you, little bro?”

“Jesus. Why do you still call me that? I’m a foot taller than you.”

“You’re four years younger,” Alec half shouted.

“And when I was born, a name was bestowed on me by our parents. Use it.”

“God, you are touchy today.” His brother bit into his ham sandwich, grimaced, and tossed it into the truck bed. “My wife is hot, but she shouldn’t be allowed to handle food. We should have built her another closet instead of a kitchen.”