Leather & Lark (Ruinous Love, #2)

by Brynne Weaver

“Thank you.” “Sure. Just keep my brother out of the whiskey. He’ll start singing ‘The Rocky Road to Dublin’ and it’s bad. It’s so feckin’ bad. He’s got a voice that’ll make Satan weep.” “Give Rowan all the whiskey. Got it.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to make that face every time you say ‘wedding,’ or ‘married,’ or ‘husband.’ Just FYI.” “Right,” I say as we enter the elevators to the city clerk office. “Smile. Pretend I want to fuck him. Got it.”

“At least he looks damn good. He’s kind of like a combination of Constantine-era Keanu with Mad Max–era Tom Hardy. Hot and kind of sad.” I turn and glare at Sloane. She tries not to smile but her dimple gives her away like it always does when she’s up to no good. “That is the most profane thing you have ever said. I am disgusted, Sloane Sutherland.”

I can look at him and that one glance tells me everything that words can’t. It shows truths that are locked away, about how hard it is to love. How much it hurts to let go of the armor we wear, to peel it back and show the most damaged layers of ourselves, to bear all our wounds.