Remember Me. Laura Browning

saw you. Please, Lucy. Don’t leave like this.”

      “You want me to stay?”

      He pressed her hips into his heavy erection. “Does this feel like I don’t? Come on, baby. Sit on the couch with me. Talk to me. Okay?”

      She nodded.

      * * * *

      Brandon grabbed his boxers and pulled them on. They did little to hide his aching dick, but at least he wouldn’t be all out there in front of her. God almighty. He’d been so bad, he’d made her cry. So now he felt like complete and total shit. And he’d had the nerve not so long ago to shake his head at the way his older brother had fucked things up with his woman. His woman. Was that how he already thought of Lucy?

      A sidelong glance showed Lucy dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the blanket. He stroked her cheek and her hair.

      “You look fine,” he reassured her. “Look, what’s a little mascara between us? I’ve got sisters, so I’m used to it, though I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever made a woman cry with my ineptitude as a lover. Tonight’s just full of firsts for me.” Yeah, like beginning to think he was in love with a woman he hadn’t even known forty-eight hours. And how crazy was that?

      “I don’t normally cry,” she admitted in a near whisper. “I’m sorry.”

      Brandon rubbed his cheek, still smooth since he’d shaved again before picking her up for dinner. “Look, Lucy. Can we start this again? I think we both got off on the wrong foot. I don’t know about you, but I was so damn hot for you, I couldn’t think of anything other than being inside you, getting skin to skin as close as I could.”

      “I felt the same way. I’m sorry I was all over you.”

      A weight lifted off him. “You all over me was great,” he admitted with a rueful chuckle. “When you touched me… Wow. You set me on fire.”

      She let the blanket drop. “You’re not upset because I practically attacked you?”

      “No. In fact, if you’d like to try it again… Shit. Scratch that.” Brandon hadn’t felt this awkward since high school. “I mean, I’d like us to try again, but slower. Damn it, Lucy, I feel like I just took a fine wine and chugged the bottle instead of savoring the bouquet. I want to savor you because you’re worth it.” Oh hell, her eyes were welling again. “Don’t cry on me again. Please!”

      Between hiccups she smiled a watery smile at him. “These are happy tears. I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore, that I’d come on too strong.”

      He took his thumbs and wiped off the moisture beneath her eyes. “No way, baby. It was hot. Look, why don’t we put some clothes on and get a snack.”

      “I’ve got my dress…”

      “I don’t mean time-for-you-to-leave clothes. I’ll let you borrow a shirt. We’ll raid the mini-fridge Matt stocked and we can talk while we eat.”

      A few minutes later, he was sure he’d never seen anything lovelier than Lucy wearing his Nationals sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers. With her long, golden hair hanging loose and the makeup scrubbed off her face, she looked as yummy as an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. And, damn, wouldn’t he just like to lick her all over. Instead, he was scrounging around in a fridge, pulling out cheese, Cokes, and then finding crackers in a cabinet over the mini-bar.

      “Mind sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace?”

      She grinned at him. “Not if you don’t mind me toasting my toes on the hearth.”

      He glanced at the toes in question. Hell, even her feet were sexy, slender and fine-boned, her toes painted a bright coral. They lounged in front of the fire, nibbling on cheese and crackers and sipping soft drinks. If anyone of his acquaintance had seen him right now, they would have laughed their asses off. Brandon Barlow-Barrett, known for his reputation as a flashy dresser and host, was entertaining a beautiful woman—admittedly, one dressed in his boxers and sweatshirt—while he lounged in a pair of flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt. After stroking a finger down her nose, he laughed, feeling freer than he had in a while.

      “What’s so funny?”

      “The fact I have a beautiful woman sitting in my suite while I’m on vacation, and we’re camped out in front of the fire eating cheese and crackers and drinking Cokes.”

      Lucy raised her brows. “You mean instead of being in your bed having wild monkey sex?”

      He laughed. “Well, yeah. And, you know, I think I like you in my clothes.”

      She picked at the sweatshirt with her thumb and forefinger. “This old thing?”

      He liked how she had relaxed. It made him feel better about being such an idiot earlier. “I like you having something against your skin that I’ve had against mine.” Her smile faded, and he continued in a soft tone, “That doesn’t freak you out, does it?”

      “No.” She touched his cheek. “It makes me feel…I don’t know…like I matter.”

      It was an odd comment because he got the feeling she wasn’t just talking about mattering to him. She meant mattering to anyone. As if there might be no one in the world who cared whether she existed or not. Brandon tucked her hair behind her ear. “You matter.”

      The atmosphere had gotten thick again, and he needed to ease the tension. Neither one of them were quite ready for the heat level between them. It was too much, too soon, and he needed to know her better—that is, if she would even talk to him tomorrow after the way he’d fucked up tonight. Picking up a piece of cheese, he slipped it between her lips. “Here. Eat more. In my official capacity as head of the Lucy Matters Club, I must make sure you eat enough.”

      She chewed and swallowed. “You’re different.”

      “My family says the same thing, most often with a great deal of exasperation.”

      Lucy shook her head. “No, I mean from other men who ask me out. You see me.”

      He arched a brow. “See you? What do you mean?”

      She shifted so she was sitting staring into the fire with her back half-turned toward him. “I mean, see more than the hair and the body. You see a person.”

      Brandon blinked, his chest aching at her tone. “I’m glad you feel that way because you would have every right to look at me like I’m just another shallow prick.”

      She angled her head so she could look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark, assessing. “You are so far from that.” She grinned at him, crossing her legs Indian-style. “Tell me about your family. Are you from around the capital?”

      “Northern Virginia.” He didn’t want to go into detail about the estate, complete with butler. “My parents live out in the country. Only my youngest sister, Morgan, is at home anymore. She’s in college.”

      “You have more sisters?”

      “Two others, both younger. Also two brothers—one older, one younger. Six kids total. What about you?”

      Lucy shook her head. “I don’t have any family left. My parents died when I was very young and my grandmother raised me.”

      “And she died?”

      Lucy nodded, her gaze focused on the flames in the fireplace. “When I was twelve. She had a massive stroke. Although she didn’t die right away, it felt like it to me. She was gone from the house. And with her gone, I had to go too.”

      “Go where?” Brandon asked, but he already had some idea.

      “Foster homes. I was already in my second by the time Gram did die.”

      He wanted to offer comfort, something not in his nature, or it hadn’t been until now. Feeling a little off balance, Brandon stroked her hair away from the side of her neck, traced his finger from