Breathe for Me (The Langston Brothers Duet #1)

by Brittany Ann

“You didn’t hurt me,” I assured. “I could’ve killed you,” he snapped. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I am so fucking sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Can I touch you?” I breathed, tears stinging my eyes. “Valerie…” “Come inside,” I suggested. “You still have to make me dinner.”

Denver made me an excellent meal, and I sat at the island, watching his every move. I studied the way his hands worked as he blended the ingredients together, the way his lips moved when he tested something, the way the tension in his shoulders left him as the process went on. Denver was good in the kitchen. It was his sanctuary. Watching him was like sitting in front of a masterpiece in an art museum. I would never grow bored.

I sat up and wiped my eyes. “I don’t think Denver listens to sad music.” Just then the door opened, and he was there, commanding the air and energy around him. He was still in his jeans and black T-shirt, but his hat and boots were gone. His gray eyes were on me, studying me, his face set in stone.

“Good evening, ladies.” Smoke was all around me, cocooning me, and somehow, I found it easier to breathe. I looked up to find him beside me. His face wasn’t stone anymore. His lips were twitching slightly, and his eyes had a shadow of amusement in them.

I wasn’t sure if my jaw was dropping because of my mother’s outburst or the fact that Denver’s handsome face spread in the most addicting, spellbinding, way known in history. Denver smiled. At my mom.

“I was thinking the same thing when I saw your daughter for the first time. I’m Denver Langston,” he said, his deep voice holding a light tone. I sucked in a breath at his words. He looked at me and stepped to the other end of the swing. I got the message and lifted my legs for him. He took a seat and pulled my legs into his lap.

Unwell

“Not all of it was good, I assume,” he returned. I watched as he sat back, getting comfortable—settling in—to talk to my mom. My chest ached because of how hard my heart was beating. His face got serious, and his eyes found mine as he spoke. “There were things I said to your daughter. I disrespected her. I misjudged her. She isn’t the kind of a woman I blindly assumed she was—”

For the next half hour, I watched my mom get to know the man who saved me. I watched my mom get to know a man who meant something to me. Twice, I had to stop myself from crying because I thought I would never get to have this. A man meeting my mom.