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one more diagnosis."
"What?" I hated to ask.
" They say I have antisocial personality disorder, which means I have sociopathic tendencies. Supposedly."
Though I already saw it coming, his frank revelations scared me, made his condition much more real.
"Have I scared you off yet?" A wry smile.
I faked a chuckle. "No. It's okay. I'll be fine." My answer was also fake, because it wasn't okay and I wouldn't be fine. How would Brandon treat the baby? What would happen if our son got colic and cried all the time?
How would he handle that?
"You don't look like you're okay," he said.
"I will be—eventually."
"You just need some time, right?" He gathered me into his arms.
"Yeah, time." I closed my eyes.
"Take whatever time you need. I'll be here." He kissed the top of my head. "My angel, I still love you."
* * *
W e left the party.
Hand-in-hand, Brandon and I strolled through the neighborhood. I'd asked him how he found my father's address for Jessica's invitation. He only said it wasn't hard to figure out.
He admitted his lack of courage to invite me to see him. That's why he lured me to the party under dubious circumstances.
I started getting tired and paused to rub my lower spine. "My back's killing me."
"I live right up this street a few houses away. Shall I gather you up and carry you?"
I smiled.
"You want me to, don't you? You want me to be your dark knight in shining armor. Mia, my sweet, your wish is my command." He tipped his Stetson hat, then scooped me into his arms and weightlessness followed.
"By the way, I like your costume."
I snorted, laughing. "Thanks. I couldn't think of anything better."
"It's perfect. Nothing like a pumpkin covering a pregnant belly. It goes along with being fruitful—and multiplying ." He winked.
Beaming as he cradled me, Brandon continued toward his parents' estate, swaggering along as if I weighed nothing. I had my arms locked around his neck. Being close to his lips and breathing in the scent of his aftershave made me crazy.
God . He smelled so good and looked so amazing, I wanted to abandon caution and let him fuck me right here on the street. Fuck me hard and rough like he used to...
My lips found and pressed his. Brandon halted to return my kiss, his mouth slowly devouring, feasting with sweet vengeance. My tightening embrace deepened our kiss and I widened my mouth to hungrily accept his snaking, caressing tongue. Faint growls began in his throat, surged louder as the intensity grew.
We were making out so heavily that my lips throbbed while his tongue tasted like blood. Yet we continued harshly kissing, unable to stop. Noisy moans eluded our lips whenever they slipped to allow a moment's breath.
And he cradled me the whole time.
Brandon attempted to walk, intent on getting me to his house no matter what. Off and on he paused to indulge me with sexy kisses. This frenzied, erratic pattern continued until we arrived.
Probably took us three hours to walk a single block. Somewhere along the way, his Stetson hat disappeared.
The Levine mansion resembled a bloated chateau from the French countryside. Stained glass doors, beige shutters and hipped roofs embellished each section while one side formed an angle near the cul-de-sac driveway. Petite gardens framed an impressive row of parked sports cars.
My teeny, shitty car would never fit in.
Wow. No wonder he's so—spoiled. I knew he was rich but actually seeing it drove the point home.
Small disks surrounded a flagstone path to light our way. Right here, Brandon released me from his arms and we detoured to a backyard resort. Stone steps trailed to a pool with a center fountain and glowing turquoise lights.
"Here we are." He removed his half-mask, fully revealing his sparkling eyes. He stole my hand and dashed toward the fire pit. Thrilled to be with him (not to mention the thrill of being in a place like this ), I giggled, foolish and drunk on high society and its opulence.
Four loungers were arranged before
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