Perfectly Imperfect(17)
My best friend, Mia, was the voice of reason when my last serious relationship ended ten years ago. Jenn had left me claiming she couldn’t keep up with the expectations of being by my side. I still don’t understand it completely, but according to Mia, the media will rip anyone who isn’t society’s idea of perfect to shreds—something Jenn had been subject to for the vast duration of our relationship. Na?ve enough to believe that ‘love’ was strong enough to protect anyone; no one was more shocked than I was when she didn’t last long after we publicly came out as a couple.
Since that day, it’s been nothing but women like the one before me. Women who I hold back with—not just emotionally, but also physically. Yeah, I love my women to have curves because I find them mouth-wateringly attractive, but also because when they lacked those curves I crave, I always feared I would break them if I f*cked how I love to f*ck.
Hard.
Bruising.
Rough.
Nothing but meaningless hookups followed the departure of Jenn. Hookups that I learned very quickly were a waste of my time and a headache of attachment issues from the women when you were done.
I turn the second her eyes flash with recognition, shaking me out of my thoughts as I walk over to Stacy, another insipid woman. Fake tits, annoying laugh, and a self-centered air seeping from her pores. I ignore her flirting and let her know I need to speak with Steven, turning before she can speak again and walking over to take a seat while I wait.
That’s when I see her.
A flash of something familiar hits me as I study her. I’ve seen this woman before. Somewhere, our paths have crossed. She looks miserable, but even that can’t disguise her beauty. A cloak of anxiety and fear wrap her body tightly as she shakes slightly while twisting her fingers together in her lap nervously. Her legs bounce and the movement makes her chest quiver. Moves that, even with them covered in fabric, I can tell are her natural tits.
Huge, larger-than-a-handful tits.
Fuck, I want to see her face. I’ve felt this before. A jolt to my senses I’ve experienced before followed by a protectiveness I’ve never felt before … not even with Jenn.
I sit in the chair to her left, just out of her eyesight, and wait for her to move. The way she has her head tilted now, I can’t see her face through her long thick brown hair. I take the time to study the rest of her, trying to place her body. Her thighs look like the kind that would cushion my hips as I powered into her body. Her body—ripe, full, and all woman—has my groin tightening.
Not much could take the attraction away from this timid little mouse. God, when was the last time I saw a woman who caught my attention at a glance? I glance back over at the couple in the corner, the man, and I remember. Except, if I’m right, it wasn’t the woman at his side that time but the one sitting full of fear to my right.
I was lost in thought when the Buchanan brothers walked into the lobby. Because they’re used to seeing my face when I come to see my attorney, Steven, I get a nod of acknowledgment, but they wisely don’t make a scene that greeting me would cause. My mystery woman fumbles to stand, and I watch as her bag snaps and crashes to the floor.
“Oh, God.” I hear her whispered words, but they’re so low, had I not been studying her so fiercely, I would have missed them. I feel her anxiety soar through the roof as she moves to collect the items scattered around her.
The desire to protect this woman—this familiar stranger—is so fierce. There’s a roar in my ears from my blood pumping so rapidly through my veins. I don’t even know this woman and watching her obvious struggle both physically and mentally is making my chest hurt.
And the moment I watch in horror as her heel catches on her broken strap, knocking her from her feet to her back in seconds, I feel like I’m being stabbed right in the chest.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
“What a mess, Brad. Aren’t you thrilled you’re finally going to be rid of … well, that?” My contemplation snaps from the woman prone on the floor over to the couple from earlier. What the hell? That explains some of the anxiety and visibly shaken demeanor from the mystery woman.
“Willow? Are you okay?” Randy questions, stepping forward at the same time Stacy starts squawking from her desk about some call he must take. Right, I’m sure.
Willow. I test her name out, repeating it a few times. Beautiful. Then it hits me, confirmation that this is someone I have met before. Brad Tate. His arrogance is something I’m shocked I didn’t place before, but seeing this woman—Willow—I remember with clarity exactly when the last time a woman instantly caught my attention. However, now I have a name to place with the face I’ve thought about too many times to count. A stranger who had once again captured me in her web without even uttering a single word. That connection. I felt it simmer before, but now, now, it’s a raging fire. I had ignored it before because it was clear she was spoken for then, but now … now, I’m not sure. I know damn well that Randy Buchanan is in family law, so why else would they be meeting with him?
“Kill me now.” I hear the gasped words thick with pain, but even that can’t hide the velvet tones that roll over my overheated senses. God, she even sounds like a dream come true. Husky voice made for sex.
“I’m sorry, Willow. I have to take this,” Randy explains and offers his hand to help her up, but I move quickly from my position and stand next to her before addressing Randy.