New Hope, Old Grudges Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

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As I used the facilities, my body was delightfully sore—like I’d had some kind of workout. I didn’t work out. I’d gone to Geoff’s fancy gym exactly once where I’d been judged by skinny, glossy women in overpriced leggings then had never gone back.

But I had hurt the next day.

That was the only time in my relationship with Geoff that my body had hurt from physical exertion. We didn’t have sex so intense and so mind-blowing that my limbs ached the next day. Our sex life was vanilla, and I had an orgasm exactly fifty percent of the time.

It was that way with every man I’d been with.

I’d thought that was just how it was. Thought that sex was overly hyped by television and books, written by men to make women feel guilty for not feeling the things they were supposed to, and therefore faking it for men who didn’t go to any effort beyond getting themselves off.

It turned out that kind of sex existed. In a big way. Brody put in effort. My cheeks flushed in the bathroom mirror at the mere memory of it.

The space was clean, shiny and modern. Another reproduction of the bathroom I’d bathed in last night, but this one with a bigger shower that looked glorious. He’d obviously done the place up since the cabin looked to be older, yet the kitchen and bathrooms were modern and expensive looking.

I wondered about when this was done, how he got the money for it. Small-town sheriff didn’t pay well. He’d mentioned enlisting after high school. I wondered about that. I’d made it my business not to know anything about Brody Adams, but I was curious.

I pondered on those thoughts while brushing my teeth with my finger. Brody’s toothbrush sat neatly in the charging station beside the sink, and I had the strangest urge to use that instead of my finger. Despite the fact he’d been inside me, using his toothbrush seemed much too intimate.

The shower was inviting, but I didn’t want to wash Brody off me. Not yet. Though I should’ve wanted to.

There was a note on the dresser mirror I hadn’t noticed before, a stack of clothes beside it. My clothes. Washed and folded, by the look of it. When in the fresh hell had Brody had time to launder my clothes, neatly fold them, then set them on the dresser? And how had I slept through it?

Oh yeah, I’d gotten in a massive fight with my brother, almost died in a snowdrift, then had the best sex of my life. That would tire a girl out.

His handwriting was neat, the note written in all capitals. Not because he was shouting at me from the page but because that’s how he wrote. Bold. Masculine. Unable to ignore.

Clothes are clean. I don’t want you leaving this house until I get home. Which obviously means you will. So when you leave this house, it better be wearing my jacket. It’s too cold for your thin blood.

I paused, fingers clenching the paper and unable to suppress my smile. The second I’d read the order to stay in the house, I’d known I’d be leaving the first chance I got. And apparently, Brody knew that too. My gaze flickered to the jacket lying beside my clothes. It was heavy and would be far too big. And it’d be warm. Because it was too cold outside for the clothes I’d left the house in yesterday.

Was it only yesterday?

It felt like I’d been here for days.

I looked down to continue reading the note.

Coffee is ready to go downstairs, there’s food in the fridge, the rest of the pie if you want that for breakfast. I don’t have many traditions, but pumpkin pie for breakfast after Thanksgiving is one of them.

There it was. A little piece of him. A holiday tradition when he’d said he didn’t have any. My mind went to a boy eating cold pumpkin pie in a cold house.

I’m assuming it’ll be a fight to see you again. Just know I’m ready to fight for you, Willow. I still taste your pussy on my tongue as I write this, and I’ll tell you, I have not yet had my fill.

The final line of his note made my knees shake. I crumpled up the paper, intending to throw it—and my feelings for Brody—away. But I quickly smoothed it out against the dresser. And once I was dressed, I slipped it into the pocket of Brody’s jacket.

I padded down the stairs. The house looked different in the daylight. Just as beautiful, all the windows showing the sun streaming in. There was never a brighter sun than when it glistened off the snow the day after a storm. I’d missed that. I hadn’t realized how much until just then.

The smell of the winter air. Hot chocolate on cold nights. The crunch of snow underneath boots. I looked to the windows, to the scenery all around. There was no mistaking the charming nature of my hometown.

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